When you want information, Michael mused as he took another cookie, go to the source. Mrs. Williamson was a fount of inside information. “He isn’t very popular around here, I take it.”

She sniffed loudly. “And why should he be, I’d like to know? Fussy, stiff-necked, too good to say how do you do? Never gave a minute of his valuable time to those beautiful girls, either. And fooling around with his secretary, and God knows who else, on the side.” She pressed a hand to her heart as it swelled with outrage. “I shouldn’t speak of it. Not my place.”

But he knew she’d speak of it plenty with a little prompting. “So, Ridgeway wouldn’t make father of the year?”

“Hah! He wouldn’t make father of the minute. And as for husband, well, he treated our Miss Laura more like an accessory than a wife. Prissy about the staff, too, with his highfalutin ideas.”

Michael ran his tongue around his teeth. “Laura stayed married to him for a long time.”

“She takes her promises and her duties seriously. That girl was raised right. Near to broke her heart when she filed for divorce, not that it wasn’t the proper thing to do or that any of us regretted it for a blink. Good riddance, I say, and I said so straight out to Mrs. Sullivan. Now he’s going to be marrying that redheaded cat. Well, they deserve each other, I say.”

To emphasize her sentiments, she rapped her spoon on the edge of the pan, letting the sound ring.

“I bet Ridgeway never got any cookies in your kitchen.”

“Hah! As if he’d have lowered himself to come inside the room. Master of the house, my eye. My hearing may not be what it was, but I hear what I need to hear, so don’t think I didn’t know he tried to make Miss Laura pension me off so he could hire himself some fancy Frenchman to cook his meals. But she wouldn’t do it.”

Her face softened as she turned back. “Our Miss Laura knows about loyalty, and about what’s right. She’s a Templeton, and so are her girls, whatever their name might be legal.”

She stopped, narrowed her eyes. “There you’ve done it. Got me blabbing and haven’t told me a thing. You haven’t changed there, Michael Fury.”

“Nothing much to tell.” She still brewed the best coffee in central California, he thought as he sipped. And the Templeton kitchen, despite its grandeur and shine, was still one of the coziest spots on earth. “Been there, done that. Now I’m back.”

She could just imagine where he’d been, and what he’d done. Still, she saw in him what she’d always seen: a dark, broody-eyed boy brimming with potential.

“Back where you belong, you ask me. Been out gallivanting long enough.”