Sam came up beside him, held out his hand. “I’m driving.”
Ben pulled out his keys and got in the truck. “Keep up, Sam.”
14
Kacey simply had to think like an angry teenager.
How had Audrey gotten so far ahead of her? By the time she hit the main road, her daughter had vanished. She only hoped she’d been heading to Mercy Falls. Kacey sat at the stoplight on Main Street, trying to decide if she should turn right, toward the road that led to the old river bridge.
Maybe her daughter had remembered an old story she’d told about her father, decided to visit the past in the hope of finding answers. Granted, she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with names and details, but had told her enough to spark her imagination.
Or she might have gone to Sierra’s, although Kacey had driven past the old house, found the driveway empty.
She’d also searched the Last Chance coffee shop, the library, the bakery, and called home.
Her mother, of course, asked too many questions, and Kacey had to hang up without an explanation.
The last thing she needed was judgment from her parents about how she’d handled this way-too-delicate news.
“How could you do this to me? I wish you’d never come back!”
Kacey ran a hand under her chin, swiping at the moisture there, and took a right. The road took her past Mercy Falls Community Church, and the sight of the church stirred up memories of their youth.
S’mores and hiking with the youth group. Listening to Ben play his guitar on her front porch. Cheering for him as he threw touchdowns.
Agreeing to marry him, to love him forever.
“We belong together, you and me . . . and Audrey.”
She could live without him. Kacey touched her lips, hating that she’d let him pull her close, that she’d kissed him back with so much—too much—desperation.
She stopped at the four-way stop. Ben, I don’t need you anymore. You’re free to go. We’ll be fine.
Another swipe across her chin. Yeah, sure they’d be fine.
She went through the stop, traveled down another block, and spotted her old house, a colonial revival home, in faded red brick, with the rounded covered entry porch. It sat back from the sidewalk in a grand landscaped yard, slightly raised from the level of the street.
She stared at her room, the end window, and for a moment saw Ben standing below, calling up to her.
“He’s been your everything since you were thirteen. You’ve just been living in denial for so long you think you can live without him.”
She shook her head as she drove past the house.
When she’d been thirteen, distraught and angry, the first person she’d run to had been Ben.
She pulled over, found her phone.
She noticed the four texts Ben had sent, the three missed calls. She ignored them and dialed Willow’s number.
“Hey—”
“Willow. Where does Nate live?”
Ten minutes later she rolled up to Nate’s parents’ ranch house, located a few streets over and across from the football field of Mercy Falls High.
She couldn’t escape memories of Ben, no matter which road she took in this town.
Her Escape sat at the curb. She spotted Audrey in the driver’s seat, her hands over her face.
Nate sat in the passenger seat, worry in his expression.
The scene felt so familiar, Kacey just sat there.
I can’t believe they lied to me all these years.
Her words, to Ben. And, she had no doubt, her daughter’s words to Nate.
She got out, walked across the street.
By this time, Nate had alerted Audrey to her mother’s presence. Kacey tapped on the window.
Audrey didn’t move, but Nate leaned over her, rolled the window down. “Hello, ma’am,” he said. “Uh, Audrey is pretty upset.”
“Thank you, Nate. I think we need to talk, don’t you, Audrey?”
Audrey lifted a shoulder.
Kacey looked at Nate, who gave her a grim nod and reached for the door handle.
Audrey put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Don’t go.”
But he put his hand on hers. “I’ll be in the house if you need me. But it’s your mom, Audrey.”
Okay, now Kacey liked him, just a little. Nate got out, gave her a look she couldn’t read, then headed for the house.
Kacey put her hand on the driver’s window. “Why don’t you let me drive? I want to show you something.”
Audrey sighed but got out, left the keys in the ignition, then walked around the car.
Sat down, turned herself away from Kacey.
Kacey drove without words, retracing her route back to Main Street, then over the bridge and out of town toward the old river bridge.
Maybe her daughter needed a glimpse of the past.
“I’m not going to say anything about driving without a permit, especially in front of Sam Brooks.”
Audrey lifted a shoulder. “Let him arrest me.”
Oh, this would be fun.
“You know, just for the record, Ben wanted to tell you right away. It was me who held him back. So your theory that he wanted to see if you were worth him claiming you as his daughter is wrong. He was thrilled to find out he was your dad.”
Audrey shot Kacey a look. “Find out?”
Kacey nodded, turning off onto the dirt road. “He thought I’d given you up for adoption.”
“I wish you had,” she said. “Then at least I’d have a father and a mother, a normal home.”
And that didn’t hurt. “You do have a father and a mother,” Kacey said. “And grandparents who love you.”
Audrey lifted a shoulder again.
“And a great life, by the way. Safe, provided for.”
Audrey looked out the window. “Don’t forget abandoned and lied to.”
Kacey tapped her brakes as she pulled up to the bridge. She shoved the gear into park. “That’s enough, Audrey. I know you’re angry, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then why don’t you fill me in!” Tears filmed her reddened eyes.
“Fine. Get out.”
Audrey’s eyes widened.
Kacey’s voice gentled. “I want to show you something.”
An old one-lane car bridge spanned a narrow in the river. The forty-foot drop was just high enough to take Kacey’s breath away when she’d jumped, back in her youth.
And, of course, under the starlight, it had become a different kind of bridge, between innocence and adulthood.
“What is this place?”
“It’s the bridge your father used to take me to when we’d go stargazing.” She stopped in the middle, stared down at the river, blue, cool, refreshing. “It’s where we fell in love, where he asked me to marry him.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
Audrey had settled beside her, not too close.
“I said yes. And I wanted to. Then the night you were born, he got into a fight and was sitting in jail, and I was so angry that he didn’t show up for your birth that I refused his phone calls. So he left town. I didn’t know that . . .” She cleared her throat. She didn’t want to destroy her daughter’s relationship with her grandfather. “That Ben thought I’d given you up for adoption. I thought he’d abandoned me.”
“He did,” Audrey said, her voice sharp, on the edge of tears.
“No, baby, he didn’t. He tried to call me, but I wouldn’t talk to him. When he left town, he thought you were gone. And when he found out I’d kept you, he was distraught that he’d lost all those years with you.”
Audrey rounded on her. “Then why didn’t you let him tell me?”
Kacey swallowed. “Because I was afraid what it would do to you to find out.”
Audrey frowned.
“He’s a big country music star now, and he has a life in Nashville, honey. One we’re not a part of. And I knew he’d go back to that, and I feared it would break your heart.”
Audrey’s mouth quivered. “I’m not a baby.”
Okay, she could do this. “I know. But I remember what it felt like to be rejected, to be lied to . . .”
Audrey stared at her, shook her head.
Kacey turned back to the river, translucent to the stony depths below. Took a long breath. “Grandma and Grandpa are not my real parents. They’re my adoptive parents.” She glanced at Audrey. “My mom, Laura, is actually my aunt. My real mom died when I was thirteen . . . in prison.”
Some of the hardness in Audrey’s face softened.
“I’m not sure they would have ever told me, really. But I got a letter when I was thirteen from the Montana Women’s Prison in Billings, where my birth mother was serving time for killing my father. I don’t know how or why—I never wanted to know—but she was dying of cancer and wanted to see me. I was three when she committed the crime, so I didn’t remember her at all—but my mother decided that I should see her. Probably compassion on her part for her sister, but it destroyed me. Suddenly I wasn’t the daughter of Judge Fairing and his pretty wife but the offspring of this thin, bitter prisoner who had no hair.”
She had lost herself in the telling, remembering standing there at the bed in the hospital ward of the prison, the odor of sickness and regret swilling the air, the sickly yellow skin and sallow face of a woman who’d made one too many mistakes. “The worst part was that they let us into the hospital ward. She took my hand and told me I had her eyes. And maybe I did, but in that moment, I only heard a prophecy that I was going to end up just like her.”
She blew out a breath. “Audrey, I made big mistakes, I know that. I should have told you about your dad the minute he came back. I’m so sorry for hurting you.” She wanted to reach out to her, take her daughter’s hand.
Audrey did it for her. “Mom, I didn’t mean it when I said I wanted you to go back to Florida. I just . . . sometimes I want it so bad, it hurts. And then suddenly, I saw it, right there, and it scared me.”
“Want what so bad?”
“A family. You, here. And a dad. And our own house, like what Nate has. Maybe even a brother or sister.” She gave a shaky smile. “I even thought, well . . . I thought maybe Benjamin King would fall in love with you.”
Kacey gave her a small smile. “Why did it scare you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought that it would never happen. And it was wrong to want it so much, because you’re right. I do have a good life. And it felt wrong to wish for more.”
Kacey touched her cheek. “You deserve it all, honey. All the good that life has to give you.”
“So do you, Mom.” A smile tweaked up her face, mischief in her eyes. “Were you really kissing him? ’Cause it looked like it when I walked in.”
Kacey’s face heated. “Yeah.”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
She looked at her daughter’s hands holding hers. Sighed. “I do. But . . . that’s the thing, honey. Ben’s life is different now. He is—”
“I know. A big country star. But he’s also my dad. And I don’t care if I can’t see him very much. I can see him now. And maybe . . . maybe he’ll come back sometimes?”
So much vulnerability on her face. Kacey reached out, pulled her close. Audrey’s arms went around her, and she tucked her head against Kacey’s chest. “I think he would like to, if you say it’s okay.”
Audrey nodded. “It’s okay.” Then she leaned back. “Do you think he’d stay if we asked him to?”
Her heart fell for her beautiful daughter, so much hope in her voice. “We can’t ask him to do that, Audrey. It’s not fair. He’s worked so hard for his career—and it’s at a pivotal place right now. He needs to be in Nashville, and on tour with—”
“I don’t like Hollie Montgomery. She’s not very nice. You should see her tweets. She sometimes calls Benjamin ‘the geezer.’”
“The . . . geezer?”
“Yeah, like he’s old or something.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, thumbed open her Twitter account. “See?”
Geezer and I are writing a new song—here’s a clip! #holliemontgomery
The post linked to a video, and Audrey opened it.
A home video, grainy, hard to see, but Kacey immediately recognized the voice, the tune, if not the words.
Turn around, listen to your heart
I need you so much, don’t tear me apart
No. He did not. She schooled her voice, her throat tight. “That’s enough, honey.”
Audrey turned it off. “She’s not a nice person, even if she did give me a present.”
“I know.”
Ben certainly hadn’t given Hollie his—their—song, right? “It’s what sells, Kacey.”
“Do you think he’s still at the ranch?”
She nodded. “Could be.” She pulled out her phone, thumbed open the texts. They all said the same thing.
Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Call me if you need me.
Maybe.
We belong together, you and me and Audrey. She is my daughter, and I love her. And I want to be in your lives.
She pressed dial and put the phone to her ear, running a hand down her daughter’s hair. The phone rang, then again.
Then someone picked up. She heard the fumbling. “Ben? It’s Kacey.”
“Oh, hi, Kacey.”
Not Ben. A female voice, and Kacey froze. “Who is this?”
“It’s Hollie. Are you looking for Ben?”
A retort found her lips, and she bit it back. “Is he there?”
“Sorry, he’s not available right now. Want me to have him call you back?”
Kacey was shaking her head even before she answered, managed to find her voice, something cool, stable.
Thank you, US Army. “No. Tell him that . . . nothing. It’s okay.”
She started to hang up, but Hollie stopped her. “Kacey, you should know something. I know you’re in love with Ben, but he’ll never love you as much as he loves his music. Trust me on this. I know.”
Kacey said nothing.
“Are you there?”
She hung up, forced a smile for her daughter.
“What?”
“I think Ben’s a little busy right now. But we’ll catch up with him later.” She winked, despite the urge to cry, and remembered her words. Stay away, Ben. Before you make it worse.
Please, don’t let him be obeying her. Not this time.
“Let’s go back to Sierra’s house. I think she has some more of that potato salad tucked away in her fridge.”
Audrey turned on the radio when they got into the car, pulled out her phone, and connected it to the radio. And of course, pulled up a Benjamin King album.
Perfect.
Audrey’s voice lifted in the cab.
I’ve spent so many nights wondering where you are
What you’re doing, how I let you get so far
Are you dreaming of me, out on your own
Are you thinking of us, and our own song
Are you wondering if I miss you too
Are you hoping that I’m just as blue
Please, oh please, come home
She turned to Kacey. “Do you think he was thinking of you when he wrote that song?”
Kacey drummed her fingers on her steering wheel, tightened her jaw against a wave of pain. She would have liked to think that. “No, honey. It’s just a song.”
She parked her car in Sierra’s empty gravel driveway. She got out and walked toward the house, the ground spongy under her feet.
“Hello?” She pushed open the door. The benefits of living in a small town—Sierra never locked her house.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed against the silence.
Audrey pushed past her, to the kitchen. Opened the fridge door and pulled out the bowl of extra potato salad. Set it on the counter.
Kacey grabbed a couple spoons.
Outside, she heard the rumble of a backhoe, clearly repairing d
amage at one of the neighboring houses. A whine, breaking timber.
Suddenly the floor began to shake, the house rumbling. Kacey grabbed the counter, holding on, her hand reaching for Audrey.
“What—”
And then, the house gave a moan as the timbers overhead shifted and the walls began to tilt. “It’s collapsing!”
Kacey grabbed her daughter, pulling her to herself as she lunged for the front door. The floor gave way beneath her, the joists ripping as the weight of the house bent under the torque.
Then she was falling back toward the kitchen, sliding under the table, Audrey in her arms. She grabbed for purchase—anything—but the floor opened up and they fell toward the dank, black depths of the basement.
She landed, hard, the breath whooshing out of her, pain splintering through her shoulder, her arm.
Audrey.
But her daughter had fallen out of her grip. She reached out, groping for her as the entire structure buckled, then crashed down over them.
“You can’t make the world obey you.”
Ian slammed his right fist into the heavy bag. The bag rebounded back at him, and he brought his fist back up, exhaling hard.
Sierra’s words from yesterday still ricocheted through him.
He didn’t expect the world to obey him. But maybe some acknowledgment that he was only trying to help.
He kept his feet moving, shuffling in, out around the back, his hands up. He threw another strike. The bag jerked back, then swung toward him. He pivoted out of the way, shuffled around it, saw himself ordering Sierra from the house, and landed another punch.
The bag shuddered, came at him, and he jabbed three quick rights and a left, a power shot.
That was for the idiot he’d been when he’d told Esme that if she didn’t want to make a mess out of her life, she’d dump Dante, take his offer for schooling, and stop being a fool.
Yeah, he’d been a real hero. No wonder she’d confided in Sierra and planned on running away without a word to him.
He followed the bag around, pummeled it on the backside, ending in a power shot that burned through his knuckles. He probably should have taped up, but frankly, too much tape meant he got sloppy, less technique, more adrenaline.
And he’d already lost his head enough over the past two weeks. In fact, ever since Sierra had told him that Esme had come to her with secrets, he’d felt his life unraveling.
Wild Montana Skies Page 27