by Tamie Dearen
Ash felt cool air on her cheeks and knew she must be crying, though she felt rather numb. “That’s when Mom left home?”
Donna’s chin trembled and her nostrils flared. “Mark and I came home for the funeral. Mandy was understandably upset, even though it was just a freak accident. But they gave Mandy some antidepressants, and she got addicted. The next thing I knew, Mom called us in Romania in a panic because Mandy left a note and disappeared. She took a huge wad of cash—Mom’s emergency stash—and didn’t use credit cards, so we couldn’t trace her.”
“Did you know about me?”
“We had no idea what was really going on in her life. You see, at least once a year, Mom got a letter from Mandy, but somehow she postmarked it from a different state every time, with no return address. She would brag about her life with her husband Randy, and their kids—a girl named Anna and a boy named Lee.” Donna paused, raising her eyebrows in question.
“It was just me. I didn’t have a brother.”
Donna’s lips pursed and she shook her head. With a sigh, she continued. “When the letters quit coming, we didn’t know what to think. But Mom never stopped hoping Mandy would come home. I think that’s why she left the house to her.”
“Now I have the house, and I’m really not part of the family, am I? Is that why you didn’t mention you knew who I was when I came over last week?”
She gasped. “That’s not how we feel at all. Your mother’s letters were filled with bitterness. She accused us of blaming her for Carl’s death, but I swear we didn’t.” Donna caught her gaze and held it, her brows knitted with an anxious expression. “Mark and I were afraid your mother had poisoned your mind about her family. But Ash, we were thrilled you moved here. We didn’t say anything for fear we would scare you off.”
“I just wish...” Ash swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut against the painful memories. “I wish I’d known about you and my grandmother when I was younger.”
“I’m so sorry we weren’t there for you when your mom died. How old were you?”
“It was a week before before my thirteenth birthday.”
An involuntary shudder rippled through her as vivid images flashed in her mind—images she’d repressed for years. Her mother’s body, cold and white in death, a used syringe on the bed beside her tracked arm. A burning incense stick filled the room with a pungent floral scent. Ash’s heart still raced any time she was assaulted with flowery aromas.
She remembered feeling anger—not shock or sadness, but fury. She screamed at her mother for dying. For breaking her promise to get Ash’s ears pierced for her birthday. For leaving her to deal with her death.
Ash didn’t even feel like she lost a mother. Her mom had always been weak, retreating to a drugged stupor every time a crisis came, obliging Ash to handle things on her own. She became adept at lying to cover for her mother’s habits. Usually, there was a man in the picture—a provider. Her mother referred to each one, in turn, as Ash’s father.
The day her mother died, however, they were at a shelter, having been kicked out of their latest home. What infuriated Ash most was the certainty that her mother had overdosed on purpose, too much of a coward to remain alive and face her problems.
“So you went through your teenage years without a mother.” Donna reached out, tentatively patting Ash on the arm, her eyes filled with sympathy.
Ash tried not to flinch, but she felt too dirty for her aunt to touch her. These people might be her relatives, but they were nothing like her. The only thing they had in common was DNA.
“Not a real mother.” Ash couldn’t really blame any of the foster mothers for her troubled teenage years. She’d been filled with rage and determined to reject every family before anyone rejected her, as she knew they would.
“Did your father remarry? If he did, I hope you had a good stepmother.”
“I never knew my father.”
Donna’s quick intake of breath signaled her shock. “You didn’t?”
Ash clamped her hands on her thighs in an effort to control the tumultuous emotions bubbling under a tight lid, threatening to explode. “Do you mind, if I don’t talk about it right now?”
“I don’t mind at all. You can take your time. Mark and I want to get to know you, and I’m sure the boys will, too.”
“I hope so.” Ash hoped her family would be content to know the new Ash Hendrix, rather than rehash the past life of Annalee Hendrix. Perhaps they wouldn’t be overly curious. “It’s kind of surreal to go from having no family to having an aunt and uncle and four cousins... five if I count Erin.”
Donna glanced at the clock on the wall. “The rest of the family will be here soon, and I can’t wait for them to find out about you. It’s been killing me to keep it a secret.”
I wish I felt the same way.
Ash dreaded facing her oldest cousin and admitting she’d hidden her true identity. The truth was no one had ever given up an entire day to make her feel special, and she repaid him with dishonesty.
“Adam may not be happy to hear the news. Right about now, I imagine he wishes I didn’t exist—that way his grandmother’s house would belong to him instead of me.”
Donna waved her hand as if her statement had no merit. “You don’t know Adam. My sons are all special, but Adam is singular.” Her head cocked to the side. “Did Erin tell you about the boys?”
“Yeah, she told me everything, even how Adam and Daniel turned out so different from one another. In fact, she’s the one who mentioned that Caroline Scott was Adam’s grandmother. That’s when I figured out we were... related.”
She almost said family, but Donna hadn’t heard her whole wretched history. When all the skeletons came out of the closet, the Walkers might decide to distance themselves. Ash had been rejected before, and she knew how to guard her heart. She wouldn’t get her hopes up, just to be dashed to the ground and trampled.
Donna chuckled. “You know, when we moved back here with the boys, Adam and Daniel were only seven years old, but you could already see the contrast between them. Daniel was always goofing off and Adam hardly ever cracked a smile. But that boy is fiercely loyal to his family.”
“I still feel awkward about having the house. It seems like it should’ve gone to Adam.”
“My mom remembered all the boys in her will. It’s like I told you, she wanted to use the house to reunite the family.”
“Only because she thought my mother was still alive.”
“No, she hoped your mother was still alive. I happen to know the will stipulated the property would go to her children if she was no longer living.”
Ash nodded. “That’s what the attorney told me. Still, I may let Adam choose the house colors. I don’t really care any more, and it seems important to him.”
“I’ll tell you something most people don’t know about Adam.” Donna leaned close, glancing toward the doorway to ensure their conversation was private. “When Adam was about ten years old, he told me one day he was going to live in that house and make it into a orphanage. Of course, he was just a kid, and he didn’t know we don’t really have orphanages here in the states like they do in Romania.”
“Does he still want to do that, since he’s grown up?”
“Maybe not an orphanage. But I think he would’ve already adopted a bunch of kids if he could’ve done it without being married. When Darla broke off the engagement, it really threw a wrench in his plans.” Donna patted Ash’s hand. “I just wanted you to know why he is the way he is. I think between his love for my mom and his lost hopes and dreams he’s just ultra sensitive. Don’t worry about Adam. He’ll come around... especially when he finds out you’re family.”
Ash’s eyes stung with tears, and she blinked fast to dry them. Adam was amazing! Unlike her, he wanted the house for selfless reasons. As much as Ash had a heart for kids, she’d never given thought to using her inheritance to help children. Her only goal had been to fulfill her dream of owning a restaurant. She didn’t deserve the house�
�Adam did. Would he be glad to learn she was his cousin, or would he feel even more resentful that she’d been chosen to inherit the house?
“Aunt Donna... Can I call you that?”
Her smile split her face. “I’d love that!”
“Aunt Donna, I’m worried what Adam will do when he finds out I knew I was his cousin and didn’t tell him.”
“Do you want to keep it between us a while longer? He doesn’t have to know right now.”
“No, he needs to know. But actually... could you do me a favor?”
As she edged closer and took Ash’s hands between hers, Donna’s mouth turned up in a sweet smile that crinkled the corners of her blue eyes. For a moment, she looked so much like Ash’s mother that a lump formed in her throat.
“I’ll be happy to do any favor for my niece,” Donna said.
“Would you mind telling the family... about who I really am?”
“I’d be honored to tell everyone. Should I make an announcement at dinner?”
“Sure. But if you don’t mind, I won’t stay. I’m feeling a little...” Gutless? Spineless? Lily-livered? Cowardly?
“Overwhelmed?” Donna suggested.
“Yes. Overwhelmed.”
ASH WAS HEADING TOWARD her car when Adam’s truck came barreling down the driveway, sliding to a stop and sending gravel flying, evoking vivid memories from her past. Her heart pounded and the sky seemed to fold together, smothering her. Eyes to the ground, she picked up her pace and made it to the car, but he was tapping on her window before she got the engine started. Facing the inevitable, she rolled the window down.
“Are you leaving, already?”
He leaned over, resting his arms on the windowsill. She kept her gaze straight ahead... anything to avoid those dark piercing eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t feel well. Upset stomach.” She put a hand on her tummy, which was certainly churning, now.
“You came out here awfully early, and now you’re going home. Kind of feels like you might be trying to avoid me.”
She mumbled under her breath, “Trying, but not succeeding.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ash, would you look at me, please?”
She looked. Big mistake. Despicably handsome, with a five-o’clock shadow dusting his face, his pleading eyes wore at her resistance.
“Talk to me, Ash.”
“I’ve already had a long talk with your mom, and she’s going to explain everything. I don’t want to go through it all again.”
“Go through all what again? Why can’t you just tell me? Why do I have to hear it from her?”
It was useless to protest. She might as well tell him face to face, and get it over with.
“Fine! Here it is... I’m your cousin. I’ve known about it since last Sunday, and I didn’t tell you.”
His jaw dropped as he stared, blinking as if he was trying to wake up from a dream.
“My cousin?”
“Your first cousin. My mother and your mother were sisters. Your grandmother left the house to my mom and she’s dead, so it went to me. Now I’m going to give it back to you, so will you let me go?” She started the car, anxious to get away before he started yelling.
Then his entire torso leaned inside the car window, reaching to turn off the ignition and snatch the keys.
“Hey!”
Her protest was met with an outstretched hand, beckoning to her. She followed the arm up to Adam’s face, his expression gentle and concerned, his fathomless eyes boring into her soul. The ache in her chest was unbearable.
Stop making me want what I can never have.
“Come talk to me.”
His voice was soft, but held no question—this was a command. She wanted to obey, but she knew it would only make the pain worse.
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Please, Ash. I need this.”
With that single word, he won the argument. She could never deny him something he needed. At least no smug expression mocked her as she took his hand and climbed out of the car.
She didn’t know how it happened. Had he pulled her or had she thrown herself against him? Somehow she was in his arms, tears streaming down her face, while his hand stroked her hair and soft soothing words whispered in her ear.
It felt so good she stopped fighting, relaxing in the protective cloak of his embrace. She shut out the voice inside her head, the one that reminded her this could never be real.
“MAGGIE, IT WAS A DISASTER!”
Ash had taken four ibuprofens, yet her head still throbbed.
“What happened? Your aunt and uncle got angry when you told them?”
“Not at all. Turns out Aunt Donna and Uncle Mark already knew about me. She was super sweet and encouraging. The problem was Adam.”
“You said he had a temper, right? I’m not surprised he got mad. It’s okay if he flew off the handle when you told him, since you were trying not to like him anyway.”
“Well that completely backfired.” Ash rubbed her temples. “When he found out I was his cousin, he wasn’t mad at all. He was nice—so nice I ended up spilling my guts. All about my past.”
“You told him everything?”
“Not everything—I never mentioned anyone abusing me. But I told him about the foster care and Mom’s drug overdose and meeting Lauren and my dream of becoming a chef and owning my own restaurant. ”
Maggie let out a low whistle. “For you to open up like that, it’s incredible.”
“I know! He was so worried about me, he didn’t even fuss about me inheriting the house. And he shushed me every time I brought up the idea of giving the house back to him.”
“He shushed you? And you didn’t sock him in the mouth?”
“Well, no.” Ash felt forced to defend him. “He shushed me in a tender way.”
“Ash, you’ve fallen for him even worse, haven’t you. You better come to New York and get married, like I suggested before.”
“I think we both know we can’t get married.” Ash closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to be in his arms. Though it was an innocent, brotherly act, her body’s response was anything but brotherly. “He made me feel cherished... special.”
“Oh my gosh! Did he kiss you? Are you kissing cousins now?”
“Shut up, Maggie! He didn’t kiss me.”
“But you wanted him to do it, didn’t you?”
Ash groaned, hating to admit the truth. “Yes, I did.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Nine
ON MONDAY, ADAM FOUND materials in his shop to fashion a scratching post for Lucky. He could hardly wait for the sun to rise Tuesday morning to deliver it. He’d even left Kujo at home, anticipating the opportunity to spend a little quality time with Ash. After a prolonged period of knocking, Ash’s door cracked open and her face appeared in the dim interior, hair askew and dark circles underscoring her squinting eyes.
“What’s wrong, Ash? Are you sick?” He fought the urge to scoop her up and drive her to the emergency room.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if the daylight hurt. “It’s just a migraine.”
“You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Her feeble attempt at a smile broke his heart. He pushed his way inside and set the scratching post against the wall. She stepped back, looking small and frail in her oversized sweatshirt and baggy flannel pants.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’ll be fine. I get them all the time, whenever I’m stressed.”
She shuffled toward the den, lit only by few tiny light beams escaping around the edge of the dark curtain. She climbed onto the couch and rested her head on a pillow, pulling a blanket up to her chin.
“How about a glass of water?”
She nodded.
“A cool rag for your face?”
She nodded again.
“Maybe some soft music?”
Her e
yes closed and a tear trickled out.
He fell to his knees beside her. “Ash? Why are you crying?”
Her chin trembled as she whispered, “You’re being so nice to me...”
“Of course I am.” He brushed her hair off her forehead. “I care about you.”
“Because I’m your cousin?”
“That’s right.” He replied with such conviction, he almost convinced himself. He was only doing what his mom had asked of him—treating her like family.
Glad he had taken a preventive dose of Benadryl, he fetched a glass of ice water from the kitchen with Lucky following at his feet. He supported Ash’s head while she sat up to take a sip, and Lucky leapt onto the couch, curling up in the corner and purring like a racecar.
“Thank you,” she whispered, flinching at the sound of her own voice, and he wondered if Lucky’s rumbling purr didn’t hurt her head, as well.
When he found only a pile of dirty hand-towels in the half-bath downstairs, he scrambled upstairs in search of a washcloth, feeling a little awkward poking around in her bathroom. In the back corner of the almost-empty linen cabinet he located a single washcloth. He spied an overflowing laundry basket in the corner, which he suspected was the reason for her sparse supply of towels and washcloths. He could take care of that issue, too—he certainly knew how to do laundry.
When he returned downstairs, Ash squinted at him through slitted eyelids.
“Here, I’ve got a damp cloth for your forehead.” He smoothed her hair off her face and laid the cool rag gently across her brow. He almost missed the shiver that went through her body. “Are you cold?”
“Uhmm... a little. But I’m okay. You don’t have to...”
Vaulting up the stairs, two-at-a-time, he ignored her protest. He entered her bedroom, trying to remain professional and not snoop through her personal belongings, though a dresser top covered with framed pictures beckoned him to come and browse. The blanket he sought lay across the foot of her bed, so he snatched it and left before he changed his mind and invaded her privacy.