by Isla Bennet
Valerie edged back on her stool a millimeter. The Bishops—four sons and a daughter, and a father who was the very definition of a by-the-book lawman—reminded Valerie of a wolf pack. They were loyal and fearless, but you had to be careful not to get too close because for them work mattered above all else. She’d dated one of the sons—a firefighter—eons ago, and their relationship had been whiplash-short. An itch scratched, really, and neither of them had wanted more than that.
If Junie was a cougar on the prowl and ogling the offerings from the Bishop gene pool, then she figured Wayne, who was a nice enough guy but had lost some teeth back in his days of bare-knuckle boxing, had only a prayer. Which was too bad, really, since just because a man looked good didn’t mean he was good for you.
A momentary hush swept the room and the cops drew a few curious glances, but once it was apparent they weren’t here on business, everyone returned to their conversations, including Junie. “Be open-minded, Valerie.”
“About what?” Then she remembered she was talking to a woman who could’ve put Hedda Hopper to shame. “Oh. Peyton.”
Junie paused with uncertainty, then tossed her head. “Right. Of course. A couple of nurses from the hospital came in last night, and I heard his name come up once or twice—” she leaned, lowered her voice “—along with words like ‘hard body’ and ‘muscular ass.’”
“Well, people sure can talk around here. A lot. Must be something in the water,” Valerie said breezily, quietly congratulating herself for withholding her slight irritation at the prospect of Peyton being appraised by women who couldn’t even begin to understand him.
“How’s that working out for you? Him being back?”
“America’s a free country.” She gestured to the miniature United States flag taped to the tip jar beside the diner’s cash register. “I’ve got no right to tell him where to live.”
“Precisely,” the waitress said, as if in confirmation. She reached for the pot of decaf, suddenly in a hurry to get back to work. “I’ll have this order out to you and Lucy straightaway.”
Valerie left the counter with a gush of relief and sat down opposite Lucy at the table tucked away in the corner of the diner, setting her hat on the seat beside her.
“What was Junie talking your ear off about?” her daughter inquired hesitantly, as if she didn’t really want to know and would rather shrink inside the ancient Spurs hoodie she’d indefinitely borrowed from her mother.
“Wayne Beaudine.” At Lucy’s unconvinced stare, she added, “And then the subject moved on to your father.”
“Everyone’s talking about him, which means they’re talking about me, too.” The girl darted her gaze around the room, still not satisfied though no one had been watching them with gossip-hungry interest. “So how come you brought me here for breakfast? I could’ve eaten at home and taken the bus to school. Oh, no. Are you gonna ground me in front of an audience for ditching class?”
Valerie had dragged herself out of bed at five-thirty to feed flakes to the horses and muck out stalls. Already she was tired, and Fork’s cola with extra lime was her never-fail wakeup tonic. “I’m not grounding you, as long as there’s the understanding that you’re not to do something like that again.”
“Sorry.” But the apology sounded manufactured … false.
After Junie delivered their food, uncharacteristically without waiting longer than necessary in order to overhear any useful tidbits, Valerie and Lucy ate in tense silence—minus the chitchat around them and Dolly Parton’s soul-tugging “Jolene” coming from the radio behind the counter.
Finally, worry etched Lucy’s face as she said, “Pisces was acting weird when I fed her and she’s slow and won’t let me pick her up. I think she’s sick.” She polished off her fruit salad and guzzled down the water, following up with a belch. “Oops.”
“C’mon, we’re late,” Valerie said with a glance at the loudly ticking wall clock and a signal to Junie for the bill. “I’ll check on Pisces when I get back to the ranch.”
“We’re always late, Mom,” Lucy retorted, running past her and out of the diner, sending the little bell above the door into a ringing fit.
Only at the very tail end of the day did it ever feel like Valerie had time to slow down—to read, think, listen to music, scope out the stars, daydream ... anything. And by then it was time to look ahead to the next day’s obligations.
Last night had been different, a little out of her ordinary, because of those stolen minutes she’d spent in her backyard with Peyton.
How bizarre had that been? And why had his touch felt so natural, as if his hands belonged on her body?
Probably because they’d been so close before. Even when they were friends there was no such thing as personal space, and hugging and hand-holding and sharing a soda were as normal as anything. Traces of that friendship were still there, buried deep below the surface but there nonetheless.
But even wanting to unearth it was a risk she couldn’t take. The closer she allowed him, the closer he would come to finding out what she’d done. This, an old betrayal, would hurt him the most. And after what had gone down thirteen years ago, she didn’t want to imagine how he might turn against her. So she couldn’t let that happen—not to spare just him, but their daughter as well.
At the middle school, Lucy lingered inside the car. “Mom, when are you going to the feed store again? I can go with you.”
“Cordelia’s got it covered.”
“No! I mean … um … can we go on Saturday maybe? We never get to do stuff together.”
Nodding slowly, Valerie said, “I’ll let Cordelia know. Get going now.”
“Oh, and can I trade our goat for Sarah’s llama? Think about it, thanks, love you, ’bye!”
Then Lucy was gone, joining a handful of other late students in a race for the school entrance. What had just happened? Interest in the feed store all of a sudden? A scheme to swap their goat for the Carews’ llama?
Oh, yes, they were overdue for a serious talk—and not just about animal trading, but also about what Lucy had done yesterday. Valerie knew now that her daughter was capable of secrets and carelessness and lies.
When Valerie returned to the ranch, she found Jack and Cordelia in the kitchen having coffee with Dinah.
“Morning, guys,” Valerie greeted. “On my way to find a barn cat. Pisces may be sick.”
“I’ll help you look,” Cordelia said. “Come with us, Jack.”
Curious, Valerie frowned at her cousin’s eagerness to join in the search for a cat. But she said nothing as they trooped out to the barn. Already the day was busy with chores. Fresh bales of hay had been neatly stacked. Someone had delivered a boxful of pie pumpkins Dinah must’ve purchased from the farmers’ market before her trip last week. From what she could see, they were beauties. No doubt they’d make some delicious pies.
“Bake sale?” she inquired, locating the jar of organic cat treats Lucy kept stored on a shelf.
Jack shook his head. “Di’s donating about twenty pies—half to Meridian’s food bank and half to the Night Sky Church of Christ Thanksgiving dinner.” This year would be the fourth that the Jordans and Merrimans would volunteer before sitting down to their own meal.
“Found Pisces,” Cordelia said, wagging a finger as the cat appeared from behind a stack of hay. “What’re her symptoms?”
The three of them closed in on the cat and Valerie knelt to offer a treat. “Irritable, slow, might have a poor appetite.”
Jack muttered, “Hmm, let me see something. Hold her, Valerie.”
Valerie carefully gripped Pisces by the scruff of her neck, holding her in place while Jack placed his hand on the cat’s low-hanging belly. Though immobilized, Pisces made a gravelly growling sound.
“Let her go.” Jack leaned back on his haunches and looked from Cordelia to Valerie. “Pisces isn’t actually sick. She’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” Valerie and Cordelia exclaimed in unison.
“Luce’s g
onna flip when she finds out,” Cordelia went on.
“And she’ll want to keep the whole litter,” Jack added with a wink.
Valerie led them outside. “Speaking of Lucy, she and I will be going to the feed store, so scratch that off your errand list, Cordelia. And this afternoon I’ll take Brute out again. Did anyone let the Grangers know we’ll be going to the barn raising?” She finally stopped talking when she noticed the two were shuffling their feet. “What’s up?”
“Valerie …” Cordelia took her by the shoulders “… Pisces isn’t the only pregnant gal on the ranch.”
“You?”
“Yes! Just found out this morning. I wasn’t feeling well and had the crazy idea to try a pregnancy test. So Jack went out and bought one of each brand of tests the all-night pharmacy in Meridien had. All positives! We’ve been up since four, but we’re so excited neither of us can even think about sleep.”
“Congratulations!” Valerie hugged them both and couldn’t stop the squeal that escaped her. “This is—it’s incredible. But I thought you’d be ovulating …”
“Nope, guess I was pregnant, huh? See, that date wasn’t even necessary, Jackie.”
“It would’ve been fun to try though,” Jack said, and Cordelia playfully socked him on the arm then kissed him.
“Now we have to tell Mama,” Cordelia said with a sigh. “She’s going to go into super-protective-mother mode.”
“Because she cares.” Valerie knew that Cordelia had endured a series of miscarriages and her recent struggles to even become pregnant were a warning sign that she might not be capable of carrying a fetus to full term. Each failed pregnancy hit Cordelia hard mentally and emotionally, so it only made sense that Dinah would want to hover over her daughter.
Valerie squeezed her cousin’s shoulder. Giving Dinah the news likely wouldn’t be as eventful as the day Uncle Rhys had found a pregnancy test in Valerie’s trash, taken a belt to her and ordered her to pack her things and get out, all the while calling her a slut. “I’m heading out in a few, so you’ll have privacy to talk things over with Di.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Peyton’s picking me up.”
Jack and Cordelia glanced at each other, then started stammering over each other. “We, uh,” Jack finally said, “we noticed you were outside together for a while last night.”
“Just talking,” she stressed. And holding hands. And I let him fondle me. And I liked it.
“Well, we stand corrected.” He draped his arm over his wife’s shoulders.
“We’re visiting Anna today. Not sneaking off to Big—” She stopped herself in time, almost blurting out Big Bros’ Cages, where the twins had been conceived. “Not sneaking off.”
“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you did sneak off with a man,” Cordelia said. “Doesn’t have to be Peyton. But we notice how lonely you can get, Val.”
“Thanks, but I swear the cure-all isn’t to invite some guy into my pants.”
“Fine, fine. What about having somebody to really lean on? How about trying to give somebody a chance to make you happy? It’s possible. Anything is.”
“Cordelia, you sound like a fortune cookie. I’ll chalk it up to the pregnancy.”
“Damn it, I’m trying to look out for you.”
“Don’t. Really. You in super-protective-cousin mode is scary.”
“What’s wrong with letting someone in your life for real, Valerie? I mean that one person you can trust, maybe love, in a way you can’t trust or love anybody else.”
“Not interested.”
“Then we’ll leave you alone,” Jack cut in as his wife tried to protest.
“For now,” Cordelia added.
Valerie checked her watch. If she hurried she’d have enough time to swipe on some makeup before Peyton arrived. She’d had yet another restless night and didn’t want to walk around with dark circles as evidence.
She was waiting on the front porch when Peyton pulled up in a waxed and buffed black SUV that dwarfed her modest Chrysler. She hadn’t wanted to hang around inside and further explain why she’d be riding in a car with a man who’d broken her heart once and could potentially do it again—if she let him.
“Finally get to see the ranch in the light of day,” Peyton said, sliding out of the vehicle.
“You’ve been here ‘in the light of day’ before.”
“Battle Creek was a different place back then.”
Valerie followed his gaze from left to right, trying to imagine the breadth of the land through unfamiliar eyes. “The carriage house—can’t see it from here, but it’s down that narrow path, before you’d get to the meadow—is where Cordelia and Jack stay. The bunkhouses’re farther beyond—” she waved, indicating a handful of small rustic cabins barely visible in the midst of slopes and golden-leafed trees “—just past that thicket. Oh, remember the old barn?”
“The ready-to-collapse-and-kill-your-ass barn?” With a soft chuckle he pointed with uncertainty eastward at a coppice of cedar elms. “Wasn’t it over there?”
“Yep. It finally fell. No casualties. Well, except my old radio.” The only music stations the battered Emerson with its bent antennae had been able to pick up in its final days were country, Spanish and old-school rock that were ninety percent static. But she’d kept it around, more than anything desperate to hold on to memories of hanging out with Peyton in the barn, blasting the radio at full volume, trying to block out everything but her best friend and her music.
Peyton squinted, stepping off the pavement of the driveway and into the grass for a better vantage point. “Is that a windmill, over that hill?”
“It is. Installed about three years ago. Jack had the idea of windmill aeration of the pond, and every day that I don’t have to haul fresh water to the animals is a day I’m grateful for the suggestion.”
“I figure it’s low maintenance.”
“You figure right. The animals’re healthier, and we can invest our labor more efficiently elsewhere.” She rolled her shoulders, casting a skeptical glance his way. “I’d offer you a closer look, but the windmill’s a bit of a walk from here. Lucy likes to spend time there, but she goes on horseback.”
“Should’ve taken you up on your offer then,” he said.
“What offer?”
“Riding lessons in exchange for driving lessons.”
Valerie had been fifteen that summer, excited to have him home from college, and totally unsure about what to do with the facts that she’d filled out, he’d started to shave and they really weren’t kids anymore. Even though he’d been home, he’d also been preoccupied with stuff his grandfather wanted him to do—stuff for people with money and a name to be proud of … stuff that had excluded her. She’d known more than a little about driving, having learned to use her uncle’s tractor, but as an excuse to keep Peyton close had pretended to want lessons. But before she had had the chance to get him on a horse, he’d found himself a girlfriend in Meridien who offered more than afternoons spent riding horses and chilling out in a barely standing barn.
“If I remember right, you got your fair share of lessons that summer, Peyton.”
He searched her eyes. “What, exactly, do you remember?”
“Just the facts, according to you. Let’s see. You dated Lark Norton, and on your first date she put her hand in your pants. On your second date, you spent the weekend, got wasted on expensive booze and got it on in every room of her folks’ lake house. Again, that’s according to you.”
He winced. “Yeah, that’s the truth. Just wish I hadn’t shared so many details.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Now it wasn’t, but the idea of him having sex with some blonde debutante had speared her with jealousy and had her crying herself into dreams that were way too raunchy for a fifteen-year-old. “Lark left Texas, you know. Moved to Boston. Married a lawyer. The announcement was in The Night Sky Gazette.”
“Good for her.” The discomfort in his voice was unmistakable.
> And damn her, but Valerie enjoyed it. “I’ll say. I never did thank her for teaching you how to kiss,” she added nonchalantly, despite the sudden leap in her pulse as she said the words. “By the time you got around to kissing me, you were okay at it.”
“Okay?”
“More than okay,” she admitted, recalling being sixteen and pressed against the trunk of a tulip poplar with Peyton’s mouth moving slowly, firmly, thoroughly over hers. “But you tricked me into it.”
“Tricked how? We’d walked to the creek and you complained about people treating you like a kid. Then you said you’d kiss the next guy you saw.”
“And you told me to close my eyes and then open them. And when I did, I saw you. And you—” she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket “—kissed me. Over and over.”
“Are you sorry?”
What were a few kisses compared to what they’d done in the backseat of her car only two short years after that muggy afternoon at the creek? It had never occurred to her to regret the day that had been better than anything she’d conjured in a heated dream—no matter that he’d wanted her only as a friend. “No, I’m not. I’m not sorry we cared about each other, that I kissed the first guy I saw. And I’m not sorry that we made our daughters.” She sighed. “We should get going. I put chores on hold to make this trip.”
Peyton reached out, snagged her sleeve. “I’m not sorry, either—that we made Anna and Lucy. What happened after that is what I’m sorry for.”
“I told you before not to shower me with apologies.”
“I’m giving you the truth.”
“Let’s just go, all right?”
He nodded, then retreated to the driver’s door. “Heads up.”
Valerie barely had her hand in the air before his keys smacked against her palm. She fumbled, nearly dropping them. “Why’re you giving me—”
He held open the door with one hand and made a sweeping motion with the other. “You’re driving.”