by B. J Daniels
He grinned. “Yeah, you like?”
She nodded, looking surprised as she took a bite of the bread. “Yum. Homemade bread. Maybe this restaurant will do all right after all.”
“Maybe, if it has these meatballs on the menu,” he said and took another bite. “I’m serious,” he said between bites. “I’m hiring whoever made this.”
“Hiring them to do what?” Laci asked.
“Cook, what else?”
She glanced toward all the stainless steel in the kitchen. “This is your restaurant?”
It hadn’t dawned on her. For some reason, she’d just assumed he was doing the construction on the place—not that he owned it—given how he was dressed.
About then she noticed that he was looking at her oddly. “You made this?” he asked, sounding as surprised as she’d been about him.
She bristled. “Don’t I look like someone who could have made this?” She realized her skin was a little thin since her catering business had gone nowhere fast.
He still looked stunned, and she realized he had to be regretting saying he wanted to hire whoever had made the meatballs now that he’d found out it was her. “Is this about the job offer? Because if it is, I’m definitely not looking for a job.”
“Sorry, it’s just that...” He shook his head. “Can you cook anything else?”
She bristled again. “Of course. I can cook anything.”
“That’s big talk,” he said, his tone challenging. “I assume you’re willing to back it up?”
She glared across the table at him. “Name your terms.”
He grinned. “I can have the kitchen ready tomorrow. Say 9:00 a.m.? You don’t mind a little friendly competition?”
“You mean from your chef?”
He nodded, looking pleased with himself.
Not that she had to prove anything with her cooking. But damn if she wasn’t going to show him. She smiled across the table at him, wanting to cook something that would knock this cowboy and his chef on their ears.
They ate in a strangely companionable silence. She couldn’t remember a meal she’d enjoyed as much. After they’d finished, she started to pick up her casserole dish, but he put a hand over hers. There were only two meatballs and just a little sauce and spaghetti left.
“Mind if I finish that off later? I’d be happy to get your dish back to you tomorrow.”
She looked into his dark eyes, surprised that she hadn’t noticed before the tiny flecks of gold in all that warm-brownie chocolate. What was she thinking taking a cooking dare from this man?
She didn’t want a job in a restaurant. She was determined to make Cavanaugh Catering a success.
But she couldn’t let him think that she was a one-dish cook. No way. Her pride was at stake here.
And not just that, Laci realized as she left and headed home. Bridger Duvall had taken her mind off worrying about Alyson for a while. And for that she was thankful.
But when she reached home, she knew that she couldn’t put off calling her friend any longer. She dialed the number Alyson had given her for the hotel where they would be staying in Hawaii.
“I’m sorry, we have no one by that name registered here,” the desk clerk informed her.
“But that’s not possible,” Laci said. “Mrs. Spencer Donovan gave me this number.”
“When were they to arrive?” the clerk asked.
Laci told him and waited while he checked.
“Apparently Mr. Donovan canceled those reservations.”
Laci stood holding the phone, dumbstruck, her fear spiking. Spencer had canceled the hotel reservations? Why?
So Laci couldn’t warn Alyson.
* * *
AS BRIDGER HEADED out of town toward the ranch he rented outside of Old Town Whitehorse, he spotted the nursing home marquee announcing one of the resident’s birthdays. It was later than usual, but still he turned into the lot.
It had become a ritual, stopping by every day to pay Pearl Cavanaugh and the other elderly Whitehorse Sewing Circle women a visit. He’d been told by the nurses that Pearl had been quite the woman before her stroke.
While her mother may have started the quilting group and possibly the adoptions, there was little doubt that Pearl Cavanaugh had been the ringleader during the time that he and Eve were adopted.
He stuck his head in Pearl’s room. Her husband Titus visited every morning and early in the afternoon. Bridger made a point of making sure their paths didn’t cross. He’d attempted to ask Titus about the adoption ring but had been quickly rebuked and threatened with slander. If Titus knew anything, he wasn’t talking. Just like the rest of them.
Pearl was lying in bed, her blue eyes open and fixed on the ceiling.
“How are you doing today, Pearl?”
No response. But then, he hadn’t expected one.
He pulled up a chair beside her bed and looked into her soft-skinned wrinkled face. It reflected years of living, and yet there was a gentle strength about her. He wished he had known her before the stroke. Guilt consumed him since he felt he was partly to blame for putting her here. If he hadn’t come to Whitehorse looking for answers, maybe she wouldn’t have had the stroke.
He took her frail hand. The skin was thin and pale, lifeless. Her eyes moved to him. “Remember me? Bridger Duvall. I’m one of your babies.”
Did something change in her expression? He could never be sure as he told her—as he always did—about his adoptive parents, about growing up on a ranch outside of Roundup, Montana.
“I loved my parents and miss them terribly, but I still want to know who my birth mother is. From what everyone has told me about you,” he continued, “you have to have known that some of the children you adopted out would come looking for their birth parents. You would have kept a record.”
He thought he saw something flicker in her pale blue eyes—eyes the same exact color as her granddaughter Laci’s. He was more convinced than ever that Pearl was in there, just unable to respond.
“You know who she is, don’t you?” He looked down at her hand. It was cool to the touch, the skin silken and thinly lined with veins. He stroked it gently.
“How to get that information out is the problem, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll be here every day to see you, and one of these days you’ll be able to tell me.” He smiled at her. “You’re going to get better.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d squeezed his hand just a little as he placed it carefully back on the bed.
As he rose, he saw that she was no longer looking at him but behind him. He spun around expecting to see Titus in the doorway, but it was another elderly lady he’d seen around the nursing home.
The woman was tall with cropped gray hair and a permanent scowl on her face. She quickly turned and took off down the hall.
As he started after her, a nurse appeared in the doorway. “Everything all right in here? I just saw Bertie Cavanaugh take off like a shot. She wasn’t bothering you, was she?”
Bridger shook his head. The nursing staff had been very kind to him. At first they’d been suspicious, but after a while seemed thankful for his visits to the patients.
“Bertie Cavanaugh?” he said. “Any relation to Pearl?”
“Everyone from Old Town Whitehorse is related one way or another,” the nurse said with a laugh. “I think they might be second cousins through marriage.”
Another elderly woman from Old Town. Had she belonged to the sewing circle? He’d have to find out. He tried not to get his hopes up. One of his first leads was a woman who was deeply involved in the illegal adoption ring, Nina Mae Cross. Unfortunately Nina Mae had Alzheimer’s and was of no help at all to him, even though he continued to visit her, as well.
“See you tomorrow, Pearl,” he said as he left. She was
staring up at the ceiling again, but he had the strangest feeling that seeing Bertie Cavanaugh had upset her.
Or did she fear that Bertie had overheard what they’d been talking about? His adoption.
Chapter Four
LACI TRIED TO stem her panic as she questioned the hotel clerk about the last-minute change. “Do you have any idea where Mr. and Mrs. Donovan went?” She heard the slight hesitation in the young man’s tone. “It’s urgent that I contact my friend. It really could be a matter of life and death.”
“We’re not supposed to give out that information,” the clerk said, dropping his voice. “But I did overhear the conversation. He asked our manager about a hotel more out of the way. More secluded.”
Her heart lodged in her throat. More secluded?
“I heard our manager tell him to try the Pacific Cove.”
“Thank you so much. You may have saved a life. You don’t happen to have that number, do you?”
The clerk at the Pacific Cove Inn rang Mrs. Spencer Donovan’s room. The phone rang three times, and Laci was debating whether she should leave a message or not when Alyson came on the line giggling.
“Aly?”
“Laci!” her friend cried in surprise. “I was so worried you wouldn’t get the message.”
“Message? Why? Has something happened?” Laci asked, heart pounding. Her friend sounded fine, but still Laci couldn’t help the fear she heard in her own voice.
“Happened? No, silly. The message that Spencer left you about the change of lodging. He is so thoughtful. He insisted we upgrade to a place that was more romantic.”
More romantic? Or just more isolated? Laci thought, barely able to breathe. She hadn’t gotten any message from Spencer. Or had that been him calling earlier today? “So it’s just the two of you there?”
Alyson laughed. “Of course not. It’s just a little smaller hotel with a private beach.”
“Then everything is all right?”
“It’s amazing. Laci, I’m having the time of my life. Spencer is so wonderful. I keep pinching myself. I can’t believe any of this—Hawaii, marriage, Spencer... Just a minute, he wants to say hello.”
Laci swore under her breath as Alyson handed off the phone before Laci could stop her.
“Laci, hi. I wasn’t sure you got my message about the hotel change. The line sounded funny. I didn’t think you could hear me.”
She’d heard breathing. She knew he’d been able to hear her. Or had he?
“I just wanted to thank you for everything,” Spencer was saying. “Alyson and I were just talking about what a great friend you are. So great, in fact, we’ve made a decision.” He sounded excited.
Laci held her breath.
“We’re going to settle on the ranch in Old Town Whitehorse,” Spencer said with a flourish. “It’s definite. With my business, I can work from anywhere, and Aly’s heart is set on being near you.”
“I’m so glad,” Laci managed to get out. He was calling Alyson Aly? That’s what Laci called her.
“Great, she’d hoped you would be. I’ll tell her. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. Listen, we were just heading out for some early sightseeing, but thanks again for everything. Aly says she’ll talk to you soon.” The line went dead.
Laci stood holding the phone, her hand shaking, her emotions running wild. Had Spencer really tried to leave her a message? Had she been wrong about hearing breathing on the line? He’d sounded so sincere on the phone. And Alyson... Aly was apparently safe, happy and having the time of her life. Not only that, the two planned to settle here.
Laci still couldn’t believe it. Was it possible she’d been wrong?
She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, telling herself that everything was going to be fine. It had been the champagne mixed with a huge dose of overactive imagination. Or maybe she really was losing her mind.
After all, she’d agreed to this cook-off at Bridger Duvall’s new restaurant. Clearly she couldn’t trust her instincts.
She went out on the porch, needing fresh air to clear her head. She knew she should be going through her recipes for the cooking contest with Bridger’s head chef tomorrow. Who had he got? Probably someone out of Bozeman. She’d eaten at several of the more elite restaurants there and knew they had some excellent chefs.
As she started to sit down in the porch swing, she noticed a square of white paper under it on the floor. Bending, she picked up a white envelope and turned it over to see in small, boxy print the words Laci Cherry.
Cherry? That had been her father’s name, but after his death and her mother’s desertion, her grandparents had adopted her and her sister Laney and given them the family name Cavanaugh.
She stared down at the envelope. No one knew her as Laci Cherry. Except maybe one person who might not know that her name had changed, she thought, her pulse pounding in her ears. That person had left Old Town Whitehorse twenty-eight years ago, when Laci was barely a year old, and had never been heard from again.
Laci’s mother, Geneva Cavanaugh Cherry.
She stared down at the envelope, her fingers trembling. There was no return address, no stamp. Nothing but her former name.
She wasn’t sure what frightened her more: what was inside the envelope or why someone would just leave it on her porch. Carefully she turned the small white envelope over in her fingers. How long had it been under the swing and she just hadn’t noticed? She had no way of telling.
If the envelope hadn’t been addressed to Laci Cherry, she wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But this reminder from the past scared her.
If only Laney were here. Her sister would have opened it by now.
Laci looked up the road as if she might see a vehicle. There was nothing but open prairie and rolling hills for miles, no sign of life. No clue as to who might have left it.
Feeling vulnerable, as if her home had been violated, she stepped inside and sniffed the air to see if she could tell whether the person had done more than just leave the note on her porch.
She never locked her door. Few people around here ever did. She walked through the house. Nothing that she could tell had been disturbed. But that didn’t mean that someone hadn’t been inside.
At the small desk in the kitchen, she took out the letter opener. Making a nice clean slice, she cut open the envelope and peered inside. A single sheet of matching white paper.
You’re going to feel so foolish when you read what’s inside. Nothing scary. No ghosts from the past. Just someone caught in a time warp. Like Alice Miller. She often got the names of residents confused, but she was almost ninety.
Carefully, as if lifting out something fragile, Laci took the sheet of paper from the envelope and unfolded it.
She’d been hoping the paper would contain a nice note from someone in the community. A note telling her how elegant she’d looked at Alyson’s wedding. Or even a thank-you for the goodies she’d been baking and taking to the nursing home.
But, of course, it was neither. Normal people mailed their letters. They didn’t leave them on your porch, where you may or may not find them.
All the writing was in the center of the note. Small and boxy, just like the writing on the envelope.
I know what really happened to your mother.
A dagger of ice ran through her. She stared at the words, telling herself it was just somebody’s idea of a prank. If the person really knew something, then why not come forward? And why wait nearly thirty years to do so?
She debated just tossing the note in the trash, but instead carefully put it back into the envelope, checking to make sure she hadn’t missed an address or other identifying mark before putting it into the kitchen desk drawer, all the time wondering if this had something to do with that mysterious call she’d gotten before. Had someone been tryi
ng to tell her something then but decided to send her a note instead?
The one thing she wasn’t going to do was call Laney again on her honeymoon and upset her, even though Laci was sure her sister would have told her it was nothing. But then, Laney didn’t like talking about their mother.
From the time Laci was small she’d always heard that her mother had packed up a few things and left town shortly after her husband had been killed in a car accident north of Old Town Whitehorse.
Apparently her mother had been so deeply in love with Russell Cherry that she hadn’t been able to live with any reminders of him. Those reminders, Laci assumed, being Old Town Whitehorse and the house her parents had built for her and her husband and her children, Laney and Laci.
Laci had never understood how any mother could leave two small children, just walk out the door with little more than a photo album, a suitcase and a few dollars in her purse and never look back.
Laci had been so young that she didn’t even remember her mother. While she knew now that her mother had never been back, she’d once pretended that her mother hadn’t really left. That Geneva watched over her and Laney.
Like the first day of school, both sisters scrubbed clean and wearing their best dresses. What mother could miss that? Laci had walked with her head up, wanting to make her mother proud as she entered the one-room schoolhouse, positive that Geneva was hiding in the trees nearby watching her and Laney.
Other major events Laci had been sure her mother had witnessed, as well. Her daughters’ birthdays, Christmas, Easter Sunday service and egg hunts, elementary, high school and college graduations.
Laci had often searched the crowd, hoping to see her mother’s face, although she believed her mother was too good at hiding to ever be seen.
And while struggling with why her mother had left, why she had never shown herself, Laci had held on to her fantasy that her mother cared.
That was, until she’d returned to the house in Old Town Whitehorse. At twenty-nine, she no longer kidded herself that Geneva Cherry was hiding behind the old barn in the distance or behind the big trees by the schoolhouse, watching over her daughters.