by Helen Conrad
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, looking from the water to the evergreens that rimmed the lake.
“Yes,” he answered softly. “It is.” But he was looking at her blue eyes, her silver hair, her full lips.
She turned and met his gaze. He smiled, and so did she, and for just a moment, his fingers locked with hers. And then he drew away.
They fished and laughed and ate sandwiches and got sunburns. Beth caught two small rainbow trout and threw them back to swim again. Jeremy caught a huge golden trout and Joe caught three good-sized rainbows. Carly didn’t catch anything.
“And I’m glad,” she claimed unconvincingly.
They all laughed at her. It was warm laughter, loving laughter, and it warmed her as nothing else ever had. She and Beth sang silly songs on the ride home and Joe and Jeremy made fun of them. All in all it was one of the most marvelous days Carly could remember ever having had.
They came back tired and happy and found Phyllis had retreated to her room again.
“Gone but not forgotten,” Joe murmured, looking about the empty house and the untouched kitchen with dishes from breakfast still in the sink. “Sorry, Carly. About everything.”
“Don’t be.” She smiled at him.
He smiled back, a long, lazy, slow smile that started at his eyes and looked like it might never end. She felt it curl around her and she wanted to touch him. But the kids were nearby and she didn’t dare.
“A successful day,” he murmured.
She nodded and grinned. “You’ve certainly done your manly duty and brought home the bacon,” she said.
He pretended to preen. “It’s a jungle out there,” he told her. “But a man’s gotta do—“
“What a man’s gotta do,” she joined in, laughing. “What a guy.”
They smiled into each other’s eyes as if it were something they just couldn’t stop doing. But they couldn’t stand there forever. Joe finally moved, gesturing toward the catch still out in the car.
“If I clean the fish, can you cook them?” Joe asked her at last.
She picked up a spatula and saluted with it. “Clean on, Macduff,” she said in her best Scottish accent.
“Right.” He turned to go out, but hesitated, and then touched her cheek with the flat of his hand. “I’ll be back,” he promised softly.
She nodded, feeling like a teenager with stars in her eyes, and watched him disappear through the door. Then she made a lunge for the cookbooks and searched madly in the indexes for trout.
Batters and doughs and parchment paper and marinades. Good Lord! Which recipe was the best to use?
“The simpler is always the better,” she muttered to herself. “‘Saute in butter.’ Sounds fabulous.”
And it was. It actually was. She cooked a delicious dinner, to her own quiet satisfaction. Strange but true—she was getting good at this sort of thing.
The mood of the day carried on through dinner. Even Jeremy told a joke. And when the food was all completely devoured, Carly shooed them all out to the den to watch television.
“You all just stay out here and out of my hair, and I’ll be able to get the dishes done much faster,” she told them, settling Jeremy with a coloring book. Beth was dancing in the middle of the room, singing a happy song, and Joe had turned on the news. Carly was just turning to go back to the kitchen when she heard a name that chilled her. She whipped her head around to catch the latest item being reeled across the screen.
“Congressman Mark Cameron has announced the disappearance of his fiancee, Carolyn Stevens...”
She stared at the screen, panic fluttering in her chest. They were showing a picture of her. Good grief, Mark, not the one from the Capitol ID card! She cringed, and at the same time rejoiced, because there was very little chance that anyone in California would connect the woman on the screen in the horn-rimmed glasses, her hair swept up into a fashionable twist and her face set in professional disdain, with Carly Stevens in her jeans and sneakers, with her silver hair blowing in the wind.
“The Congressman is offering a reward...”
A reward. Oh Mark, Mark, didn’t you get the messages on your answering machine? Or did I say something that made you think I was being held by Gypsies? A reward, for heaven’s sake.
She looked around the room at the others. Jeremy was lying on the floor with his coloring book and hadn’t even looked up. Joe was reading a weekly newsmagazine and had only glanced up a time or two, but his face showed no signs of recognition. Carly breathed a sigh of relief. They didn’t have a clue.
She turned to go back to the kitchen, and that was when she noticed Beth. Her eyes were very wide and she was staring up at Carly, her little mouth open in wonder.
Carly’s heart fell. She knew. There was no doubt about it. Beth had recognized her behind the glasses, beneath the complex hairdo. Her childish eyes saw right through the superficial to the simple meat of the matter. Carly had just been on TV. Beth was in awe.
Carly was struck dumb. What could she say to the child? Turning, she headed for the kitchen, buying time. But she could hear Beth’s footsteps right behind her. What was she going to say?
Before she had a chance to formulate anything at all, Beth’s little arms came around her legs, holding tightly. Carly stopped, took a deep breath, and looked down at the upturned face.
Beth’s gray eyes were full of questions. She stared up at this woman who had come to live with them and seemed to have another life somewhere else. “Did my mama leave so you could come?” she asked in a quivering voice. “Are you going to stay?”
“Oh Beth.” She dropped to her knees and put her arms around the girl. “Beth, Beth, I don’t belong here. I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t promise you anything like that.”
Beth’s lower lip began to wobble. “Don’t go, Carly,” she whispered, tears beginning to roll one right after another down her rounded cheeks. “Please don’t go like my mama did. I love you.’’
Carly closed her eyes and held the little girl to her, held her as she sobbed, and tried to wipe away her own tears without Beth seeing. There was nothing she could say that would take care of this.
Suddenly the interweaving of relationships was clear to her as it had never been before. Every move she made, every decision she took, had a bearing on what happened in other lives. She could never be completely free. Not as long as there was love in her life.
She carried Beth up to bed and tucked her in, telling her loving things and moving carefully to jokes, so that she left her with a tearstained face that was smiling.
On the stairs she hesitated. Her impulse was to go to Joe and talk with him about what had happened. Funny, this new urge to share with him, to see things through his eyes as well as her own. Because, of course, it was impossible. She thrust the impulse back into the dark shadows where it belonged and went on into the kitchen and began to do the dishes, working blindly, thinking about Beth.
“Want some help?”
She whirled to find Joe behind her, his eyes smiling. Help? Was that what he was offering?
She’d been hired to do this work. There was no reason he should help her. But something new was creeping into their relationship, and she had the urge to test it out.
She smiled back. “Sure,” she said, throwing him a dishrag. “The more the merrier.”
They started out in companionable silence, but by the time they’d finished, their teasing had them both laughing. Jeremy came into the room and sat at the table and watched them, not saying anything, but laughing softly at their silly antics. And when it was time to go to bed, Carly went with a glow that lasted until morning.
But in the morning, Joe was gone. He’d left a note.
“Sorry Carly. I need you to take charge. I won’t be back until tomorrow about dinner time. You can tell everyone I’ve gone to Los Angeles to see about some patent problems. I’ll be back though. Count on it.”
Los Angeles. Fat chance. She knew very well where he’d gone. To the mountains t
o guide the others to his mountain sanctuary, the place they were going to keep the mustangs. And that meant he was probably doing something that was violating the law at this very moment. She pulled her arms in tightly and hugged herself. How was she going to make it through the next day and a half?
All she could do was wait. Every moment seemed to last an hour and she was constantly looking at the telephone. Couldn’t he at least call? No, it seemed not.
Suddenly, Sheriff Glenn was at the door. She looked out and saw him and her heart flipped in her chest. What was he here for? Looking for Joe? Asking where he was? Or looking for the runaway Carolyn Stevens from Washington? It could be either—or both. A trembling started up in her hands and fingers. She only hoped the man didn’t notice. But that was his job, wasn’t it? He was trained to notice details like that. Oh well. There was nothing she could do to stop him from looking.
“Hello, Sheriff.”
“Hello pretty lady.” His eyes narrowed. “Sorry I can’t quite remember your name.”
Did that rule her runaway status out of the picture, then? Hardly. He could be toying with her. She had to be careful how she answered everything.
“Carly Stevens.”
“Of course. Well, if you’ll just tell Joe I’m here… .”
“Uh, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” So far, her voice sounded firm enough. No tell-tale tremors there. She lifted her chin and spoke even more clearly. “He’s not here.”
“I see.” His eyes sharpened. “Any idea where he is?”
“Uh…sure. He’s gone down to Los Angeles to take care of some patent problems with the avocados. At least, that’s what I thought he said before he left.”
“Patent problems. Right.” The sheriff gave her a skeptical look, then leaned closer, and suddenly he looked like he was just as wary of being overheard as she was. “Listen,” he said softly. “You tell Joe he’d better watch his step, okay? The new man the feds have sent in is a stickler for regulations. He’s got a burr under his saddle and he’s not going to rest until he brings in someone over this case of the missing mustangs. You got me? He’s trouble. And Joe has got to be careful. Okay?”
She looked up into his intense eyes and wondered if he was a friend or a foe. Hard to tell. And in cases like this, it seemed best to pretend to be oblivious.
“Sure, Sheriff Glenn. I’ll tell him just what you said. And knowing Joe, I’m sure he’ll do what’s best.”
“You think?” The man straightened and laughed. “Okay, Miss Carly Stevens. I’m going to hold you to that. And I’ll be back. Don’t think I won’t.”
With a salute, he was on his way and Carly started to breathe again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KEEPING PROMISES
The newspaper office was open at eight Monday morning, but she couldn’t make it before ten o’clock. The paper was a daily and once she got an idea of the mass of microfiche she was going to have to wade through, she nearly gave up.
But where else was she going to go to find the answers she needed? Besides, if she stayed at the house, she would just be biting her nails worrying about Joe. This was better. She plunged into the work with a sigh.
The morning had been hectic. Beth had clung to her, wanting to stay home with a stomach-ache that didn’t seem to affect the mountain of French toast she put away. Carly had packed her off anyway, despite the pleading eyes and pouting lower lip.
At the last minute, she’d dropped down to give her a hug. “Beth, darling, I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”
Beth had brightened a little and she and Jeremy had gone to the bus stop.
She watched them go, then went in to use her cell phone once more, dialing Mark’s number at a time she was sure of getting the machine.
“I saw the item on the news last night, Mark, and I’ve got two things to say. Number one, I am not your fiancée. And number two, I’m not missing. I know this has been rotten of me, leaving you in the dark like this. But I think you had better know that I’m getting involved in things here... so involved... I’m not sure when I’ll be back. It might be a long time.” She closed her eyes as she said the last, not sure herself what it meant. “So consider this a sort of goodbye, Mark,” she went on. “I don’t think you’d better count on me, personally or professionally.”
There. She’d done it. She’d cut the ties, destroyed her career. And she felt lighter than she’d felt in months.
What the heck. She could surely get a job in California doing the sort of work she’d done in Washington. Sacramento was full of politicians. She’d be able to find something there. Once she was finished here.
But what was she saying? Of course she was going back to Washington. That was where her real life was. This was just a... a... an interlude of sorts. Like a vacation. And a person always had to go back when the vacation was over, didn’t she?
Besides, there was this issue of her father and what had become of him. She had a full day ahead of her, slogging through tapes of tiny newspaper print that threatened to give her the headache to end all headaches. She spent two hours looking at pages and pages of articles that had nothing to do with anything, before breaking for lunch. An ice-cream cone at the corner soda shop revived her and she was back at work half an hour later.
It was drudgery, looking at the screen until her eyes ached. And then, suddenly, there it was—the picture of her with her family. Excitement shot through her. She’d almost lost faith that it had ever really existed.
The attached article was short. “Howard Stevens is known for running one of the best-stocked corner groceries in town. But starting Sunday, neighbors will know him by a new name: Preacher Stevens. He will be taking over duties at the New Bible Church on Fourth Street where he has filled in on occasion for Reverend Stuart for many years.”
There was a paragraph about his education and his experience, then a few lines about Carly and her mother. She skimmed it quickly, disappointment beginning to build. There was nothing here. And certainly no reason why Millie would have kept the picture.
And then her eyes fell on a familiar name in the last paragraph of the article. “Phyllis Carrington has volunteered to organize a choir for the little church. She will serve as choir director and plans a busy choral season.”
So she barely knew him, did she? Anger smoldered in Carly’s heart. Not that this was a big surprise. Still, she couldn’t understand why Phyllis would lie about it.
All in all, the article was a major disappointment. There had to be more somewhere. She was almost blind as it was, and at least she was keeping her mind off Joe. She might as well keep looking.
She came upon the article about him almost an hour later. And finally the piece on Millie as valedictorian. And that was it. A wasted day.
She got home the same time the children did. Their spontaneous energy brightened her mood. She served them cookies and listened to how their day had gone and packed them off to their rooms to get their homework out of the way. Then she brewed herself a cup of herbal tea and sat down to worry about Joe and how his trip was going—and to think over how her own day had gone.
She had to put some order into these jumbled bits and pieces of information she had. There was only one really new thing that she had learned today—and that was that Phyllis had been even more intimately connected with her father than she had admitted. But the original puzzle still remained. Why had Millie kept the picture?
She stared down into her tea leaves, waiting for inspiration. What did Millie know about her father? Why had she been interested in Carly and her family? And why didn’t she come right out and say so from the beginning?
But wait. She sat up straight and frowned.
Millie was connected to Phyllis. Phyllis was in her corner all the way. Phyllis wanted her for a daughter-in-law and, from all hints and anecdotes, had always wanted exactly that. So you might say Millie and Phyllis were very close. And she had just learned that Phyllis had organized the choir for her father’s church. Mi
llie admitted to having gone to her father’s church a time or two. Suppose it were more than that. Suppose Phyllis had brought Millie with her to be a part of the choir... Yes, Millie had said something about singing in a choir.
She went very cold, her breath coming in short gasps. There was something there-a question of timing, a question of opportunity, a question of coincidence—that she didn’t want to look at fully. It was horrifying, like a door behind which you knew a monster sat, and yet you had to go through it, and as you reached for the knob your fingers trembled and you couldn’t get a grip, couldn’t turn the knob.
She was almost grateful when Phyllis walked into the kitchen, her flowered pantsuit bright enough to light a small city.
“Well, there you are,” she said cheerfully, giving Carly a look but not really seeing her, or surely she would have noticed how agitated she was. “I was just about to start dinner.” She gave her a challenging glance.
Carly was in no mood to start competitive cooking at tins point. “Fine,” she said, forcing herself to be calm, to push aside the things she had been thinking about. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
She began gathering her cup and teapot together preparatory to leaving the room, but she paused when Phyllis came near and stood over her.
“I could tell you what you could do to help,” she said, her dark eyes flashing. “But I think you know what it is.”
Carly looked her straight in the eye. There was no longer any room for polite pretense.
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” she said bluntly.
Phyllis was just as honest. “That about sums it up.”
Carly sat back and took her mug of tea in two hands. Phyllis was not on her list of well-liked persons at the moment. She saw no reason why she should go out of her way to make life easy for the woman.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” she said slowly. “I don’t think the children want me to leave. And I don’t think Joe wants me to leave.”