Sighing, she shifted to her side so that she was facing him head-on. “I’ve never thought about it,” she replied. “But I’m nothing special to look at. Especially like this.”
“Especially like this, you are.”
She closed her eyes and he leaned forward and placed his lips upon her forehead. It was damp and salty and her hair tickled his nose. With one hand, he pushed the long strands away from her face and onto the blue pillowcase. Her eyes fluttered open and this time they were dark and hesitant.
“Jake, I—”
She didn’t go on and though he was almost afraid to hear the thoughts she had yet to put into words, he knew he had to hear them. Otherwise, he would always wonder.
“Go on, Rebecca,” he said softly. “I’m listening.”
A smile slanted her lips. “A few minutes ago you called me Becca. Did you know that?”
Barely, Jake thought. He’d been drunk on her and the shortened name had just slipped out, like a breath he could no longer hold on to.
“Yes. I remember. That’s how I think of you,” he admitted.
The smile fell from her face and her palm came to rest alongside his cheek. “Before I was only going to say that I’m so glad that I’m here with you. So glad that I came to New Mexico.”
Suddenly there was an ache in his chest, as though two hands were reaching in and wringing his heart.
Closing his eyes against the unexpected pain, he murmured, “I’m glad you’re here, too.”
Two days later, Rebecca decided she could no longer put off going through Gertrude’s correspondence. The task was slow and meticulous and with the phone ringing several times this afternoon her progress had been reduced to a snail’s pace.
A few times throughout the day she’d been tempted to ignore the intrusive ring and let whoever was calling leave a message on her voice mail. But each time she’d snatched up the phone, hoping she would see Jake’s number illuminated on the face of the instrument.
Instead the callers had been friends and coworkers from Houston and so far Rebecca had forced herself to talk with each of them. But she’d not given them any concrete reasons or hinted at a date when she might be returning to Texas. She didn’t want to explain to any of them that she was presently living from day to day as she tried to come to terms, not only with Gertrude and her death, but also her newfound relationship with Jake.
Lincoln County was beginning to feel like home to her. And now that she and Jake had become intimate, she didn’t want to think about leaving. If anything real and solid could develop between them, she wanted to give it a chance and the time to grow. Maybe that was foolish of her. After all, he’d told her that he was not the sort of man who wanted to get serious about her or any woman. And he’d not said a word to her to imply otherwise.
But he’d touched you like he loved you. He’d kissed you as though you were precious to him. More precious than anything.
Rebecca was trying to push that tormenting little voice out of her head when the phone rang again.
With a skeptical frown, she glanced over at the black instrument she’d left lying on the corner of a small wooden desk. “Beau, if that’s Jake,” she told the dog who was lying at her feet, “I’m going to shout hallelujah. If it’s someone else I’m going to throw the thing out the window.”
Only vaguely interested, Beau lifted his head and watched her walk over to retrieve the ringing phone, then decided to dismiss her threat and rest his chin back on his front paws.
Unfortunately, the number illuminated on the front wasn’t Jake’s. It belonged to her mother and for a moment Rebecca considered ignoring the call. There wasn’t really anything she wanted to say to Gwyn. Unless the woman had finally decided to call and do some much-needed explaining.
It was that last hopeful thought that had Rebecca flipping open the phone and pressing it to her ear. “Hello, Mother.”
“Rebecca! Thank God you answered! Do you realize how many times I’ve tried to reach you? Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“Because I really don’t have anything new to say. Two can play your game, Mother.”
Gwyn let out an indignant huff. “That’s not any way to talk to me, Rebecca. And I don’t understand. You were always such a respectful daughter. Now you’re like a stranger to me.”
At one time, Rebecca would have agreed with her. She would have been ashamed to use any sort of sarcastic tone with her mother. But since she’d learned that Gwyn had been so deliberately deceptive, she’d lost all respect. Rebecca hated feeling that way. She desperately wished that Gwyn could give her a good explanation for her behavior. But so far she’d given her nothing but more frustration.
“It’s funny that you should say that, Mother. Because you certainly seem like a stranger to me. I find myself questioning everything you say and wondering what else you’re keeping from me.”
There was a long silence and then Gwyn countered in a husky voice, “When are you coming home, Rebecca?”
Rebecca groaned inwardly. How many times was that question going to be thrown at her today? “We went over this the last time we talked. And I’ll tell you the same thing as I told you then. I don’t know.” She stared across the cluttered room at Beau and then another thought struck her. “Have you been talking to my friends?”
“Why would you ask that question?”
She didn’t sound indignant, Rebecca decided. More like cautious. “Because I’ve gotten several calls today and all of them were pressing me for a time when I’d be returning to Houston. You put them up to it, didn’t you?”
“Has it ever occurred to you, Rebecca, that your friends are asking that question because they’re concerned about you?”
Rebecca grimaced. “My friends normally don’t pry into my private affairs. They show their concern by offering their ear, and that’s it.”
“All right.” Gwyn suddenly spat out the admission. “I did talk to a few of your coworkers. Only because I love you.”
“If you loved me—really loved me—you’d want to answer my questions about Aunt Gertrude. You’d want to explain and help me understand why you didn’t want her in my life. Don’t you understand this is all very hurtful and confusing to me?”
Awkward silence stretched between them.
“I didn’t call to talk about Gertrude,” Gwyn said brusquely. “I want to know if you’re all right and what you’ve been doing. I want to hear your intentions about your job and—”
How could she begin to describe how she’d been spending her time here in New Mexico? Gwyn wouldn’t understand any of it. Especially not Jake. She’d think he was far too rough around the edges for her daughter. Funny how it was those very rough edges that drew Rebecca to him even more, she thought. “I’m fine, Mother, just keeping busy with chores around the place and taking care of the animals. As for my intentions I’ve not made any plans yet.”
“Rebecca! Arlene has been calling me every day to see if I’ve gotten any news from you. Sooner or later she’s going to have to fill the void you’ve left behind. And from the frustration I’m getting from her it’s going to be a lot sooner than you think.”
Rebecca was amazed at how unaffected she was by this news. Her job at Bordeaux’s had once meant everything to her. It had been her whole life. Now she couldn’t imagine herself jumping back into that frantic pace, the stressful demands. Or most of all, leaving Jake.
“If Arlene feels she needs to replace me, then that’s her prerogative.”
To Rebecca’s surprise her mother released several curse words. Gwyn had always striven to present herself to everyone as a first-class lady, especially to her daughter. She could only remember one other time she’d heard her mother cuss and that had been when Rebecca had announced she was traveling out here to New Mexico for Gertrude’s funeral.
“Don’t you even care?” Gwyn blasted at her. “All those years of college? All the long hours you’ve spent traveling, working to prove yourself? I’m not getting any of thi
s, Rebecca. This thing with Gertrude is ruining you! And for what? You didn’t even know the woman!”
“Thanks to you,” Rebecca countered sharply, then forcing herself to breathe deeply and calm herself, she added, “This is not all about Gertrude, Mother. And right now I have to go.”
“Rebecca, don’t hang up! You’re going to listen to me and get home—”
Rebecca dropped the phone from her ear and clicked the instrument together. Her hands were shaking as she placed the phone back on the desktop. She should have never confronted her mother, she thought with disgust. The only thing it achieved was making the both of them upset.
With a heavy sigh she walked back over to Beau and the box of correspondence she’d been sifting through. “Guess you could tell it wasn’t Jake,” she mumbled to the dog, then picked up a handful of papers and envelopes.
Thirty minutes later, Rebecca stopped the sorting long enough to make herself coffee. She carried the cup back to the spare bedroom and worked between sips. Eventually she finished one whole box and, after marking it, stacked it to one side. As she picked up a plastic container filled with more correspondence and placed it on the bed, a flash of midnight-blue velvet caught her eye.
On second glance, Rebecca noticed a jewelry box sitting on a cluttered nightstand. Expecting it to be full of costume pieces, she ignored the correspondence, and reached curiously for the rectangular box covered in blue velvet. The jewelry would certainly give her an insight into the fashion taste of her aunt, she thought.
At first she thought the tiny lock on the front was locked tight, but on second glance she could see the latch wasn’t completely together. Easing onto the edge of the bed, she gathered the dusty box onto her lap and opened the lid.
Rebecca was instantly deflated. There were no pieces of jewelry, only more correspondence. The only other thing in the box was a newspaper clipping with Rebecca opening a fashion show at Bordeaux’s—that must have been how Gertie knew where she worked.
Letters bundled with faded blue ribbon. She started to shut the lid, but then paused in midtask as she noticed the return address on the top envelope.
The letter was from Vance Hardaway, a post office box number, then Houston, Texas.
Her father had written to Gertrude? But why?
Her thoughts suddenly spinning, Rebecca untied the ribbon and quickly shuffled through the different shaped envelopes. Each one had come from Vance Hardaway and from the same post office box in Houston. Until she reached the last five. Those had been sent from Dubai City, the area where he’d been working before he’d lost his life.
Carefully sitting the box to one side, she picked out the envelope with the earliest posted date and opened it.
When she unfolded the two handwritten pages, a photo fluttered facedown onto her lap. Deciding to look at it before she began to read, she turned it upright, and gasped with shock.
The last thing she’d expected to see was an image of herself. Pulling the dog-eared pic closer, she scanned it closely and, as she did, faded memories rushed to life. Even though she’d only been seven or eight at the time, she remembered the day her father had taken the photo. They’d gone to the zoo. Just the two of them. When they’d stopped in front of the monkey enclosure he’d had her pose for the camera, saying he wanted a picture of his own little monkey. They’d had a fun-filled day; one of the most memorable occasions she’d had with her father.
But why had he mailed the photo to Gertrude?
Laying the faded image aside, she opened the letter and began to read:
Dearest Gerta,
I’m sorry so much time has passed since my last letter. But things have been hectic here. The company is expanding and they want to send me to a city on the Persian Gulf. I’m not keen on leaving the States, but the money would be good. And Rebecca’s welfare is my main concern. I want to give her all the things I never had as a child and make sure doors open for her at the right time. And I know you want those same things for her, too. You’re living so modestly, Gerta, just so you can save and help me provide for her future. I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that way. But if that makes you happy—makes you feel more like her mother—then I can hardly deny you.
As it stands, I’m scheduled to leave Houston in three weeks. My fondest hope is that you will allow me to see you before I leave for overseas. I could take two extra days and spend them with you. I understand that you don’t want me to come out there, but I miss you, Gerta. And there’s not a day goes by without my wishing that things could be different for you and me and our daughter.
Our daughter! Did her father’s words mean what she thought they meant? Rebecca wondered wildly.
Her heart suddenly pounding with a strange mixture of fear and excitement, she scanned the last paragraph of the letter.
I’m sending these photos of Rebecca that I took at the zoo last week. Gwyn didn’t go—said it was too nasty an outing for her. But as you can see Rebecca loves the animals. She’s like you, dear Gerta, in so many ways. And as I watch her grow, I only love you more.
Dazed, Rebecca quickly read the last few lines of the letter and then as she lifted her head and stared unseeingly at the bedroom wall, the aged slips of paper fell to her lap.
Dear God, had Gertrude O’Dell been her mother? Everything about her father’s words had said so! And there was no doubt in her mind that the letter was from Vance Hardaway. Rebecca had recognized his handwriting instantly. She still had letters that, as a child, she’d received from him.
What did it all mean? That a few weeks ago she’d watched her real mother being lowered into the earth? And never had the chance to know her? Love her?
Pain and confusion cut into her so suddenly and deeply that she clutched a hand to her stomach and choked out a sob.
Her life, as she knew it, had been one big deception! Lies on top of lies!
With tears sliding down her cheeks, she reached for the telephone and punched her mother’s—no, she couldn’t even use that title for the woman anymore, she thought bitterly. Now she was simply Gwyn Hardaway, a woman who owed her answers. Answers that had been twenty-eight years overdue.
Chapter Nine
Later that afternoon, Jake pulled his truck and horse trailer to a stop in front of his mother’s modest house, which was located on the eastern edge of Ruidoso. He found Clara sitting on the front porch and as he climbed the steps, she rose to her feet to greet him.
Today she looked somewhat perkier and Jake was relieved that he’d not found her lying on the couch, bemoaning the state of her health.
“This is a nice surprise,” she said, turning her cheek up for his kiss. “What brings you to town? On your way to Apache Wells?”
“Not exactly,” he hedged. “I’m going to see…a woman. Gertie O’Dell’s niece.”
Clara peeped around his shoulder at the rig he’d parked in the driveway. “And you’re taking a horse?”
She returned to the wicker seat she’d been sitting in and gestured for him to take the one nearest to her. Jake eased his long frame into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“That’s right. I thought Rebecca might enjoy taking a ride. She has a horse that I need to check out.”
The skeptical look on Clara’s face disappeared. “Oh. For shoes, you mean.”
“No. I need to make sure the mare is broke to ride.”
“I didn’t know you were hiring out as a horse trainer anymore, Jake. You’re so busy now you hardly have time to draw a good breath.”
It was true that on a good day his time was limited, but the past few days had been worse than hectic. A sick bull had been discovered in a back pasture and it had taken him and his two hired hands several hours just to get him loaded and back to the ranch. Added to that, a broken pump had left the barns and feed lots without a drop of water for the livestock, then one of his best horses had cut his foot and required surgery at the vet’s clinic in Ruidoso. And to make matters worse, he had no land telephone line
at his house, so when he’d lost his cell phone signal it had been impossible to call Rebecca. He’d never planned for three days to go by without contacting her and now it felt like weeks since she’d been at his ranch.
“I know, Mom, but Rebecca is—well, I’m not hiring out as a horse trainer for her. I’m doing this as a favor.”
Rolling her eyes, Clara groaned with misgivings. “Oh, son, don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten yourself involved with this girl from Texas. Don’t you have enough women around here without adding her to your string?”
Jake didn’t bother to stop the grimace on his face. Linking Rebecca to the other women he’d known over the years seemed downright disrespectful. She wasn’t like those women and neither was their relationship.
Who are you kidding, Jake? You’ve already taken her to your bed. And you can’t wait to get her back in it. What makes this thing with Rebecca any different than the last woman you bedded?
Dammit, now was hardly the time for his conscience to start talking to him. His mother’s voiced opinion was bad enough.
“I’m not—this is not what you’re thinking, Mom.”
She shot him a look of disgust. One that Jake had seen a hundred times before. “The woman doesn’t even belong around here. Sooner or later, she’ll be going back to wherever she came from. That tells me you’re not serious about her. But then you’re never serious about any of them, are you?” Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze to the roof of the porch and sighed. “You’ll be like your father until the day you die.”
Over the years Clara had said some demeaning things to Jake, all of them pointing back to Lee’s failings as a father and a husband, and how Jake had inherited the man’s shortcomings. But she’d never spoken to him in such a sarcastic tone before and Jake didn’t know whether he was angry or hurt or simply weary of being linked to Lee’s mistakes.
His Texas Wildflower Page 13