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Huh? Oh. “Coming!”
She filled the mug and added a trace of sugar. Mrs. Reilly was mere skin and bones, like she hadn’t eaten properly for weeks. She needed fattening up, and perhaps the sugar would help sweeten her mood.
“Here you go.” She placed the mug on the wooden bedside table, the clutter atop now a little more straightened. She would normally look for a coaster to protect the wood, but the many round dark stains suggested coasters weren’t a priority.
“Thanks.” Faded blue eyes followed Lexi as she moved around the room to take a seat on the chair. “Who are you again?”
“Lexi.”
“Jackson’s girlfriend?”
Lexi choked. “No, ma’am. I’m Ellie’s friend. And Jackson’s too, but it’s nothing like that.”
Mrs. Reilly’s chin dipped, but the eyes remained fixed on Lexi. She stared back. She could see a vague resemblance to Jackson in the nose and curly hair, but the eyes were different, more like Ellie’s.
“Would you like me to open the windows?” Lexi took the shrug as acquiescence, and moved to open the windows, taking care to make sure the midday light didn’t fall directly on the bed. Truth be told Mrs. Reilly was probably healthy enough to not need to be in bed, but it was obviously where she felt more comfortable. Lexi wasn’t about to upset her, not on her first day here. She spent a moment surreptitiously tidying, then moved to the closet. “Would you like me to put these clothes away?”
No answer, which Lexi took as affirmation. She picked up a shirt which would further crease if not hung up, and moved to the closet.
“Why are you here?”
Lexi paused, coat-hanger in hand, one hand on the closet door. “I’m here to help.”
“Help? How?”
“Your daughter, Ellie, asked me to.”
“Ellie.” A vertical line creased Mrs. Reilly’s forehead. “She likes history.”
“That’s right.”
“Jackson.”
Lexi stilled. Was he here? She hung up the shirt, then peeked at the door. No Jackson to be seen. Maybe it was safe to let Mrs. Reilly’s observations continue as she wished. “What about him?”
“He likes horses.”
“Yes.”
“He’s a good boy.”
Lexi nodded, ducking her head as the backs of her eyes burned. Those four words somehow seemed so special, such an endorsement from mother about her son that Lexi felt like she was almost treading on sacred ground. If only Jackson could hear his mother’s esteem. Would he be so quick to want to sell the ranch?
“He doesn’t visit often,” Mrs. Reilly continued.
“I think it is because he’s busy working around the ranch.”
“Always busy,” Mrs. Reilly said, hand plucking at the covers. “Likes his lists.”
“Does he?” Jackson hadn’t seemed the type to like lists. But now she thought about it, there seemed some method to his approach, a focus that sometimes seemed to be seeking what was next, rather than focusing on the immediate and now.
“Like his father.”
Lexi stilled. From what had been said before, it seemed discussion about Mr. Reilly was problematic. But before she could enquire further there came a loud barking—Fido?—and voices as brother and sister and realtor returned. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Mrs. Reilly didn’t make any acknowledgement that she had heard Lexi speak, so she took that as permission to leave. She moved into the hallway, gently closing the door behind her. The glass sliding door clicked closed in the next room.
“Well, that’s been most informative,” an unfamiliar older man’s voice said. “I’ll give it some thought and send something through. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”
