by Helen Conrad
“Me?” Millie’s face paled. “No, why would I know?”
Carly shrugged, gazing at her. Millie seemed strangely interested in this line of thought. But even as she was thinking that, Millie’s attention focused on something else. She was looking at Carly, and her eyes changed.
“What’s this?” Reaching out, she took another piece of hay from Carly’s hair. “Your hair is full of straw.” Millie looked at Joe questioningly, the array of exotic possibilities that flowed through her mind showing clearly in her bright eyes.
“I fell in the barn,” Carly said quickly, feeling foolish. She certainly didn’t want to get in the way of whatever budding romance was being nurtured here. She fluffed her hair, trying to get rid of the rest of the evidence, but she felt uncomfortable and decided it was time to leave these two alone. “I’ve got things to do at the house. I guess I’ll go on back. It was nice to meet you, Millie.”
The woman stuck out a hand again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other,” Millie said quietly. “Goodbye.”
She and Joe stood and watched as Carly headed back toward the house.
“She’s very pretty,” Millie said softly.
Joe shrugged. “She can’t cook much and doesn’t know a thing about kids,” he said gruffly. “But she’s trying hard.”
Millie nodded.
Joe looked at her more sharply. “What’s all this interest in her father?’’ he asked.
Millie looked up at him. “You don’t remember Howard Stevens?” she countered.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Millie smiled, reaching out to touch his arm with quick affection. “Good,” she said. “The man is long-gone. If his daughter hadn’t shown up like this, I doubt if anyone would have thought about him again.”
But something in her eyes told Joe that wasn’t true. He frowned, watching her. They’d been friends since childhood, closer now than ever. But he never had understood her.
But then, who understood women? It was best to keep relations cordial and give them a wide berth. At least, that was what had always worked with him. The one time he had tried to get close, tried to develop something more committed, he’d had it thrown right back in his face. He was never going to get caught in that trap again.
Carly cleaned and straightened and tried to get Jeremy to open up a little, sitting beside him as he worked on puzzles on the play table. No luck there. Jeremy answered politely most of the time, but his answers consisted of nods and uh-huhs more often than not.
“Want a snack?” she asked at last.
He looked up at her with a cool and cynical gaze for one so young. “No thanks. I’m going to take a nap.”
She looked at him with concern. “Oh, is your head bothering you?”
“No.” He got up and walked toward the door of the room. “Goodbye.”
She watched as he headed for the stairs and his room, then retreated to the kitchen, a less frustrating place where there was always something to clean.
She’d been emptying out the vegetable bin in the refrigerator when Millie came in for a drink of water.
“Oh, hi.” She was a little startled, wondering why the woman was still here.
“I’m putting in some flowers,” Millie explained, pointing with laughter to the dirty knees of her slacks. “I’ve been promising Joe I was going to give him petunias for a long time, and I thought today would be a good day to get them started.”
Carly nodded. They both knew why she’d chosen today. There was no need to pretend otherwise.
“Joe says you’re fitting in fine,” she said, sipping slowly at her water and watching Carly over the rim of the glass. “I’m glad. Those children need someone.”
It was a friendly comment, a concerned comment, from a close friend of the family, and yet something about it still put Carly’s back up a little. “Do you have children of your own?” she asked quickly, to mask her reaction.
“Yes. Trevor is my son.”
“Trevor.” The teenage boy they’d seen in town the day before. “You seem so young.” She stopped, wondering if she’d been tactless.
But Millie was smiling. “So young to have such a big boy? I am.” She laughed. “I had him when I was much too young.” The laughter faded and her eyes became serious. “But I’ll never regret it,” she said softly. “He’s the best thing in my life.”
Without being told, Carly could imagine what Millie Gordon had gone through, becoming a mother when she was still almost a child herself, losing out on school, missing proms and graduations, forgoing college, growing up too fast. Even if she married the boy’s father, all those things would probably have happened. And if she didn’t marry him—there was the shame, the need to provide for two young lives, the constant responsibility, the exhaustion. And yet she loved her son, treasured him. Carly’s heart went out to her.
“He... he looks like a very nice boy.”
Millie smiled. “He is.” Her face changed. “But so are Joe’s two. Beth is a dear. How are you getting along with Jeremy?”
“All right. He’s not a very outgoing child.”
“No. He takes a lot of work to get to know. But it’s worth the effort.” She hesitated, and when she asked the next question, Carly had the feeling they had finally arrived at the reason she’d come into the house after all.
“Have you met Phyllis?”
“Phyllis?”
“Joe’s mother.”
“Oh. No, I haven’t. But I have met Nurse Hannah.”
Millie laughed. “She’s a pale imitation, believe me! Once you’ve met Phyllis, you’ll see what I mean.”
Carly smiled. “Is she very ill?” she asked.
“Who? Phyllis?” Millie paused, considering. “That’s probably the mystery of the ages around here. Nobody knows for sure what is wrong with Phyllis, and Nurse Hannah isn’t saying.”
“Joe must know.”
Millie shrugged. “Maybe.” Her grin was quick and friendly. “But if so, he’s not saying either.”
“Oh. I see.” Actually, she didn’t see at all, but she wasn’t sure how far she should go with this private family matter. Millie was very nice, but Carly had a feeling she was confiding a little more than was natural for her. Why was that? She seemed to want very badly to be friends, and Carly was too experienced to think it was just because of her own pleasant face. Millie wanted something. But what?
Millie’s dark eyes became serious. “When you do meet Phyllis, you’ll find...well, she’s not an easy woman. And she’s liable to say things that might surprise you. Don’t pay any attention to the things she says. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask me anything.” She smiled and put down her glass. “I’d better get back to the petunias before the roots dry out. Thanks.” And she was gone.
Carly stared after her, wondering what on earth that little outburst had been all about. Millie was obviously worried that Phyllis would say something to Carly that she didn’t want Carly to hear—and didn’t want her to believe, if she did hear it. But Carly was just a stranger here, just passing through. What did Millie care about what she was told by Joe’s mother? It was very odd.
Carly turned toward the stairway that led to the green door. She was tempted to pay a visit to the mysterious Phyllis. But she wouldn’t do so without talking with Joe first.
In the meantime, she had to make a decision. Should she stay or should she go? Looking out the window, she could see Millie taking flats of petunias out of the trunk of her car. And out toward the barn, there was Joe, riding off on the tractor he was testing out. She could walk away from this scene and never look back. But something told her that if she did so there would be things she would leave behind that she wouldn’t be able to get out of her mind for a long, long time. Good grief—another set of things to think about—as if she hadn’t set herself up with a whole agenda of problems to begin with. Half laughing, she pulled off her apron and threw it on the counter. She was going to go out into the
orchards and have that long, lonely communion with Mother Nature that she’d been looking forward to since she’d arrived yesterday. She was going to think about Mark—remember Mark? she reminded herself mockingly. He was the reason she was here. And if she’d come to think through her relationship with the man, she could at least give him a moment or two of her time.
She checked on Jeremy. He was sound asleep on his bed, his face angelic. Then she went down the stairs and out the side door from the family room, so that she wouldn’t have to explain herself to the others, and headed for the trees. The scent of the orange blossoms buoyed her spirits. Yes, she would be able to think out here.
Joe resisted the impulse to kick the tractor. Instead, he slid down from the seat and began to trudge back toward the house. The damned thing was damaged worse than he’d thought. He was going to have to tow it in to his mechanic.
The flash of something bright caught his eye and he turned in time to see a woman coming around the stand of cottonwoods, heading for the orchards.
For one soul-searing second he thought it was Ellen.
It wasn’t Ellen. Carly looked nothing like Ellen. Thank God.
“Hey!” he called to her. “Where are you going?”
She spun, startled, and spotted him. “Oh! It’s you.” She glanced into the rich green rows of trees. “I’m going out to do some thinking.”
“Ah. You want to be alone.” But he kept walking toward her. “Scheduling a little time to search for your true identity?”
She watched him coming closer, one hand on her hip and a wary look on her face. “I know who I am. I just don’t know where I’m going.”
He stopped a few feet away, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his ancient jeans, head to the side as he gazed at her. “I can tell,” he said softly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here with me.” He’d meant to say “us”; he could swear he had. But it came out “me” and he wished he could recall the word. Her being here was nothing personal and he knew it. There was no need to let it turn into something it was never meant to be.
But it was too late. The word had been spoken, and her eyes were filled with surprise and apprehension. “I...uh...I have to go.”
He swore softly, kicking at the dirt with his boot and laughing at himself, the situation, life in general. “Hey, don’t worry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded. We’ve got our deal. I mean to stick by it.”
“Good.” She relaxed a little. “Are there any workmen in the groves?” she asked. “I was hoping to find someplace very private.”
“Trevor has a day off of school today and he’s out along the access road, digging some channel out for new irrigation pipes. Other than that, you should have the place to yourself.”
“Great.” She favored him with the ghost of a smile. “I guess I’ll get going then.”
She turned toward the trees, looking young and fresh with the sunshine in her hair. He couldn’t help but smile. “Not scared of those coyotes anymore?” he asked, as much to make her turn back and look at him one more time as anything else.
“Not in the daylight.” She waved and he watched as she disappeared among the greenery.
He swore again, softly, obscenely, but it didn’t make him feel any better. This had to stop. Sure, she was pretty and attractive and even interesting—and he was a normal, healthy male with natural urges. But that didn’t mean he had to walk off a cliff into disaster. He’d done that before and found himself drowning in heartbreak. He wasn’t going to let himself in for that sort of misery again.
“Go find yourself, Carly Stevens,” he said aloud to the empty air. “And leave me alone.”
Turning on his heel, he began striding quickly back toward the house.
CHAPTER SIX
SEARCHING FOR FATHERS
If this was going to work, the man was going to have to stop being so darn provocative. Taking a deep breath, Carly tried to cleanse her mind of Joe and his dark eyes, but it was a struggle. She was here to think about Mark. Mark!
Walking faster and faster, she lost herself among the trees, reaching out to catch hold of a crisp leaf as she passed, crushing it in her hand and inhaling the fragrance.
It wasn’t fair, of course. Joe was here in the flesh, as it were, someone she had to deal with in the here and now, and Mark was in danger of becoming a memory from the past. That was the only reason Joe seemed to blot Mark out the way he did. If they were both here with her, it would be a completely different story. Mark. What was he doing now? Had he read her note over a hundred times, trying to figure out why she’d run? He’d never be able to dig up the reasons because, to tell the truth, she was pretty fuzzy on them herself.
Why had she come all this way? And why here, to Destiny again? The reasons were more emotional impulse than any thought-out strategy. She’d had a feeling growing in her for weeks, months, and finally, when Mark had asked her to think about planning a future for the two of them, she’d realized she would have to confront her inner needs and get straight just exactly what she did want to do with her life.
She knew she’d been gliding for years, sailing along as though there were a purpose to her days, some goal she was after, when actually there was nothing but the constant need to have a place to go in the morning. It had been a nice ride. She’d learned a lot. The world at large saw her as an ambitious woman who worked hard, did well, moved up quickly. What they didn’t know was that her work ethic had as much to do with her reluctance to go home to an empty apartment as it did with anything else.
Did Mark see the truth? She doubted it. They had been going together for almost a year, and they did well together. They liked the same things, enjoyed the same jokes, looked good in public. She might even be in love with him—at least as close to it as she’d ever been with any man. But what did he really know about her? What did she really know about him?
When he’d popped the big question, she’d felt as though someone had suddenly dashed cold water on her face and told her it was time to grow up. Suddenly she was being asked to consider a real if long-overdue step into honest-to-God commitment. She had to affirm an actual goal, announce where her life was headed. She had worked for Mark for quite some time, respected him and had a lot of affection for him. But was it love? Instead of jumping at his offer, she’d been torn, confused, not sure where to turn for advice. Her instincts had told her to go home. And since her mother’s death had taken away that refuge, the only home she could think of was Destiny, the country town that existed like a haven in her memories.
This was where her childhood lay, where she had lived happily before her mother had snatched her up and taken her off, away from her father. And so she had left a letter for Mark, begging for his patience, closed up her apartment, and come “home” to think, to get her feet firmly on the ground and decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
She hadn’t counted on Doris, the only relative she’d kept any kind of contact with, being unable to put her up. She also hadn’t counted on being thrust into the middle of a family going through its own sort of turmoil.
But that wasn’t really accurate. The turmoil had a lot more to do with how she reacted to Joe than anything going on within the family structure itself. At least, she thought it did.
But to get back to Mark. He was a good man, a good politician, which was a trick not easy to pull off. If she married him, she would be caught up in the exciting center-stage of world events for a long, long time. She’d lived on the fringes of that world. She knew what it was like. Was it really what she wanted?
Coming to Destiny was supposed to bring all this into perspective for her, but it would probably take a little time. She took another deep breath, breathing in the ambience along with the citrus scent, and then she saw Trevor through the trees, a spade in his hand, working on a trench in the red earth.
The feeling of relief that swept over her when she realized she would have an excuse to stop thinking about her problems almost made her feel guilty.
She didn’t waste time mulling that over. Instead, she stepped forward and called out a greeting to the boy.
He swung around and stared at her as she came charging out of the undergrowth.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “You’re Trevor, aren’t you?”
He nodded, leaning against the handle of his shovel, his dark eyes keen with interest.
“I’m Carly Stevens.”
“I know.”
He was a good-looking boy, tall, with wide shoulders and blond hair neatly cut. She liked him, liked the look in his face, liked the way a shy smile was beginning to curl the edges of his mouth.
“You look like your mother,” she said.
His face changed and the smile disappeared. “No, my mom has blue eyes. I think I take after...” His voice trailed off and he looked worried.
She waited a moment, but he didn’t go on. Surely he’d been about to say he took after his father. What had stopped him? She came closer and tried to read his mind from the expression on his face.
“Does your father have dark eyes?” she prompted.
He turned away and thrust the shovel into the dirt, hard, stared at it for a moment, then looked back at her. “My mother never told me who my father is,” he said at last, his voice even, his gaze steady.
“Oh.” Whoops. What could she say now? She should have realized that this might be the case. After all, Millie had been so young when she’d had Trevor. Obviously, the father of the baby hadn’t stuck around to see things through. When would she learn to curb her tongue? Groping through her creative resources, she tried to think of a way to change the subject, fast, but her next comment didn’t quite fill the bill.
“It’s hard growing up without your father.” She winced, but since she’d started on this road, she had to go on. “I know a little bit about that. I lived in town when I was young, but when I was ten, my mother took me away. I never saw my father again.”
Trevor nodded solemnly. “So you came back to find him?”