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“I know,” she said, standing up, taking Lupe’s hand to draw her to her feet into an embrace. “You did nothing wrong. You loved him and would never do anything to hurt him.”
“But he’s gone.” Lupe’s sorrow released, the visceral pain tightened her hold. “He’s gone. Forever. And I don’t know how I—how I’ll—”
“You’re not alone. Lachlan and I will be with you for anything you need.”
“You can’t…” Pulling away, Lupe wiped her eyes. “Your father can’t know. Please.”
That urgency bordered on panic, on fear. “I won’t tell him. You have my word. We will look after you.” She couldn’t help being pissed. “You owe my father nothing and he shouldn’t bully you into denying your truth.”
“It will only hurt. Ronald does not need to be hurt by this.”
“Do you deserve to be hurt? Do I? Why is everyone so determined to tiptoe around him? Why is he so precious?”
“He’s… combustible.”
“I lived with his tantrums. Lachlan could never tell me why the rest of us are supposed to yield to his petulance.”
“He lost his wife—”
“We lost our mother.” Defensive wasn’t a good look. “I’m sorry. I lost less than Lachlan. He lost his mother. Our father disappeared into his work. And Lach was stuck with me.”
“Your brother dotes on you,” Lupe said.
“Always taking care of everyone.”
“Family is important.”
“And you are part of the family, so we take care of you too.”
Didn’t help her grandfather much. Family carried their own, and it had taken falling for the forbidden man to figure that out.
FORTY
FROM LUPE TO The Chronicler. Conn had released her into the world, and could pull her back anytime, so she’d make the most of current latitude. That and her conversation with Lupe was still percolating.
Steeple probably couldn’t remember what she looked like. Some days she didn’t either.
Lucy, like nothing had changed, leaped up the moment the elevator doors opened.
“Sersha!”
Leaving the elevator, Daly at her side, she slowed as the reception desk opened up in her view.
Flowers.
“Where did those come from?”
“Your admirer,” Lucy said, touching a petal. “We haven’t had any deliveries from him this week, then at lunchtime…”
“He’s watching,” she whispered.
“Huh?” Daly asked.
“Is there a card?” she asked Lucy.
“Oh, uh, yes…” Lucy dug around in the stems and produced a tiny envelope. “Here it is.”
Filled with dread, she took the card. This could be bad, and she didn’t want to face it, but there was no turning her back on it either. She’d once neglected to tell Conn about a threat to his men; Daly bore the brunt of that mistake.
