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Three
India slept poorly. She tossed and turned for hours, stingingly aware that Farris was nearby. Without wanting to, she relived a montage of her marriage. Farris, naked and hungry, his sure hands roaming her body. Farris in bed with his computer, dealing with a last-minute crisis. India taunting him with a striptease to woo him away from his duties.
Even when she finally slept, she dreamed about him. His heated gaze locked on hers as he entered her. His silky black hair soft and tousled beneath her fingertips. As good as the sex had been, she had also loved sleeping with him, being held in his muscular arms, feeling as if nothing in the world could separate them.
Only sunrise dissipated the wistful fantasies.
When she finally climbed out of bed, she dressed and made her way to the dining room at nine o’clock with a sheepish smile on her face for the two occupants already seated. Honestly, she hadn’t expected to find anyone at all. It was late.
She sat down and grimaced. “Sorry. The time change messed me up.”
Dottie passed her a plate of beautiful croissants and a butter dish. “No worries, dear India. I have the same problem when I first arrive.”
Farris didn’t say anything at all. He merely shot her a dark glance and returned his attention to reading the Wall Street Journal. On his tablet, of course. No one actually delivered to this remote location.
India knew she was blushing. Thankfully, there was no way he could see inside her head or know that she had dreamed about him being naked and making love to her. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t notice her damp forehead or her quickened breathing.
The housekeeper came in and took India’s request for scrambled eggs and hot tea. When it was just the three of them again, India smiled at Dottie. “What would you like to do today? It’s pretty cold to be outside.”
Dottie shuddered. “Indoors for me. Maybe by the fire.” She glanced at her son. “I’ve told Farris I want to start working on photo albums. I’ve taken pictures and printed them out my whole life until about 2005. We had them shipped here back in November. I’ve kept them in the garage. But they’re loose, not in any kind of order. I thought with you to help me, India, this might be the perfect winter activity. What do you think?”
Before India could answer, Farris lifted his head. “Mother, it would be easier to scan them all in and make a digital album.”
Dottie’s face fell. “I don’t like looking at pictures on my phone. I want a huge leather album I can hold in my hands and put on a shelf.”
India felt caught. “Those big photo books can be very expensive, particularly if you have hundreds of photos.”
Now Dottie grinned. “Money is no object. My dear boy has been investing for me ever since he learned how to buy stocks. I have more in the bank than I could ever need. Please, India, will you help me?”
Farris shrugged, his faint smile rueful. “You don’t have any idea what you’re getting yourself into, India. My mother has dozens of wonderful qualities, but organization isn’t one of them.”
When they all laughed, India felt a pinch of something in the vicinity of her heart. A mix of regret and sadness. For a brief period in time, when she was married, she had been part of a family again. After her father’s betrayal and the subsequent deaths of her parents, she had been emotionally adrift—grieving the unimaginable loss that didn’t have to happen.
Perhaps that was why she had felt so safe, so loved, when she met Farris. And surely that was why she had been afraid to ask questions when things began to unravel. She’d wanted to cling to the belief that she had found a forever home.
Tragically, the emotional safety had been an illusion. She cleared her throat, stirring her tea and not looking at either of the two who had been the dearest people in her life. “I think I can handle a few photographs. It will be fun, Dottie.”
Her blithe assurance was put to the test that afternoon. During the morning, Dottie napped. India made sure Farris’s workout room was empty and then did half an hour on the elliptical. After a light lunch, the two women met in the great room. Farris showed up moments later carrying a large box, the kind movers liked to use.
He set the first box on the round coffee table and went back to the garage for boxes two, three and four. He stretched his back after he set down the last one. “Well, that’s it. Good luck, ladies.”
India’s eyes widened. Dottie had already ripped open the top of the first box. Judging by the contents India could see, the pictures might number in the thousands, not the hundreds. She chewed her lip, already pondering the logistics. “Are they at least grouped by years in the boxes?”
Dottie shook her head, her smile cheerful. “No. They were in a large chest of drawers. Whenever I picked them up at the drugstore, I would look at them and then put the envelope, negatives and all, in the bureau.”
“Ah.”
Farris didn’t even bother to hide his amusement. “Good thing you’re here for more than a short visit.”
India gave him a withering look behind Dottie’s back. “We can do this,” she said to Dottie. “And I’m sure Farris might lend a hand now and then.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I’ve got ranch work from dawn until dusk.”
“And what about after dusk?” she asked, glaring at him.
He shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent and regretful. “I keep up with the New York business in the evenings. No time for goofing off.”
“Helping your sweet mother is not goofing off,” India insisted.
