by Isla Bennet
“You got this, Lucy,” her father said, without any sugarcoating, as if it was a fact.
She inhaled sharply, heard the pop of the machine and swung the bat with as much force as she could gather. Thwack!
The impact of the bat meeting the baseball stunned her, and she stumbled and landed on one knee. Her eyes followed the ball’s trip to the other side of the cage.
Whoa.
“I hit the ball!” Fueled by euphoria, she got to her feet and broke into a run. The soles of her sneakers slapped against the pavement. “D’you see? I hit one!”
You got this.
Lucy kept running, her excited shrieks and Dinah’s cheers echoing in her ears. Then there was Peyton, his expression cool but his eyes lit with … what?
He reached out one arm, maybe to give another fist bump, yet somehow she slammed right into him, and he grunted but caught her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. And he spun with her laughing in his arms. One revolution, two revolutions.
“I’m proud of you, Lucy.”
That was what lit his eyes: pride.
EVERYONE HAD AGREED to have their tents pitched and sleeping bags unrolled by ten p.m. in order to get in enough shut-eye before leaving the campsite at sunrise. But at two in the morning, Valerie sat wide awake, in the driver’s seat of one of the ATVs. She’d grabbed her sleeping bag and offered Cordelia their tent after her cousin had trudged into the woods three times to relieve herself following their campfire supper. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable in the sleeping bag—she’d bunked in worse conditions.
She just couldn’t rest. Her brain wouldn’t slow down, wouldn’t let the vast, powerful landscape and star-filled sky lull her to sleep. At midnight she’d returned to the doused campfire with a penlight and Lady Chatterley’s Lover, intending to use her downtime during the cattle drive to read because she hadn’t much chance to put a dent in the book since rediscovering it in the ranch office. She’d gotten through four chapters when Steven emerged from his tent jonesing for a cigarette. Smoking wasn’t permitted on the ranch as a precaution, so he was used to coping. Apparently tonight was a struggle so, armed with a slim flashlight, he’d taken off for a run, hoping the exercise would ease the craving.
Following his lead, Valerie had returned to the ATV and done some crunches on the ground. Now, more wound up than drowsy, she grabbed her cell phone and was stunned to have reception in this location. Missing her daughter wasn’t technically an emergency, so she wouldn’t have resorted to awakening Cordelia to ask for the satellite phone.
Leaning against the ATV’s hood, she inhaled sharply and dialed Peyton’s cell phone.
One ring. Two rings. Three. Four.
“Hey, Valerie.” His voice was low and strong and oddly comforting. “How’s the middle of nowhere?”
“Calm. Beautiful.” She faltered. “Uh … I just wanted to see how things’re going with Lucy.”
“At two-twenty in the morning?”
“I miss her. And I can’t sleep.”
“Then let’s talk. Just let me close up shop. Research.” There was the rustling sound of paper on the other end of the line.
“On what?”
“Robotic-assisted surgery.”
Valerie pictured him rumpled, nursing a cup of coffee the way he had when studying on weekends away from college. She felt herself smile into the darkness. “Sounds complicated.”
“Complicated, and interesting as hell. To me, anyway.” More rustling, then the sound of books being slapped shut. “Now I’m all yours.”
You’re not. You never were. Valerie dashed the pessimistic thought. He felt near, even though they were miles apart. She held on to that security like a young child to a blanket. “Did you visit Luce today?”
“I had a double shift at Memorial, so we left the house early, had breakfast out—at Peridot, not the diner—and then I dropped her off at school. Dinah came along.”
Valerie tried not to feel guilty about persuading Dinah to oversee his visits with Lucy. No doubt he felt like her aunt was horning in on his time with their daughter. But she couldn’t let herself care about his bruised feelings when keeping Lucy away from his mother took precedence.
“Are you and Lucy getting along?”
“She hasn’t asked me to go away … and I don’t want to go away. I appreciate you giving me the chance to be with her. But I want to know if all bets are going to be off when you come home.”
“No.”
“And when I see her, will I see you, too?”
Like it or not, he was a part of Lucy’s life—and therefore, a part of hers. “Yes,” she said on a sigh, and wondered whether it sounded like static on his end. “You’ll see me.”
“Good.” Another pause. “How bright are the stars where you’re at?”
“Very.” She tipped her face up at the endless, pure darkness that was pierced with silver-white shimmering fragments and a glowing full moon.
“Lucy told me you mapped a star chart on the Crest.”
The Crest was a mountain peak that boasted the highest altitude in their immediate area. As the story went, in 1851 banker Theo Jedidiah had lost his fortune and, close to ending his life, had traveled south to explore. He’d unearthed uncultivated, rugged hills and soaring mountains, and had been convinced that the sight of the night sky from a particular mountaintop would give any man reason to live. Eventually he’d made the land his home, and named the town after what had been his deliverance.
In the spring and summer, the Crest reached its popularity peak. People were more hesitant to take on the difficult trek in unpredictable autumn and winter. Over time a narrow road had been carved into part of the mountain to aid visitors, but to reach the point that had saved Theo Jedidiah’s life, you had to go on foot.
Valerie made the climb every season. The reward—the raw beauty that had brought tears the first time she’d seen it—always made the journey worthwhile.
“I mapped the chart the summer before last.” It had been grueling to carry the bulky charting tools, especially a telescope and a tube of grid paper, to the mountain peak. But it had been peaceful and even a little thrilling to spend the night hours recording her coordinates, relying on a plastic planisphere and cardinal directions to identify stars from the lookout on the precipice of the mountain.
“Adventurous.”
Once Valerie had invited him to the Crest, but he’d declined, saying he’d rather not die from a five-thousand-foot fall. “Some people would call forging into disaster zones adventurous.”
“What people?”
“Me.”
Peyton didn’t immediately respond. Finally he said, “Is your phone good on battery?”
She checked the screen. “Yeah.”
“Get comfortable and listen.”
Curious, she returned to her sleeping bag and snuggled her worn Southwestern-style wool blanket.
Then came the faraway stuttering sound of an orchestral performance. Estella’s classical records.
Valerie remembered being ten years old and fascinated by the blonde woman in the red trench coat who’d sat with her in the library for an entire afternoon, browsing Newberry winners. She’d been like a Texan Jackie O—charming and charismatic.
She’d once overheard Estella and Nathaniel bickering in heated whispers—overheard Nathaniel growl, “Can’t she be somebody else’s charity case?”
Whether Estella had considered her a “charity case” was immaterial. The woman had left an imprint on Valerie’s soul.
The music drifted over her. After a while, heavy-lidded and languid, she heard Peyton say softly, “Sleepy now?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“’Night, Valerie.”
“’Night.” She ended the call and fell asleep with his voice still in her mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU’RE HOME.” Dinah, who’d been engrossed in a game of Solitaire, set the playing cards on the coffee table and met Valerie in the family-room entryway. “How
’d the drive go?”
Aching all over and exhausted to her bone marrow, Valerie still accepted her aunt’s bear hug. “As good as expected, but a couple of the bulls didn’t make it to the valley. Even at the slow pace they lost too much weight.” She shook her head, trying to stifle the disappointment. It wasn’t easy with Coop’s criticism still reverberating. He often chastised her for holding on to too many cattle—urged her to sell a few hundred head before the majority died off.
Not that the survival numbers were out of the ordinary. It was another issue to dispute, just like calving season and horse training.
Valerie removed the long-sleeved thermal overshirt that had come in handy overnight or when the winds picked up. Most of the days were spent riding in the sun, and she’d sweated clear through her tee shirts. “Where’s Lucy?”
“With Peyton in the barn. They’ve been out there a while.”
Bunking at campsites over the past week had been difficult to start with, but almost every night she’d spent hours awake, sitting on one of the ATVs, staring out at the stars and wondering—no, worrying—about Peyton frequenting her ranch.
He’d been unexpectedly kind on the phone the other night—not indulging, but understanding and … compassionate.
Yet the idea of him in her home without her there—and his mother roaming the town—made her feel exposed. And she hated it.
Had Marin put a bug in his ear, toying with him by providing tidbits of information that would make him curious enough to ask questions? Had he grilled their daughter for information about the ranch, about the twins’ early years when there hadn’t been much money and Valerie had tasted real desperation? Had he already begun to systematically unravel her secrets?
There were chapters of her life—things she’d done—that she didn’t want to share with anyone. Not friends. Not family. Especially not Peyton.
“How often has he been here? In the house?” Valerie inquired, folding the thermal even though it was far beyond dirty and needed to be washed with the rest of her cattle drive laundry. Anything to distract herself from letting fear slip into her voice.
“A few times throughout the week.” The older woman motioned for Valerie to join her in the kitchen that smelled of cornbread and spices. A large covered pot sat on one of the range’s burners. “Tonight he cooked dinner and there’s plenty for you. Firehouse chili, he calls it. Let me fix you a plate.”
“No thanks, Di,” she said, although the idea of chili and cornbread made her stomach contract with longing. “I’d like to hug my daughter.”
Her aunt smiled. “Then go on to the barn.”
Valerie bit her lip, debating her next move. Fresh off of a horse, with no makeup and probably not nearly enough deodorant, she was a mess. But why should she delay seeing Lucy by primping for a man she was trying not to want to impress?
Decision made, she hurried out to the barn, and nearly ran into Lucy.
“Mom!”
Valerie took her daughter’s face in her hands and issued a smattering of kisses, feeling a tinge wistful that in a few short months Lucy would be thirteen and think herself too old for this. “Now I’m happy,” she whispered, recalling their exchange when Valerie left the previous Sunday.
“Pisces is in labor!” Lucy broke into a run. “I’ve gotta find towels. And dental floss.”
Valerie crouched beside Peyton and looked down at Lucy’s fur baby, who purred and breathed heavily as she lay on a nest of hay. Two beige-white kittens mewled nearby, smeared with fluid and remnants of placenta.
A third kitten remained connected to Pisces through its umbilical cord.
“The cat couldn’t chew through the cord. You’re just in time to see the cut.” Peyton glanced across at her before returning his furrowed-browed attention to Pisces.
The attached kitten squirmed as Lucy returned to the barn joined by Dinah, who was loaded down with towels. Dinah handed the floss to Peyton.
“Mom, he freed one of the babies from the sac with a towel. It was like jelly.”
“Want to do the honors?” he asked Valerie, holding out the floss and a pair of scissors.
Valerie quickly scrubbed her hands, pulled on gloves and tied off the umbilical cord with the floss before accepting the scissors and severing the cord.
The other two kittens wormed their way to Pisces’s belly and began suckling.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Dinah murmured in awe, hovering behind Valerie. “You did just fine.”
Valerie’s gaze found Peyton’s. “So did you,” she whispered, close enough to feel his warmth. She blinked, regaining control when it was suddenly so easy to lean on him. “And you, too, Lucy.”
“I see lots of soap and bleach in my future.” Dinah gathered the soiled towels and scurried out of the barn.
“Do you need help getting to your mommy?” Lucy cooed to the pale gray kitten, scooping it up with both hands.
“Lucy—” Valerie watched her daughter settle the kitten beside Pisces—and the cat’s ears pinned back “—you shouldn’t have picked that kitten up with your bare hands.”
“How come?”
The three of them watched Pisces continue to attempt to distance herself from the kitten, even detaching herself from the other two and uttering a low hiss.
“She’s rejecting it,” Peyton said.
“Isn’t it still too early to tell?” Valerie objected, even though she knew he was right.
“Why? What’d I do?” Lucy asked. “I just gave it to her, so it can eat.”
“I … well … I think you gave it your human scent.”
“But if it can’t eat or be nurtured, it’ll die!”
Valerie swallowed, hating for it to come to that. “Not if we nurture it. We should get Vet Boone on the phone.”
Wallace “Vet” Boone had been a practicing veterinarian in town since Valerie could remember. His wife, Marcella, ran the consignment shop in town, though her true claim to local fame was her blue-ribbon-winning homemade jams. Having just seen his last patient of the day at his basement clinic, he offered to make a house call. In his typical flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, with his thick gray hair pulled into a ponytail, Vet came lumbering into the barn loaded down with formula for the newborn that would be missing the necessary enzymes and colostrum it would’ve gotten from Pisces’s nipples and milk.
“Pay attention to nutrition and temperature,” Vet cautioned. He went to Peyton, who held the rejected newborn in a fluffy towel. “A heating lamp can be useful. Just set it up near the carrier.”
Valerie approached, unable to resist a closer look at the animal’s tiny scrunched face. “Anything else, Vet?”
“Congratulations,” he said, patting her and Peyton on the shoulders. “It’s a boy.”
Valerie smiled politely but couldn’t help imagining what it would’ve been like to have Peyton at her side during the birth of their twin daughters. She also wondered whether constantly helping to bring new life into the world weighed down on Vet, who’d tragically lost his youngest daughter decades ago. The death of a young child was something that bonded Valerie and the Boones.
After Valerie had escorted Vet Boone to his truck, she returned to the barn to hear Lucy ask, “Are you sure he’s getting enough formula, Peyton?”
“Positive. Look at his belly. Adjust your hand—here, like this.”
Lucy had a thick towel draped across her lap and fitted snugly into one of her hands was the newborn. In the other was the dropper.
The kitten, with its eyes and ears shut, appeared to be unaware of anything else but the feeling of being fed.
“Do you think Mom will let me keep him in the house—just for a few weeks? Pisces is keeping the others warm, but he looks really cold and the warm-water gloves might not keep his temperature up.”
“Not sure about that, Lucy.” At her deflated sigh, he went on. “How about I take the kitten with me?”
Valerie’s mouth opened in awe. He would do that? Peyton No-Attachme
nts Turner was willing to take in a rejected kitten? Rattled to be bumped off guard at his suggestion, she spoke up. “Jasper might not appreciate having a cat to clean up after.”
“What do you suggest?” Peyton volleyed back.
“That Lucy and I adopt him.”
“You mean he can stay in the house? Really?” As if the devil were on her heels, Lucy gathered the kitten and rushed off. On her way out the barn she called over her shoulder, “I still want Sarah’s llama. You and her parents promised we could talk about it when you got back from the cattle drive.”
Valerie chuckled as she and Peyton followed at a slower pace. “She’s persistent. Once she gets a goal stuck in her head she won’t let it go.”
“Reminds me of you, Val.” He stopped walking, touched her arm, and she stopped, too. “I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like an idiot, but … Uh, when did you decide you could do this? Be a parent, I mean.”
He didn’t sound like an idiot. He sounded uncertain and a bit afraid. “I worked in a library through the pregnancy, and I read every book my branch had on the subject. But all that knowledge still didn’t make those babies real to me until the minute they were born,” she said. “Even when I felt them kick, and when my water broke at a convenience store, they just weren’t real. Not until I saw and smelled and heard them. Then it kicked in, that I was a mother, ready or not, and I was in love in a way that I’d never been before. It terrified me.”
Peyton’s jaw worked, and he inclined his head. “So it’s normal to be this scared.”
“There’s a difference between being scared but certain, and being scared because you’re walking into a mistake.”
He shrugged, releasing her arm, looking both tough and vulnerable. “Lucy’s in-your-face and confusing, and I’d do anything for her. Anna’s somebody I’ll never even know, but I miss her anyway, every day.”
She gasped so softly she doubted he heard it. He’d mastered the art of turning love away at the door, so well that he hadn’t recognized that he cared about his own children. She felt sorry for him because he didn’t know the unbeatable wonder of what she’d felt when their daughters were born: love at first sight. “What are you saying?”