by Jill Gregory
There was a silence. Josy couldn’t speak for a moment. She was still digesting the shocking notion that all this time, Ada had known who she was.
“I suppose you have questions.” Her grandmother— her grandmother—must have read her mind.
“Such as . . . why I gave my baby away. What would possess me to do something like that? A woman giving up her own child. Part of herself.”
Ada sounded so heavy-hearted. Almost as if she were angry with herself. After all these years?
“I didn’t want to. Lord knows, I wanted that baby . . . your mother, Josy. I wanted her with all my heart. But I knew from the start they would make me give her up. And that’s what happened.”
Ada’s voice was so low Josy had to lean closer to hear her.
“They let me hold her . . . once. Just once. And then they took her away.”
She blinked back the sheen of tears and faced Josy suddenly, her eyes filled with determination. “Let me tell you why it happened. And all about your grandfather. Your birth grandfather wasn’t my husband, Guy Scott, bless his soul. You probably realized when I was talking in the truck who it was.”
Josy moistened her lips. “Cody Shaw.”
Ada nodded. “Cody Shaw,” she repeated, as if saying the name gave her a pleasure she wouldn’t be denied. Her gaze fixed on Josy’s face, studying it intently, her eyes almost hungry. “You have the look of him. I can’t pin it down exactly—he was as male as a man could possibly be—and you are so feminine, but still . . . the graceful way you move, the way you hold your head, maybe the slant of your eyes . . . something about you speaks of Cody. Maybe that’s why I took to you the moment I met you.”
“You knew who I was even then?”
“I told you—yes. Billy helped me do the research on the Internet. He knows all about computers and search engines and such things, like all the young people do nowadays, and he found out all sorts of information. I found out that my baby was dead.”
Ada’s brown eyes filled with unshed tears. She blinked them back. “I was too late, you see. I’d waited all those years . . . never looked for her, never tried to find her . . . and when I did . . . it was too late. She was gone. She and her husband—”
Ada reached out again and this time closed her hand over Josy’s, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry. So sorry you lost them, and that you had no one.” Her voice quavered. “No one at all.”
Josy swallowed. “I managed.”
“Yes, I see that you did. I know that you did. I found out all about you too, with Billy’s help. Not only did I learn that I had a granddaughter living in New York City, but that you were now a grown woman. That you worked at a fancy job. And not as an interior designer,” she said drily. “You’re the assistant to a famous fashion designer. Francesca somebody . . .” She wrinkled her brow.
“I’ve heard the name somewhere, maybe seen it in the papers. But I didn’t care about her. I wanted to know about you. Josy Warner. My Josy Warner.”
Josy sat frozen, unable to speak, unable to move. All this time in Thunder Creek . . . Ada had known. She’d known about Josy even before Josy had begun to search for her.
“I admit to being a bit confused when you said you were an interior designer,” Ada went on, her voice carefully neutral. “I guessed either my research was wrong, or you had a good reason for not saying what you really did for a living . . . or that you lived in New York and not Chicago. That puzzled me at first, let me tell you. But I’ve learned over the years that people usually have good reasons for what they do.”
“You’re right. I . . . I didn’t want to lie, but I felt I had to. It’s complicated.”
“Most things are.” Ada gave her a soft smile. “You don’t owe me any explanations, honey. Lord knows, I owe them to you. I suppose you want to know why I did it. Why I gave your mother away.”
“It sounds like you were in love with Cody Shaw. But . . . he . . . what? Broke your heart?”
“He did—but not like you might think. Not on purpose.”
“But he wouldn’t marry you. In those days, I’m sure single mothers weren’t accepted as much as they are today.”
“Oh, you can sure say that again.” Bitterness glistened in Ada’s eyes. “You’re very right about that . . . but you’re wrong about Cody not wanting to marry me. He might have, or might not—I always wondered—”
“He didn’t know?” Josy stared at her. “You never told him you were pregnant with his child?”
“No. I never did. Let me tell you the reason though. You need to understand your grandfather. You should know about him. I’m sure you’ve wondered.”
“I have wondered. About both of you,” Josy murmured.
Ada fell silent. Outside the window, a meadowlark sang its heart out, even as Josy realized that her grandmother was searching hers—and her memory.
“Cody Shaw,” Ada said at last, a smile touching her faded eyes, “was the handsomest boy I ever did meet. And I met a lot of them. I wasn’t always old and wrinkled and white-haired, you know. I was a pretty thing if I do say so myself and I loved to have fun. I liked to go to dances and rodeos and on picnics—and to meet my young man of the moment up at Shadow Point. That’s where we always used to go to . . . what do young folks call it today? Make out?”
“Hook up,” Josy corrected with a small smile.
“Oh, yes, hook up. I’ve heard Billy say that. Well, my generation probably invented hooking up at Shadow Point. And Cody and I, we did more than our share. It was the happiest time of my life—until, as you say, he broke my heart. You see, he didn’t know I was in love with him . . . or that I was carrying his child.”
She shook her head sadly. “He hadn’t a clue that I was certain he’d want to marry me. He thought I was just having fun, like he was. All fun, that’s what Cody was about. Fun, excitement, passion. He was passionate about life, about whatever he was doing at that moment. And about not getting tied down. Cody wanted to see the world. And I loved him so much, I didn’t want to stand in his way.”
“So you didn’t tell him?”
“Not at first. I thought he’d come back and there’d be time.”
“But he left you.”
Ada’s tone grew quieter. “He meant to come back. His home was in Thunder Creek and he thought he’d be returning once his tour was over. He rode on the rodeo circuit—and he died there too. In Butte, riding some wild bronc. He got thrown and broke his neck when he fell. His family brought him home and we all attended his funeral. Lots of girls were there. All of them weeping. Except me. I couldn’t seem to cry. Maybe the tears were just stuck in my heart,” Ada whispered, sounding as if she were speaking to herself.
She loved him more than she can even say, Josy realized. The glitter of tears in Ada’s eyes brought a lump to her throat. She was young, pregnant . . . and the man she loved was dead.
“What did you do?” she asked gently.
“What could I do? I went to my mama and I told her the truth. She cried, but I didn’t. I wanted Cody’s baby. My folks, though,” she went on with a grim set to her mouth, “they wouldn’t hear of it. They loved me, true, and they didn’t hold it against me, which was rare in those days. They stood by me, and when I started getting bigger with my child, big enough for folks to realize, they sent me away, supposedly to stay with cousins for a spell, but I was really at the Standish Home for Unwed Mothers in Denver . . .”
Ada looked out the window a moment, her gaze clouded, then turned back to Josy. “It was a decent enough place and they were kind to me there,” she said with a shrug. “The only thing my parents insisted on—for my own good, they said—was that I give the baby up, give her away to a good home with two parents. They said I’d ruin my chances for a decent marriage if I didn’t, that no respectable man would want an unmarried woman who was raising another man’s baby. And in those days, in a small town like this, I guess maybe they were right. It didn’t feel right to me, though. Never did.”
Josy nodded, her th
roat dry.
“When I saw your mother—Cody Jean, that’s what I named her in my head, you see—I wanted her more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life. I cried when they put her in my arms, and begged them to let me keep her, but my parents wouldn’t give in. They kept insisting . . . and in the end I let her go.”
“You signed the adoption papers?”
“Yes.” The word held a well of sadness and regret. “Did she . . . have a good life with that family that took her? Was she happy?”
“Very happy.” Josy nodded, recalling her mother’s tales of Thanksgiving dinners and bedtime stories, how her father had taught her to play checkers and had never let her win, but when she did beat him on her own, he bought her a giant red lollipop.
“She fared better than you did, I’ll wager,” Ada said slowly. She seemed to shake off the old memories now and her gaze focused on Josy with heightened concern.
“After Cody Jean and your father died in that accident, you were sent to foster care. Foster care,” she said again, the words seeming to roll in dismay on her tongue. “I’ve heard about those places. I can’t picture you there.”
She looked as if she didn’t want to. Josy suddenly didn’t want to tell her. “I managed,” she said again.
Ada’s expression sobered. “So you said. And so I see. But I want to know, Josy. It wasn’t a picnic, was it?”
“No. Not much of one.” She tried to shrug, but Ada wouldn’t let her shrug off the pain.
“I want to hear about your life growing up,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me. I don’t need it sugar-coated. You’re my blood, honey, and I’m yours. And if I had known what happened, if I had tried to find your mother sooner—I could have taken you in when you needed me, and you might have been spared a life with strangers.”
She clutched Josy’s hand. “I might have been a stranger to you at first too, but not for long. No, I don’t think we would have been strangers for long. But those folks who took you in . . . did they treat you like their own . . . or like a stranger? I have to know.”
Josy swallowed. “There was one home where the lady treated me like her own. Mrs. Palmer. But I was only there a few months, and then she took sick. Cancer. So I was moved. I went to two or three others, but the longest time I spent at any of them was at the Hammond house.” Her mouth tightened. “I always felt like a stranger there.”
“It was bad there, wasn’t it?” Ada’s eyes had grown rounder with a dawning horror. “Oh, you poor child . . .”
“No, no, it wasn’t all bad. I had a friend. A . . . kind of brother—his name was Ricky. He looked after me. Even better, he taught me to look after myself. To stand up for myself.”
“God bless him.” Ada’s hands were trembling now. “I wish I’d known. I wish I’d found you sooner, saved you from growing up with strangers. I wish . . .” She broke off, shook her head ruefully. “A lot of good wishing does at this point.” Her mouth twisted, the age lines at the corners deepening. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
“I could never do that.”
Without thinking Josy reached out, clasped Ada’s hand in her own. A rush of warmth surged through her. She didn’t love this woman . . . not yet. She didn’t even feel a true bond. But she felt something. Fondness? Sympathy? They’d both lived their lives apart and would always wonder what it would have been like to have spent them together, as grandmother and granddaughter in Thunder Creek.
A lump rose in her throat. “I have pictures in my apartment in New York. A photo album of my parents, including their wedding picture. Oh, and a small one in my wallet,” she remembered suddenly.
Ada’s eyes brightened. But they looked moist, Josy noticed as she dug in her purse for the wallet-sized laminated photo of her parents on their wedding day.
Ada studied it silently. Finally she spoke. “She was a beautiful woman. Like you.”
“Like you.” Josy smiled. “We came here once, years ago when I was very young.”
“You . . . came here?”
“Yes, my mother and father and I. Somehow she must have learned about you and we all came to Thunder Creek. I believe we drove down Angel Road and saw you one afternoon on your porch. You were watering flower pots, as I recall. You looked up, saw us, and . . . and you set the watering can down.”
“Oh, my Lord.” Ada went pale. “Your mother . . . actually came here? Right down Angel Road?”
“Yes. I’m sure you don’t remember—”
“I do.” Ada gave a small moan, her hands pressed to her lips. “I do remember. I saw a strange car one day—it stopped, never came closer. That was odd; Angel Road is secluded, most people don’t come down here unless they mean to. So it struck me when the car just stopped like that and didn’t come any closer. I had a funny feeling,” she whispered. “I didn’t know why. But then the car just backed up and went away. I never thought about it anymore, not until just now. But for some reason, it stuck in my mind.”
She drew in a deep, shuddery breath. “All those years ago . . . I never dreamed . . .”
“How could you?”
“Oh, my. Oh, Josy. If I’d known . . . don’t you see, if your mother and I had reached out, found each other sooner . . . you might never have been sent off to live with strangers—” She broke off, choking on the words.
Josy put her arms around Ada, hugged her gently, as tears rolled down her grandmother’s cheeks. “I know. I’ve thought the same thing so many times since I found out my mother was adopted. But . . . there’s no point in wondering about the ifs,” she said quietly. “We can’t change the past.”
“True, but . . .” Ada closed her eyes with a great sigh.
Josy leaned back, a tightness in her own chest. She struggled to find the right words. “It seems to me that all we really have is now. Right now. You and I—we’ve found each other, haven’t we?”
“That we have. What a wise young woman you are.” Ada spoke approvingly as she wiped the final tears from her eyes.
“I’ve wondered so many times since I learned the truth—about you, and about my grandfather.” Josy looked at her with hopeful eyes. “Do you still have any pictures of Cody Shaw?”
“Do I?” A slow, wide smile swept Ada’s face. “I slept with his picture under my pillow every night while I was carrying Cody Jean—your mama. It was only when I knew I was marrying Guy that I finally boxed up all the pictures I had of Cody—pictures of him at rodeos, riding broncs, roping calves, lounging on my front porch. The box is in the attic, wrapped in pink ribbon inside an old chest.” She pushed herself up off the sofa. “Would you like to see it?” Ada asked tremulously.
“Very much.” Josy rose and followed her as the older woman led the way to the upper floor of the house on Angel Road.
Dolph was watching two hours later from the shelter of the trees as the blue Blazer rolled up Angel Road and out onto Lone Wolf Road. He melted back into the thickness of the trees until he reached his Explorer.
In less than a minute he had the Blazer in his sights. He kept a good distance behind it on the lonely road. No need to get too close and risk warning his quarry. He was pretty sure where she was headed. And he’d already scoped out her Pine Hills apartment.
The package wasn’t there. He’d searched thoroughly, and in a way that left no trace to warn the woman he was tracking. But tonight, once Josy was back in that apartment, he’d have her cornered exactly where he wanted her.
Alone. In her bed. In the dark.
With no warning and no means of escape.
Dolph smiled, confident that in a short time he’d be able to report to Tate that his job was done. He wouldn’t need to spend more than five minutes with Josy Warner in apartment 2D before she was begging him to let her tell him everything he wanted to know.
Chapter 18
JOSY PACED THE DARKENED LIVING ROOM OF HER apartment.
She was too restless, too wound up to sleep. She’d already made the final adjustments to Corinne’s gown
and had hung it carefully in the bedroom closet. But now her plan for meeting Ricky tomorrow filled her mind—along with the image of a twenty-year-old Cody Shaw, his dreamy good looks and cockiness captured forever in photographs.
All those photos Ada had shown her. They painted him clearly—a lean, tall, sinewy cowboy, all of twenty years old. Josy had marveled at how closely he resembled a ten-gallon-hat version of James Dean—except for his warm, dancing eyes. Even in the photographs they shone, not with sullen toughness, but with life, with humor, and with the passion Ada had described.
And they held kindness as well. Josy saw it and felt it as she stared at the young man leaning both arms against a rail fence, his cowboy hat perched on his head.
So now she knew who her grandfather was. And she had finally come clean with her grandmother—at least, about most things.
For someone who’s terrible at lying, I’ve had to do an awful lot of it lately. But it’s nearly over.
Tomorrow she’d dig up the package and take it to Ricky. Then . . . what?
There were answers she wanted from him. She needed to know what he planned to do with the diamond. And exactly what she’d been wading knee deep in. Maybe then she could finally leave it to him and climb out of the bog.
She couldn’t even pin down yet exactly what she’d do next. Return to New York? Explain herself to the police? Or would Ricky have a way to keep her out of it?
No matter what, she realized as she paced, she had to go straight back. Jane and Reese must be worried sick about her, and Francesca needed the sketches and she needed them now.
Well, at least her muse had somehow danced back into her life and she was certain Francesca would flip over the ideas that had flowed onto her sketch pad after she’d redesigned Corinne’s gown.
So, she’d go back. To work and to her ransacked apartment and her friends. She’d miss Corinne’s wedding. That gave her a pang.
But I’ll send a gift from Bloomingdale’s, she told herself. And maybe Ada will come to the city to visit sometime soon.
For some reason, her heart sank in her chest. It’s only natural, she reasoned, to have conflicted feelings about leaving Ada when we’ve only just discovered each other, just when the fragile process of building a relationship has begun.