Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 43

CHAPTER 32.

Devon pulled the prime rib out of the oven, took off her oven mitts, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She might not cook often, but when she did, she did a d.a.m.ned fine job. Whether or not it was enough to best Blake's salmon remained to be seen. But the ten pound beauty in front of her faced a challenge that Blake's salmon hadn't. It had to feed all the Montgomerys and Blake.

Terror barked, scratching eagerly at her legs to ensure that his name was added to the guest list.

"You don't need to remind me you're here," Devon told him. "I know. Besides, there's more than enough. But just to be on the safe side, I'll put your portion aside. Okay?"

He yipped his approval, then rushed off as the front door slammed.

"It's me," Lane called out, making his way to the kitchen. "I didn't miss dinner, did I?"

"Nope," Devon a.s.sured him as he gave an appreciative sniff. "You're right on time." She checked on her scalloped potatoes, added some spices, and put them back to simmer. "Are you really leaving tomorrow?" she asked her brother.

"For the fifth time, yes." He leaned past her and swiped a slice of tomato off the salad.

Devon slapped his hand. "You could sound a little unhappy about it. You just enjoyed a three-week reunion with us. I thought you'd be a little ambivalent about flying three thousand miles away."

Lane licked his fingers, his expression remaining nondescript. "I would be. If it wasn't for the move."

"What move?" Devon demanded.

"The one to New York." He grinned as Devon's jaw dropped. "I just finalized a book deal with Time-Life. They're publishing a compilation of my photo essays on survivors of natural disasters. Besides, I've had enough sun and sand. So I'm moving back east in three weeks."

Devon let out a shriek and threw her arms around him. "You miserable creep. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What, and ruin the fun of torturing you? Nah."

"Does the family know?"

"Mom and Dad do. I went up to Mom's place today and told them."

Devon smiled as she pictured that announcement. "They must have been thrilled."

"Actually, they were caught off guard. But you're going to be thrilled."

A puzzled shrug. "You lost me."

Lane plucked out an olive and munched on it. "Let's say I dropped by at an inopportune time."

Devon stared. "You didn't."

"Oh yeah, I did. Mom was in the bedroom, indisposed. Monty was in the kitchen, wearing a towel and throwing together some breakfast in bed. We collided in the hall."

Stifling her laughter, Devon caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I don't know who I feel sorriest for."

"Me," Lane supplied. "I waited for them in the living room like a kid who'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mom finally came out in a bathrobe. She couldn't look me in the eye for ten minutes. All she did was blush. And Monty - his jaw was clenched so tightly, I half expected him to pull out his Glock and blow me away."

"So what did you do?"

Lane gave her a crooked grin. "Now's the part where you'll be thrilled. I told Monty he'd better make an honest woman out of Mom. He told me that was the plan."

"Really?" Devon gripped her brother's arms. "He said those exact words?"

"Sure did," Monty confirmed, strolling in out of nowhere and s.n.a.t.c.hing an artichoke off the salad. "And I meant them. Now all I need is a little time - and some privacy - to convince your mother." He rolled his eyes, chomping on the artichoke. "And here I thought only little kids interrupted their parents at the wrong time and that grown-up kids had more smarts. Guess I was wrong. By the way, Dev, do a better job of locking your front door. Anyone could walk in."

"Thanks for the tip," she replied, fighting the urge to cheer. "I will."

Monty sniffed. "Smells good. Your mother and I are starved. Oh, and cut the conversation. Our relationship is off-limits - the same way all of yours are. You know, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, and all that. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to show your parents a little respect." Whistling, he left the room.

Devon and Lane stared at each other and cracked up.

"We're going to get a ton of mileage out of this one," Devon gasped out, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "I don't care how cavalier Monty's pretending to be. He'll move heaven and earth not to upset Mom during this courting stage. He knows how easily she embarra.s.ses. The last thing he needs is for us to make s.e.xual innuendos. He'll be on his best behavior. For a while, anyway."

"d.a.m.n straight," Lane agreed. "That means no snide remarks about the women in my life having to take a number. And no sentry duty for you to face after spending a night with Blake." Abruptly, Lane paused, a glint lighting his eyes.

"Uh-oh, I know that look."

"You sure do." A corner of his mouth lifted in a smug grin. "Like you said, this reprieve won't last long. Especially since it'll take Monty about a New York minute to convince Mom to remarry him. After that, it'll be bye-bye leverage. We'd better strike now, while the iron's hot."

"You've got a suggestion about the best way to cash in our chips?"

"Not a suggestion. A brainstorm."

From out in the foyer, Merry's voice drifted in, mingling with her parents'. At the same time, the doorbell sounded, followed by a flurry of footsteps and three sets of barking - one deep, two slightly higher, but no less forceful.

"Chomper's here," Devon determined. "That's his, Terror's, and Scamp's idea of saying h.e.l.lo and competing for the role of alpha male."

"Chomper? Good. That means Blake's here." Lane grabbed the salad bowl and gestured for Devon to follow. "Time to eat."

Devon opened the fridge, took out the tray of fresh fruit she'd prepared, and scooted after Lane. Whatever her brother was planning, she didn't want to miss it.

"Finally," Monty noted drily. He was standing next to the dining-room table, an arm draped around Sally's shoulders. "I was about to send out for a pizza."

"No need." Devon set down the fruit tray. "I made enough even for you." She bent down to pat Chomper, then turned to Blake, her gaze intimate. "Hi."

"Hi yourself." He caught her hand, pulled her closer, and kissed her. "Judging from whatever smells so great in that kitchen, I'm afraid I'm about to lose another contest."

"I'm a gracious winner."

"And a lousy loser," Lane supplied, picking up the salad tongs and doling out leafy servings. "Don't ever get into a card game with her, Blake. It's a lose-lose situation."

"That's only because you're such an arrogant winner," Meredith retorted, jumping in with both feet. "No one can stand losing to you. You're so...so...so male."

Lane arched a brow. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Yes," Merry, Devon, and Sally said simultaneously.

They all laughed. Then, amid the guys's sarcastic comebacks, everyone filed around the table to settle down and eat.

Devon took the opportunity to pull Blake aside.

He looked haggard. Then again, he'd had a h.e.l.lish couple of weeks. Sixteen-hour workdays, seven days a week, with no hope of things letting up for months to come. Not to mention a barrage of mental, emotional, and financial pressure.

Right after Edward's arrest, Blake had been named interim CEO of Pierson & Company. Under the most grueling of circ.u.mstances, he'd a.s.sumed responsibility for all the company's day-to-day operations. His days were spent locked in nonstop closed-door meetings with outside counsel and public relations firms who'd been hired to manage the fallout from the impending allegations of improper business dealings. In the midst of this turmoil, he'd called an internal meeting of all Pierson employees, in which he'd tried to put the staff at ease about their job security, asking for their support during this stressful time. And then, finally, he'd broken away from the in-house pandemonium to jump on the corporate jet and make a whirlwind trip to all Pierson's customers, a.s.suring them that Pierson & Company would survive this crisis while continuing to earn their current and future business.

Then there was the personal side of things.

Edward and Anne were ensconced at the Pierson farm, under house arrest and awaiting trial. They'd hired David Lange, one of New York's most prominent criminal attorneys, to represent them. Given their age and Edward's physical condition, Lange was serving their best interests by making sure the proceedings dragged on as long as possible. As for James, he was out on bail and cooperating fully with the authorities. Therefore, in lieu of jail time, Lange was angling for a hefty fine and community service. In the meantime, James was following his advice and keeping the lowest possible profile. The show circuit was out; the only riding he was doing these days was for personal enjoyment.

The rest of the family was all on overdrive, but the brunt of the hard work and damage control fell to Blake.

Devon searched his face, hurting for the lines of stress and fatigue she saw there. "You look beat," she murmured, her voice drowned out by the sound of the chairs sc.r.a.ping the floor.

"I'm hanging in there."

"What about your grandparents? How are they holding up?"

Blake's shoulders lifted in a resigned shrug. "Healthwise, they're fine. My grandfather's not showing any more signs of a second heart attack. And my grandmother's a steamroller - but only in private. When she talks to the cops, she's a broken, elderly woman. She's paving the way for Lange to argue diminished capacity or undue duress or whatever the h.e.l.l he plans to argue so her confinement will be at some gracious convalescence facility rather than prison."

Devon sighed. "Have they softened up toward you?"

"Nope. They're civil. They know I'm the best person to run the company. But they'll never forgive me. So don't hold your breath." He rubbed a strand of Devon's hair between his fingers. "Don't look so upset. I expected this. I knew what I was doing. It was the right thing. The only thing. I can live with myself. It amazes me that they can."

"What about the rest of your family? Are they supporting you?"

"Across the board." A trace of dry humor. "Except for James. Big surprise. Then again, he's a lot more subdued than usual. So he might not sing my praises, but he doesn't get in my way, either."

"I guess that's a plus." Devon paused. "Any word from Louise?"

Blake's jaw tightened. "Not since I told her to pack her things and get out. After hearing what your father learned - frankly, I couldn't stand the sight of her."

Devon couldn't argue that one. "How's the interviewing for her replacement going?"

"Pretty well. I've seen a couple of strong candidates. The change will be good for Pierson & Company. A clean sweep of the broom is what we needed after all the corruption. And frankly, I feel good about heading up that campaign. Restoring integrity to the Pierson name - it's a goal I can be proud of. And I have you to thank for it."

"Me?"

"Actually, all the Montgomerys. You gave me a crash course in what family's all about."

"A crash course - that's a good choice of words." Devon grimaced at the clatter going on behind her.

"Hey!" Lane called out, interrupting them. "Private time is later. Now's dinner."

"Leave them alone," Sally admonished. She rose, glancing over at Devon. "Why don't I start serving?"

"Good idea." Monty jumped up. "I'll slice the prime rib; you serve it. It'll be just like old times."

"What old times are you remembering?" Sally asked, flashing him a teasing grin. "Prime rib wasn't in our budget."

"It's still not in mine," Devon admitted. "I'd be eating Cheerios for the next two weeks if Lane hadn't kicked in."

"Yeah, well, you had a bet to win." Lane gave her a broad grin. "And priorities are priorities."

Meredith watched their parents disappear into the kitchen. Then she glanced quickly and a.s.sessingly at Devon and Blake. "Hey." She poked Lane. "Would you help me pack up my computer? It'll be one less thing for me to do after dinner."

Chuckling, Lane came to his feet. "In other words, give both couples some time alone. Gotcha, Dear Abby." He joined Merry and crossed over toward the staircase. "You've got five minutes," he informed Blake as they pa.s.sed. "Then we're eating."

"Thanks for the warning," Blake replied. "And Meredith?" He winked at her. "In your case, just thanks."

"Don't mention it." She followed Lane up the stairs.

Devon smiled, turning back to Blake. "Merry's driving up to the house with Monty and Mom tonight," she explained. "They're taking her back to school in the morning. And Lane's flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. So, after that, it'll just be me and my pets."

"Hmm." Blake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. "That has possibilities. Our marathon nights in my apartment are starting to wear thin."

"I'm too much for you, huh?" Devon's eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.

"Uh-uh." He lowered his head and kissed her. "Not even close. What's too much for me is having you to myself for just five hours a night."

"That's because of your crazy schedule, not my family."

"I know." Blake regarded her intently, threading his fingers through her hair. "But I want more."

Devon studied his expression, her smile fading. "So do I."

"We'll have to probe the options." He kissed her again, this time more explicitly. "Tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night," she murmured. "Consider it a date."

At that moment, there was a commotion from the kitchen. First, a shout from Monty. Then a "Pete, grab the tray!" from Sally, followed by a grunt, a splat, a few yips, and the pad-pad of running paws. Finally, Terror darted out, a slice of meat dangling from between his teeth. He peered from left to right, spotted Devon and Blake, and veered away from them, bolting down the hall. Scamp burst out on his heels, jumping and snapping in an attempt to grab the piece of prime rib. Seconds later, Chomper exploded into the room, also in hot pursuit of the meat, his chunky little legs sliding out from under him as he sprinted after Terror and Scamp. Behind the vying male canines, Connie exited, her feline expression the picture of disgust as she gazed after them. She turned to blink at Devon, gave an exasperated meow, and headed in the opposite direction.

"Talk about a bucket of ice water in the face," Devon said with a rueful shake of her head. "I think they're telling us not to count on too much quiet alone time tomorrow night."

"Great," Blake muttered. "Any chance that SUNY Albany would be willing to start an undergrad program for matriculating pets? We could send the whole bunch of them up with Meredith."

"Nice thought." Devon's lips quirked. "But doubtful."

Monty poked his head out of the kitchen. "Your dog, your portion," he informed Devon, glaring after Terror. "Expect to see one less slice on your plate. And be grateful that I have lightning reflexes, or your whole dinner would be on the floor. By the way, your mother and I are about to carry out the food. So lip-lock time's over." He disappeared back inside.

Devon rolled her eyes and glanced from the three dogs - who were now in the hall playing tug-of-war with the meat - to Blake. "Those five hours alone at your place are starting to sound good."