Cassidy's Cowboy (Search For Love)

by Karen Rose Smith

  "So you know the address?" Gillian asked gently, seeing the difficulty she had when she remembered.

  "It was 767 Seventh Street."

  Picking up the watch, Gillian fingered it. "Laramie's only an hour from here. Are you willing to drive back there with me to see what we can dig up? I can call Jake. He's usually quick with public records and can find out something about the address. We could go today and be there before dark."

  Cassie looked at Lucy. "Are you willing? You and Zack have a long drive back tomorrow."

  "Let's do it," her twin decided. "We need this, Cassie, you know we do. Maybe we won't find out anything, maybe we will. But at least we'll know we've done something."

  Cassie gave Gillian a nod. "All right. Call Jake."

  ***

  A half-hour later, Cassie found Julie in the barn, sitting on a bale of hay, one of the many friendly cats in her lap. She smiled up at Cassie. "Tiger likes me."

  "Well, of course, she likes you. You're petting her and giving her love. Is your dad in the tack room?"

  Julie nodded. "That stuff smells."

  Cassie laughed and went to find Ben. He looked up from his work cleaning one of the saddles when she stepped inside the room.

  "How's it going?" he asked and she realized not only Julie was smiling more, he was too. He certainly looked more relaxed than when he arrived, even though she caught him several hours a day working on his computer, or on the phone to his headquarters.

  "I'm going on a road trip in a little while with Gillian and Lucy. Just to Laramie. We'll be back tonight."

  Cocking his head, he studied her carefully. "So, Gillian figured out something?"

  Cautiously, Cassie began, "We don't have much, but—"

  "You told me to keep an open mind and that's what I'm doing. If you don't want to tell me that's fine, but if you do, that's fine, too."

  There was something about Ben's strength that gave her pause, something about his honesty that reminded her very much of Loren. "I gave Gillian the pocket watch and she feels very strongly that it belonged to a man named Walt. I still don't know who that is, if it was someone who passed in and out of my mother's life, or if it was my grandfather. But I think she also sensed that he used to call my mom Jannie. Her name was Jeannette, and I never heard anyone call her that."

  "A term of endearment."

  "Possibly." Then, taking a deep breath, she confided in him about the rest—the stuffed horse and the way she'd hidden the watch.

  "Cassie, I'm so sorry. For a five-year-old that had to have been terrible."

  "I think I just stuffed everything I'd felt about all of it for a lot of years. That's probably why I don't have many memories of when my mom and I were together. So Gillian feels strongly that if we go back to that apartment where I once lived, I might remember something else. So we're going to drive there and see what we can dig up."

  Crossing to her, Ben settled his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "I hope something comes of this for you."

  "If you're trying to warn me that I might come home not knowing any more than when I leave, I understand that. I'm used to disappointment. And no matter what, Lucy and I will still have each other."

  "That's right."

  Ben's gaze held hers for several long moments, and then he slid his hand under her hair and nudged her a little closer. His voice went low. "Julie's not too far away so I can't kiss you like I'd like to kiss you. But when you get back, maybe we can remedy that."

  Her pounding heart reminded her of Sunny's hooves as the mustang galloped around the corral. It was so loud she could hardly hear herself think. It caused such a sense of anticipation in her she couldn't find any words.

  "If you need to talk on the way, while you're there, afterward, you have my cell number. Sometimes it's hard to share what we're afraid of most with the people closest to us."

  She raised her chin. "You think I'm afraid of something?"

  He ran his knuckle over her cheek. "No, not you. You'd never be afraid of anything, right?"

  It was so hard for her to let her guard down, so hard for her to trust, especially someone like Ben. He was trying to make it easier, but trusting was never easy. So she simply responded, "I have your number."

  Flinging his arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close to him for a few seconds and she felt that strength that was so much a part of him. She also felt everything she didn't want to feel—excitement, desire, even expectation.

  At least she'd have something else to think about on the ride other than what she and Lucy and Gillian might find in Laramie.

  ***

  It was about an hour later when Ben finished in the tack room and went to find Julie who was playing with the cats outside.

  "I wonder if Rachel's making hot dogs for supper?"

  "Why hot dogs?" he asked, thinking about weekends in Vermont and how he cooked hot dogs for at least one of their meals because they were easy.

  "Because I told her I like them and she said she'd make things I like."

  "We can go ask her."

  "I want to ask Cassie if I can bring Tiger up to my room. Let's go find her."

  Maybe Julie hadn't been in the barn when Cassie left...or had been playing with the cats behind the stack of hale bales. "Honey, she's not here."

  "Where is she?"

  His daughter's expression worried him. It was that haunted look she'd had before they'd arrived. "She had to go to Laramie. That's what she came to the barn to tell me."

  "She didn't tell me."

  "I think she was in a bit of a hurry." He knew Cassie had had one goal—to reach Laramie and find out what she could about her childhood.

  "I don't want Cassie to go away."

  "She'll be back tonight. That's what she told me. She and her sister, Lucy, and that other lady that came to visit had to go away for a little while. But they'll be back."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because Cassie told me she would. Because Lucy's husband, Zack, is still here."

  "That doesn't mean she'll be back! You and me were home, but Mommy still left. And she didn't come back."

  Ben hadn't expected this reaction, not in a million years. Maybe he should have. He knew Julie and Cassie were getting attached—at least Julie was getting attached to Cassie. Was Cassie getting attached to his daughter?

  He crouched down and put his arm around Julie. "Cassie said she'll be back, so she will be back."

  "I don't believe you. You said you and Mommy would work things out, but you didn't. She left."

  Although Julie tried to escape his hug, he held her tight. She began crying and he knew the tears were about everything that had happened over the past eighteen months, not just what had happened today. At any other time, he would call Cassie and let Julie talk to her. But Cassie had enough on her mind right now. And Julie? She'd have to learn that sometimes people did keep their promises. Sometimes, people did come home.

  ***

  "Which way now?" Gillian asked, relying on Cassie rather than the GPS.

  From memory that hadn't gone as cold as she'd thought, Cassie directed Gillian in the twists and the turns, the lefts and the rights. It had been almost ten years since she'd been here, but ten years didn't seem to mean a lot to a town.

  For her, everything had changed.

  Oh, sure, there were some noticeable differences—a convenience store here, new businesses there. But the old-Western flavor was still the same, maybe done up with a new coat of paint.

  This had once been home, yet it hadn't been home. Not after her mom died.

  She could feel Lucy's gaze on her and knew she understood. From the back seat, Lucy had made few comments, just let them all think about what was going to happen next. At times during the ride Cassie had thought of Ben, of all the things he didn't know about her. But now, as they drove closer to her past, she couldn't even think about her future.

  After Cassie directed Gillian to the house, they parked along the street. The e
nd of daylight cast long shadows and Cassie suddenly wondered what they were doing here.

  "What are we going to do? Go to the apartment first and see if anyone is living there?"

  "Yep," Lucy answered. "Come on. Let's see what we find."

  "Something's telling me this is crazy," Cassie protested.

  Gently, Gillian laid her hand on Cassie's arm. "But something's telling me this is the right thing to do."

  With that, knowing that Gillian didn't do any searching lightly, Cassie wasn't going to give up after coming this far.

  The house was a white clapboard bungalow. Behind it was a one-car garage that had a second floor and a stairway running up the side. They headed to the garage first.

  Lucy gave Cassie a squeeze on the shoulder for encouragement, and then Cassie mounted the steps, needing to do this part alone. However, she knocked, and knocked again, and nobody answered. She couldn't peek in the door because a lacy curtain covered the glass.

  Remembering all those years ago, she realized there'd been a lace curtain on it then, too. "I can't see anything," she said. "It's all dark. Let's go over to the house."

  As they walked to the house's front path, Gillian said, "Jake told me a Florence Jean Shultz owns it."

  Gillian hadn't given her this information before. "Flo," Cassie said, remembering more. Flo's hair had been red and she'd worn it in a topknot. She was the woman who had stayed with her when her mom worked. Flo had been with her the night her mother died. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised she still lives here. I'd just forgotten about her."

  "Maybe it was just too painful to remember," Gillian offered, and Cassie knew she was right. Everything about that time had been painful.

  She didn't know what to expect when she knocked on the door.

  A light went on in the kitchen, and then there was the woman who absolutely looked twenty-one years older, but was still recognizable. Cassie felt as if she'd lost all her breath and she couldn't talk.

  But Flo didn't recognize her. After all, a five-year-old and a twenty-six-year old looked very different. Cassie didn't consider herself a good judge of age, but Flo looked to be near seventy.

  Cassie finally found her voice. "Mrs. Shultz? I'm Cassidy Sullivan. Do you remember me? It's been over twenty years, but—"

  Flo put her hand over her mouth as if she couldn’t believe Cassie was standing in front of her. "Oh, my goodness, Cassie! Is it really you?"

  Tears filled Cassie's eyes and she put her arms around the older woman, giving her a gentle hug. "Yes, it's me."

  "My goodness, dear, come inside. I have the fan going and it's not too warm. Would you like some cookies? I baked them for my grandchildren. Who do you have with you?"

  At a loss because old memories swirled around her, Cassie didn't even know where to begin.

  Fortunately, Lucy stepped forward. "I'm Lucy Burke. I found Cassie last year. I'm her twin sister."

  "You do look alike. I have cataracts and can't see too well these days, but I can tell now. My goodness! That means Jeannette had another baby. I never knew that."

  "Mom gave Lucy up when she was born," Cassie explained. "Gillian is the one who helped Lucy find me."

  "Well, gracious. What a wonderful thing to happen. Come on, sit down."

  They all settled around a small round table under the ceiling fan.

  "I still can't believe you came back here after all these years," Flo said as she pulled a cookie jar to the front of the counter. What brings you here?"

  "Well, actually," Cassie said, "I wanted to see the place where Mom and I lived. Are you renting it now?"

  "I'm between renters right now. I posted a notice at the grocery store, but no one's called yet. Of course, you can see it. I haven't changed it much over the years. I never had the money for renovations. So it still has that old dark paneling and even the same tiled floor." She took a key from a hook under her cupboards. "I'll make some coffee and ice it while you go over and look around. You do have time for a visit, don't you?"

  "Yes, we have time for a visit," Gillian assured her.

  "The place is empty. I was going to try and clean it this week. So you'll see all the flaws."

  "We're not looking for flaws," Lucy said, "just the memories."

  Before they stepped outside the door, though, Cassie asked Flo, "How old was I when we moved in there?"

  "You were only a few weeks old when your mom moved in with you. The pastor at our church told us about this young woman in a shelter who needed a place to live. The room over the garage was empty, so I offered. My husband Harry had been killed in a construction accident a few years before. My Tommy was in college then, and I was lonely here. I met your mother and we got along. I knew she had nothing to speak of and she needed work. Living here gave her a little time to get on her feet."

  "She worked as a waitress, right? I remember her coming home with a uniform and an apron and sometimes she'd bring food."

  "Yes, she was. She worked at a family diner a couple of blocks down. It's since closed up. While she worked I watched you. I had Harry's pension and I took in sewing."

  "I remember you sitting on the sofa and working."

  "Hemming skirts, most likely. I took in laundry to iron then, too, but I did that here. Go on, go take a look at where you lived and then we'll talk."

  Five minutes later, they'd climbed the outside stairs and were standing on the landing at the apartment door. "It doesn't sound as if our father was around after we were born," Lucy said as Cassie unlocked the door. They went inside the small apartment.

  It wasn't even an apartment, really, Cassie realized. It was one big room. There was a very small galley kitchen with a two-burner stove, a compact refrigerator and a bathroom off the living quarters.

  All Cassie could do was stand there and study the dark paneling.

  "Take a breath," Gillian said. "Don't think about everything you lost, think about what you had when you were here."

  Turning around slowly, Cassie noticed there were shelves on brackets above the TV connection. Those shelves. Her mom had put things up there she didn't want Cassie to reach—the glass dish that usually held her keys, a tin box that held matches, dried flowers in a small pottery vase. And then Cassie remembered something else that had meant a lot to her mother. Her mom had gotten it down and looked at it often, almost as often as she'd taken out the watch. It had been a wood carving of a foal.

  "Those shelves," Cassie murmured. "They held things mom didn't want me to get hold of. One of those things was a wood-carved foal." Her gaze met her twin's. "You carve. You showed me your workshop. You make horses, too. You gave me one for Christmas."

  "Do you think our mom carved it?"

  "I don't know. I never saw her do anything like that, not that I can remember. But what does a five-year-old remember?"

  "That's something we can ask Flo about," Lucy suggested.

  Weighed down by memories she didn't altogether understand, Cassie felt lost, deflated...as if they'd never have the answers they were searching for. "This is a wild goose chase, isn't it?"

  Chapter Seven

  With a concerned glance at Cassie, Gillian dropped to the floor and patted on it. "This isn't a wild goose chase. Your memories are getting stirred up and you're not comfortable with that. But they can help. Sit here and tell me more about the carving. I saw Lucy's work. It's beautiful."

  With a sigh and uncertainty rolling in the pit of her stomach, Cassie dropped down onto the tile with Gillian and so did Lucy. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. The foal Lucy had given her for Christmas sat in her room at the ranch on her nightstand. Every time she looked at it, she felt the love that Lucy had made it with. Now she wondered if there was more behind it.

  "I'd forgotten all about that foal. I mean, whenever I looked at Lucy's horses it was like something would just be on the edges of my memory. Do you know what I mean?"

  "Sure do," Gillian responded. "So pull in those edges. What are they about?"

  "T
he foal that sat on that shelf was very much like Lucy's work. It had the same finesse, the same polish. My mom let me hold it once or twice, but she told me it wasn't a toy." Cassie suddenly looked at Lucy. "Are you upset Mom didn't even tell Flo about you?"

  Lucy thought about it. "I could get upset at her for a lot of things, but I've chosen not to. If I were in her position, with no job, no place to stay, nobody to help me and I gave up my baby, I wouldn't want any reminders. I don't think I'd want to talk about it. She probably tried to put me out of her mind."

  Recalling the years she'd spent in Laramie trying to forget rather than embrace the grief of losing her mother, Cassie admitted, "I should have tried to see Flo sooner. I guess I never thought she'd still be here. Time passes and life changes and you think everybody else's does, too."

  Her gaze scoured the room, the ceiling with the stain from where water must have leaked in, the scarred planking low on the walls where a kid's shoes must have hit or rubbed or furniture scraped. The tile floor was cracked in places. But Cassie's memories were still limited to a few vivid pictures and she couldn't seem to reach beyond those to remember.

  "I think we're done here," she finally murmured. "Let's go talk to Flo."

  ***

  A half-hour later they were enjoying iced coffee and cookies and talking about when Cassie had lived in the apartment with her mom.

  Flo filled in as much information as she could, but most of it was what Cassie already knew. "When they took you away that night," Flo said, looking disturbed, "I tried to convince myself they'd find a good family for you and you'd be happy."

  "Foster families aren't always looking for a permanent child," Cassie told her, soft-pedaling what had happened. "A family moves away and the authorities have to find you another place. If you don't get along, they move you again. By the time I was a teenager, I was pretty rebellious and not many real parents can handle that. I just didn't fit anywhere."

  Part of that problem had always been her fear that whomever she was staying with would find out she couldn't read. But no one had. Maybe they just hadn't cared enough to look and really see.