Joe wondered if he’d found a mentor of his own along the way. Had Conway, the retired marine, stepped in and befriended him? Had Joe gone on to find new friends and a family in the corps? The answers to his questions seemed to be yes.
“Hey,” Rick said, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you ride into town with me? I’ve been craving Caroline’s hotcakes all week. And since I left home early this morning, I didn’t get a chance to have breakfast. We can talk in my truck and at the diner. Maybe that will jostle your memory.”
Joe had no idea who Caroline was or what diner his brother was talking about, but he’d slipped out of the house without eating, too. “That sounds good to me.”
Twenty minutes later, they entered the small town eatery, where a middle-age waitress, a woman Rick addressed as Margie, greeted them with a smile. “Good mornin’, Doc Martinez. Who have you got here? Don’t tell me this is Joey, all grown up.”
“Yep. It sure is.”
“Where’ve you been, son? We haven’t seen you in...well, it’s been ages.”
“He joined the Marines after he left town,” Rick said. “And when I went off to college, we lost touch for a while.”
Apparently, Rick hadn’t told anyone Joe had run off.
“Isn’t that nice? Y’all found each other. And just in time for Christmas.” Margie grabbed a couple of menus and led them back to a corner booth, all the while chattering about how family should be together during the holidays.
When she offered them menus, Rick said, “I don’t need one. I’ll have the rancher’s breakfast—eggs over easy, bacon and a stack of Caroline’s hotcakes.”
“I’ll have the same thing,” Joe said, “only with scrambled eggs and the country sausage.”
“Coffee?” Margie asked, as she made a note of their orders on a small pad.
“You bet,” Rick said. “Thanks.”
When Margie walked away, leaving the brothers alone, Rick said, “Neither one of us had the kind of past I liked to talk about, so very few people around here know anything about where you went or why.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out some snapshots, one black-and-white, the others in color. “I brought some family pictures for you to see. I thought it might help.”
When he handed them over, Joe looked at each one, then focused on the old Polaroid of a couple in their late twenties to early thirties.
“That’s one of the only shots I have of our mom and dad,” Rick said. “You can see that she’s blonde. We obviously get one of our genes for blue eyes from the Norwegian side of the family.”
Joe wished he could say that he remembered their parents, but he didn’t. “How old were we when mom died?”
“You were six. I was eight.”
At that age, Joe doubted that he’d have too many memories of them anyway. He flipped through the pictures and found one of a dark-haired couple in their mid-forties. He flashed it at Rick. “Is this Ramon and Rosa?”
“Yeah. Do you remember them?”
“Vaguely, but more than I remember our parents. I keep getting flashes of memory—bits and pieces I’m trying to put together. So keep talking. I think it’s working.”
“Tío Ramon was Dad’s brother. He liked to stop by La Cantina, a little dive in Wexler, every night after work. He was a mean drunk and had some anger issues, especially when he was three sheets to the wind. I’m sure that had a lot to do with him not keeping a job. But for some reason, he always seemed to find a new one.”
“You mentioned the abuse, the domestic violence. It must have been pretty bad.”
“It was. Ramon and Rosa loved each other, but they fought something awful, especially when they’d both been drinking.”
Margie stopped by with the carafe of coffee and filled both cups. Then she left a creamer and sugar.
Rick thanked her, and when she walked away, he continued. “We’d tried to talk Rosa into leaving him before it was too late, but she didn’t listen. And one night, he nearly killed her. After Ramon went to prison and Rosa recovered from that last beating, she joined AA and turned her life around. She and I reestablished a relationship, although we weren’t especially close at first. I’ve since reconciled with Tío Ramon, too. But that’s been fairly recent. I wanted to be sure that he was serious about his sobriety. And I believe he is. He’s due to get his two-year token next spring.”
Joe lifted his mug and took a sip. “I’d think he could use some anger management classes.”
“That was mandated by the court. He took them while he was in prison, but he took a refresher course after his release. He and Tía Rosa have reconciled and are attending church regularly. You’d hardly know them.”
Joe hardly knew them as it was. And something told him he ought to be grateful that he’d forgotten those early years.
Rick took a sip of coffee. “Because Tío kept losing his job, it seemed as though we had to move each time he found a new one. We lived in several different apartments in Houston, a mobile home and a duplex in Wexler, and then a townhome in Brighton Valley. After I met Mallory in my junior year, I spent more and more time away from home. And that left you to deal with all the family dysfunction on your own. I think you felt abandoned, and I can see why you would. I’d like to say that I wasn’t much more than a kid at that time, but I won’t make excuses. I was all you really had, and I let you down.”
Joe forgave him. At least, the man he’d become after the accident did. And maybe the old Joe did, too. After a ten-year separation, a tour of duty in a war zone, and an accident that damn near killed him and left him with amnesia...well, he was glad to have someone and something to hang on to. And that someone was sitting across the table from him, looking at him with eyes laden with emotion.
“I love you,” Rick said. “And I missed you something awful. Now that we’ve both grown up and moved on, I’d like to establish a better relationship.”
“I’d like that,” Joe said. “I’d like it a lot.”
Margie returned to the table and placed their meals in front of them. Just a whiff of the sausage triggered another memory. Joe paused, allowing it to unfold.
Seated at the kitchen table, Joe watched Tía frying breakfast meat, her bruised eyes nearly swollen shut, her bottom lip split. The words Joe said to her that morning. You gotta leave him, Tía!
I know, mijo. But deep inside, your tío is a good man. And I love him.
But next time, he could kill you. And me...
The memory faded. And while it really wasn’t a whole lot for Joe to go on, it validated the things Rick had told him.
Yet that simple vision and the feelings it triggered stirred up even more bits and pieces, allowing him to cobble some of them together.
“You’re right,” Joe said. “I felt abandoned and left alone to weather the storms at home. I remember trying to talk some sense into Tía Rosa. I’d beg her to leave him, but she wouldn’t listen. It used to make me so angry because it wasn’t just her life she was ruining, it was mine. I’m not sure that she even cared that each time I stepped in to protect her, I’d get beat on myself.”
“I should have been there to protect you.”
Joe shrugged a single shoulder. “Maybe, but I wasn’t looking for protection as much as a backup. If you’d have been home one of those nights, we could have stopped him and knocked some sense into him.”
“You’re probably right. But in retrospect, that might have landed you and me in juvenile hall—or worse.”
Joe reached for his fork, only to have another memory kick in, one that he’d never forget again. And along with it, more emotions: anger, frustration, grief.
“What’s the matter?” Rick asked. “Did you remember something else?”
“Yeah. Going home after what must have been their last fight. Red lights were flashing all around t
he neighborhood. The sheriff was there. Not Hollister, but an older man—heavyset, graying hair. He had Tío cuffed and locked in the back of the squad car. Tía was already in an ambulance, and they wouldn’t let me see her.”
“She nearly died that night. She spent two weeks in ICU and nearly six months in rehab.”
“I remember thinking that it was all my fault,” Joe said.
“There’s no way. You weren’t even there when it happened. Tío was a brute when he drank.”
“Yeah, but if I’d been home, I might have stopped it.”
Rick reached across the table and placed his hand over Joe’s. “You were only fifteen. And if you had been there, you would have tried to stop it. But then you might have been the one hauled off in the ambulance or the squad car.”
“Maybe so.”
Joe didn’t bring it up because he didn’t think it was necessary, but he also remembered that he and his brother had both been sent to different foster homes that night, separating them when Joe had needed him most.
“I can’t fix what happened in the past,” Rick said. “But I want you to know that I’m sorry for whatever I might have done to you—or whatever I failed to do for you. You’re my brother, and I don’t want you to leave town without knowing how I feel.”
“Speaking of leaving Brighton Valley,” Joe said, “do you have any idea why I might have changed my name after I left?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think it was because you wanted to put our lousy past behind you. Ramon and Rosa made newspaper headlines for a while, and the whole mess was pretty embarrassing. I found it hard to deal with and didn’t speak to either of them for years. But Ramon learned a hard lesson while he was incarcerated. You might find this hard to believe—I know I did—but now that he’s quit drinking and gone through some intensive counseling, he’s like a new person.”
Joe wished he had something to say to that, some feelings to go along with it, but he dug into his breakfast and let his scattered thoughts and memories simmer.
By the time they’d finished eating, a lot of things had begun to come together for him.
The foster parents Joe had to live with weren’t too bad, but Darrell, one of the other kids, used to bully the smaller boys. And since Joe had seen more than his share of abuse—and hated it—they butted heads more often than not.
One day, when Darrell began picking on one of the band geeks in the school cafeteria, Joe confronted him. A fight broke out, and even though Joe’s reason for getting involved was noble, the principal suspended them both.
Rick hadn’t been around that day, which led Joe to think he’d probably ditched school to spend time with his friends. And more than ever, Joe began to feel helpless and alone—with no one to care about him.
He had, however, earned the undying support of the band geek he’d stepped in to help—Dave Cummings.
Pieces of his ranch memories began to come together, and Joe soon realized when he’d been on the Rocking C before.
On several occasions, he’d run away from home and had ended up on the Cummings ranch. Just being around Dave and his parents had given him a glimpse of what a real family was supposed to be like, and he’d found himself drawn there.
“Do you need to go back to the ranch now?” Rick asked as he pushed his plate aside. “If not, I can take you to my place and you can meet Mallory and our son, Lucas. I can’t wait to introduce you.”
“I guess I should head back to the ranch. Maybe when my head is on a little straighter, I’ll make a better impression on your wife and son.” Joe really wasn’t up to meeting anyone right now, especially with his thoughts and feelings still jumbled. But it was nice that Rick had asked.
Joe took one last look at the picture of his parents, trying to get another vision, another memory, but nothing came to mind.
He handed the photos back to his brother. “I’m glad I can’t remember how crappy life was before our mom died.”
“She had a prescription drug problem, which eventually killed her. She died of an overdose.”
A vision slammed into Joe, striking him as hard and unexpected as the Silverado pickup that had hit him in the dead of night, causing his amnesia in the first place.
Overdose.
Dave, cold and lifeless, sprawled out on the kitchen floor. The pain meds he used to swallow—two and three at a time, washed down by whatever liquid was handy.
Bits and pieces of his memory merged with the disjointed dreams he’d had, unleashing a storm of emotion: Worry and disappointment, irritation and resentment.
And it all came back to him.
Well, not all of it. But the memories of a battlefield will... Joe blinked, remembering Dave giving it to him, as well as the message Dave had asked Joe to deliver on his death and the reckless, suicidal rush at the Taliban insurgents... They were still a bit scattered, but they were clues enough.
He finally understood why he’d returned to Brighton Valley in the first place. He’d promised Dave he would deliver that letter, which Chloe hadn’t let him read.
The annoyance he’d felt off and on since the accident rose up inside of him, bordering on anger. And a sense of betrayal lanced his heart.
Dave had loved that woman enough to give her everything. And she’d led him on, convincing him that she loved him, too. Then she’d dumped him, and Dave had chosen death over life without her.
Just like Joe’s mom had done when she hadn’t been able to cope after their dad abandoned his family for that stripper.
More distrust and suspicion crept over him as another vision, this one recent, flashed before him: Chloe in the Cummings den, digging through files and scanning papers.
She’d looked up and spotted him in the doorway, guilt splashed across her face.
Her reaction had left him uneasy at the time, and now he knew why. He hadn’t trusted her.
But why? What clues had he missed? He racked his brain, trying to recall things she’d said to him when they’d talked about the Rocking C.
As the fragments of their conversations came back to him, he tried to make sense of them.
I’m trying my best to hold everything together until I know what’s going to happen with the ranch.
Had she already known about Dave’s death before the sheriff had notified her? Joe had, but that memory had been lost with all the rest.
I don’t want to move until the new owner is located.
Joe had quizzed her about that at the time. The new owner?
Whoever stands to inherit the ranch now that Dave is gone.
Chloe had given him the impression that she planned to move on. Yet she seemed to have settled in at the Rocking C, even going so far as to decorate the house for Christmas.
Joe had asked if she’d like a ranch of her own, and if so, would she give up her plan to go to nursing school.
I don’t know. Maybe. I’d probably invite some friends to live with me, so I’m not sure how much time I’d have to study.
Damn. Did she already have plans to take over the Rocking C? Would she fill it with friends and freeloaders?
I’d like to visit Sam Darnell, a retired cowboy I know, and ask him a few questions about ranching.
So she did mean to stay on and to make a go of the place. Apparently, she’d planned to all along. And when Joe had seen her in the den, rifling through the files, she must have been looking for a will or a deed or something that would secure her claim.
His gut twisted as suspicion settled over him. He shifted in his seat, but was unable to shake it.
What had that last letter said? Had Dave told her what he’d planned to do—and that he’d left her the ranch?
“Are you okay?” Rick asked. “You look a little shaken and confused.”
Was it that obvious?
Joe blew
out a sigh. “I’ve just had a major breakthrough, Rick. Things are still a little sketchy, but images and memories are slamming into me, along with a slew of emotions I’m trying to deal with. And the more I think about it, the less comfortable I feel about staying at the ranch. Would you mind taking me back for my things, then dropping me off at the Night Owl?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. But if you’re looking for a place to stay, come home with me. Mallory and I have a guest room, and you’re more than welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like. Besides, I want you to meet Lucas. He’s a great kid—and the spitting image of you.”
Joe had been a loner most of his adult life, but he didn’t want to be alone tonight. “If you’re sure Mallory won’t mind.”
“She’s eager to meet you—and she’ll be glad to have you with us, especially for Christmas.” Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “But why don’t you just drop me off at the clinic and take my truck to pick up your stuff from the ranch?”
Joe took the keys, while Rick picked up the check. “Thanks. It won’t take me long to pack.”
“Keep the truck as long as you need it.”
Joe didn’t expect to be more than a few minutes at the ranch, just long enough to talk to Chloe. And to say the words he’d meant to have with her when he’d first crossed city limits.
* * *
Chloe was seated in the kitchen, staring out the bay window, when she saw Dr. Martinez’s truck pull in the driveway. She knew Joe would be returning soon, but she hadn’t expected to see him behind the wheel.
That was odd. She couldn’t imagine a busy veterinarian like Rick not needing his vehicle, which meant Joe must not be planning to stay long.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. What was wrong with her? The man hadn’t even entered the house and she was already reading way too much into the situation. But one look at the scowl marring his face, and she knew something wasn’t right before he even made it to the back porch.
She met him at the mudroom door, just as he let himself in. Before she could quiz him about driving his brother’s truck, he said, “I came to pick up my stuff.”
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 36