Free Lucky's Lady by Tami Hoag Page B

large. “I came out here to get away from people, not to form some pansy-ass discussion group.”
    Serena ignored his protest and pressed on. “It's not like you to just take off, especially this time of year. There's too much work to be done around the plantation.”
    He rolled his big shoulders and looked down at his feet. “That's what I've got Arnaud for. He's the manager, hell, let him manage. Tired old men like me are supposed to take off and go fishing.”
    “When you knew I was coming to visit?” Serena pushed the hurt away with an effort and gave an unlady-like snort. “Since when are you a tired old man?”
    “Since I figured out I don't have an heir who gives a rat's ass about everything I've broke my back for.”
    “Oh, for heaven's sake, Gifford!” she snapped. “What are you talking about?”
    “I'm talking about you living eight hundred miles away and your sister ready to sell the old place at the drop of a hat. That's what I'm talking about.”
    “What is this nonsense about Shelby wanting to sell Chanson du Terre?” she demanded irritably. “I've never heard anything more ludicrous in my life. Ever since we were little girls she's talked about growing up and getting married and living on the plantation. She wouldn't dream of selling it!”
    “Well, that just shows how out of touch you are with your own family, young lady,” Gifford announced piously.
    “Oh, for the love of Mike!” Serena cut herself off abruptly, not trusting herself to say anything more until she reined her temper in a notch. She clamped her mouth shut and paced back and forth along the base of the stairs, her arms banded tightly across her as if to keep herself from exploding.
    “Honestly, I don't know what to think,” she muttered more to herself than to Gifford. “People telling me Shelby's lost her senses and wants to sell Chanson du Terre. Shelby tells me she thinks you've gone senile—”
    “Senile!” Gifford launched himself off his step like a rocket, shooting up to his full height. His craggy face turned an unhealthy shade of maroon. “By God, that tears it! Is that what you've come out here for, Serena? Is this a professional visit? You out here to see if the old man's lost his marbles? Then y'all can get that candy-ass lawyer husband of Shelby's to have me declared incompetent, sell the old place, and live off the sweat of my carcass— By damn— By God—I won't have it!”
    He clutched the railing with one hand and the shotgun with the other and hissed a breath in through his teeth, struggling suddenly for air.
    Serena rushed up the steps, her own heart thundering in alarm. “For God's sake, Gifford, sit down!”
    He complied without argument, his knees buckling, backside hitting the old step with a thump. The tension went out of his muscles. His wide shoulders sagged and he drew in a ragged deep breath. He fished around in his shirt pocket for a pill, pulling out the shotgun slug and tossing it carelessly aside.
    Serena kneeled at his feet, shaking all over. She pressed her hands against her lips and struggled not to cry, realizing for the very first time just how old he was, just how mortal. She watched him stick a little pill under his tongue and held her breath as his color faded slowly from red to pale gray. He seemed to age twenty years before her eyes, his incredible inner fire dimming like a flame that had been abruptly turned down.
    “You all right, Giff?” Lucky said, his dark voice shot through with tension. Serena realized with a start he was on the step right behind her. He leaned down to get a look at Gifford's face, laying a hand on her shoulder in a manner that might have been intended as comforting.
    Gifford muttered one of his more virulent oaths.
    Pepper stuck his head in under the stair railing and flashed a smile of relief. “He kin cuss like dat, he all right. He stops cussin', him, den you ax him if he be dead.”
    “Smartass,” Gifford growled.
    Pepper gave a hoarse laugh