“Baby Elita is ten and a half months old, and Carmen is due in two months, though she hopes little Pablo comes sooner,” Ryan explained to Erica.
She cast him an incredulous stare. “With a name like Ryan and the auburn hair to match, you speak Spanish?”
He gave her another one of his lopsided grins. “Actually several languages, though I’m not fluent in all of them. My mother is a French teacher, I took Spanish in high school, and I had a roommate in college whose family transferred here from Germany. I also know some sign language. My aunt signs at her church.”
“What? No Gaelic?” Erica felt her own lips turn upward.
He chuckled, a pleasant sound that sent a rumbly sort of tremor straight to the pit of her stomach. “No, no Gaelic.” He settled back in his seat. “So tell me, Erica, where are you headed?”
She liked the way he said the syllables of her name. Soft, not harsh as she often heard them. “A small, pin-dot town on the map. From what I understand, if you blink you’ll pass it by.”
“One of those, huh? I’m from a town like that myself. Population 942. Wait, I take that back. Mindy Jacobs had a baby last week. Make that 943.”
Erica laughed. “I’ve always thought small-town life would be so charming. Close-knit families, friendly neighbors, everyone knowing everyone else.”
“And everyone else’s business,” Ryan filled in wryly. “So what’s the name of this pin-dot, small town?”
“Preston Corners.”
“You’re kidding! That’s where I’m headed.”
Erica’s eyes widened. “Really?” A flicker of something akin to nervous energy lit inside her. “Any chance you know Wes Beardsley?”
“Do I! My nemesis and best buddy all through high school. We played sports together.”
“Oh?” Her heartbeat quickened. “What’s he like?”
“What’s he like?” Ryan repeated the question, as if he didn’t understand it. “I don’t know…he can be a regular card at times. A real ham when it comes to the spotlight. Other times he can be stone-dead serious.”
Erica moistened her bottom lip, mentally storing the information. “And what’s he look like now? Is he tall? Short? Heavy? Thin? Does he have wavy hair like yours or…or is it straight?” She fumbled with the last words when Ryan’s brows gathered in a suspicious frown, and she realized how odd her questions must seem.
“His hair’s straight. He’s shorter than I am. Huskier, too.” He fixed her with a sober stare. “He’s married, you know. Has a great wife—Stacey—and three kids. He married his high school sweetheart, as a matter of fact. They dote on each other.”
“Three kids?” Erica knew about the wife but not the kids. Wes hadn’t mentioned them during their phone conversation. A firewood peddler had come knocking on her door, cutting the call short. “What does he do for a living?”
“Why do you want to know so much about him?”
Her gaze fell to her lap. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I’m just curious.”
“Really…Curious?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the bus wall, eyeing her as if she were the typical other woman out to steal his buddy from the family who loved him. “So, what are you to Wes? An old girlfriend he met on summer vacations? A pen pal? A college chum?”
Erica tried to swallow the lump that had risen to her throat. Might as well tell him. Since he lived in Preston Corners, he’d know soon enough anyway.
“I’m his sister.”
“His sister?” Ryan’s disapproving tone changed to shock then grew wary. “Wes doesn’t have a sister. We’ve been buddies for over fifteen years, so I should know.”
Erica released a whisper-soft breath and forced herself to hold his gaze. “I didn’t know he had a sister, either. Not until several weeks ago. Actually, he has two of them. Me and…” She mentally searched for the name. “Paula. Yes, that’s it. Paula Rothner. She’s my sister, too.”
Ryan only stared. Erica offered a thin smile.
“You’re putting me on,” he said at last.
“No. It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere for the next nine hours. The bus isn’t due to pull into Preston Corners until tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” She repeatedly smoothed her hand down her leg, as though to remove a stubborn wrinkle in her jeans that wasn’t there. Anxiety was written all over her. “I don’t remember much about life before first grade,” she began slowly, her soft, Texas drawl becoming more pronounced. “Just hazy recollections. But I was never sure if they stemmed from something that actually happened or if they came from a recurring dream I’ve had for as long as I can remember.” She cast a worried glance his way. “Does that sound crazy?”
“No. I’ve read that a child doesn’t reach memory stage until six years of age, though I disagree. I remember my dad tossing me up in the air before I hit kindergarten.” He tugged at his ear. “The article went on to say that every part of our existence, from babyhood on, takes deep root in a part of our brain that stores that information. Some people never retrieve the events of their first years. But, depending on the memory, especially if it’s a traumatic one, our subconscious mind remembers. And it may revisit us in our dreams.”
Erica looked surprised. “You sound well informed on the subject.”
“I read that in a psychology magazine. I’m a professional counselor.”
“Oh.” Her eyes took on a wary respect. “I guess that would explain why you know so much about it.”
Erica looked away, and Ryan frowned. Why was it that when people found out what he did for a living, they tensed up? As if afraid he might dive into their personal history, asking them to expose their deepest and darkest secrets.
The swishing of wheels on wet pavement and the tapping of light rain on the window were the only sounds heard in their row. Erica began to twist a strand of long hair around her index finger. As tightly as she wound it, Ryan was surprised her fingertip didn’t turn blue.
“If you want to talk about it, I promise I won’t make you stretch out and lie down on the empty seats in back.”
“What?” Her startled gaze met his.
“Like a psychiatrist’s couch. People seem to expect me to suggest such a thing. Though I think that mode of analysis is ancient history for the therapist. I wouldn’t know, since I’m only a high school counselor.”
“A high school counselor?”
“Yes. We have our own methods. We use candy as a bribe to get the kids to talk.” Ryan gave her a teasing grin then dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a red foil-wrapped candy kiss.
Her eyebrows lifted in amusement as she took it. “Thanks.” She opened the foil with a crisp rustle and popped the chocolate drop into her mouth. “Mmm. I love these.”
“That one’s on the house. But if you want another…” He pulled a silver piece of candy from his pocket and held it by its white tag, moving his hand to make it sway like a pendulum in front of her face. “Zin you must tell me your dreeem.”
Erica laughed at his mad hypnotist-doctor impersonation. “You know, you’re easy to talk to.”
“Thanks. That’s probably the nicest compliment I’ve gotten all week.” He set the candy kiss in her hand. “And just to put your mind at ease, I was only teasing. I don’t force confidences.”
“That’s okay. Like I said, I feel comfortable talking to you.”
“So it’s not my profession that makes you nervous?” he asked when she averted her gaze to the seat in front of her and was quiet a little too long.
“Not really. I think your profession is great. Necessary for all the troubled youth our world has today. I’ve just been a bundle of nerves since I woke up this morning, after having had that dream again last night.” She released a tired sigh. “I don’t know the particulars—how or why—but I can guess what happened. In my recurring dream or memory or whatever it is, there’s a cabin in the woods with a porch along the front. I’m about four years old. Two older children a
nd I are crying and screaming as a woman and a man in uniform pull us down the porch steps. I’m struggling to get away. I keep crying for something, but they won’t listen. They put us in their car. I turn to look out the rear window at a young woman standing on the porch, watching as the car drives off. She just stands there and doesn’t make any move to stop them from taking us.” Erica’s eyes closed.
Ryan knew Wes was a foster child. But he’d never supposed him to have blood siblings, since he rarely brought up his past when they were kids and never mentioned having sisters. Two weeks before Christmas, Wes expressed a desire to talk to Ryan, seeming eager about something, but had been interrupted by Peggy and the demand that he pull her loose tooth. After that, the kickoff of the football game took precedence. The subject was never brought up again, since Ryan left a few days later to visit one of his sisters for the holidays.
“Do you think the woman was your mother?” he prodded gently.
“After talking to Wes, I’m sure of it. He called, you know. Said he’d been trying to locate me for years. The couple who adopted me moved around a lot.” She frowned. “No one told me about my parents when I was old enough to ask. After I’d been in the state’s custody a year, Margaret and Darrin ‘came to my rescue,’ as they put it—”
“Margaret and Darrin?”
A lonely look filtered over Erica’s face, exposing her vulnerability. “My adoptive parents. They didn’t want me calling them Mama and Daddy. They said it made them feel old.”
Ryan experienced a strong urge to reach out and hold her hand but stopped just short of doing so by lacing his fingers tightly across his stomach. “That must’ve hurt.”
She shrugged as if it weren’t all that important, but he could see evidence of the pain in her tense mouth and downcast eyes. “I learned not to let it bother me.”
“So Wes told you that you had a brother and sister and that he wanted to meet you?”
She nodded. “I can’t begin to describe how I felt. I think he said a retired social services worker helped him uncover my new last name and that he’d found me through the Internet. I don’t remember—I was pretty much in a daze after his first few sentences when he introduced himself. But I did feel such a strong relief to know I wasn’t alone in the world. Margaret and Darrin were off on another cruise, and I was lonely. Wes invited me to his home for Christmas ‘to spend time getting to know one another again,’ as he put it, and I felt as if something clicked into place. It felt strange, too, as if I were in a dream and I’d wake up to find the conversation hadn’t been real. But I had his voice on my answering machine to prove it!”
Her eyes lit up and she giggled, making Ryan smile.
“I went out that night and bought gifts for him and Stacey. I had no idea what their tastes were. I was just thrilled to discover I had a family. Silly of me, I know.” She turned a self-conscious glance toward the back of the seat in front of him.
“No, not silly,” Ryan corrected. “Generous and thoughtful, but not silly.” This time he followed the impulse to lay his hand over hers and give it an encouraging squeeze. Shock, then pleasure, filled her eyes. Cinnamon-colored eyes that warmed him to his soul. “So why weren’t you able to visit Wes at Christmas?”
Her expression clouded, and he wished he could retrieve the question as quickly as he did his hand. “I got laid off a few days later. I was a secretary for a corporation that makes kitchen appliances. They had to cut corners and started with people most recently hired.”
“That must have been a blow, especially right before the holidays.” Ryan reached for his thermos of coffee.
“It was. I wallowed in self-pity for a while. Then I got a postcard from Margaret, telling me they’d met some friends on the cruise and were extending their vacation. I decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and go and meet my brother.” Erica cocked her head as if puzzled. “You know, I’ve always been a fairly private person. I can’t believe I’m sitting here, opening up to you like this.”
“It’s not so surprising. I’m your one link with Wes right now. You feel closer to him by talking to me. My profession might have something to do with it, too, though sometimes people clam up when they discover I’m a counselor. Others talk to me about their problems and have ever since I was a kid. It influenced my career choice. That and a lot of prayer.”
“You’re a Christian, too?”
“I wouldn’t have made it without God in my life, though I didn’t find Him until I was sixteen.”
“I probably wouldn’t have made it without Him, either.” She averted her gaze.
Ryan changed the subject, noting how somber she’d become. “How long are you staying in Preston Corners?”
“Until Wes gets tired of me, I guess.”
“I can’t see that happening.” His soft remark brought color to her cheeks, and he admired her fresh beauty. Thick, sable lashes framed her expressive eyes. Besides the frosty pale lipstick she wore, he could see no evidence of other makeup.
A soft grunt from Carmen’s seat brought their attention her way. She was attempting to get out of the chair, baby in tow.
“Is everything okay?” Ryan asked in Spanish.
She shook her head and put a hand to her stomach. “I need to go to the restroom again. Every fifteen minutes or so! This baby kicks a lot—he will be a good fighter. Or maybe a soccer player. But Pablo does no good for his mother’s poor bladder. Nor does his sister, Elita.”
Ryan chuckled then interpreted for the mystified Erica. “Tell her I’ll hold the baby,” Erica said, pushing up Ryan’s estimation of her by several notches. “It can’t be easy for her to juggle the girl and tend to her needs, too.”
Ryan related the offer. Carmen turned eyes full of surprise Erica’s way, hesitated, then carefully lifted the sling from around her neck and placed Elita in Erica’s open arms.
“Oh, isn’t she just precious?” Erica cooed as she set the bundle on her lap and looked down at the girl once Carmen waddled off. “She’s got eyes like big semisweet chocolate drops, just like her mama. Don’t you, sweetheart?” She grabbed one small dusky-colored hand and smiled at the tot, who stared up at her, perfectly content to be in this stranger’s care.
Ryan watched as Erica continued to play with and talk nonsense to the child. She would make a good mother someday. He turned his gaze toward the rain-streaked glass and the traffic whizzing by in the next lane. Why that thought popped into his head, when he had little to base it on, Ryan had no idea. But one thing he did know: As tempting as Erica was, as sweet as she seemed, he would keep his vow and not get involved with her. Not with any woman.
Chapter 2
N ear midnight, the bus rumbled to a stop by a motel. An all-night café stood nearby. Everyone turned curious eyes toward the driver as he stood and awkwardly faced them. By the expression on his craggy face, Erica sensed the news wasn’t good.
“Sorry, folks. The winter storm took an unexpected turn and has hit the next two towns on our route. We might be gettin’ some ugly weather here, too. I talked to my supervisor, and he advised me to wait till daylight when the bridges and overpasses are clear of ice. By then the sand trucks will’ve made their runs over the freeway. You’re welcome to sleep on the bus—we got plenty o’ blankets and pillows—or if you want a bed, there’s a motel over yonder.” That said, he quickly reclaimed his seat, as if relieved that his brief ordeal at public speaking was over.
Several passengers grumbled, and some got out their cell phones, but no one complained too loudly. Who could argue with someone who wanted to protect lives?
Erica sighed and settled back in her seat. Texas was like that. Not many knew how to drive in winter weather, so the least amount of snow or sleet shut things down fast. Earlier today, she’d been thankful to learn the bus company hadn’t canceled this trip since the storm wasn’t forecast for their route. She’d watched the news last night to be sure. But then, Texas weather was so unpredictable.
“Treat you to a mid
night snack?” Ryan asked.
Erica smiled, deciding to make the best of things. “Only if we have separate bills.”
As they left the bus, she focused on the electric, red vacancy sign broadcasting its message from the motel’s office window “over yonder,” as their hillbilly driver had put it. She wished she could afford a room, but with the loss of her job, she should watch her money. Her lease would soon be up on her apartment, and she might have to find a cheaper place to live. Regardless, Erica couldn’t let Ryan pay for her meal when they were only strangers.
They sat tucked away in a cozy booth of the warm restaurant. Pictures of cartoon armadillos wearing cowboy hats and toting six-shooters in gun belts covered the gray board wall near their window. The table itself bore an old-fashioned newspaper print décor with headlines about bandits, cattle drives, and cowboys mixed in with ads sporting everything from men’s hair tonic to ladies’ corsets.
They munched on longhorn cattleburgers and tater sticks, and downed a pot of hot, decaffeinated coffee labeled Thick-as-Mud Brew. Afterward, Erica was surprised when Ryan motioned the grandmotherly waitress over to their table a second time and ordered a batch of chocolate-chip pancakes, also asking Erica if she wanted anything more. Grinning, she shook her head, wondering where Ryan stowed all his food. When the waitress brought his order to the table, Erica couldn’t hold back a laugh and noticed amusement flicker in the waitress’s eyes, too.
A whipped cream smiley face with white bushy eyebrows decorated the top of the chocolate-dotted stack of four pancakes, and a maraschino cherry nose sat in its middle.
Ryan lifted his eyebrows and looked at the waitress.
She grinned. “Normally, I’d just do it up like the picture on the menu, but I couldn’t resist. Since you ordered what the little tykes usually do.”
Ryan puckered his mouth, as if holding back a laugh at the joke played on him, and the crease mark in his cheek deepened. “Well, you pegged me right, ma’am. I’m a boy at heart, with an insatiable sweet tooth to match. Got any chocolate syrup to go over these?” His golden-brown eyes gleamed as the smile stretched across his face.
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 21