“Okay,” Grace said slowly. Her mother tended to blurt out whatever was on her mind the moment she thought it. This must be serious. “What’s wrong?”
There was an indrawn breath at the other end of the line. “I should come into town. We need to have a—”
“Mom, you’re scaring me. Just tell me what it is.” Grace turned away from the activity along the street toward a picnic area near the entrance to the theater.
“Henry Bennett’s death made the news, too, you know,” her mom said. “I read about it myself in Across the Country today—and about the investigation.”
“We were finally told Henry died of natural causes.”
“Other people read that magazine, from all over the United States.” This time the pause was longer. “Apparently your father read it,” she said at last. “He contacted me today.”
For a moment Grace wondered if she’d heard correctly. “After all these years? Just like that?”
“He left a message on my recorder while I was at church this morning.”
Grace slumped onto the bench, and she grew aware of a vague ache in her left hip, where her father had injured her fourteen years ago. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Neither was I,” her mom said. “He wanted to contact you.”
“Why would he be reading that magazine? He always hated reading and he hated country music.” Grace did not want to deal with this right now.
“He’s been keeping up with news of you for quite some time.” There was a soft sigh over the line. “He says he’s changed.”
“Did you…return his call?”
“Yes.”
Grace caught her breath. “And?”
“He does sound different.”
“A person can sound any way he wants to over the telephone, sixteen hundred miles away. How did he even find out where we were?”
“He did a computer search for my social security number after leaving prison.”
“But that was seven years ago.”
A long pause, and then another heavy sigh. “Yes. It was.”
Grace’s hand tightened on the phone. “Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”
“I never thought it would come to this.”
Grace waited.
“He called once before,” her mom said at last. “He said he wanted to make amends, send me money for back child support, reimburse me for your hospital bills, apologize to you.”
“When did he call you before?”
“After he got out of prison.”
Grace’s hand tightened on the cell phone as she struggled with the implications of her mother’s words. “He called seven years ago and you didn’t tell me?” She couldn’t prevent the tone of rebuke.
“Again, I’m sorry.” There was a catch in her mom’s voice. “I didn’t want to bring back all the nightmares for you. Or for me, either. I felt sorry for him. I still do. But you’ve been my top priority, and your career was just taking off at the time he called. You didn’t need this complication with him then any more than you do now.”
Grace felt an overwhelming confusion. Her mother had been trying to protect her, and she appreciated it. Really, she did. She hadn’t wanted to be in contact with her father; she’d wanted him completely out of her life.
So why did she suddenly feel disoriented? All this time she’d thought her father had been as glad to get rid of her as she had been to get away from him. What would her reaction have been seven years ago if she’d known he wanted to make amends?
“Grace?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” What about forgiveness? She had known for several years that she needed to forgive her father for what he’d done. All this time she’d put it off, making excuses to herself so she wouldn’t have to deal with that heavy chore. Had he really changed?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mom said.
“I understand,” Grace said at last. And she did. “If I’d had a child who had been nearly killed by her father, I’d have done the same.”
“As I look back on it, I believe I should have told you when he called. You were mature enough to handle it. But you know what they say about hindsight.”
Grace raised her free hand and caught a snowflake in it, wishing the complications in her life could melt as quickly as the snow did on her palm. “What did you tell him today?”
“That you were doing well, and that you’d have to decide for yourself whether to contact him or not. I told him not to call you, that you’d call him.”
Grace sighed and slumped back on the bench, suddenly feeling the cold. “Thanks for telling him that.”
“Do you want his number?”
Not now. She couldn’t deal with any more right now. “Save it for me?”
“Of course. Grace, are you going to be all right?”
“Sure I am.” She tried unsuccessfully to force some cheer into her voice.
“Can you handle some more interesting news?”
Not today. “How interesting?”
“I’ve decided to put a shop in downtown Branson. Expand the business.”
“I’ve been telling you to do that for years.”
“And I’m coming to your show Friday night with a friend.”
“What’s so interesting about that? You’ve seen it at least ten times.”
“This friend is male.”
Grace straightened. “You’re kidding.”
“Have I ever kidded about that?”
“Who?”
“Malcolm.” Mom’s assistant in the shop.
Grace allowed that revelation to sink in. She remembered how, as a small child, she’d been taken on an escalator ride in a department store for the first time. She’d suddenly felt as if the world was moving too fast, and she’d cried to get off. She felt that way now.
“I’ll get you some free passes,” she offered when she could find her voice.
“Nope, Malcolm’s already bought the tickets and made reservations for dinner.”
Oh, boy. Mom on a date. “That’s wonderful. It’s about time.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Malcolm’s really nice,” Grace said.
“I know.”
“He’s cute, too.”
“Grace, at our age, ‘cute’ isn’t the term.”
“Sorry. Mom?”
“Yes?”
“How did you feel about talking to Dad after all this time?”
“I’m not sure. For so long I’ve told myself it was the best thing for you never to have contact with him again, but I couldn’t help wondering about him, about how he was doing. He’s married again, you know.”
“He is?”
“He’s involved in a Christian prison ministry, working with men who are where he was fourteen years ago.”
The day was filled with shocks and surprises. “He is?”
“That’s what he said. He also has a five-year-old daughter.”
Okay, that was about all Grace could take for one day. She had a little sister. Wow.
“Maybe you both need closure,” Mom said.
“You could be right, but I need to think about it.”
“Or maybe what you need isn’t closure, but a new beginning.”
“I thought you said I’d have to make that decision myself.” Grace heard the sharpness in her tone again.
“Okay, honey. I understand. I’ll see you Friday night.”
“Make that Thursday night. I think I’ll drive to Hideaway after the show on Thursday. I have an appointment to see Cheyenne Friday morning.”
“Time for your yearly physical?”
“No, just a little raspy throat the past couple of weeks. It hasn’t affected my singing.” Yet. “How about breakfast Friday morning at Bertie’s?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Delight’s high heels pock-pock-pocked across the gleaming parquet entryway of Denton’s extravagant home. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a mansion.” This place came complete with Arkansa
s-stone-and-cedar exterior. A crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling at least fifteen feet high.
“This old thing?” There was a grin of satisfaction in his voice. “It only has six thousand square feet of living space. No one I know would call that a mansion.”
She touched the carved oak banister of a broad winding staircase. “Who decorated for you? This place looks like a lodge down at Big Cedar.” A fancy hunting lodge, with cathedral ceilings, stuffed animals—real ones—and a painting of old downtown Branson on the wall. It had character.
“I did it myself,” Denton said. “I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands.” He gestured toward a wall of windows that overlooked Branson from a tree-lined ridge southwest of the town. “It’ll start getting dark in about an hour, and you’ll see the lights flickering on. It isn’t Vegas, but the lights can be spectacular if you love Branson.”
Dark in an hour. When he’d asked her here, she’d pictured them eating with the windows open to broad daylight. “And you do?” she asked as he led her to a plush swivel rocker facing the view. “Love Branson, I mean.”
“I grew up here. It’s home. There’s a spirit about this place that sticks with a person no matter where he is.”
“You like that hillbilly mind-set?” Delight asked dryly. “Like those old cars parked on concrete blocks out in the driveways, junky front yards, workers who don’t show up on time, if they even show up at all?”
“Don’t blame that on the natives. That’s just lazy human nature, and you’ll see it all over the world.”
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.
“Branson’s always called me back.” He turned a switch on the wall and the lighting dimmed. He stepped to a wet bar. “What would you like to drink?”
“I don’t guess you’d make me that strawberry daiquiri you wouldn’t let me have last week.” Stupid, Delight. You need to keep your wits about you tonight for sure.
He smiled and reached into the refrigerator below the bar.
She watched him measure ice into a blender. “You’re really going to let me drink tonight?”
“You had a daiquiri Monday.”
“It didn’t have any alcohol in it,” she muttered.
“I haven’t changed my mind since Monday.”
She scowled, then returned her attention to the view. “It really is pretty up here.”
“I used to hunt on this ridge as a kid,” he said. “Have you ever tasted fried squirrel?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not knowingly. Don’t tell me it tastes like chicken.”
“No, it tastes like squirrel. You’ve lived a sheltered life, obviously. You’ve probably never tasted mountain oysters, either.”
“You tryin’ to ruin my appetite so you don’t have to feed me?”
He chuckled. “The food’s already prepared, and I don’t want it to go to waste.”
“Just tell me it isn’t something gross.”
“I was going to barbecue some roadkill, but I’m glad I didn’t, because the sauce could have done damage to that beautiful dress.”
She made a gagging noise, then leaned back, fingering the silk sleeve of the dress he had admired. Today she’d chosen her most demure outfit.
The blender whirred. What was she doing here? Never before had she dated a man as old—and as legendary in certain matters—as Denton. She glanced at him over her shoulder. Women apparently found him attractive, but she couldn’t see it. And she couldn’t figure out why he spent time with her. What would a man with so much experience want with a twenty-year-old girl?
Not that she was an inexperienced girl, of course.
Okay, so she wasn’t experienced in that way. Her parents still had enough of a hold over her that she’d endured the ridicule from her friends in high school down in Alabama for maintaining her virginity. She hadn’t yet met a man who was worth that special prize, and Denton sure wasn’t. But would she be willing to exchange that prize for a chance to be a star?
By the time Michael parked next to Grace’s car, an hour had passed, and his temper had cooled. To utilize the time while he waited, he’d dropped by Henry’s sister’s house with some CDs Henry had lent him, then visited an old med school classmate who worked at Skaggs Community Hospital. After that he’d followed up on a suspicion, and called the singing telegram company, then the newspaper office. But he hadn’t been able to get the information he’d been looking for.
He walked into the warm restaurant and inhaled the spicy scents wafting from the kitchen. Grace already sat at a booth, and he remembered, too late, that she was on a diet. Fine help he was giving her.
She smiled up at him as he approached, and for a bare half moment a rush of love startled him, in spite of his anger at her earlier, in spite of the damage her words had done to their relationship.
Why did things have to be so hard? Couldn’t he and Grace just enjoy their time together, ignore the press and wait until all the excitement about them shifted directions?
But her sudden lack of trust…her suspicion…really bothered him. What had changed? Would she have suspected him under other circumstances?
He felt her attention on him as he slid into the seat across from her. Those aquamarine eyes looked suddenly wide and vulnerable, as if she had a lot on her mind.
“Everything okay with your mom?” he asked.
Grace trailed her right forefinger along the condensation of her water glass. “Remember what I told you about my father?”
“Are we going to start this argument again?”
A frown darkened her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said. Best not to begin the evening discussing today’s fiasco. He’d get to that later.
She took a long draw of her water and set the glass back down. “Mom’s fine. She’s expanding her business into downtown Branson, and she’s seeing someone. As in dating.”
“I thought you said she’d never date again.”
Grace shrugged. “People change.” She paused and studied the wood grain of the table, then shook her head, as if puzzled. “I mean, they really change.”
“Well, it’s nice to know this problem with distrust doesn’t run in the family.” He said the words before thinking about the possible consequences. When she winced, he considered having his tongue bronzed. Permanently.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re really mad about this afternoon, aren’t you?”
He spread his hands. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll forget about my temper tantrum?”
“I’m trying, believe me, but I can’t lie about it.” Before he could say more, a waiter came to the table for their order.
Sudden tears glistened in Grace’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said to the waiter. “I’m not ready yet. Would you give me more time?”
Chapter Eleven
Denton set the glass of frozen daiquiri mix, topped with whipped cream and a cherry, on the end table beside Delight’s chair, then seated himself across from her. “Our meal should only be a few more minutes. It’s in the oven.”
She rolled her maraschino cherry in the whipped cream, then plopped it into her mouth and bit into the delicious center. Wonderful.
When she had first moved out on her own, she’d bought a whole jar of maraschino cherries and eaten them all in one sitting. She’d done the same thing with a box of chocolates Blake had given her recently. Of course, if she kept that up, she’d be fighting her weight like Grace.
Grace.
When Delight first joined the show, she’d felt like a freshman in high school, surrounded by a bunch of seniors. Grace had taken her out to lunch and treated her like a friend.
And I was a jerk to her the other night. Could Grace have a good reason to warn her about Denton?
“You prepared dinner yourself?” Delight licked whipped cream from the side of the glass and savored its rich sweetness.
“I told you I like to work with my hands.” He took a sip of his white wine—obviously he
didn’t have the same rules for himself that he had for her. But he seemed to enjoy watching her savor her drink. At any rate, he remained focused on her. As if she was the meal and he had an appetite.
“We’re having fish?” she ventured.
“Garlic catfish with roasted peppers, eggplant and good old fried okra, a regular hillbilly delicacy.” He affected an Ozark twang that sounded authentic. “Tell me, Delight, when did you learn how to dance like you do?”
Delight couldn’t suppress a smile. He liked her dancing? “My girlfriend taught me in sixth grade. That was when I discovered I had a knack for it. But I couldn’t do it at home, of course, because my parents thought it was sinful. I took lessons in high school without telling my parents.”
“Sinful?”
“We belonged to a strict mission church down in Alabama. If the school had a dance, the church had a party so the kids could have fun without getting into trouble.”
“And did you?”
“Get into trouble?” She grinned at the memories. “Sure I did. I’d skip out of the party halfway through and hitch a ride to the dance with my friends.”
“Are you a churchgoer now?” he asked.
She considered the question. “Not anymore. You?”
Denton swirled the wine in his glass and stared into it as if it held some mystical secret to life. “Not me. I’m too far gone for God to have anything to do with me.”
“My daddy tells me God takes whoever’s willing.”
“Were you ever willing?”
She suppressed a grimace. Why did he have to turn the tables on her? “Maybe once upon a time, but life’s too short to be bossed around when you don’t have to be.”
“How do your parents feel about that?” he asked, still studying his glass.
“Well, you know, I’m old enough to live my own life, but for their sake I fake it when I’m around them.”
He glanced at her then, as if disturbed by this personal revelation. “You don’t think that’s a little hypocritical?”
“What’s your problem?” she asked. “You have some preacher blood running through your veins?” And why was he so worried about it, anyway? She’d bet her car that he hadn’t invited her here to show her the error of her ways.
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