by Angel Smits
Harley pointed out sights and animals along the way, explaining the lay of the land with an intensity that reminded Jason of his brother Wyatt and his passion for his own land. A herd of deer fascinated Lauren until something spooked them, and as one, they bounded away and disappeared over the next ridge.
The cabin, this land, sat smack in the middle of prime, high-country land. Jason realized how undervalued the place must be. The lack of utilities, and a road to the property, were primary reasons. He could see where a man could get lost up here—and Pal and Rachel had done just that, for a while, anyway.
He almost envied them. Looking over at Lauren, he’d love to have that with her.
The sun was high in the sky now, and Jason knew they had to be close. They reached the top of the next ridge, and Harley pulled his mount to a halt. He waited for them to catch up, and Jason saw why as he pulled up beside him. The view was phenomenal. He turned to watch the wonder spread over Lauren’s face when she saw it.
There, on the opposite side of a wide, high meadow, nestled against the thick arms of the pines, sat the cabin. The old Polaroid hadn’t begun to do it justice. Harley was right—no one would have ever found this place without knowing it was here.
Time stopped as they sat there, looking, enjoying. The scent of sage, pine and cool air filled his lungs and filtered through his body and mind. It smelled right, like belonging and welcome home. Sweet and wild.
Lauren took her own deep breath, and they shared a glance. She pulled forward, anxious, he could tell, to be there.
If she’d been a more experienced rider, he’d have challenged her to a race across the field. He wanted to take off and run, let the horse have a bit of freedom, but it would be a while before she could do that. He was assuming by the smile on her face that she liked the ride. Wait until she got down. Though they’d taken several breaks, she wasn’t used to riding like this.
As they moved across the field, the sun played in her hair, and she looked as at home on a horse as she did on a stage.
Yeah, he could stay here with her for a very long time.
* * *
DREAMS DIDN’T COME TRUE. Lauren knew that, but she had to keep reminding herself of it.
The warm sunshine had cooled the higher they’d climbed, and the air had grown thinner the deeper they moved into the wilderness. Jason sat on the dark horse as if he rode every day, which he had as a kid. A faint trail led them through the stands of pine and aspen. Mottled sunlight fell through the branches, across the breadth of Jason’s shoulders. Lauren didn’t want to look away, but she needed to focus on riding.
The bright sunshine in the field had caressed him, and she’d finally given in and watched him. She let the mare follow the others, the reins warm in her hands. The scents of the forest, horse and leather seemed so natural and comforting. She actually felt like she was getting the hang of this.
Harley led them to an old-fashioned hitching post at the base of the cabin’s steps. “You folks go on in.” With a grin, he tossed her a set of keys. “There’s a stable out back. I’ll get these guys settled in.”
Once Harley was gone, Jason joined her on the front porch. “Ready?” he asked.
Lauren frowned. Was she? What was on the other side of that door? The past? Memories? She was strong, she knew that. She’d been on her own, alone in her silent world since her mother’s death. Yes, she’d been housed in foster homes, but she’d lived only with herself. With only herself to go with her each time they moved her.
Her belongings from her mother—her clothes, the little pink princess suitcase, the toys, the books, all of them had vanished at some point. Either by falling apart, being replaced or being forgotten.
Nothing, and no one, had been with her through it all.
She didn’t need anyone. Or anything.
But today... Today Jason was here, standing behind her. He’d become her friend, and so much more. Today, she needed him to be the something more.
Slowly, she touched the rough-hewn wood of the front door. The hand that she prided herself on being steady and strong, trembled as she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The room was exactly like what had flashed in her mind. Exactly as she remembered when she’d found the picture in the file.
She’d been here before, but the memories had been blocked for some reason. Had something horrible happened here that she couldn’t remember? She shook her head and forced herself to step through. Oddly, her fingers didn’t move. Her thoughts and words stilled.
The wood had been polished to a high gleam when she’d been here before. A thin layer of dust now coated everything. She’d been a child, and the angle was different now that she was nearly two feet taller.
Frowning, she turned her head from side to side, drinking in the sight of the huge stone fireplace whose chimney shot up and through the log roof overhead. An antique deer-antler chandelier hung from a thick black chain, the chain now wrapped in white cobwebs with strands that shot out to bounce off the tips of some of the antlers.
She felt the stamp of a footstep vibrate through the wood and she glanced back at Jason as he came up behind her. She saw his brow knit and his lips pucker in a silent whistle as he glanced around. For a brief second, he captured her gaze. She’d never heard the sound of a whistle, though she’d read descriptions of it in a book. She cocked her head, lost in her wonder.
Why did he make her do that? Why did he, of all things and all people, make her want more of the world? She’d learned in foster care not to expect too much. Wanting only led to disappointment.
She shook her head and tore her gaze from him. She had more to look at here, more to think about.
The great room encompassed the living room, dining area with high ladder-back chairs at a dusty table, and a small kitchen. Old appliances, white and chrome, looked out of place in the rustic kitchen.
Lauren’s mind filled, memories falling over her, nearly overwhelming her. Blue gingham curtains, wafting in the breeze from an open window slammed into her thoughts. Her mother washing dishes, staring, smiling out at the woods. Sunlight had poured in, mottled by the aspen leaves beyond. Now the bare branches were on the other side of the glass. The curtains limp, the bright colors dimmed by dust and time.
A set of wooden stairs, narrow and rough, disappeared up into a dim hall. She knew that upstairs was a loft, and she looked up to see the rail that hung at the edge, not so far above her head as it had been when she was five. The master bedroom was up there. Her mother’s room. She backed away. His room.
Her mother had loved this place. Pal had built it for her, built her dream up here in the isolated mountains. Sadness whispered over Lauren. Not loneliness, but grief for the mother she only had as a memory.
A group of framed photos sat on a side table, a painful surprise. Lauren’s throat ached, nearly choking her. The largest one was a different pose, but it had been taken the same time as the photo of Rachel that Lauren had lost as a child. Her vision blurred, the cool air chilling her tears, making her eyes feel rimmed in ice. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, fighting the sadness.
She should be joyous that she had the picture again. That she’d regained the memories of her mother from this place. But she wasn’t. It hurt too much.
Maybe the emptiness of her memory was better. It was certainly less painful.
A cold breeze wrapped around her from the still-open door. She pulled her sweater tighter. Walking slowly, carefully, she walked from room to room, what few there were, seeing the past as if it were playing on a movie screen.
Her mother had been so young, so pretty, her hair long and flowing, much like Lauren’s was now. Was that why she’d never cut her hair like the other girls? She hadn’t ever considered that before. She could see Rachel standing there, at the top of the narrow curved stairs, smiling down.
Not at Lauren. No, her mother’s smile in this memory had been for Pal Haymaker. For the man Lauren realized now, was her father. A man whose heart had blackened to ash when Rachel died. A heart that had turned so solid, he hadn’t left any room for his daughter.
Lauren shook her head, fighting the images that followed. The anger, the arguing, the emptiness after her father had left. She remembered that sometimes they forgot that while she couldn’t hear, she could read their lips.
They’d hurt each other. Pal Haymaker hadn’t had room for anything that wasn’t perfect in his world, or in his heart.
The cancer that had taken Rachel hadn’t been her imperfection. That had been the stubbornness that came with her red hair.
Lauren saw through adult eyes the man’s harsh judgment, saw clearly the reality and depth of his loss. She tried to understand it. But that little girl, the one who’d come here, excited to see her father, hadn’t seen his pain. She could only feel her own hurt. Feel her own heart breaking when he left them. Left them here alone to face the horror of Rachel fading away.
Had he even bothered to worry about the fate of a motherless little girl?
Lauren moved haltingly down the short hallway beneath the stairs to the small bedroom in back. The room that had been hers. It seemed even smaller now. The single log-framed bed that used to have a pink comforter on it was now cloaked in a serviceable gray bedspread.
Obviously, he’d never thought of her again.
She turned, stumbling over her own feet and into a strong pair of arms that engulfed her. Arms that were here now—and whose comfort she gladly took. But for how long?
CHAPTER TWENTY
JASON GUIDED LAUREN to the big leather chair and made her sit down—before she fell down. He took the bright-colored afghan, folded on the ottoman, shook out the dust, and settled it around her shoulders. The cabin was still cool, and the leather cold and stiff. He hoped it would help as he started the fire.
Harley, or someone, had laid logs and kindling in the grate before leaving last time, and Jason lit it with matches he found in a kitschy brass holder on the hearth. Soon the room would warm.
Lauren was pale and in shock. Something had upset her, and while he wasn’t certain, he could guess at the memories assaulting her.
She had that look he knew well. Growing up with three sisters had its perks. She was either going to fall apart into a puddle of tears, or explode in a fury of anger. His bet was on the latter. The woman who’d survived everything she had wouldn’t let this beat her.
The question was, how ticked would she be? And how long would it take to surface?
The flames had just caught, and were licking around the thick dry logs, when he saw her move. She struggled for an instant to slip her arms free from the blanket.
Her gaze was dry, and she stared into the growing flames.
“My father,” she signed slowly, as if to herself more than him. “He was a weak man.” There was no frown to indicate she was asking a question. Just a statement of fact.
Jason wasn’t sure what she wanted or needed from him, so he waited, sitting on the raised brick hearth facing her. One thing he knew, she wasn’t someone who had to “talk” things through. Her deafness, the limitations of sign, made her that way.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t need to talk things out sometimes.
“Tell me what you need from me. To listen? Or do something?” he signed, sensing it was easier for her to focus on one means of communication right now.
Her smile was bittersweet, distant. “Thank you.” She waved at the fire and the blanket, then pointed at her wrist. “I just need time.”
“You got it.”
The silence grew, neither of them signing or moving. Finally, she shifted, facing Jason. “This—” She pointed at the chair where she was sitting. “Was his favorite. I remember sitting on his lap.” She frowned down at the chair. “Here. By the fire. He read me a book. Using sign.”
Her face held pain, and a bit of wonder lurked in her eyes as she stared at the flames. “It was The P-o-k-e-y Little P-u-p-p-y.” She looked at Jason. “Why do I remember that?”
What could he say? “I don’t know.” The contradictions of her father had to hurt. This memory didn’t fit with the anger and pain Pal Haymaker had left behind him when he walked away. The memory she’d become most comfortable with.
Slowly, Lauren stood, pulling the afghan tighter around her shoulders. She came over to sit beside him on the wide hearth. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she sighed. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, letting her lean on him.
Not surprisingly, she didn’t stay next to him long. Would she ever let him really take care of her? Did he really want her to? Her independent spirit was one of the things that attracted him to her.
He’d have to think about that.
He was still thinking about it later that night when the storm he’d been anticipating hit.
“Why did they even have me?” Lauren’s sign was harsh and big. He’d learned that her precision faded when she was emotional.
She’d gotten ready for bed and Jason was already sitting against the rugged headboard in what had been her mother’s room up in the loft. According to Lauren, it looked totally different now. Everything of Rachel’s was gone. It was a double-edged sword—the loss hurt her, but the difference probably made it possible for her to be in here. Was that why Pal had done it?
“This is not the dark ages.” She paced barefoot, oblivious to the cold wood floor. “They had options.”
She turned to glare at him. His brain clicked into legal mode and the challenge of arguing Rachel and Pal’s case intrigued him—perhaps too much.
“Did they really have a choice?” He spoke it, too, to help her understand and think.
“Money wasn’t an i-s-s-u-e.”
“True.” Jason stacked his hands behind his head, pondering. “Religion?”
Her brow arched.
“What?” He lowered his arms to make the sign. “It’s a viable question.”
“They were having an affair.”
“Good point.”
She faced him, her hands on her hips. “Whose side are you on?”
He tried to smile and ease her tension. “Yours. I want to help you.”
“You’re not—” She slashed her hand through the air. “Helping.”
“Looking at all sides doesn’t help?” That was such a foreign idea to him. He was actually surprised. Looking at an issue from all sides was second nature to him.
“No.” Lauren stared at him. “You c-o-n-f-u-s-e me.”
Jason waited to see what she did next. Finally she stopped pacing and yanked back the covers to climb in beside him. Once settled, she sat, staring.
He touched her arm to get her to look at him. “Maybe they really did want you.”
She turned to look at him. “I wish I knew.” Her hands shook, and she clasped her fingers together as if to get them to stop.
Finally, she started signing again, her hands gentle and flowing. “All I ever wanted was a family. I would lie awake at night, imagining what it would be like.” Her hands stilled.
“What did you wish for?” he prompted.
“Dinner at a table with people every night.” She closed her eyes as if seeing those distant childhood dreams behind her eyelids. “Of someone to come home to, who I could tell about my day.” Jason watched her, concerned. Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Something that looked a lot like self-pity flashed in her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure as she looked away so quickly. That was so unlike her, and yet he understood the reaction. He reached over and tilted her chin up, making sure she could see his lips. “Look. I believe they cared deeply about you. Even Pal. He read to you, remember?” That was an image Jason struggled with.<
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She nodded slowly. Something else was bothering her. Could she even explain it? Did she understand it herself?
“Talk to me,” he urged. “What’s going on in there.” He tapped her forehead gently.
She shrugged. Jason waited.
“Why?” She paused again, then signed so quickly he almost missed part of it. “Why do I remember him? Not her—here?”
Guilt flowed out of her. “Him teaching me sign. Sitting on his lap. Him playing with me. H-a-r-l-e-y said we stayed here.” Tears spilled over Lauren’s cheeks. “Why don’t I remember her here with me? Nothing but a couple flashes.”
Her sign was so harsh, her frown so deep, it was the equivalent of yelling. She pounded the mattress with her fist. “Why?”
A shrink he was not. But he did study people. And he remembered his own mother, so busy surviving that the details got lost.
But how to explain his thoughts to her. “My dad died when I was eleven.” He almost grinned when he got the number sign correct the first time. The numbers still plagued him and focusing on that shut out the pain he always felt about his dad. “My mom got c-a-u-g-h-t up in day-to-day stuff, she lost the little extras. Your mom took care of you. Played sometimes. But P-a-l probably always played.”
She nodded.
“But why can’t I remember?” She was beating herself up about it. No arguing would help, so he backed off. “It’s not just forgetting her.” She paused. “Dylan and Tina need me to know how to do mom things. And she did them. I know it. But I can’t remember how.” She looked around. “No. This place. It has bad memories.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, knowing it wasn’t a solution. But it was all he could do to comfort her.
“What if—”
He saw her sign from the back this time as she wasn’t facing him. It was easier to read, more like he was doing it himself.
“What if they did want me—until...” She slowly touched her ear then her jaw. The sign for deaf.
“No!” Jason cried, the vibration of his voice startling her. He pulled around and grasped her shoulders. “Don’t ever think that. I knew Pal. Even he wasn’t that rotten.”