by Julia London
She snorted. “Aren’t you coming into town to see Grace?”
Of course he was coming in to see Grace. He did not miss a moment of his time with his daughter. “Friday.”
“Then I will expect to see you on Friday, Wyatt. And if you don’t come by the office on Friday, I will come to you. That’s not a threat, that’s a warning.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“Like hell I don’t,” she said. “Have yourself a good week.” She clicked off.
Wyatt smiled. Linda Gail acted as if he’d be lost without her, wandering about the brush, looking for the trail back home. Okay, maybe he would be a little lost. And he probably would have lost the considerable fortune he’d managed to amass before he’d gone AWOL. That’s what he’d done after Macy left him for Finn. He’d gotten in his big fancy truck with Milo one day and just driven. He’d ended up in Arkansas first, where he joined a group of Civil War reenactors for a couple of weeks, hiring himself out to help with the cooking. He didn’t know much about the Civil War or cooking, which was why it had seemed the perfect thing to do. When he’d tired of that, he’d gone on, driving aimlessly and ending up in Arizona, where the fuel pump went out on his truck. He didn’t have the heart or inclination to fix it, so he’d sold it to a Mexican-American for twenty-five hundred dollars. That was about twenty thousand dollars less than what he should have gotten.
But Wyatt had sold it and found himself in Cochise County without any transportation. An old man in a café had told him about the job on the M Bar J cattle ranch. That wasn’t really a stretch for Wyatt, as he had been born and bred a rancher. He’d given it up to pursue real estate development, an occupation that had made him a rich man. But after the world had been yanked right out from under him, and he’d spun out into the blackness without Macy to anchor him, Wyatt didn’t care about things like money. He didn’t care about much of anything.
He and Milo had hitched a ride out to the headquarters and he convinced the manager that he knew how to sit a horse, he knew how to rope a cow, and, though he was a little rusty, he was as fresh as a spring breeze. The manager didn’t need much convincing as it turned out—he needed a body. He’d given Wyatt the job, put him out in the bunkhouse with a bunch of sun-dried vaqueros, and every day for five months Wyatt had pulled on his boots and his borrowed spurs and he and Milo had worked cattle.
But then Grace was born, and he needed to be near his daughter, so Wyatt had packed up his one bag, caught a ride back to the town of St. David, and bought an old used truck to take him back to Texas. It was the same truck he drove around the ranch now.
Macy had been shocked by his appearance when he’d returned. He’d had a beard then, and he’d lost about twenty or pounds or so, and he didn’t have much to say. But when he held his daughter Grace in his arms for the first time, he knew he’d never leave her again. He fell in love with that little girl with the black hair—his hair—and with her smile. Her mother’s smile.
Wyatt wasn’t leaving Grace, but he hadn’t been ready to resume his place at the top of Cedar Springs society, either. So he’d taken a job as a pen rider at a feedlot. It was a dirty, mean job, riding through acres of penned cattle, culling out the sick from the rest of the herd. Yet, there was something about that sort of work, that mind-dulling, physical work, that gave Wyatt the strength he needed to get up every morning.
Linda Gail was the one who had told him about this place. She was handling his clients, taking leads, and she’d told him that there was this ranch between Cedar Springs and San Antonio, tucked away from civilization but close enough that he could see his daughter. Wyatt had bought it after one trip out to take a look. He’d put forty head of cattle on it, had bought a couple of horses from the animal rescue ranch that Macy and Finn had started up, and had been here since, more than a year, taking each day as it came while he mended some fences and tore down others. He avoided people and things and, most of all, he avoided his thoughts.
Wyatt finished his beer and headed for the shower. He donned a pair of lounge pants and a torn T-shirt, then settled down in an old velvet chair with some unidentified stains to watch the NFL preseason football games.
Just him, his dog, and a couple of beers. That’s all he needed.
That same afternoon, in central Austin, it was muggy and cloudy with a strong scent of rain. Rain would be welcome relief to the heat, but as was often the case in August, it would probably amount to nothing more than a tease.
Nevertheless, Holly was feeling particularly creative and happy. She was comfortably ensconced in her studio apartment on Austin’s Enfield Road, seated at the upright Hamilton piano she’d found on Craigslist a couple of years ago. The wood casing of the piano was scratched and dull, but Holly had had it tuned and it was perfect for her needs.
She was very excited about her latest project. After having successfully sold three songs to ASC Music Publishing—two of which had been sold to artists for recording—the company had approached Holly with a unique opportunity. They had joined forces with a young, up-and-coming singer, Quincy Crowe, and they believed Holly’s music style was a perfect match for his. They had recently inked a deal under which she would collaborate with Quincy and write three original songs for him. It was decent money up front, but if the songs sold well, it was great money on the back end.
Holly liked Quincy. He was a handsome guy with soulful brown eyes and sleek, shoulder-length hair. He was about ten years younger than her and naturally talented. He hadn’t studied music, but his instincts were excellent. Most important—to Holly, anyway—was that he understood the construction of a song.
That afternoon, she was working on their first collaborative song. They’d agreed on the lyrics, and Quincy liked the melody, but he thought the bridge was kind of bland and the key a bit too high.
Holly experimented by changing the key from D major to B minor. “His heart as hard as coal,” she sang softly. “Ack,” she muttered to herself, and changed a few of the chords around.
She was in the midst of trying it again when a knock at her door interrupted her. She glanced at the clock that hung above the bar that separated her living area from the little galley kitchen. It was two in the afternoon, too early for Quincy. He was due at four, and she had a shift at half past five at the Java Hut. She put down her pencil and walked across the travertine tile floor and opened the door.
Holly was shocked to see Hannah standing there with Mason on her hip and a giant duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “Hello, Holly.”
“Wow! What a surprise!” Holly said. It was the letter, she was certain of it. She’d written Hannah a letter apologizing for not helping more with their mother and wanting to bury the hatchet. She wanted her sister back. Maybe Hannah did too.
“May we come in?” Hannah asked, but she was already moving past Holly into her apartment.
“Yes, sure.” Hannah had been here once before, about four years ago, when Holly had found the place, back when they at least spoke and tried to be sisters. Holly shut the door and grinned at Hannah and Mason. She noticed that Hannah didn’t look quite like herself—she was so thin, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her skirt hung on her, and the zipper was off center. Her hair was down too. Holly could not remember a time she’d seen Hannah dressed for work that her hair wasn’t pulled back and tucked away for the day’s labor. There was a stain on the shoulder of her blouse. Mason, who was chewing on his fist, was wearing overalls and one sock. “I’m really surprised, but I’m glad you’re here,” Holly said hopefully.
Hannah responded by putting Mason on the floor; he instantly righted himself and began to crawl for Holly’s piano. “Wow,” Hannah said, looking around. “It’s cleaner in here than I thought it would be.” She dropped the big dark duffel bag she had on her shoulder and looked at the sliding glass door. “Isn’t there a balcony out there?” she asked, and walked to the door and pushed aside the drapes. Holly’s apartment overlooked the pool. “Do you keep this door locked?”
“
I don’t know. Yes, I think,” Holly said. “Why? What’s going on?” Mason had reached her piano and was trying to pull himself up on the bench. She caught it before he pulled it over on himself. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.”
“You look tired,” Holly remarked.
“You would, too, if you had a job like mine. So …” Hannah turned around, put her hands on her hips. “I need you, Holly.”
That left Holly speechless. “Are you serious?”
“Would I be here if I weren’t serious? Look, I have to go away. There is no one else I can trust with Mason.” She scratched her arm. Hard. “I know you and I have had our differences, but I know you love him. So I need you to keep him.”
Holly instantly thought of her shift, and looked at the clock again. Lucy, her boss, would kill her for calling in on such short notice. “This is … this is really surprising, Hannah. You want me to babysit? For how long? Like, overnight?” If she could get hold of Elliot, he would cover her shift. He was always looking for extra shifts.
“Babysit, keep him, whatever,” Hannah said, and shifted her gaze to Mason. “I’m going to be a while.”
Something was wrong. Hannah was not herself. She didn’t look right. Her gaze seemed distant, too distant, like she wasn’t all here. “What’s ‘a while’?” Holly asked. “And where are you going?”
Hannah shrugged. “A while,” she said again. “I really don’t know how long.”
“Wait—I don’t understand,” Holly said as Hannah squatted down next to Mason. He’d found a blank page of sheet music and had put it in his mouth. “Why don’t you know how long you’ll be? Where are you going? And what happened to your nanny?”
“Mason, Mommy loves you so much,” Hannah said, and kissed the top of his head.
“Baa baa baa,” Mason said, and tried to push the paper into Hannah’s mouth.
“Hannah!” Holly insisted, truly alarmed. “What is wrong? How long will you be? I need to know so I can get someone to cover my shift.”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said, and stood up. “Is that where you sleep?” she asked, pointing to the loft. “You’ll need to get a gate or something.”
It was like Hannah’s body was in Holly’s apartment but her head was somewhere else. Mason began inching his way along the furniture to the guitar stand.
Holly picked him up. “Something is wrong, obviously. You can tell me.”
“I already told you,” Hannah said, and pushed both hands through her hair. “I have to go somewhere for a while, okay? I need you, Holly. For once in your life, can you help me?”
“Hey, come on,” Holly said, and moved Mason to a chair across the room. “You show up unexpected when I have to work and ask me to keep your son. I don’t think I’m asking unreasonable questions.” She put a pillow on the seat that Mason could grab. It made him happy; he grinned and bounced on his chubby legs.
“I don’t want to argue with you—”
“Good. Me either. Did you get my letter?”
Hannah looked blank. “What letter?”
“The letter I wrote you—”
“I just need to do this, Holly,” Hannah said, talking over her. “I need you to help me, and honestly, I think you owe me at least this much.”
“Owe you?” Holly protested. “I somehow owe you endless babysitting?”
“It’s not babysitting, It’s a whole lot more than that,” Hannah said, and squeezed her eyes shut a moment. God, she was pale. She opened her eyes and nudged the duffel with her foot. “Here is his bag,” she said. “His clothes and toys are in there, and some diapers. Maybe a week’s worth.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Holly cried. “I can’t keep him a week, I have to work! I have a contract for three songs and I can’t just stop everything to babysit Mason while you flit off to God knows where. You look sick, Hannah. Maybe you need to see a doctor. I can take you—”
“Like hell you have to work,” Hannah said quietly, in a voice dripping with bitterness. Her hands were shaking. “You have your inheritance, remember?”
“Stop that,” Holly warned her. “I don’t have anything. I’ve told you, I don’t know why Mom did that, but it doesn’t matter, I will share it with you. I wrote you that, Hannah. I told you in a letter that the estate doesn’t matter to me.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Really? And what have you done about it? Have you seen a lawyer about the will? Have you even been out to the homestead?”
Holly recoiled. “Okay, so I am not as organized as you. Is that what this is all about? You’re pissed about Mom’s will and you’re trying to take it out on me somehow?”
Hannah snorted. “Do you honestly think I would stoop to such childish tactics?”
“Honestly? I have no idea what you’d do. I don’t even know you right now. You show up at my apartment for the second time in five years and dump your son on me for a week. You look like hell, you’re skin and bones. Actually, you look a little crazy to me.”
That seemed to set Hannah back a step. Her mouth gaped; she didn’t seem to notice that Mason was crawling past her now, on his way to the kitchen.
Something was desperately wrong with her sister. “Hannah? You really can talk to me, you know,” Holly said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Hannah turned her back and moved to the bar, away from Holly. “I am telling you. I am saying that you have to keep my baby.”
“Okay, I can keep him for a couple of days—”
“Don’t you get it? I am going away! I won’t be in Austin.”
“What?” Holly exclaimed, confused more than ever now as she followed Mason into the kitchen. He’d opened a drawer and was pulling out plastic bags. “Where are you going? You at least have to tell me that much.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t? What the hell does that mean?” Holly demanded as she scooped Mason up and put him on her hip. “You’re acting crazy! I’m calling Loren—”
“Go ahead. He’s gone too.”
Holly was starting to feel like she’d walked into the middle of some weird sci-fi event. “Where is he?” she demanded, and picked up her cell phone. “I’m calling him right now.”
“He left me.”
Holly stilled. She gaped at Hannah, hoping it was a joke, knowing it wasn’t.
“For some chick he met on the Internet.” Hannah smiled wryly. “Can you believe it? Trawling for ass on the Internet. Blond, I think—”
“Hannah!” Holly said, and put the phone down. “When did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said with a hapless shrug. “A couple of weeks, I guess. I really don’t remember. Or care, to be honest.” She chuckled. “Do you know that was his third affair? Or I should say, the third that I knew about.”
Stunned, Holly put Mason down again. “Oh, Hannah.” She moved toward Hannah with the intent of holding her, but Hannah turned to one side and looked out the window. Holly dropped her hands. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.” She did not add that she was not surprised, because she’d guessed Loren was a scumbag.
“Of course you didn’t,” Hannah agreed. “Not exactly the sort of thing one likes to broadcast.”
“I know, but I—”
“Right,” Hannah said, cutting her off. She pushed her hands through her hair again, a nervous characteristic Holly had never seen her do.
“Are you going after Loren?” Holly asked, hoping to high heaven that was not the case.
“God, no,” Hannah said impatiently. “I’m glad he’s gone.”
At least they agreed on that.
Hannah abruptly picked Mason up and held him tight. “Mommy loves you,” she said. “Never forget that Mommy loves you, baby. I’ll be home before you know it.” She kissed his cheek, but Mason pushed against her, wanting down. Hannah handed him to Holly. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.” She started for the door.
“No!” Holly cried, and darted around her, reaching the door befor
e her. “Look, I understand you’ve been through a lot, but I can’t take Mason for a week.”
“Let me see if I have this straight,” Hannah said, folding her arms. “You couldn’t help with Mom and you can’t help me now. When is it you can help, Holly? What is a convenient time for you?”
“I have tried so many times to help you that I can’t even count them anymore. But every time I try and help, you shut me down. And now that you’ve decided to actually let me in, I’m supposed to drop everything and jump? Look, I’m sorry about Loren. I’m sorry for a million things between us. But I cannot take Mason indefinitely.” Holly tried to hand Mason to Hannah, but she refused to look at her baby. Mason began to fuss and kick his legs.
“This is ridiculous,” Hannah said. “All our lives, you have done whatever you wanted to do, when you wanted to do it, and you left me to take care of everything else. Who was there to help Mom after Dad died? Who was there when Mom got sick? Where were you, Holly? You got off scot-free, didn’t you? So it’s really past time you pitched in and I need you to do it today. Will you please move away from the door?”
“You’re acting crazy!” Holly cried. “I have tried to help you—”
“It was always too little and too late!” Hannah said angrily.
“Right,” Holly said, just as angrily. “Like when I offered to have Mom come live with me in the end. I said, ‘Hannah, let her come here,’ but oh no, Saint Hannah had to take her into her home with her husband and her baby and just blew me off.”
Hannah’s eyes rounded. “Are you kidding? You offered to let Mom come live with you here, in this tiny studio apartment! Oh yeah, that would have worked.”
“I told you I would get a one-bedroom apartment! It might have not been a Tarrytown palace, but it was definitely doable!”
“Please! You knew the moment you said it that it would never happen. Why didn’t you offer to go live at the homestead with her? That would have worked!”
“Because of my work,” Holly said angrily. “I know, I know, it’s just songwriting, it’s just a coffeehouse, but it is my livelihood, and I have commitments, and I couldn’t conveniently forget them just to suit you! So if this is some sort of sick game of resentment you are playing right now, I am not going to engage.”