Kentucky Heat by Fern Michaels

Someone like her. The words danced around inside her head. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she have called her children into the kitchen and said something like, “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you. You’re now free to do whatever it is you want to do with your lives.” Why couldn’t she have done it like that? Maybe someday she would come up with an answer that she could make sense of. Then again, maybe she would never come up with the answer.
    Nealy dried her hands and stood at the counter watching the fresh coffee dripping into the glass pot. Clem might want a cup. She grinned. Clementine Fox, according to Metaxas, was the best damn lawyer in the country. A real kick-ass attorney who didn’t think twice about taking on the big boys and coming out a winner.
    Clem liked bourbon straight up the same way Smitty did. Nealy opened the cabinet and brought down a bottle of hundred-proof bourbon and a squat glass with a turkey on the front. It belonged to a set of bourbon glasses Danny Clay, her father-in-law, had given her one year. There were six, and so far none had broken. She closed her eyes and conjured up a mental picture of Danny. She should call and tell him about Nick on the off chance her son hadn’t gotten around to calling his grandfather. She was about to reach for the phone when the back door opened and Clementine Fox blew into the kitchen with a strong gust of rainy wind.
    Nealy blinked. How could anyone look so ravishing, so elegant, so professional in a rainstorm? She eyed the shimmery pink raincoat in awe. Even the attorney’s umbrella was of the same shimmery pink material. The briefcase in her hand was a Gucci. It looked new and crisp, just the way the raincoat and umbrella looked.
    â€œI’m dripping all over your floor, Nealy,” Clem apologized, her voice calm as usual. “If that’s coffee I smell, I’d like a cup.”
    â€œNo bourbon?” Nealy asked in surprise.
    â€œNot tonight, honey. It’s bad out there, and I don’t need liquor running in my veins if I’m driving. Just coffee, no cream or sugar. Where is everyone?” she asked hanging her raincoat and hat on the rack by the door. She walked over to the sink and plopped the pink umbrella against the side.
    â€œSmitty said she was going to the movies with Dover. Ruby and Metaxas are down at the barn. Nick and Emmie have moved out to experience life on their own. End of subject, okay?”
    Clem’s expression remained passive. “Okay with me, Nealy. I’ll just leave the papers that concern Emmie, and you can forward them to her. It seems a set was sent to her, but she hasn’t responded. It really doesn’t have anything to do with you, but Emmie is going to have to get off the stick and make a decision here.”
    â€œWhat papers? What are you talking about?” Nealy asked, setting a cup of coffee down in front of the attorney.
    â€œThe papers regarding your . . . ah . . . father . . . Josh Coleman’s farm that Emmie signed off on for your brothers. The papers were never filed in a timely manner. The attorney, according to his son, suffers from Alzheimer’s and simply forgot. The papers have to be redone. Emmie has to sign again. If she doesn’t, the farm is up for grabs. It is very complicated, Nealy. If it isn’t done properly, I don’t think I have to tell you the Colemans will be right there, pen in hand. Right now your brothers are considered squatters by the Colemans, and they want that farm. We go to court in two weeks.”
    Nealy blinked and shook her head to ward off a wave of dizziness. She slumped into a straight-backed chair across from Clem and gulped at the hot coffee, sorry she hadn’t put a jolt of Jess’s favorite bourbon in it. There wouldn’t be a problem if she could call Emmie and tell her to hop in the car and come right over, but Emmie was gone. “I thought you said