Chapter 14
With Elvis belting out “Jailhouse Rock” from an oldies playlist on Spotify, Savannah positioned a piece of tile on the cutter
and turned on the saw. A perfect cut. She was getting good at this. She handed it to Hez, who was on his knees spreading thinset
on the master bathroom floor.
They’d nearly finished the traditional black-and-white checkerboard pattern, and it was perfect for the house’s character.
“If you decide to give up practicing law, you could be a professional tile layer.”
“My back wouldn’t take it. Or my knees.” He set the final piece into place around the doorjamb, then stood to admire it. “Though
I admit there’s something to be said for working with my hands and transforming the space so dramatically.”
“I had the easy job of cutting.”
He smiled her way, and his blue eyes softened. “And you’re beautiful doing it.” Gray goop speckled his arms and coated his
fingers.
Savannah wiped a glob of mortar from his hair. “I think you got as much on you as you did the floor.” She swept the mortar
onto a damp towel they’d been using to clean the tiles.
He reached for her with messy hands, and she squealed as she danced back. “Don’t touch me!”
His grin widened. “I thought you loved me and would do anything for me. What a fair-weather fiancée.”
Though he was smiling, she felt a sting in her soul. What was a little mortar? It came off with water. She stepped into the
circle of his arms. “Do your worst.”
He held his hands out from her green tee. “Oh no, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not falling for that. If I ruin your shirt,
I’ll never live it down.” He kissed her on the nose before dipping his hands in a bucket of water by his feet. He scrubbed
the mortar from his fingers, and the water turned a dirty gray.
While he got cleaned up, she put ice in plastic tumblers and poured in sweet tea from the jug she’d brought from home. She
settled on the bedroom floor with her legs tucked under her and sipped her tea until he joined her on the old rug they planned
on replacing. The main bedroom smelled of Lysol and paint.
The song on her phone changed to “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News, and she gasped. “Hez, that song makes me
so sad. I ran across it when I was researching the feud between the Willards and the Legares after Dad said something about
Michael being full of hate after what happened to his sister.”
“What’s that have to do with a song? And I don’t think I knew he had a sister.”
Men were always so literal. “I’m going at it backwards, but stay with me.
” She reached for her phone and scrolled to the picture she’d taken.
“This is Michael’s sister, Winona Willard.
” Savannah had found the picture of the pretty girl with enormous blonde hair in a late-eighties yearbook.
“I found an old article from a newspaper that talked about how Winona and her baby died in childbirth a year after that picture was taken. It was heartbreaking. The article didn’t mention a grieving husband or anything, so I think she got pregnant out of wedlock. ”
He rubbed his forehead. “That’s why the song makes you sad?”
“No, no. I haven’t gotten to the song yet. There was a lawsuit when Winona died, and the Willards sued the doctor, which resulted
in a ten-million-dollar judgment, and the doctor lost his medical license. The article said the Willard family was donating
most of the proceeds from the lawsuit to build a pregnancy and neonatology center at TGU in Winona’s memory so other young
women wouldn’t suffer her fate.”
Hez frowned. “TGU doesn’t have a neonatology center.”
“I know, right? And even in the eighties it would have cost more than ten million dollars, so that didn’t make sense either.
I dug through the ledgers to see what happened. The records aren’t very clear, but it appears the money was diverted into
the school’s general fund, which then made a multimillion-dollar deposit into Dad’s trust fund.”
Hez winced. “If I were Michael, I’d be furious. You think that ramped up the feud?”
“I think it’s likely, don’t you?”
He took a gulp of his sweet tea and nodded. “That kind of betrayal would be hard to forgive. But what about the song?”
There was a reason Hez was such a good attorney.
His mind held on to every detail. “While I was reading Dad’s journal, I came across the lyrics to that song and he said it was ‘their’ song, his and Mom’s.
The chorus talks about how unimportant money is when compared to love—yet look what happened in their marriage.
Dad’s obsession with power and money grew and grew.
It was his fault Mom became Michael’s target.
Dad blamed her for everything, but it was his betrayal. What happened to him?”
“Francis Bacon said, ‘Money is a great servant but a bad master.’ Your dad learned that the hard way. The more he had, the
more it controlled him. With the way he pillaged TGU, he should be incredibly wealthy, but he’s squandered it all. I’m thankful
you’re nothing like him.”
His gaze roved over her face. “Yeah, I’m a man, and the first thing I noticed when we met was how gorgeous you are. Your auburn
hair and green eyes caught my attention immediately.” He leaned closer and wrapped one of her locks around his finger. “But
it didn’t take me long to see you’re even more beautiful inside. You love people, not things. You care about what’s right
and you try to take care of everyone, even me when I didn’t deserve it. I thank God you gave us a second chance.”
She cupped his face in her palms, relishing the rasp of his evening stubble against her skin. Setting her tea aside, she climbed
onto his lap and vowed she would never let their love morph and die. She’d fight with everything in her to keep what they
had.
Michael Willard had an ugly meeting in five minutes, but he paused to gaze up at the graceful limestone arch framing the weathered oak doors that led into the TGU administration building.
He used to swell with pride when he walked through those doors as a child, holding his grandfather’s hand.
Grandpa Ezra had been dean of students here.
He had guided and supported a generation of TGU students, and everyone had expected him to be named president as the capstone to a long career serving the university he loved.
But the university hadn’t loved him back.
The trustees passed over Grandpa and chose a smooth-talking young Legare named Pierre.
As a consolation prize, they gave Grandpa a small pension and a long lease on the big house that used to be the president’s mansion. And then they kicked him to the curb.
Grandpa made the mistake of trusting the university and the Legares. Michael was about to meet the woman who embodied both:
Savannah Webster. She had requested this meeting “to talk about Simon’s best interests,” but when had a Legare cared about
the best interests of anyone else, especially a Willard? Michael would have rejected the meeting out of hand, but he had his
own agenda for it. He glanced down at his battered steel briefcase and smiled. This would be fun.
Michael pushed open the heavy doors and walked down the middle of the wide hall, his leather-soled shoes clicking on the marble
floor. The place had a faint smell of must under the janitorial disinfectant—the odor of old money that had started to rot.
What must it have been like before Savannah’s grandfather Andre started the university down the dark path of corruption and
the resulting decay?
The old guard behind the security desk glanced up from his phone long enough to point Michael toward the carved oak doors leading to the presidential conference room.
The Websters rose as he entered, and Savannah caught him with those gold-flecked green eyes that were so like her mother’s.
She had Marie’s auburn hair, too, but the rest of her face had the aristocratic lines of a Legare.
Savannah spoke first. “Thanks for coming in, Michael. Please have a seat.”
Hez eyed the door as they sat. “Should we wait for your lawyer?”
Michael sneered. “I won’t need a lawyer for this.”
Savannah gave a tentative smile. “Good. I hope this can be a friendly conversation. We all want what’s best for Simon, of
course.” She swallowed hard. “We’d be open to some form of joint custody.”
Michael glanced down at the briefcase beside his chair, but he decided not to open it just yet. “Why should I agree to joint
custody?”
Hez cleared his throat. “Because no matter who wins a custody fight, the child usually loses.”
Michael turned to Hez. “So don’t fight. You can’t win.”
“But you can still lose.”
Michael stared Hez in the eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hez’s gaze didn’t waver. “You need two things to adopt Simon: Erik’s consent and proof that the adoption would be in Simon’s
best interests. You’ve got the consent, but you may have difficulty proving that it’s in Simon’s best interests for you to
adopt him.”
Embers of anger glowed in Michael’s chest, but he kept his voice calm. “I’m his grandfather. I’ll raise him better than you
could.”
“Jess disagreed.”
Michael smacked his palms onto the table. “How dare you use my daughter against me!”
Hez shrugged. “Her words will carry a lot of weight in court.”
Michael’s fury flared and he reached for the briefcase, but Savannah spoke before he could open it. “Please respect her wishes,
Michael. I know how much you loved her—and how much she suffered from the conflict between our families. Let’s not make Simon
go through the same pain.”
“She suffered because the Legares hurt her. Not the Willards. I’m going to keep Simon safe from y’all.”
Hez scoffed. “Oh, come on. You know Simon is safe with us. Probably safer than with you. We know about your criminal connections—and
those will come out during a custody fight. You really are better off making a deal with us.”
So they were going to play the same game Pierre did all those years ago, blackmailing Michael to keep him in line. It wouldn’t
work this time. “Simon almost drowned when he was with you. Should I wait until he’s dead, like your daughter?”
Hez turned a satisfying shade of red, and Savannah gave a little gasp.
Michael picked up his briefcase and put it on the glass-topped table. He opened it, pulled out a thick envelope, and tossed
it on the table in Hez’s general direction. “My lawyer just filed this. It’s an emergency motion for full custody of Simon
because he’s in danger. See you in court.”
Michael got up and walked out of the conference room.
His anger cooled as he walked back down the hall and out of the building.
Thunder rumbled and a gusty wind tossed the moss-draped tree branches overhead.
He first kissed Marie on a day like this, sheltering under a huge old oak as a storm swirled around them.
He held her tight that day—and he never should have let her go.
He hadn’t known how to fight the Legares back then, but he was older and savvier now.
Everything was going according to plan. Even Erik Andersen had a role to play, though Michael didn’t trust him.
The first fat raindrops splattered Michael’s truck as he got in. It had rained on the night Marie died too. Pierre should
have paid for her life with his, and maybe it wasn’t too late to arrange that.
Would Hez Webster need to die too? Michael wouldn’t let anyone get between him and his grandson, and if Hez chose to put himself
in harm’s way, that was his fault. Besides, James Hornbrook might just do the job for Michael.
Michael smiled and drove off into the storm.