great deal of money and property. My father was dead by then.”
“It’s lovely,” Ida said. “Are there flowers in the spring?”
“Oceans of them,” he replied. “My mother loved them.” He made a face. “My father mowed down every one of them, every single spring. I replaced them when he was finally gone, and it was just my mother and me. I’ve kept them just the way she left them.”
“What a terrible man,” she said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he returned.
The driver opened the door, and Jake led her gently down the cobblestone path that led to the front door.
She was unwieldly on the uneven surface, depending on the cane to get her safely through what felt like a maze as she avoided the more prominent stones.
Jake looked back and realized belatedly how difficult it was for her.
“Here,” he said, taking her cane and tossing it to the limo driver, who caught it neatly in the air.
Jake swung Ida up in his arms and carried her to the door, which was opened by his little housekeeper, Maude Barton.
She smiled at Jake and nodded curtly at Ida.
“I’ve brought Mrs. Merridan home with me for a few days, Mrs. Barton,” he said. “Is the bed in the guest bedroom made up?”
“Yes, sir,” was the guarded reply.
Ida sighed. Apparently, her reputation had preceded her. She just smiled sadly at the older woman as Jake turned and carried her back down the hallway to an open door.
Beyond it was the sort of luxury she’d become accustomed to over the years. The guest room was done in soft pastels, peach and beige, with powder-blue walls and a matching carpet. The bed, king-size, was covered with a patterned blue-and-beige duvet.
“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly as Jake put her back on her feet.
“I’m glad you like it. Why don’t you lie down for a bit, while I go over some paperwork and talk to my stock manager?”
She forced a smile, because she was hurting. “That would be nice, if you don’t mind. And could you get out my ibuprofen and ask your housekeeper for something to take it with?”
“Sure thing.”
He fished out the prescription meds and went to the kitchen to see Mrs. Barton.
“Can you make coffee and take a cup to Ida?” he asked.
Maude glared at him. “Why can’t she come in here and get it?” she asked waspishly.
His pale eyes took on a steely shine. “If you don’t like working here, Maude, you know where the door is.”
She caught her breath. It was a very high-paying job. She’d never manage another like it. She gritted her teeth. “I’ll take it right in, Mr. McGuire.”
“I thought you probably would,” he shot back. “And if you aren’t polite when you deliver it, I’ll know.”
It was a veiled threat. She swallowed. Hard. “Of course, Mr. McGuire.”
He nodded, a curt jerk of his head, and walked out the front door to have a word with his limo driver before he got to work.
* * *
MRS. BARTON CARRIED a tray into the bedroom where Ida was lying on the cover, propped on some pillows, her lovely face taut and pale with pain.
She grimaced at the sight of the tray. “Oh, please, Mrs....Barton, wasn’t it? I didn’t need that. Just some water, to take my medicine with.”
Maude cocked her head. “Medicine?” she asked curiously.
Ida nodded. She sat up on the edge of the bed, swung her legs out, painfully, and opened the medicine bottle. It jumped out of her hand, scattering pills all over the spotless duvet. “Oh, damn!” she ground out, fighting tears. “First my horses, then my cat, now this...!”
Maude put the tray on the vanity and retrieved the medicine bottle, glancing at it with raised eyebrows as she put the pills back in it. “How many of these do you take?” she asked, in a much less hostile tone than Ida had expected.
Ida sighed. “Three a day.”
“It’s 800 milligram tablets,” she noted.
“Yes. It takes a lot when the weather changes. I have a partial hip replacement and a metal rod with screws in my right leg, holding a broken femur bone in place. The whole works throbs when we have pressure systems moving in.”
Maude handed the pill bottle to Ida, who shook out one pill and waited while Maude put the tray on the bed beside her.
“Do you take cream and sugar?” she asked politely.
“No. I drink it black. Thank you,” Ida added when she picked it up with an unsteady hand and took the ibuprofen with