The Return of Antonides: Christmas at the Castello(3)

But it hadn't stopped the late Alexander "Skeet" MacClintock, Lukas's  cranky friend and opal-mining mentor, from guilting him into taking on  the job of running the foundation and vetting the applicants. He'd known  that Lukas wouldn't be able to turn his back on Skeet's plan for a  foundation intended to "Give a guy-or gal-a hand. Or a push."

Because once Skeet had given Lukas a hand. And this, damn it, was his way of pushing.

Lukas sighed and gave Sera a thin smile. "Thanks."

"There are more," Sera began.

"Spare me."

Sera smiled. "You'll get there."

Lukas grunted. For all that he'd rather be anywhere else, he owed this to Skeet.

The old man, an ex-pat New Yorker like himself, had provided the  grumbling, cantankerous steadiness that a young, hotheaded, quicksilver  Lukas had needed six years ago. Not that Lukas had known it at the time.

He would have said they were just sharing digs in a dusty, blisteringly  hot or perversely cold mining area in the outback. Skeet could have  tossed him out. Lukas could have left at any time.                       
       
           



       

Often he had, taking jobs crewing on schooners or yachts. He'd leave  for months, never promising to come back, never intending to. But for  all his wanderlust and his tendency to jump from one thing to next,  there was something about opal mining-about the possibilities and the  sheer hard work-that energized him and simultaneously took the edge off  his restlessness. For the first time in years, he had slept well at  night.

He felt good. He and Skeet got along. Skeet never made any demands. Not  even when he got sick. He just soldiered on. And at the end, he had  only one request.

"Makin' you my executor," he'd rasped at Lukas during the last few days. "You take care of things...after."

Lukas had wanted to deny furiously that there would be an "after," that  Skeet MacClintock would die and the world would go on. But Skeet was a  realist. "Whaddya say?" Skeet's faded blue eyes had bored into Lukas's  own.

By that time the old man had seemed more like a father to him than his  own. Of course Lukas had said yes. How hard would it be? He'd only have  to distribute the old man's assets.

Skeet had plenty, though no one would ever have guessed from the  Spartan underground digs he called home. Lukas only knew of Skeet's  business acumen because Skeet had helped him parlay his own mining  assets into a considerable fortune.

Even so, he had never imagined the old man had a whole foundation up  his sleeve-one offering monetary grants to New Yorkers who needed  "someone to believe in them so they could dare to believe in  themselves."

Who'd have thought Skeet would have such a sentimental streak? Not  Lukas. Though he should have expected there would be a stampede of New  Yorkers eager to take advantage of it when the news spread.

He'd had a trickle of applications before the What's New! article. But  once it hit the stands, the postman began staggering in with bags and  bags of mail.

That was when Serafina had proved her worth. A fiftysomething,  no-nonsense mother of seven, Serafina Delgado could organize a  battalion, deal with flaky artists and cantankerous sculptors and  prioritize grant applications, all while answering the phone and keeping  a smile on her face. Lukas, who didn't multitask worth a damn, was  impressed.

"Sort 'em out," he'd instructed her. "Only give me the ones you think I really ought to consider."

He would make the final decisions himself. Skeet's instructions had been clear about that.

"How the hell will I know who needs support?" Lukas had demanded.

"You'll know." Skeet had grinned faintly from his hospital bed. "They'll be the ones that remind you of me."

That was why the old man had created the foundation in the first place,  and Lukas knew it. Back when it mattered, when he was in his twenties,  Skeet hadn't believed in himself. Deeply in love with a wealthy young  New York socialite, poor boy Skeet hadn't felt he had anything to offer  her besides his love. So he'd never dared propose.

"Didn't believe enough in myself," he had told Lukas one cold day last winter, fossicking through rubble for opals.

They didn't have heart-to-hearts, never talked about much personal  stuff at all. Only mining. Football. Beer. Skeet's sudden veer in a  personal direction should have warned Lukas things were changing.

"Don't pay to doubt yourself," Skeet had gone on. And Lukas learned  that by the time Skeet had made something of himself and had gone back  to pop the question, Millicent had married someone else.

"So, what? You want me to play matchmaker to New York City?" Lukas  hadn't been able to decide whether he was amused or appalled.

Skeet chuckled. "Not necessarily. But most folks got somethin' they  want to reach for and don't quite got the guts to do." He'd met Lukas's  gaze levelly. "Reckon you know that."

Then it had been Lukas's turn to look away. He'd never said, but he  knew Skeet had seen through his indifferent dismissal to a past that  Lukas had never really confronted once he'd walked away.

Now, determinedly, he shoved all the memories away again and forced  himself to go back to reading the applications. It was the first week of  June. The deadline for application submissions was two weeks away. Now  he had thousands of them. Even with Sera sorting through them, he needed  to read faster.

He stared at the paper in front of him until his eyes crossed...then shut...

"Grace called."

Lukas's head jerked up. "What?"

Sera stood in the doorway frowning at him. "She says to pick her up at  her grandmother's at a quarter to eight. Were you sleeping?"                       
       
           



       

"No. Of course not." Though from the hands on the clock above the file  cabinet he'd been closing his eyes for over half an hour. Now he tried  not to let his jaw crack with a yawn. He'd winced, realizing he had  forgotten all about Grace. She was Millicent's granddaughter, and Lukas  sometimes wondered if she were Skeet's own attempt at matchmaking from  beyond the grave. The old man had found out a bit about Millicent's life  over the years. Chances were he'd known about Grace. He raked a hand  through his hair. "Why didn't you put her through?"

"She said not to bother, to just give you the message." Sera studied him narrowly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Lukas stifled another yawn. "Just bored."

"Go meet Grace then," Sera suggested with a grin. "You won't be bored."

"Can't. Got to finish this." He glanced at his watch. "Time for you to go home, though."

"Soon. I have a few more applications to go through. You can do this,"  she said briskly in her den-mother voice. Then she shut the door behind  her.

Lukas stood and stretched, then paced the room, trying to muster some  enthusiasm for dinner with Grace. He shouldn't have to muster enthusiasm  at all.

Grace was wonderful. His mother liked Grace. Sera liked Grace. Everyone  liked Grace. Grace Marchand spoke five languages, had degrees in art  history and museum conservation. She coordinated special exhibits for  one of the city's major art museums. She was blonde and blue-eyed and  beautiful, looking a lot like her grandmother must have half a century  ago. Skeet would have loved her.

Because of that, Lukas had taken her out several times since-to dinner,  to a concert, some charity functions, a couple of command-performance  family dinners. Grace was good company. She knew which fork to use,  which was more than he often did. In his new more social role, he was  grateful for that. But regardless of what Skeet might have been plotting  or Lukas's mother might be hoping, he wasn't marrying her.

And now he really had come full circle because his head was throbbing again.

The door from the outer office opened once more, and Sera came in.

"I thought you were leaving?" Lukas said sharply.

Sera nodded. "On my way. Just finished the applications. There's one that you should see." She waved the envelope in her hand.

"I don't want to see another application tonight." He held out a hand  to ward her off. "I've had it up to my eyeballs. Every person in New  York City wants me to give them half a million dollars."

"Not this lady." Sera waved the envelope again. "She only wants half a boat!"

Lukas felt the words like a punch in the gut. "Half a-? What?"

Sera shrugged, grinning as she set the papers on his desk. "Half a boat. Can you believe it?"

Lukas crossed the room in three long strides and snatched up the papers  from the desk. There was only one woman in the world who would ask him  for half a boat-Holly.