Free Novels: The Law is a Lady by Nora Roberts

encounters ended badly.
    "Mother."
    Surprised, Helen turned. She didn't gasp or whirl at the intrusion, but simply faced Tory with one brow slightly lifted. "Tory. I thought I heard a car drive away."
    "It was someone else."
    "I saw you ride out." Helen straightened the paper meticulously. "There's lemonade in the refrigerator. It's a dry day." Without speaking, Tory fetched two glasses and added ice. "How are you, Tory?"
    "Very well." She hated the stiffness but could do nothing about it. So much stood between them. Even as she poured the fresh lemonade from her mother's marigold-trimmed glass pitcher, she could remember the night of her father's death, the ugly words she had spoken, the ugly feelings she had not quite put to rest.
    They had never understood each other, never been close, but that night had brought a gap between them that neither knew how to bridge. It only seemed to grow wider with time.
    Needing to break the silence, Tory spoke as she replaced the pitcher in the refrigerator. ' 'Do you know anything about the Swansons?"
    "The Swansons?" The question in Helen's voice was mild. She would never have asked directly. "They've lived outside of town for twenty years. They keep to themselves, though she's come to church a few times. I believe he has a difficult time making his ranch pay. The oldest son was a good-looking boy, about sixteen when he left." Helen replaced her everyday dishes on the shelf in tidy stacks, then closed the cupboard door. ' 'That would have been about four years ago. The younger one seems rather sweet and painfully shy."
    "Tod," Tory murmured.
    "Yes." Helen read the concern but knew nothing about drawing people out, particularly her daughter. "I heard about Mr. Hollister's window."
    Tory lifted her eyes briefly. Her mother's were a calm, deep brown. "The Kramer twins."
    A suggestion of a smile flickered on her mother's lips. "Yes, of course."
    "Do you know why the older Swanson boy left home?"
    Helen picked up the drink Tory had poured her. But she didn't sit. "Rumor is that Mr. Swanson has a temper. Gossip is never reliable," she added before she drank.
    "And often based in fact," Tory countered.
    They fell into one of the stretches of silence that characteristically occurred during their visits. The refrigerator gave a loud click and began to hum. Helen carefully wiped away the ring of moisture her glass had made on the coun-tertop.
    "It seems Friendly is about to be immortalized on film," Tory began. At her mother's puzzled look she continued. ' T had Phillip C. Kincaid in a cell overnight. Now it appears he's going to use Friendly as one of the location shoots for his latest film."
    "Kincaid," Helen repeated, searching her mind slowly. "Oh, Marshall Kincaid's son."
    Tory grinned despite herself. She didn't think Phil would appreciate that sort of recognition; it occurred to her simultaneously that it was a tag he must have fought all of his professional career. "Yes," she agreed thoughtfully. "He's a very successful director," she found herself saying, almost in defense, "with an impressive string of hits. He's been nominated for an Oscar three times."
    Though Helen digested this, her thoughts were still on Tory's original statement. "Did you say you had him in jail?"
    Tory shook off the mood and smiled a little. "Yes, I did. Traffic violation," she added with a shrug. "It got a little complicated...." Her voice trailed off as she remembered that stunning moment in his cell when his mouth had taken hers. "He's coming back," she murmured.
    "To make a film?" Helen prompted, puzzled by her daughter's bemused expression.
    "What? Yes," Tory said quickly. "Yes, he's going to do some filming here, I don't have the details yet. It seems he cleared it with the mayor this morning."
    But not with you, Helen thought, but didn't say so. "How interesting."
    "We'll see," Tory muttered. Suddenly restless, she rose to pace to the sink. The view from the window was simply a long stretch of barren ground