by Linda Ford
"Moving. She loved to move."
Amy shifted about, getting more comfortable. "I never want to move."
Darcy laughed. "I might get tired of sitting like this."
"No. You won't."
Darcy looked at Blake and shook her head. "If Amy doesn't want it, it just isn't going to happen." They shared a secret smile.
Amy jumped to her feet and waved her arms in a big circle. "This is where I live. I'll never leave." She raced up to Blake. "Right, Blake? We'll always live here."
"That's right." He watched the way Darcy's gaze turned toward the house she now owned, her expression surprised. "This ranch has belonged to the Thompsons for four generation," he added for good measure.
"Am I a Thompson?" Amy demanded.
"You're a Hagen," he said.
"I want to be a Thompson."
"I guess seeing as you’re my sister, you're almost a Thompson."
Darcy brought her dark blue gaze back to him. "I've never had a house of my own."
"Enjoy it while you can." His voice was brittle. No way could she even think of changing her mind about the way things were going to be settled. "Gotta go, squirt." He hurried inside, grabbed the now-cold grilled sandwiches wrapped in plastic and headed back to work, mentally listing the number of trips left to make in order to clear the field then planning the spring work. Stuff that kept him from thinking about anything else, especially emotional stuff.
But that nasty little feeling of impending danger wouldn't leave him.
Amy was going to be hurt when Darcy left. They just didn't need any more pain around here. He meant Amy, of course. There was no one else who would be hurt when Darcy disappeared again as he was sure she would.
"I like to do jigsaw puzzles," Amy said in response to Darcy's questions about the things she did. Darcy had discovered this yearning to know everything about her little sister. Much would remain hidden in the years she'd missed, but she discovered that Amy, in first grade, could already read very well. She loved make-believe and had a whole bunch of cats, but she couldn't have one in the house because of “Aunt Betty's stupid old cat.”
"You want to do a puzzle with me?" Amy asked.
"I'd love to."
Amy grabbed her hand. "Come on. I have to keep them in my bedroom 'cause Aunt Betty says they're too messy."
Darcy hesitated. She'd never been invited into the other house but was dying to see where Amy and Blake lived—no, she scolded herself, she only wanted to see where Amy lived. She had no interest in Blake. Never mind that she could inventory his entire outfit: A faded blue plaid shirt with the sleeves torn off giving her lots of opportunity to admire work-muscled, sun-bronzed arms. A wide leather-banded watch drawing attention to his masculine wrists. Equally faded blue jeans, worn almost white across the knees. Cowboy boots, originally tan in color she guessed, now scuffed to the color of dirt. Maybe the boots gave him the rolling gait that made her breathe harder. To top off the picture, he wore a black cap, the bill curled into a trough. It sat back on his head at a jaunty angle. The girls in the office would drool so bad they'd need bibs. If someone chose him as the poster boy for a tourism ad, Montana would be overrun with women of every age.
"Come on, Darcy." Amy tugged at her hand.
"I'm coming." She let Amy lead her into the house. Darcy stared in disbelief as she stepped into an open area that appeared to serve as cloakroom, back entry, and general storage. Aunt Betty considered jigsaw puzzles to be too messy? Darcy would have been more concerned Amy would lose pieces in the jumble. Of course, it was the back entrance on a busy ranch. Maybe the rest of the house was neater. Cleaner.
Amy tugged her into a big modern kitchen. Darcy had to strain to imagine the black granite counter beneath the clutter and struggled to picture the stainless steel appliances gleaming.
A woman stood next to the fridge—no doubt Aunt Betty in the flesh. She opened a can of something that smelled decidedly fishy. Without glancing their direction, she scooped the contents into a thick china bowl and bent to offer it to an animal. Darcy shuddered as she saw Aunt Betty's cat, then choked back a giggle. The animal looked like resurrected road kill.
Amy tried to drag Darcy from the room but Darcy cleared her throat, determined to greet the woman who had the responsibility of caring for Amy. "Hello. You must be Amy's Aunt Betty. I'm Darcy."
Finally the woman turned and nodded. "I've heard about you." She studied Darcy frankly.
Didn't that sound friendly? Darcy returned the stare, seeing a woman far older than she'd imagined. Probably in her seventies. Steely gray hair cut in a short no-nonsense, no-fuss hairdo. No makeup. Did women that age even use the stuff? Eyes, dark like Blake's. Suddenly the woman smiled and the sternness fled.
"About time we had someone younger and more energetic around the place. I don't mind admitting I'm not up to running after a six-year old. The way I look at it is I've done my share of child rearing. And now I have my own interests." She dropped her gaze to Amy. "Did you bring your laundry down?"
"Forgot," Amy mumbled.
"Well, remember." Aunt Betty nodded briskly and turned back to stroking the sorry looking cat.
This time Darcy allowed Amy to drag her away. She managed a glimpse into the living room as they passed. Cluttered with books, papers, and pieces of mismatched furniture. Upstairs, Amy's bedroom was as messy as the rest of the house.
Amy rushed over to a table and spread out half a dozen puzzles. "Which one you want to do?"
"Let's get your laundry before you forget again." There seemed to be plenty of it lying limply on the floor and bed. Darcy began to gather up the soiled clothes, piling them at the doorway as Amy groaned her protest.
"Let's make your bed too. Are there clean sheets somewhere?"
"In the closet."
"Can you show me?"
With Amy's help she found the linen closet in the hall, just beyond a room with an open door. She glanced in. Black jeans hung over the back of a brown wooden chair and a pair of shiny black leather cowboy boots stood like Blake had just stepped out of them. His room smelled like grass and lemons and leather. Darcy could picture him pulling on jeans, brushing his hair with the brown handled brush on the long dresser. She jerked away and selected a set of clean sheets.
Another door, closed, stood at the end of the hall.
"Who sleeps there?" Darcy asked.
Amy went to the door and opened it, hovering at the threshold. "Mommy and Daddy did. But I don't remember Mommy."
Darcy, curious, joined her at the doorway. It was a simple room, the bed neatly made with a forest green duvet, an earthy colored area rug in the middle of the hardwood floor. A large framed photo of the farm hung next to the closet. Over the bed was a picture of the four of them—her father, Amy's mother, Amy and Blake—looking like the perfect family. Amy must have been about two. Darcy could see the older woman already showed evidence of her failing heart in the dark shadows under her eyes. And Blake's look of adoration and determination showed he'd already shouldered his protective stance. She tried not to see how her father leaned over them obviously loving them so much he could forget he had another daughter somewhere. One who'd been forced to grow up without that sort of love and acceptance. She looked into his blue eyes so much like her own and Amy's. She didn't realize they shared that with their father. Or had she pushed away the knowledge?
She crushed the pile of linen to her chest and pushed resolve deep into her being. She'd learned a long time ago how to survive without her father. The only thing he'd ever given her was Amy.
She smiled down at the child who rocked back and forth on her heels, studying her painted toenails. "Let's go make your bed, Amy."
Amy talked as Darcy stripped the soiled sheets from the bed and remade it. The laundry pile by the door grew larger as she added the sheets and socks she'd found tangled in the bedclothes.
"My favorite is the kitty puzzle. Do you want to put it together with me?" Amy asked, impatient with the delay.
Amy looked wary. Darcy laughed. The kid had already figured out Darcy wouldn't be happy until the room was clean. She decided to sweeten the offer. "I'll do two puzzles with you if you help me pick up all these toys."
Amy gave her an annoyed look that made Darcy laugh again then she screwed her face into an equally annoyed look, silently challenging her little sister. Amy pulled her lips down even harder, and then she laughed. "Okay."
Soon the room was neat, the shelves filled with books and toys, and the stuffed animals piled in the hammock attached to the wall. Darcy would have liked to dust and vacuum as well but a deal was a deal. Amy had done as agreed. So would she.
Two hours later they had done all six of Amy's puzzles. Amy yawned. "Want to see my cats? They're lots prettier than Aunt Betty's ugly old thing."
"Sure." She scooped up the heap of laundry as she followed Amy downstairs. "Show me where the laundry room is and I'll dump this stuff."
Amy led her to a bright sunshine-yellow room off the kitchen and Darcy dropped her armload on the floor next to another pile. Seems Aunt Betty wasn't in a big hurry to tackle the job. "I'll put a load in before we go outside," she told Amy.
The washer was full and so was the drier. She pulled out four pairs of Blake's jeans. Her face felt hot and prickly as she folded them and stacked them on the drier then blindly emptied the washer. By the time she sorted out the whites and dropped them in the machine, she'd convinced herself just how foolish it was to think about doing this on a daily basis.
They stepped into the barn, and Amy turned left into a room. Darcy breathed the strange smells, a combination of mushroom, ammonia, and some kind of disinfectant.
Cats sprang from every corner and raced in from the rest of the barn, meowing and wrapping around Amy who plunked to the floor so they could crawl over her. She made sure to pet each one.
Darcy stopped at the doorway, reluctant to enter what was obviously Blake's domain. The whole room bore signs of his labors and carried hints of his scent and gave her a warm, cozy feeling. She pictured him coiling ropes with his strong hands, hanging the leather halters on hooks and smiling the secret pleased smile she'd glimpsed a time or two.
"Fatty isn't here," Amy said. She pushed the cats away and hurried to a wooden box. "She's had her babies. Look." Amy almost screamed in her excitement.
Avoiding the cats tangling around her feet, Darcy hurried to see. "Ohh. They're so little. I've never seen brand new kittens. Can I hold one?"
Amy looked deadly serious. "You better let me get one. Fatty knows me and won't mind if I touch her babies."
The mother cat meowed a warning as Amy lifted out a tiny black kitten and carefully transferred it to Darcy's cupped hands. The kitten nuzzled about, helpless and blind. Such tenderness engulfed Darcy that tears stung her eyes. "It's so tiny. I never imagined." She'd never seen a kitten that wasn't bouncing around playfully.
A cow in the barn lowed. A deep voice spoke soothingly.
"It's Blake." Amy raced to the door and yelled, "Blake. Blake. Fatty had her kittens. Come and see."
Darcy didn't want Blake to witness how a tiny kitten had made her feel mushy and protective. And helplessly vulnerable. Her reaction to the kitten was all mixed up with regret at so many things—an odd emptiness she couldn't explain but which had been growing steadily the last few days. It sucked at her insides like a hungry yawn. She couldn't let herself be swallowed into that chasm. It frightened her. It mocked her. It made her want to run back to her own house, curl up under a fuzzy blanket, and pull it over her head until she felt warm and secure.
"Let's have a look." Blake saw Darcy and nodded. She pulled in a gulp of musty air and found calmness. The world righted itself.
He crowded close to her and bent over the box, murmuring soft words to the mother cat, telling her what a fine job she'd done. "Five of them. Amy, if this keeps up you'll have to get a job to pay for their feed."
Darcy recognized his teasing but Amy took him seriously. "I can help you and you could pay me just like you do Cory when he comes over."
Blake chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I was kidding. I think we can afford a bag or two of cat food. He picked up a mottled kitten, cupped it in his palm and held it at eye level chuckling when the tiny thing snuffled at his thumb.
Darcy thought she would choke at the sight of his large hands holding the kitten so gently. She turned away pretending to study the kitten she still held. How silly to let five animals, each no bigger than a mouse, trigger so many emotions.
Blake returned the kitten to the box and murmuring reassurances to the mother cat then, his fingers brushing her palms, he stroked the one Darcy held. Her heart danced with a hundred different reactions. A longing for the tenderness he revealed. An ache to be protected like he protected his loved ones. The need to belong to her father's heart as Blake had. She tightened her muscles to keep from jerking away, offering a silent prayer that she'd keep things straight in her head.
"All healthy and strong," he said. "Guess we'll have to keep them all, won't we, squirt?"
Amy nodded. "I'll take good care of them, I promise."
Brother and sister studied each other intently. A silent understanding flashed between them. Blake grinned. "I know you will." He glanced at his watch. "You better go get washed up for supper. I'll be there as soon as I look after a cow." He headed out of the room.
It wasn't until he disappeared from sight that Darcy could get enough air into her lungs to stop the dizzy feeling that descended at the casual brush of his fingers along her palm.
A few minutes later, she and Amy parted ways and Darcy headed for her house. She dropped to the old sofa and pulled around her a beige afghan she'd found in the narrow linen closet.
Her insides felt jumbled. She didn't like it. She had long ago learned some emotions were best ignored. Maybe she'd gotten too efficient at turning off her feelings because it scared her to see the tip of so many unexplained emotions poking through the edges of her carefully constructed life. Part of her demanded she pack her bag and continue with her holiday right now before something erupted she didn't want to deal with. Another part, one she hardly recognized, demanded she stay and find out what lay beyond the surface. Truthfully, giving up her holiday didn't seem like a hardship. Not in the least. The ranch was a nice place to spend her time. The scenery superb. She pretended she meant the rolling hills and the distant mountains, and the glorious sunsets but all she pictured was Blake striding across the yard, adjusting his cap against the sun, hunkering down to touch the kittens, ruffling Amy's hair, stroking Darcy's palm.
Her chest felt as is something hot and heavy descended on it, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Okay, sure she'd admit Blake was good looking. In fact, she ought to take some pictures for the girls back at the office. But she wasn't interested in him that way. She couldn't be because there was this wall of resentment that he'd been the one her father chose. She'd seen the look on her father's face in the picture hanging over his bed.
She'd also seen the look of tenderness in Blake's expression as he held the tiny kitten and ruffled Amy's hair.
She threw aside the afghan and jumped to her feet. This was ridiculous. There was no room for her here.
The next morning, as Darcy tied her running shoes, she watched Blake drive away after her run. She spent the day with Amy, admiring the new kittens and playing pretend under the trees. After Amy reluctantly returned to her house for supper, Darcy headed for town.
She got enough supplies for the next few days and bought herself a large pot of flowers to put in the sunroom. If she were staying longer, she'd be tempted to redecorate it like an Italian villa with lots of wrought iron furniture, some big pots of plants, and a few statues. She poked through the display in the hardware section. But she wasn't staying, so what was the point?
She would hate to sell her house. Perhaps she'd change her mind and keep it. She could use it for a vacation home. T
he girls at the office would be thrilled to share it with her. They could admire Blake firsthand.
Her insides knotted at the idea. She didn't want any of them drooling over him. She blinked. Was that jealousy? How absurd. How primitive. How infantile. She didn't even know how she felt about him. She'd enjoyed some fun moments with him. She'd been touched by the evidence of his soft side, but it was all mixed up with memories of being the one left behind by her father.
As she drove back toward her house, she saw a boxy gray car parked in front. She grabbed the wheel with both hands. She didn't know anyone who'd be visiting. Had she locked the door when she left? She'd been getting careless about it. Had Blake seen the car drive up?
A quick glance toward the barn and she knew Blake hadn't returned.
Her shoulders sagged when she saw Aunt Betty drumming her fingers on the wheel, Amy bouncing up and down on the seat beside her. What was going on?
She barely turned off the motor of her own vehicle before Amy burst from the gray car and headed toward her. Darcy opened the door so she could hear what the child said.
"Aunt Betty wants to know if I can stay with you."
"Of course." She grabbed her bags and headed toward the older woman who rolled down her window.
"Blake was supposed to be back ages ago. He knows this is my sewing circle night. I told him from the beginning I wasn't going to give up my own interests and he assured me I wouldn't have to. Now look what's happened. I'm going to be late and he's nowhere to be seen." Aunt Betty frowned so deeply her face turned into a topographical map. "Seems like all he can think about is his work. Men can be so blind sometimes." She gave a mirthless smile. "If you don't mind watching Amy until he gets home..."
"Not at all." But she doubted Aunt Betty heard her as she'd shoved the car into gear and drove away.
Darcy laughed. "Can't imagine getting that excited about sewing."
Amy crowded to her side. "She made me go with her once. It's a bunch of old ladies sitting around talking. B—o-r-i-n-g. Then she got mad when I found some old books. I didn't mean to upset them on the floor."