Free The Lancaster Men by Janet Dailey Page A

stopped and turned to look at him, a vaguely defiant tilt to her chin.
    “Yes.”
    “I was upset and probably said some things Ishouldn’t have.” His reply came close to a grudging apology, but he was too proud to come right out and say he had been wrong. “Your mother’s illness has been a strain on all of us, I guess.”
    “Yes,” she admitted that her nerves had been worn thin by it.
    “You’ve been like my own granddaughter. I’ve always wanted you to regard Gold Leaf as your home,” he insisted.
    “I’ve explained how I feel about that.” Shari avoided his gaze.
    “Yes,” he sighed heavily and paused. “We both have a bit of a hot temper. Do you think we could manage to observe a truce—for your mother’s sake?”
    Coming from him, it was quite a gesture. “I think we could try.” Shari was moved to agree.
    He offered to shake hands on the bargain and Shari accepted. He held her hand an instant longer. “If I interfere too much—” he said without admitting that he did. “—it’s only because I want you to do what is best.”
    “Best, according to your standards,” she reminded him.
    “Yes … well. …” He released her hand, unwilling to go so far as to admit that there were standards other than his own. “Whit is waiting outside for you. You’d better go. Give Elizabeth my love.”
    “I will,” Shari promised and hurried down the hallway to the front door.
    Whit had the engine running when she climbed into the empty passenger seat of the car. He ran aglance over her before shifting gears to start down the drive. Rory was in the backseat.
    “Did you talk to Granddad?” Whit inquired with apparent foreknowledge that she had.
    “Yes.” She suspected he had had something to do with it. “We agreed to a truce of sorts.”
    “He could use some compassion from you,” Whit stated.
    “Why?” She asked the question to discover Whit’s reason for saying that, not to argue whether or not it was true.
    “Granddad has buried his parents, his brothers, his wife, and his son. Your mother may be his daughter-in-law, but he has developed a deep affection for her over the years. He had to have been very worried and frightened when she had the stroke. Try to imagine how helpless he felt at the time,” Whit suggested with a side glance at her. “And the three of us weren’t here. He needed us as much as your mother did—perhaps more.”
    Helpless, frightened—those weren’t words Shari would have associated with Frederick Lancaster. He was the strong, stern head of the family. In the space of twenty-four hours, her entire outlook on things seemed to have turned topsy-turvy.
    “I suppose he did,” Shari conceded the possibility.
    “Whit talked to Annie,” Rory spoke up from the backseat, referring to the housekeeper by her given name. “Mom is partially paralyzed from the stroke.”
    Her widened gaze flew to Whit in alarm. “Is that true?” she asked in a small voice.
    “Yes,” he admitted without taking his attentionfrom the road, and speaking very matter-of-factly. “Her left side has been affected. Her speech has been impaired.”
    “Not permanently?” Shari hoped fervently.
    “No,” Whit confirmed. “At this point, the doctors can’t say how much use she’ll recover or how soon. It’s going to be a long, slow process.”
    Shari sank back in her seat. “I hadn’t thought … I hadn’t realized …” she murmured.
    “It’s better if you know all this before you see her,” Whit stated. “Both of you need to be prepared for the way she’s going to look and act.”
    “Yes,” she agreed numbly.
    His advice proved to be invaluable. Without it, Shari was certain she would have broken down and cried when she saw her mother lying in the hospital bed, so incapacitated and unable to communicate. The smile Shari plastered on her face never cracked under the strain of maintaining a cheerful front. It remained in place until she stepped out of the room, and a raw