by HELEN HARDT
“He’s not home. But I saw Penny in the window, and I thought he probably slept in the vineyards and she needed to go out. So I went around to the back, and the door was open…” I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“You went inside?”
I nod. “I was just worried about the dog.” It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth.
“And…”
“I came in, made sure she had water. Then I let her out to pee. I didn’t realize I left the gate open. I’m so sorry.”
“She’s fine. She just came to the main house, so I brought her back.”
I nod again. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought… Dale loves her. He’d never forgive me.”
“Ashley”—Jade meets my gaze, her blue eyes serious—“what is this really about?”
“It’s about me coming in here. Dale isn’t home. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were concerned about the dog.” She smiles. “Or is it more than that?”
She knows.
She knew this morning. Even if she didn’t, my wildfire comment made it more than clear.
“I…was curious,” I admit. “But that doesn’t excuse it.”
“You’re right,” she says. “It doesn’t. But there’s no harm done. Penny is back, and she’s fine. Let’s get back to the main house. And I’ll have a talk with Dale about leaving his door unlocked. That’s not like him. He’s usually very careful. Something must be on his mind.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He went into the city with his father this morning.”
“When will they be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have to tell him.”
“Tell you what,” Jade says. “If you promise never to do this again, we can make it our little secret.”
“Really?”
“Really. I of all people know what you’re feeling. Like I said earlier, I look at you and I see myself.”
“Did you ever…?”
“Talon was living in the main house when I stayed that summer, so no, I didn’t enter his house without permission. But I made many mistakes. In the name of curiosity. And in the name of love.”
“I’m not in love with Dale.”
Even as I say the words, I know how untrue they are.
Dale is all I’ve thought about since I laid eyes on him two days ago. I don’t believe in insta-love or love at first sight.
But I believe in what I’m feeling for Dale. I’ve never felt so strongly about anyone.
“It’s overwhelming,” Jade says.
I nod.
“Things worked out for Talon and me in the end,” she continues. “But Dale is not Talon.”
“I know that.”
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. It may happen, and it may not.”
I gulp back a sulking weep that threatens to rip from my throat. “I understand.”
“Talon threw me out of the main house.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Like I said, we had a rocky start.”
“He threw you out?”
“He did. The memories are so vivid, things I haven’t thought about in decades.”
“Why did he throw you out?”
“I pushed him too hard.” She sighs. “Be careful, Ashley. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dale
I knock loudly on the door of the cracker box house in the city. Dad and I stand on a concrete stoop that’s spalling and cracked in three places. The screen door hangs on one hinge.
Whoever Floyd Jolly really is, he sucks at home maintenance.
If this is even his home. Maybe he rents, though who’d rent this shack, I have no idea.
I knock again. “Hello? Anybody home?”
This time Dad knocks with me. We’re both pounding, and still no response.
“Must not be home,” I say.
“We’ll see.” He moves the screen door and turns the knob on the main door.
It opens.
“Dad…”
He cracks the door. “Hello? Mr. Jolly?”
An orange cat whisks by, hissing at us.
Dad opens the door farther. “Hey, kitty. Anyone home?”
“Dad, are you sure we should be doing this?”
“No, but we’re going to do it anyway. If the man who lives here really is your natural father, we need to know if he’s here.”
“He’s obviously not.”
“Actually he probably is. People who aren’t home don’t usually leave their doors unlocked.” He moves into the small living area. “Mr. Jolly?”
I inhale. Stale cigarette smoke. A glass ashtray overflows with butts, and a few more litter the worn brown carpeting that covers the floor.
The cat jumps onto a vinyl recliner. She doesn’t hiss this time but regards us with a wary look.
I walk into the small kitchen—
“Shit. Dad, come quick!”
A man lies passed out on the linoleum. A goose egg has erupted on his forehead. Beer cans clutter the floor.
Is this dear old dad?
He’s silver-haired. Maybe that means he was blond once. His eyes are closed. If they’re green… Does that mean…?
“He’s loaded,” Dad says. “But we need to wake him up. Make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”
The cat walks in softly, sits down next to the man, and hisses again.
“We’re not going to hurt him, kitty,” Dad says.
My father using the word “kitty” twice in one day makes me want to chuckle.
“I need to see his eyes, Dad,” I say.
Dad kneels down and pushes the eyes open.
Green.
Fucking green. Clear green and bloodshot as hell.
“Do you remember what color eyes your mother had?” Dad asks.
“Light brown. I remember people mentioning Donny’s and my eyes a lot because they were so different from hers.”
“Still doesn’t mean anything,” Dad says.
“True. I’ll need a DNA test before I believe it.”
“Absolutely. Come on. Help me get him up.”
The man is big and tall, another bad sign. Donny and I are also tall and muscular. His face is lined with age, and his lips thin. Donny and I have full lips. A glimmer of hope spears into me.
But it’s false hope.
Already I know this.
I’m looking at the man who sired me.
And he’s a goddamned drunk.
My gut churns with nausea.
Dad and I get him into the living room and onto the couch.
“He’s bashed his forehead pretty bad. He’ll have a scar for sure. At least the bleeding has stopped. He’s clotted. Get a wet rag from the kitchen.”
I return to the kitchen. The only rag I find is soiled. Where’s the bathroom? I walk out of the kitchen and down a small hallway. I find an equally small bathroom. One washcloth hangs on a rack. It doesn’t look too clean either, but it’s better than the one in the kitchen. I turn on the faucet, dampen the rag, and walk back to the living area.
“Here you go.” I hand the cloth to Dad.
Dad wipes the crusty blood from the man’s forehead. His wound doesn’t look as bad once it’s cleaned, but sure enough, a jagged cut slices through the goose egg.
“Hey.” Dad slaps his cheek. “Wake up.”
A low belch emanates from him, and the acrid stench of beer and halitosis erupts into the air.
“Damn.” I wave my hand in front of my nose.
“Drunk as hell,” Dad says. “You want to stay here and try to wake him, and I’ll look for coffee?”
I shake my head. “I’ll look for the coffee.” I head back into the kitchen.
A coffee maker sits on the counter, but the kitchen houses no coffee that I can find. The best I can do is an old jar of instant coffee whose contents are hard as a rock. With a kitchen knife, I chop off enough of the brown rock to mic
rowave a mugful of instant coffee.
“He’s coming to,” Dad says when I return. “Sort of.”
“Here’s the coffee. All he had was instant.”
“It’ll do. Just set it on the table.” He continues to shake the man. “Come on, man. Wake up.”
“Maybe get him into a sitting position,” I suggest.
“Yeah. Good idea. Help me.”
Together we move him so he’s sitting upright. His head moves from side to side, and finally, one eye opens.
“Come on,” Dad says. “Wake up.”
He looks at Dad. Then at me. Then at Dad again. “Where am I?”
“Home, I assume,” Dad replies.
“Then who am I?”
“You tell us.”
“I mean, who are you?” He moves one hand to his head. “Fuck. Head hurts.”
“You gave yourself a hematoma,” Dad says.
“What’s that?”
I roll my eyes. “A bump on the head.” You moron.
“How much did you drink?” Dad asks.
“Don’t know.”
“Judging from the cans in the kitchen,” I say, “at least a twelve pack.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Dad says. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you remember your name?” I ask impatiently.
“Floyd. Now who the hell are you two?”
“Your fucking guardian angels,” I say sarcastically.
“Wha…?”
“I don’t think you have a concussion,” Dad says. “You passed out from drinking and hit your head. You’re lucky. The swelling seems to be going down.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
The cat jumps on his lap.
“Hey, Poozles.”
“Poozles?” I say.
“Her name. Poozles.”
Whatever. What do I care what the guy names his cat? But Poozles? Sheesh.
Dad picks up the cup of coffee. “Here. Drink this.”
Floyd takes a sip. “Hot!”
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sorry at all.
If this is indeed the man who fathered me—and I already know he is—then he’s not only a loser drunk, he also abandoned two children. Not that I ever believed my biological father would turn out to be some paragon of society. But this?
“When’s the last time you cleaned this place?” I say, acid lacing my tone.
“I don’t know. What does that matter?”
“You’re living in a pigsty,” I say. “You’re probably not taking care of the cat either. You can be arrested for that.”
“Poozles is fine.”
Indeed, Poozles appears content in Floyd’s lap. Another thing that irks me. My father is a cat person. God.
“What’s your last name, Floyd?” Dad asks.
“Jolly. Now who the hell are you?”
“Talon Steel, and this is my son Dale.”
“What are you doing here?”
I’m done playing games. I just want to get this shit over with.
“We came to talk to you,” I say.
“What for?”
“Don’t play stupid.” I clear my throat. “You know exactly who I am. I’m your biological son.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ashley
After a shower, I feel better. My eyes are still red and swollen from crying, which means I cannot, under any circumstances, see Dale today.
No problem. He and Talon are apparently still in Grand Junction. Who knows when they’ll be home?
Tomorrow, I begin my internship.
If Dale knew what I’d been up to only hours ago, he’d refuse to work with me. And for good reason.
Diana is gone, and I don’t know anyone else, despite having met every member of the family last night.
After a light lunch with Jade, I decide to sit on the deck with a book. After perusing the large library in the house, I decide on Pride and Prejudice, an old favorite I haven’t read since high school.
I open the book—
I jerk when the French doors open.
“Ashley,” Jade says, “you have a visitor.”
Who would be coming to see me?
Then Brock steps onto the deck. “Hey.”
“Oh, hi.”
“Some greeting,” he teases.
“You want some iced tea?” Jade asks. “Lemonade?”
“Lemonade would be great,” he says. “Thanks, Aunt Jade.”
She walks back through the door and into the kitchen.
“What are you reading?”
Ever aware of my red and swollen eyelids—should I make some excuse about allergies?—I hold up the book. “Jane Austen.”
“Ah. Romance.” He doesn’t mention my eyes.
“Hardly. It’s a classic.” Though it’s also kind of a romance.
“Interesting choice,” he says. “About a man who thinks everyone else is beneath him.”
“You’ve read it?”
“In college. English lit class.”
“But you studied agriculture. At least I assume you did.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have a few general requirements.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t have gen ed requirements for your degree?”
“Yeah, of course I did, in undergrad. But I just figured agriculture—”
“You figured why would I need to read Austen in order to raise beef?”
“Kind of. Yeah.”
“Why do you need to read Austen to make good wine?”
He has a point. “In all fairness, I’m not interested in winemaking so much as wine tasting.”
He smiles. “Right. I can see how Austen applies, then.”
“Smartass.”
“Can I talk you out of reading and coming with me instead?”
“Where are you going?”
“Riding.”
“Riding…what?”
“My horse, of course. Mom says you can ride hers if you want. She’s real gentle.”
“Your mom rides?”
“Yeah. It’s not really her thing, but she rides every now and then.”
“This may surprise you,” I say, “but I’ve never ridden a horse.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all, Cali girl.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.”
“How do you know that if you’ve never tried?”
I absently rub my rear end. “Trust me. I know. It’s sweet of you to ask, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Okay. What do you want to do, then?”
“You go ahead. I don’t want to ruin your plans.”
“Riding is optional. I want to spend some time with you.”
“Brock…”
“I know. You don’t want to get involved. We can be friends, though. Right?”
I smile. Actually, friends would be nice. Diana is gone, and she was the only friend I had here. “I’d like very much to be friends.”
Jade returns with two glasses of lemonade.
“You aren’t joining us?” I ask, hoping.
“I figure I’ll leave you young people alone.”
“Thanks, Auntie.” Brock takes the two glasses and hands one to me.
“I’ll be inside if you need me.” She smiles and heads back in.
I’m getting massively mixed signals from Jade. This morning she told me how Brock doesn’t hold a candle to Dale, and now she seems to be pushing us together.
Funny thing is, she knows how I feel about Dale.
So she must know he won’t be interested.
An invisible fist punches my gut, leaving me without air.
Funny. That same fist punched me when I first met Dale Steel, first heard him speak in that velvety red-wine voice.
When he brushed his lips across mine two nights ago in his truck.
He’s the man I want.
I know it.
Am I in love? I’m not sure, but I’m defi
nitely in something.
In lust?
No. I’m well acquainted with lust, and that’s not what I feel for Dale. In passion? Maybe. He affects me like no other man has, and I’ve had a lot of men.
A lot of men, but very few relationships.
And with Dale, I want a relationship.
I want it all. I want him.
I take a sip of lemonade.
I’m not giving up.
Jade may think there’s no chance, but I’m going to prove her wrong.
“So, friend,” I say to Brock, “tell me about what you do on the cattle ranch.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dale
Floyd stares at me, his eyes bulging and bloodshot. “You?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Trust me. I’m not thrilled about it either.”
“Right. John Greene found you.”
“He did.”
“Damn him. He was supposed to bring the information to me.”
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” I say.
“Money? Of course. I can barely make ends meet, as you can see. I gave him my last hundred to find you and your brother. You do have a brother, right?”
“I do. And we already have a father.” I nod to Dad.
“What’re you doing here, then?”
I open my mouth, but Dad speaks before I do.
“We want to know what you want.”
“I just want to find my kids.”
“After thirty years?” I ask.
“Yeah. I… I’m sorry about your mother.”
“That was a long time ago,” I say.
“Yeah. I didn’t know until recently.”
“If you hadn’t abandoned my brother and me, you’d have known a long time ago.”
“Now wait a minute.” Floyd tries to stand but stumbles and ends up back on the couch. “This is my house. I don’t have to be insulted in my own home. You two can get the fuck out.”
“Gladly,” I say.
“Just a minute, son.” Dad gestures to me to stay put.
“What? First, I’ll never believe this loser is related to me until I see DNA that proves it.”
But I don’t need DNA. I already know.
“I agree.” Dad turns to Floyd. “Whether Dale is your son or not, there has to be a reason why you decided, at this late date, to try to find the sons you abandoned.”