Texas Redeemed

by Isla Bennet

  SHE LOOKED HOT.

  Peyton hadn’t wanted to think that as Valerie climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV. But his brain was on autopilot, harping on things that were out of his control. Like how ridiculously hot she was—and how she didn’t even seem to realize it. All seriousness, she efficiently adjusted the mirrors and settled in against the buttery leather seat, unaware that he was hanging on her every movement … cataloguing her every detail.

  She’d tamed that mane of loosely curled hair into a ponytail atop her head, exposing tiny ruby studs in her lobes. The earrings were modest, easy to miss but interesting enough to hook him once he noticed. The red flannel shirt she wore under a creased brown aviator jacket was faded, likely with years of wear. As were her jeans and cowboy boots. A stark difference from the irresistibly soft sweater she’d worn last night.

  And yet in an outfit that wasn’t meant to be sexy, she was exactly that. Content in familiar old clothes—relaxed, at ease … herself.

  He knew good and well he’d been staring too long, but didn’t consider looking away until she suddenly turned to him with raised eyebrows and said, “You ready to go?”

  Somehow he must’ve grunted out a response because a few moments later she’d backed out of the driveway and they were on the road, leaving the ranch in the distance.

  “Peyton.”

  “What?”

  “Your eyes are burning holes through me.” She braked at a stop sign, extracted a pair of his sunglasses from a compartment between the front seats and slid them on. “Do you have a question or … what?”

  Those sunglasses did him in. Dark and oversized on her heart-shaped face, throwing emphasis on her lips.

  They were good lips, full with a noticeable Cupid’s bow—and as she sank her front teeth into that plump bottom lip, he immediately thought of a juicy, freshly sliced peach.

  And he thought of that day he’d first kissed her.

  Damn it. Did all his blood just shoot to his groin? He’d gone from zero to rock-hard in less than a minute.

  “Want music?” he suggested, already fiddling with the radio and trying to ease the tightness in his jeans without drawing her attention.

  “Music? That’s your question?” She frowned then shrugged. “Always.”

  He could’ve figured that. She was a music brat, with a thing for heavy metal and rock. When he’d known her years ago she’d been dead-set on having the radio on while hauling hay and cleaning up after barn cats. He found a station that was halfway through Styx’s “Too Much Time on My Hands.”

  “Ooh, this song just speaks to me. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, but you listen for lyrics—the story. I listen for the music. You know, the beat, the melody.”

  “That’s because you don’t let the words in,” she said. “Guess that’s why you’re so into classical. Sometimes the lyrics are the most affecting part of a song.”

  Peyton thought of the records he’d inherited from his grandmother, who’d encouraged him to listen to Bach and Bizet and Beethoven to give his mind clarity and focus he studied. “Classical’s more than music. It’s … it’s a language.”

  Valerie sneaked a glance at him, her features suddenly softer. “You miss Estella. Terribly, right? I do, too.”

  Peyton responded by inching up the radio’s volume, and she let it go.

  “Ohhh, this song. I wish I had too much time on my hands.” She fell quiet for a moment, as if she’d revealed a secret meant to stay hidden. Then she continued, “This was one of the tunes featured in Rock of Ages. Lucy really got a kick out of that.”

  “It wasn’t too … uh … adult for her?”

  “No.” Valerie sent him a considering look. “Peyton, she knows more than you might expect—and she can handle it.”

  That got him thinking about the movie he’d found Lucy watching last night. He lowered the radio’s volume. “How much does she know?”

  “All about sex, for one thing,” she said, signaling a turn. “How could she not? She lives on a cattle ranch. Reproduction’s an important part of it. Besides, I thought it best that she understand puberty before the time came for bras and tampons. And we hit those milestones without any speed bumps.” She looked at him then, her mouth dropping open in an O. “Wow, I didn’t mean to embarrass … I mean, you’re a doctor …”

  And a father who didn’t want to even come close to thinking about his twelve-year-old daughter and issues like sex, bras and tampons.

  “The point is,” she went on, “she shouldn’t grow up ashamed of things that are all part of being a human … being a young woman. I was brought up that way and I don’t want that for Lucy. I want her to be fully informed so she’ll make good choices. As far as sex goes, she knows to come to me with any questions.”

  “Has she?” he wondered, instantly uneasy because he knew full well that Lucy’s first reaction in awkward situations seemed to be to lie.

  “Do you really want to know, Peyton?”

  No, God, no. “Yes.”

  “When she was nine she asked me what a prostitute is—that came after she and some friends watched Pretty Woman during a sleepover. And …” Valerie eased the SUV to a stop at a red light “… a few months ago she asked me about birth control pills. I’d never seen Dinah leave a room so quickly. Caught me off guard, too. The thought of curling up in a fetal position and crying did occur to me.”

  Peyton swore. A seventh-grader curious about birth control pills. “How’d she even hear about that?”

  “Kids at school were joking around about it. As usual, the gym class sex gossip was all wrong.” The light turned green and they were moving again. “Peyton, she’s definitely not ready for all the dating and kissing. Believe me, if she was interested in a boy I’d know about it.”

  He still wasn’t convinced, but he let it pass only to leave this subject.

  “In other news,” she said, “our barn cat is pregnant.”

  “Is sex everywhere?”

  Valerie froze for a second then erupted in full-out laughter. It was incredible to see her genuinely laugh. Her shoulders shook and after a minute she coughed once, then twice.

  And somehow a dam broke loose inside him, and he started laughing, too.

  A hint of an amused smile remained on her lips until they approached the cemetery. Then a heavy shadow seemed to sweep through the interior of the vehicle. Somehow the sunny autumn day seemed dusted in gray, the autumn leaves brittle, the ground made up of traps designed to destroy a person with every step. She slowed to a stop in a parking space and said softly, “Can you do this?”

  Meaning, could he face this place again? Could he deal with the assaulting memories of the last time he’d been here? Time hadn’t softened the images he carried, of him being stone sober but out of his mind, and dragged off the property in the dead of night with his wrists bound in handcuffs and his eyes blinded by the ominous flash of blue and red.

  He heard his pulse surging in his ears, felt his fingers tighten on the seat belt as he went about unfastening it.

  Valerie’s cool fingertips grazed his knuckles before she unbuckled the belt for him. He found in her eyes patience, curiosity and a dash of pity. “It’s okay if—”

  “No, I … I need to see Anna.” How pathetic was he to depend on Valerie to get him through this? She hadn’t been with him the night he’d been shoved into the back of a patrol car and taken to jail. But she was here now, and he knew with an indescribable degree of self-disgust that having her close was the encouragement and strength that filled the holes inside him left behind by his weakness.

  He reached for the bouquet of chrysanthemums, orchids and lilies in the backseat.

  “They’re beautiful.” Valerie’s mouth pulled into a wavering smile, which hit him harder than a frown would’ve.

  Peyton followed her closely as she navigated a path between rows of granite and stone markers. There were flowers on graves and even stuffed animals and pumpkins. Passing the cemetery’s pavilion,
she waved at the groundskeeper, who, upon recognizing Peyton, straightened sharply as if cracked by a whip.

  “Is that Mister Ezekiel?” he asked her as they continued on.

  “It is. Retired now, but he volunteers off and on.” Valerie tossed a glance over her shoulder in the groundskeeper’s general direction. “Like a lot of people, he can forgive but not forget. Suppose you’re finding that out rather quickly.”

  If he could ever bring himself to forgive or forget what he’d done here, it wasn’t likely that this town would let him.

  “Anna,” Valerie said, lowering to her knees and touching a rectangular bronze marker with the girl’s name on it, “it’s Mommy. Guess who else is here to see you? Your dad. First, I want to tell you something.”

  Peyton retreated a few paces, giving her room and as much privacy as he could. Gripping the flowers’ bundled stems, he watched Valerie’s back as she lowered her head and murmured quietly. He felt like an intruder horning in on a ritual, interfering with Valerie’s visit with the daughter he’d never known.

  Then Valerie lifted the sunglasses to the top of her head and reached out for his hand. He didn’t think about it, just entwined his fingers with hers and let her pull him closer. She was inviting him, including him, letting him in.

  “Okay, Anna,” she said, “I’ll let your dad talk to you now, but I’ll be back soon. And Lucy loves you. You know she does.”

  Peyton’s eyes landed on hers, but she wouldn’t say more. Instead she straightened and walked away in the direction they’d come.

  He set the bouquet down at the marker. “I miss you, Anna. Is that crazy? I miss you and I never met you, never knew you were there until … until you weren’t.” He wasn’t making any sense but could he be expected to? Then he gave up on thinking, preparing, and just spoke to his daughter. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to Night Sky sooner. It feels like a part of me’s not here. And I think it’s because you’re that part.”

  There was a stinging sensation behind his eyes, along his sinuses. Maybe allergies, he figured, moving the bouquet a bit closer to the marker and away from his face. “I’ll bet you’re doing a good job watching over your mom and sister, but how about I help with that?” He didn’t have the strength to tell his daughter that walking away was still a possibility because all of this was coming at him too fast, too heavy, for him to handle.

  His only answer was the hum of the groundskeeper’s edge trimmer in the distance.

  The stinging behind his eyes converted into hot tears that trickled to his chin before freefalling onto the grass. He didn’t utter a sound, just let the tears gather and fall as he pressed his fingers to the marker.

  After a minute he scrubbed his hands over his face where his skin felt warm, as if freshly struck. He dragged in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Anna.”

  He felt overheated and drained and angry and broken and somehow at a strange level of peace when he found his way to the parking lot.

  Valerie stood leaning against the SUV. As he came nearer he could see that her eyes were misty, the tip of her nose was pink, those tempting lips were drawn into a quivering line and she had a balled-up tissue in her hand.

  This was his Valerie—hurting, vulnerable and honest.

  It was her honesty that he’d wrapped himself up in all those years ago, the scary and reassuring feeling that if there was one person left in the world he could trust, it was her.

  “Are you okay, Peyton?”

  “I will be,” he said, recalling his grandfather’s words the day he’d returned to town—and wishing he was right.

  Peyton’s gaze locked on hers. He knew she could see the tears shining in his eyes but he didn’t care. Nothing else made sense but to touch her. He folded his arms about her, tightly, bringing her up against him hard.

  She dropped the tissue and the sunglasses clattered onto the pavement, forgotten. Then her hands were diving into his hair, her gentle rush of an exhale filling his ears.

  He bent slightly as Valerie brought him down to her height, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder as he continued to hold her to him. And he found something there he’d stopped hoping for a long time ago … comfort.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WORKING AT THE computer for hours without snatching a break really wasn’t a good thing, Valerie realized, finally swiveling her office chair away from the screen and closing her strained eyes. Coincidentally—or not—she’d been buried in bills and payroll and daily chores since the morning she and Peyton had visited Anna’s gravesite almost two weeks ago.

  Last week he’d called and a left brief, to-the-point voice mail message. “I want to see you. We should talk about visitation. Call me, when you have time.”

  She had made sure that she hadn’t time, simply because she didn’t know how to address the obvious fact that something had shifted and settled between them at the cemetery. It couldn’t be ignored that they’d held each other, drunk in one another’s grief. With him in her arms, she’d been almost weak-kneed to finally have those long moments to mourn with him—moments she’d been deprived of when their daughter died.

  But once they’d gotten in his SUV, they’d ended up in their own little awkward universe. He’d turned on the radio, maybe for her benefit, but she hadn’t paid attention to the music. In fact, neither of them had spoken until she scooted out of the vehicle and said faintly, “I’ll call you,” not knowing when that would be.

  Now he wanted her to keep her word. Could she do that—face him while pretending that grieving Anna hadn’t literally brought them together?

  “Of course I can,” she murmured aloud, alone in the utilitarian office confronted with a desk cluttered with spreadsheets and binders and files. She stood, stretched her legs and put her fingertips to her eyes as if to rub away the strain.

  She’d camped out here for over two hours, placing orders, scheduling meetings with potential buyers and animal checkup appointments with her friend, Vet Boone. At some point she’d downed an entire mug of spiced cider, because she now glanced down at the blue ceramic surprised to find it empty.

  Soon she’d need to be at Peridot to pick up Felicity for the hike in Dunesboro Wild that they’d been planning for months but had rain-checked several times thanks to their erratic schedules.

  Getting out in the wilderness, even for only a few hours, would do her some good. Nothing put things in perspective like the unpredictability of nature in its rawest form.

  Valerie took a moment to tidy her workspace, noted the appointments she’d scheduled today on the corkboard she, Cordelia and Jack shared.

  Then she drifted to the bookcase in the corner, scanned the odd assortment of hardcovers and paperbacks that had wound up there whenever someone had brought reading material into the office but had forgotten to take it with them. Her fingers touched the creased spine of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

  “‘I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets,’” she quoted, plucking the book from the shelf and opening it. She knew the D. H. Lawrence novel well—had read it twice after purchasing it for a dollar at a university book sale.

  Regrets. Oh, she had plenty of them. And since that afternoon when she’d come face-to-face with Peyton at Memorial, her nights had indeed become full of them.

  And full of thoughts of Peyton.

  “Val, hey.”

  Valerie dropped the book as if it’d caught fire. Did she just yelp?

  “Sorry to scare—” Jack tossed his keys onto the desk and strode her way with a quiet footfall for someone so big. “You okay?”

  “Hmm? Yeah! Of course. I-I’m good,” she stammered, crouching to retrieve the book.

  Only, Jack had already reached down and swept it up in his bear paw. “Dropped this.” He glanced at the cover and the quizzical expression on his face appeared and disappeared in the span of a half second. “Here you go, boss.”

  “It’s literature.” Why did that sound so stupid coming from her lips? “I read it in college.�
� Twice.

  “Okay.”

  Except the way he said the word sounded like “Oookaaaay,” and Valerie gritted her teeth, pressing the book between her hands. “Anyway, I’m heading out for a few hours—hiking with Felicity.”

  “Where’s Luce? Haven’t seen her around.”

  “She spent the night at the Carews’ house. They’re all going to the Halloween party at the orchard together. Are you and Cordelia going?”

  “That depends on whether or not she decides to talk to me. It’s only noon. The day’s still early.” Jack dropped his large form into the office chair and logged into the ranch’s Outlook account. “I’m optimistic.”

  Confused, Valerie stood in front of the desk and set her book down. “Why the silent treatment?”

  “We had …” he sighed, shaking his head, narrowing his blue eyes “… words … about her running around here working an even heavier load than before the pregnancy. She’s doing that ‘taking stupid chances to prove she’s tough’ thing, and it’s driving me goddamn crazy. Valerie, the doctors keep warning her that this baby … it’s not a sure thing.”

  The high risk of Cordelia’s pregnancy wasn’t news to Valerie. “She’ll be forty at the beginning of the month, and she’s miscarried before.”

  “And she shouldn’t be working herself into the ground doing hard labor. Any minute we could lose that baby.” He stopped, with his hands poised over the keyboard. “When she loses a baby, she falls apart, and I have to put her together again. I’m tired of holding her together.”

  Valerie didn’t like the heaviness behind his words. “Jack?”

  “Look, I’d rather her not be pregnant at all than to keep going through this hell.”

  “She’s tough.” Valerie fell silent when his blank look told her the attempt at reassurance offered zero consolation.

  “Tough? That’s what she wants us all to think, isn’t it? She’s Rhys Jordan’s tough daughter who can do anything and never fails. She’s stubborn. Tell her that she can’t do something and she’ll go to hell and back to prove you wrong.”