by Lisa Jackson
“I think it would have been easier for me. For my mother.” He sat on the rail of the porch and stared up at her with eyes that had seen so many different things. “I left Dawson City and everyone thought I’d end up in jail.”
“Not everyone,” she said softly. The wind had died down and the air was still. From the hillside, a horse neighed softly. “I knew you’d do all right. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t expect you to be quite so—” she glanced at the Mercedes shining against the split-rail fence and gravel, sparkling like a diamond in the sand “—well, so L.A.”
“Neither did I.” He slanted her a smile that bordered on humility. “I just wanted out of this place. Away. I guess I had something to prove.”
“What was that?”
His grin faded and he rubbed his palms on the denim covering his thighs. “That I was good enough, I suppose. That even though I was raised poor, that I didn’t have a dad, I was as good as everyone else.”
“Of course you were,” she said. “Better.”
His hands stopped moving, and when he looked up at her again, his eyes searched hers as if looking for flaws, or a lie that he could uncover. “I . . .” He cleared his throat and sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
She stiffened. “You don’t owe me anything. We were just a couple of kids.”
“Were we?” He reached out, his strong fingers clasping over hers. “Then why did I get the feeling when I showed up here yesterday that you’d just as soon strangle me as talk to me?”
She blinked rapidly. “I want to—” The honesty in his eyes stopped her from lying, “Okay, I was hurt. I expected you to call, to write, to . . .” She let the sentence trail off. What was the point?
“To what?” he persisted, his voice suddenly louder. “Send for you?”
She lifted a shoulder and yanked her hand away. She didn’t need to be reminded of the power of his touch, the feel of his skin rough and warm against hers. “You just left me with nothing.”
“You were in high school.”
“So you acted like I was dead.”
“I didn’t have anything to offer you,” he said as he stood.
“Did I ask for anything?” Her throat was thickening, her stomach churning, and this was getting them both nowhere fast. “Look, let’s not talk about it now, okay? It’s over, we were a couple of kids experimenting with sex, and that’s that. Now, do you want to see the rest of the place?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the two porch steps and across the yard.
Her blood was pounding in her ears. What would he do if he knew that he was a father, that she didn’t even know the name of the parents who had adopted their son? What would he think? Would he blame her? But that was ridiculous. She hadn’t conceived the baby alone.
“This way.” She walked stiffly, her legs rigid, her insides feeling like jelly. Maybe she should tell him the truth now and get it over with; or maybe she should keep her secret forever.
The stable door creaked open and she flipped on the light. The smell of old leather, fresh hay and dust lingered in the air and the sounds of mice scurrying behind the oat barrels met their ears.
“No horses?” he asked, looking down the row of empty stalls.
“It’s summer—they’d rather be outside. They come in for food when I give them grain or hay, but they’re range horses, not hothouse flowers.” She showed him the room where she kept the tack and an emergency medical kit, then pointed out the water spigots, grain barrels and the interlocking system of stalls that led to the wide back doors, which were left open if any of the animals wanted to wander inside.
He didn’t say much, but observed it all. Dani walked in front of him and felt the weight of his gaze, knew that he was staring at her.
“We can go this way,” she said, leading him outside. The moon, climbing in the sky, was about half-full and shedding enough light to wash the roof of the stables in a soft, silvery light. “The pump house is on the other side of the garage, there’s a shed for the large equipment, and then there’s the windmill and an old chicken coop, where we store some barbed wire and metal posts for any fence that needs to be fixed. The cattle are rarely in the barn, but we have hay in the loft and park the extra tractor on the ground floor. Other than that, you’ve seen the place.”
He seemed larger in the darkness, and she talked fast, to make sure there weren’t any lapses in the conversation. As the wind picked up, catching in her hair, they walked back to his Mercedes. “I won’t need much space, just the house, some room in the garage and storage shed.”
“The lease gives you access to some of the acreage.”
“I know. Don’t need it.” Leaning his hips against a glossy fender, he said, “It’s funny, kind of. When I left here, I thought I’d never look back. Couldn’t wait to get to California. And here I am.”
She couldn’t help asking, “What was in L.A.?”
“Opportunities. Millions of them.”
“You liked it.”
“At first. I started working on projects as an apprentice carpenter, learned the business, took some night classes and spent as much time as I could on the beach. Even learned to surf though I never got very good at it.” His smile was self-deprecating, a cynical slash of white in the warm night. “Yep, thought I was gonna live the Southern California dream. At first it looked that way. I saved as much money as I could, worked overtime any chance I got, eventually caught a couple of breaks and had the chance to buy into a construction company that was in trouble. That’s when I quit surfing—quit everything. Once I was in business for myself, I worked twice as hard and started remodeling houses I bought, then turned around and sold for a tidy profit. One thing led to another. The company grew, expanding into commercial properties. When the market started to turn sour, I bailed out of California.”
“So here you are.”
“Back where I started.”
“Still ride a motorcycle?”
He let out a harsh breath. “I did until I laid it down.”
“You—what?”
“Wrecked. First time. I was going too fast, took a corner and there was a semi parked in the middle of the road. I tried to stop, couldn’t, swerved and hit gravel. The bike slipped out from under me and we skidded a long ways.” He made a sound of deprecation in the back of his throat. “Have the scars to prove it. But I still have the bike.”
“You ride it?”
“Nope. It’s just there to remind me how close I came to meeting Saint Peter.” Glancing at his watch, he scowled. “I’d better shove off.” His gaze centered for a second on her lips and Dani didn’t dare move. She watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed then bit his lip. For a breathless second, she was certain he was going to kiss her, and damn it, she would have let him. Then he turned quickly away, unlocked his car and climbed inside.
“See ya,” he said as the engine turned over.
“Right.” Heart in her throat, Dani shoved her hands into her pockets and stared after the car until its taillights disappeared down the lane.
* * *
“So how do you know this guy?” Skye, eight months pregnant, poured them each a cup of coffee. Though she’d gained nearly thirty pounds, Skye was tall and carried the baby back far enough that she didn’t look ungainly. Since she was happier than she’d ever been in her life, she fairly glowed. For so many years, Skye had been convinced that she couldn’t conceive and now it was only a matter of weeks before she would become a mother. Her blond hair was swept into a haphazard bun at the top of her head, and even without makeup and what she described as a “hellish night’s sleep,” she looked simply radiant.
The back door was open and the sun streamed through the house that Max, Skye and oftentimes Hillary shared. Their dog, Atlas, a Border collie, lay on the top step, eyeing the lane and whining when he caught sight of a squirrel in a nearby thicket of trees.
Skye carried a tray with two cups and a small pitcher of cream to the table where Dani was seated, waiting
for Hillary to don riding gear for their lesson. “You didn’t answer me. Max said you knew the guy who rented your house—Brandon something or other.”
“Scarlotti.”
“A hotshot developer from California.”
“But he lived here a long time ago,” Dani said, not wanting to divulge too much. She’d never confided in Skye about her baby’s father and wasn’t about to start now—not until she told Brandon. If she ever did. “I met him in high school.” She poured cream into her cup. Watching the clouds roll upward in her coffee, she avoided Skye’s penetrating stare and pretended interest in her sister’s notoriously weak, decaffeinated brew.
“Max said you turned white as a sheet when you saw him.” Obviously Skye wasn’t going to give up.
“Max’s imagination was working overtime.”
Skye settled her considerable bulk into a chair. “Not usually.”
Dani sighed and blew across her coffee cup. Leaning back in her chair, she said, “Brand lived in Dawson City and we hung out with the same crowd for a while.”
“So how come I never heard about him?”
“You were in college.”
Skye’s brows pulled together in a small pout as if she had a question on the tip of her tongue but didn’t quite know how to ask it.
Dani didn’t help her out. “Anyway, Brandon took off for California and none of us who stayed around here ever saw or heard from him again. His mom remarried and moved away, just came back a few years ago.”
“You’ve never said a word about him.”
“Why would I?” Dani tried to sound nonchalant. “He was in trouble a lot back then and Mom heard about him from a friend she had in Dawson City—” She snapped her fingers trying to remember the busybody’s name. “You know who I’m talking about. Betty or Beth . . . no . . . that’s not right. Bess something or other.”
“Jamison?”
“Bess Jamison. Right. Anyway, Bess was kind of a gossip and she filled Mom’s head with all sorts of stories about the Scarlottis. Especially Brandon. Some were true, some weren’t, but Mom didn’t think it was a good idea that I be anywhere near him.”
“Mom was worried about you.”
“I know,” Dani said, biting on her lower lip. Should she tell Skye about the baby—that she was trying to locate her son? Surely her sister who had wanted a child for so many years would understand her need to know that he was okay. Or would she?
“Oh!” Skye chuckled, her attention diverted. “This one—” she pointed a long finger at her protruding belly “—is going to be a live wire. He’s kicking all the time.”
“He?”
“Well, I’d like to think it’s a girl, but Max would like a boy and . . . oh, we’ll be happy with whatever it is.” Her eyes positively shone. Skye, though a doctor, seemed to believe that a miracle had happened when she’d conceived. Smiling slightly, she rubbed her abdomen as if caressing her child.
Dani’s throat grew tight. It was ironic, she thought. For years, Skye, who knew about Dani’s pregnancy, had envied her the ability to have children, and now the tables were turned.
“Ready?” Hillary clumped noisily down the stairs. She was wearing new jeans, little boots and a rawhide vest decorated with tooled silver disks.
“You spoil her,” Dani mouthed.
“Can’t help it.” Skye’s attention was on her dimpled stepdaughter.
Hillary’s springy curls had been clamped back in a ponytail, the sides fastened by pink barrettes. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy.
“Oh, honey, you look beautiful.”
Hillary’s face broke into a smile. “Do I?”
“Mmmm.”
Hillary faced Dani, eyebrows aloft, silently asking her opinion.
“Yes,” Dani agreed. “Definitely beautiful.”
With a giggle, Hillary twirled on her tiptoes, her arms spread wide. “Daddy thinks I dress too fussy.”
“Oh, what does he know?” With a wink, Skye ruffled Hillary’s hair and a few wild curls sprang from their bonds.
“You tell Skye that your dad knows everything,” Max said, sauntering into the room. With a smile for his daughter and a glance that fairly sizzled for his wife, he picked up Hillary and nuzzled her little neck. “Now you remember, if anyone ever asks, Daddy knows everything.”
“Save me,” Skye said. “Coffee?” She started to stand, but he waved her back to her chair.
“I’ll get it.” As he poured a cup and balanced Hillary on one hip, he asked, “What’s this, another riding lesson?”
Hillary nodded. “Dani’s gonna show me how to jump today.”
“Jump?” Max eyed his sister-in-law. “Jump what?”
“I brought some things,” Dani replied. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m a good rider, Daddy.”
“’Course you are.” He kissed her cheek as she squirmed to the ground. “But you still have to be careful.”
“Let’s go!” With a clatter of new boots, Hillary was out the back door. Atlas bounded to his feet and woofed before chasing after her.
Finishing her coffee, Dani stretched out of her chair. Some of her muscles were still sore from all the lifting and packing she’d done the day before. “Duty calls. I’ll have her back in a couple of hours.” As she placed her cup on the table, Skye’s hand covered hers.
“Is there something you’re not telling me about Brandon?” she asked softly.
Dani could barely breathe. The room seemed to spin a little. Max pretended interest in his coffee cup. She swallowed back denial. “You want to know if he was the one.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Max shifted, still avoiding her eyes, but Skye’s fingers tightened over her sister’s wrist. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“I know.” Dani’s throat worked. Skye was and always had been good to her, though years ago when they were both teenagers and Skye had sailed through school on a cloud of popularity, Dani hadn’t known how much Skye had cared for her. “Look, I gotta go—”
“If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
Dani blinked back her tears and glanced pointedly at Skye’s protruding abdomen. “You have enough to worry about,” she said.
“I always have time for you.”
“Tell me that when the baby’s here, you haven’t had two hours’ stretch of sleep in weeks, and some doctor at the clinic wants you to fill in for him.”
Skye laughed. “You paint a wicked picture.”
The horn of Dani’s truck blasted. “I think your daughter’s calling,” she said and raced outside. Hillary was frowning, pounding impatiently on the horn and Atlas was jumping and barking at the commotion. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Dani said as she slid behind the wheel and jammed a key into the ignition.
“You’re late!”
“And you’re precocious.”
Hillary’s little nose wrinkled distastefully. “What’s that mean?”
Letting out the clutch, Dani eased the truck backward, then shoved it into first. “It means that someone should tell you no once in a while.”
Hillary crossed her chubby arms over her chest. “Daddy does all the time.”
“Sure.” Dani didn’t believe it. Max positively doted on his only little girl. It was a good thing Hillary was going to have a little brother or sister to vie for her father’s attention, otherwise she’d soon be impossible to live with. Whenever she stayed with Max, she was spoiled mercilessly, though, Dani suspected, when she was at her mother’s place, Hillary had to battle for attention. With her other children, Colleen Wheeler didn’t have a lot of time for her firstborn. Max, on the other hand, had been singularly devoted to his daughter, spoiling her without a second’s regret. Ever since the fire in the McKee stables, when he’d nearly lost Hillary, Max had decided that she could do no wrong. Dani felt he needed another child just to balance things out a bit.
“So are you ready to do some jumps today?” Dani asked as the truck bounded down the lane. “Hey—put on yo
ur seat belt.”
Hillary shot her a glance but buckled up. “Jumps on Cambridge?”
“He’s your horse.” Dani turned onto the main road that curved around the McKee ranch.
“I know. Daddy gave him to me. I like him a lot, but he’s kinda lazy. I think for jumps I should ride Hellcat.”
“Oh, right,” Dani said, unable to hide her sarcasm. Hellcat, as his name suggested, was a feisty three-year-old bay gelding with a mean temper that Max sometimes rode. “I don’t think so.”
“Please, Aunt Dani?”
“Not today, pumpkin.”
“Please, please, please.” Hillary’s begging was hard to resist, but resist she did.
“No way. Now, if you don’t stop this, we won’t have a lesson at all.”
Hillary’s lower lip protruded into a well-practiced pout. “You’re mean.”
“Not as mean as Hellcat,” Dani muttered and was grateful the argument was over. She turned into the long, tree-lined drive of the Rocking M, the McKee ranch where Max’s mother and grandmother still lived. The house was a sprawling, single-storied building with a wide porch. Across the yard were several outbuildings, including newly constructed stables to replace the ones that had burned nearly a year ago. Painted a gleaming white, the building was a harsh reminder of the trauma they’d all gone through.
Hillary unbuckled her seat belt, scrambled out of the truck as soon as it was parked and raced straight for the stables. If nothing else, the little girl was eager. Dani wondered about her own boy again. So far she hadn’t heard a word from Sloan about locating him, but the wheels were in motion.
It was only a matter of time.
Then what? she wondered as she followed her niece. Her heart tore a little. Her son was too young to understand about giving up a baby for adoption, about unplanned pregnancies, about lying awake nights and wondering about him, hoping he was all right, wishing he was with her. She’d have to wait. Years. And in the meantime, she’d have to find a way to tell his father the truth.
“God help me,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT