The cabin had never contained any amenities, certainly nothing that could have been considered «decorating» unless one included mounted racks of antlers. Serena doubted that had changed since the last time she'd been out here. The hunting lodge was one of those male bastions where anything aesthetically pleasing was frowned on as unmanly. Gifford undoubtedly still used the same old tacky, tattered furniture that hadn't been good enough for the Salvation Army store twenty years earlier. The floor of the two-room structure was probably still covered with the same hideous gray linoleum, the kind of indestructable stuff that promises to last forever and unfortunately does.

Serena wasn't going to find out immediately. Gifford didn't go to the door of the cabin. He climbed partway up the stairs, then turned around and plunked himself down with his gun across his lap as if he meant to block the way. Serena's step faltered just long enough so that the two old blue tick hounds that had jogged out from behind the woodshed could jump up on her and add their paw prints to the front of her shirt. She groaned and shooed them away, scolding them.

«You used to love them dogs,» Gifford grumbled, scowling at her disapprovingly. «I suppose they don't allow hounds like that up in Charleston.»

Serena shook a finger at him as she came to stand at the foot of the steps. «Don't you start that with me, Gifford. Don't you start in on how Charleston has changed me.»

«Well, it has, goddammit.»

«That's not what I came out here to discuss with you.»

Gifford swore long and colorfully. «A man can't get a scrap of peace these days,» he said, addressing the world at large. «I came out here to get away from people, not to form some pansy-ass discussion group.»

Serena ignored his protest and pressed on. «It's not like you to just take off, especially this time of year. There's too much work to be done around the plantation.»

He rolled his big shoulders and looked down at his feet. «That's what I've got Arnaud for. He's the manager, hell, let him manage. Tired old men like me are supposed to take off and go fishing.»

«When you knew I was coming to visit?» Serena pushed the hurt away with an effort and gave an unladylike snort. «Since when are you a tired old man?»

«Since I figured out I don't have an heir who gives a rat's ass about everything I've broke my back for.»

«Oh, for heaven's sake, Gifford!» she snapped. «What are you talking about?»

«I'm talking about you living eight hundred miles away and your sister ready to sell the old place at the drop of a hat. That's what I'm talking about.»

«What is this nonsense about Shelby wanting to sell Chanson du Terre?» she demanded irritably. «I've never heard anything more ludicrous in my life. Ever since we were little girls she's talked about growing up and getting married and living on the plantation. She wouldn't dream of selling it!»

«Well, that just shows how out of touch you are with your own family, young lady,» Gifford announced piously.

«Oh, for the love of Mike!» Serena cut herself off abruptly, not trusting herself to say anything more until she reined her temper in a notch. She clamped her mouth shut and paced back and forth along the base of the stairs, her arms banded tightly across her as if to keep herself from exploding.

«Honestly, I don't know what to think,» she muttered more to herself than to Gifford. «People telling me Shelby's lost her senses and wants to sell Chanson du Terre. Shelby tells me she thinks you've gone senile-«

«Senile!» Gifford launched himself off his step like a rocket, shooting up to his full height. His craggy face turned an unhealthy shade of maroon. «By God, that tears it! Is that what you've come out here for, Serena? Is this a professional visit? You out here to see if the old mans lost his marbles? Then y'all can get that candy-ass lawyer husband of Shelby's to have me declared incompetent, sell the old place, and live off the sweat of my carcass- By damn- By God-I won't have it!»

He clutched the railing with one hand and the shotgun with the other and hissed a breath in through his teeth, struggling suddenly for air.

Serena rushed up the steps, her own heart thundering in alarm. «For God's sake. Gifford. sit down!»

He complied without argument, his knees buckling, backside hitting the old step with a thump. The tension went out of his muscles. His wide shoulders sagged and he drew in a ragged deep breath. He fished around in his shirt pocket for a pill, pulling out the shotgun slug and tossing it carelessly aside.

Serena kneeled at his feet, shaking all over. She pressed her hands against her lips and struggled not to cry, realizing for the very first time just how old he was, just how mortal. She watched him stick a little pill under his tongue and held her breath as his color faded slowly from red to pale gray. He seemed to age twenty years before her eyes, his incredible inner fire dimming like a flame that had been abruptly turned down.

«You all right, Giff?» Lucky said, his dark voice shot through with tension. Serena realized with a start he was on the step right behind her. He leaned down to get a look at Gifford's face, laying a hand on her shoulder in a manner that might have been intended as comforting.

Gifford muttered one of his more virulent oaths.

Pepper stuck his head in under the stair railing and flashed a smile of relief. «He kin cuss like dat, he all right. He stops cussin', him, den you ax him if he be dead.»

«Smartass,» Gifford growled.

Pepper gave a hoarse laugh and withdrew to snatch the squirming bag of crawfish away from the inquisitive coon hounds that were sniffing and pawing at it.

Serena felt herself sag with relief. She couldn't stop herself from reaching a hand up to touch her grandfather's knee, just to reassure herself. «You ought to go in and lie down, Giff. We can talk later.»

«I don't need to lie down,» the old man snapped. «Just a little dizzy spell, that's all. Christ, I don't know who wouldn't be dizzy with all this going on around them. It makes me so damn mad, I can't see straight half the time. I make one remark about selling, and your sister, who couldn't sell ice water in hell, runs right out and finds a buyer. Judas H. Priest. And where are you? Off shrinking heads in Carolina, as if there aren't enough lunatics in Lou'siana to go around.»

«We can talk about it when we get home,» Serena said softly.

There were a hundred questions to be asked. Why hadn't Shelby called her when Gifford had left? Why had she denied knowing the reason Gifford had left? Why would Gifford ever have mentioned selling the plantation and why would Shelby agree to it, much less find a buyer?

Feeling a little like Alice waking up in Wonderland, Serena pushed herself to her feet and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. The questions would have to wait. She wouldn't quiz Gifford now and run the risk of giving him another attack. It could all be sorted out once they were back home. And the sooner the better.

She turned around to look back at the dock. Gifford's bass boat was tied up on the side opposite Lucky's pirogue. «Pepper, would you please get the boat ready?'

Pepper shook his head, smiling at her much the way Lawrence Gauthier had earlier. «Oh, no, chere. Me, I kinda like bein' alive. You ax Giff 'bout it, he don' wanna go nowhere.»

Serena turned back to her grandfather. He refused to look at her. «Gifford, please. You can't stay out here.»

«I sure as hell can.»

She turned to Lucky.

He shrugged and physically backed away from the conversation. «It's a free country.»

«I don't believe this,» Serena said angrily, raking her hair back from her face with trembling hands. «Dammit, Gifford, you nearly had a heart attack right before my eyes. You can't stay out here!»