Promise, Texas

by Debbie Macomber

  “Apparently, because of overcrowding and other factors, it’s quite likely that he could come before the parole board within the next couple of years.”

  Grady shook his head in disgust.

  “He also appears to be concerned about what’s happened to Bitter End. Ms. Langley said he was afraid Promise would use it to attract tourists.”

  “I hate to play dumb here, Sheriff,” Grady said, “but the only person my brother’s ever cared about is himself. If he’s interested in the ghost town, then it’s for his own selfish reasons.”

  “Do you know what those reasons might be?”

  Grady shook his head again. “I don’t have a clue.”

  The sheriff left shortly afterward. Caroline stepped onto the porch beside her husband as the patrol car headed out of the driveway.

  “You were right,” Grady said, slipping his arm around her waist.

  “Richard?”

  Grady nodded grimly. “He could be up for parole in as little as two years.”

  “Two years?” Caroline sounded as incredulous as he’d been.

  “Not only that, he has an attorney working on an appeal.”

  “Val Langley? Nell mentioned she was visiting, but I didn’t realize that had anything to do with Richard.”

  Grady had forgotten that the women of Promise had a news network more effective than any spy ring.

  “She’s been going around town asking a lot of questions,” Caroline informed him.

  “I hope she got an earful—especially if she asked about Richard.”

  “Don’t worry.” Caroline laughed. “I doubt she learned a thing. People prefer not to discuss him.”

  “Did you hear about his supposedly deep concern for Bitter End?” The sarcasm in his voice was unavoidable.

  Caroline stared at him. “Richard’s concerned about Bitter End?”

  “That’s the word.”

  “But why?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Could he have left something behind?”

  “Like what? We found where he’d been sleeping and the things he’d stolen. He didn’t have anything all that valuable.”

  “Mommy, Daddy.” Maggie dashed onto the porch with three-year-old Roy tagging behind. “When’s dinner?” Maggie asked.

  “Just as soon as you wash your hands.”

  “You, too,” Grady told his son, and then with his arm about his wife, walked back into the house that was his home.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nessa hadn’t spoken to Gordon in two days. Two very difficult days. Sylvia had hounded her constantly, until she felt she had no choice but to delay the wedding. She decided to explain this to Gordon by writing a letter. She wanted no room for misunderstanding between them. She fully intended to marry him and only wanted to postpone setting the day—just until her children had the opportunity to meet him. That wasn’t an unreasonable request. It would help if she met Miles, too.

  What she didn’t tell Gordon was that he had a lot to make up for in the eyes of her daughter. Sylvia had taken such delight in telling her that Gordon had hired a private detective, who’d investigated her background, her life and her finances. Nessa could say nothing in Gordon’s defense and decided it would be best if Gordon did the explaining himself. She decided she wouldn’t mention the detective directly; she’d hint at it by discussing Sylvia’s concerns.

  The letter required a great deal of thought and several handwritten drafts.

  My dearest Gordon,

  It pains me to write this letter, but I want everything to be as clear as I can make it. Most important of all, please know that I’ll always treasure our time together in Kansas City.

  We’d talked earlier about giving ourselves time to analyze our feelings before making any decisions regarding the future of our relationship. Neither one of us is young and neither one of us expected to fall in love.

  So often in life what seems right one moment can seem wrong the next. We’re both mature enough to recognize the consequences of our decision to marry. In the airport, marriage seemed such a logical and wonderful next step. I knew then and I know now how much I love you, but there are other considerations, other factors neither of us can ignore.

  My children, mainly my daughter, have raised a number of valid points, and I’m sure Miles has his own concerns. It’s because of our children that I feel we should postpone the wedding. This is an important decision and one that shouldn’t be rushed. I know what you’re thinking, but, my darling, believe me when I tell you how much I love you. I don’t want to wait, either, but I think we have to—at least until everyone in my family has the opportunity to get to know everyone in yours, and vice versa.

  Please don’t be upset with me. I sincerely feel this is for the best. I love you and I want to marry you, but right now, I’m not sure when.

  Please call me so we can discuss all of this. I’ve missed hearing from you.

  Love,

  Nessa

  She reread the letter three times and then before she could change her mind, she walked over to the post office to mail it. Nessa was worried about Gordon’s silence and depressed about putting off the wedding, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Sylvia’s concerns were valid. Nessa had accepted Gordon’s proposal impulsively. It was too soon; they hadn’t taken their families into proper consideration. And there was another major question Sylvia had raised: Where would they live?

  When she returned from the post office, the phone was ringing. Rushing to reach it before the answering machine came on, she was out of breath when she answered.

  “Nessa?” the male voice asked hesitantly.

  “Gordon, oh, Gordon, it’s so good to hear from you! Why haven’t you phoned?”

  “Why haven’t you phoned me?” he challenged.

  His defiant tone took her by surprise. “That was because—”

  “For the record, I did phone,” Gordon said, breaking off her explanation, “and talked to your daughter. I take it she didn’t relay the message.”

  “No. I’m very sorry. Had I known, I would have called you back immediately.”

  Her apology was followed by a short strained silence. “I’m sorry, too,” he murmured. Then, “How are you?”

  She almost gave in to the impulse to lie and tell him everything was fine, but she didn’t. Because it wasn’t. “Not so good. How about you?”

  “I’m holding up. What’s happening on your end?”

  Nessa sank into a chair, more miserable and lonely than ever. “My daughter met my plane. She was furious with me.”

  “My son wasn’t pleased, either.”

  “Sylvia and her brothers insist we delay the wedding.”

  “In other words, she doesn’t want you to marry me.”

  She understood his anger and disappointment; she was experiencing the same emotions herself.

  “What did you tell her?”

  Nessa bit her lower lip, calling herself a coward for letting him down, for not standing up to her family.

  “Nessa?”

  “I…I agreed to a delay. What could I say when you had a private detective asking questions about me?” she said in an anguished voice. “Don’t you realize things like that get back to people? Why did you do such a thing, Gordon? Why?”

  His lack of response told her everything. Sylvia had enjoyed filling in the ugly details, and it had been both painful and humiliating to listen.

  Finally he said, “You told Sylvia you’d put off the wedding?”

  “Yes.”

  “What you really agreed to do was to break off the relationship with me entirely,” Gordon said in a calm cold voice.

  “That’s not true! I told you in Kansas City that I love you and I meant it.”

  “But apparently not enough to refuse to listen to your daughter.”

  “That’s unfair! All I’m asking is that we hold off until we can answer a few important questions.”

  �
�Such as?”

  “Well, where we’ll live…”

  Gordon sighed. “The answer seems perfectly obvious to me. We can spend winters in Texas and summers in Toronto. These are excuses, Nessa, not reasons. What I said earlier is true, isn’t it? You agreed to abide by your daughter’s wishes and in the same breath turned your back on me.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Please don’t tell me you love me again. You’ll do us both a disservice. As for that private detective, you don’t have a lot of room to talk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He ignored her question. “I suspect the next thing that’ll happen is a polite note in the mail, explaining your decision.”

  Nessa’s heart sank, since that was exactly what would take place.

  “You’ll tell me as diplomatically as possible that we both need time, and frankly, I agree with you. We do need time. Perhaps it’d be best if we didn’t talk for a while. I’ll tell you what, Nessa, next time around you can phone me.”

  “Gordon, please listen—”

  “Goodbye.”

  She wanted to shout at him to come back, to let her explain, but the line had gone dead. Slowly she replaced the receiver, so much in pain she actually felt numb.

  A day was all she could stand. Twenty-four miserable hours was all it took before she realized they had to settle this, or they were both destined for heartache. She thought it best that Gordon meet her children and they could judge him for themselves.

  It hurt that not one of her three children trusted her ability to recognize a man of character. She was sure that once Sylvia and the boys met Gordon, they’d have all the answers they needed. If they didn’t…well, she mused with a deep sigh, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

  With her pulse raging, Nessa waited until evening and then punched out Gordon’s phone number. Three rings later, a man answered. It wasn’t Gordon.

  “May I take a message?” he asked with stiff politeness.

  “Please,” Nessa said. “My name’s Vanessa Boyd.”

  “Oh.” His voice, already cool, dropped to subfreezing temperatures. “This is Miles Pawling. Gordon’s son.”

  “Hello, Miles,” she said, refusing to allow his unfriendliness to deter her. “Your father’s mentioned you often.”

  “I’ll bet he has. Has he also mentioned that I’m opposed to this wedding you’ve supposedly planned?”

  So Gordon had faced family disapproval, as well. That explained a great deal. “No, he hasn’t, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance, Miles. I happen to love your father very much.”

  “You love his bank balance more, though, right?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nessa struggled with her composure. What a cruel and ugly thing to say.

  “My father’s a wealthy man, but then you already know that, don’t you, Mrs. Boyd?”

  “Yes,” she agreed softly. “Your father is rich—in strength of character, intelligence and grace. The truth is, I wasn’t aware of his financial standing, but now that I am, this all makes a lot more sense. You’re worried that I’m only interested in him because of his money.”

  “Isn’t that so?”

  “You vastly underrate your father, Miles.” And her, too, but she didn’t say that. Nessa heard a voice in the background and knew it was Gordon. “You don’t need to tell him I phoned,” she said quietly. “Goodbye, Miles, and don’t worry, I won’t trouble either of you again.”

  She didn’t wait for a response, and with tears stinging her eyes, she broke the connection.

  Glen Patterson saw the For Sale sign posted in the front yard of his parents’ bed-and-breakfast when he parked his truck. His father had talked over the decision with both sons, but seeing the realty sign was almost more than Glen could bear.

  Phil opened the door for him, and Glen had to admit he looked better than he had in months. They’d hired a caregiver to come six days a week, which provided him with some help and much-needed relief. Caring for his wife had been demanding enough, but hiding her illness and keeping up appearances in the community had taken a terrible toll on his own health.

  “How’s Mom?” Glen asked, following him into the kitchen.

  “She’s not doing too badly today.” Phil shrugged. “Tomorrow might be worse. It changes…. But right now she’s a little more aware, remembering a few things. I value days like this when they happen.”

  Glen loved and admired his father, and never more than in the past few weeks. His optimistic outlook in the face of ongoing tragedy was far and above anything Glen had thought possible.

  “I see the house is listed,” he said casually.

  Phil nodded. “The agent thinks it’ll sell quickly.”

  “Good. Have you decided where you want to move?”

  Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, Phil shook his head. “As little as two weeks ago I assumed a smaller house and a caregiver would be the best solution, but now I don’t think…” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked away, tears glistening in his eyes. “Pretty soon your mother’s going to need more care than I and a single caregiver can provide.” He paused. “We were at the doctor’s this afternoon.”

  “Dr. Curtis?” The geriatric specialist in San Antonio. “What did he say?”

  “Unfortunately, your mother’s not responding as well as he’d hoped to the medication.”

  “What does all this mean?” Glen asked, fighting back his own emotions.

  “I won’t be able to care for her at home much longer,” his father said quietly.

  “What if we hired a second caregiver?”

  “Glen, I can’t afford it.” Glancing down at his hands, he muttered, “The cost of even one is crippling me financially. The insurance doesn’t cover this.”

  “But family and friends could pitch in.” Glen knew that now that Dovie and Frank were aware of Mary’s condition, they dropped in nearly every day. Reverend Wade McMillen had become a regular visitor and spent part of the time with his mother, but much of his visit was with Phil.

  “You and your brother have your own lives. The same with Dovie and Frank. I won’t ask that of any of you.”

  “But this is Mom,” Glen argued.

  “Sometimes she barely recognizes you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I recognize her,” Glen returned. “We can’t put her in a home. That’s not what you’re thinking, is it?” Glen wouldn’t stand for it. He loved his father and acknowledged that this was a difficult time, but he wouldn’t abandon his mother.

  His father wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Dad, please. I’ll help more. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “You have a family of your own, and then there’s the ranch. Cal’s a new father and Jane needs him.”

  “This is our mother. Your wife.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Phil’s voice cracked. “You think this is an easy decision? I pray to God it’s not a decision you’ll ever have to make. It’d be easier to rip out my own heart than see your mother in a home.” He looked directly at Glen. “Do you know what happened yesterday? She went in to take a bath and forgot how to turn off the water. The entire bathroom was flooded by the time I realized something was wrong. Glen, we can’t go on this way!”

  The air throbbed with anguish as both men struggled to hold back their tears.

  “I was at a retirement complex in San Antonio this afternoon,” his father said, his voice raw. “The place has a number of small apartments, so we could move in there and keep some of the things your mother’s treasured over the years. It would feel like home to her, and frankly, I don’t think it’ll be long before she can’t tell the difference.”

  “What about…later?” It went without saying what “later” meant.

  “There are medical facilities and staff available for when that time comes. She won’t be able to stay in the apartment with me, but…but I’ll just be a few floors away. Whenever possible, I’ll
be with her.”

  With her, but without the grueling responsibility constant care demanded. It seemed a good solution. The only solution. Better than anything Glen could come up with.

  “Dr. Curtis recommended I check out the facility, although he had nothing but good things to say.”

  “The cost?” Glen knew he’d be willing to do whatever he could to help financially. So would Cal.

  “It’s not as bad as I thought. The apartments, all utilities, meals and some of the medical expenses are included in a flat rate.” He named a figure that seemed exorbitant to Glen, until he took into account everything it covered. “I’ll have the money from the house, don’t forget.”

  Glen nodded, looking regretfully around the charming kitchen his mother had decorated.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” his father whispered.

  “I know, Dad. I know.”

  A few minutes later Glen went in to see his mother, who smiled up at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to identify himself. Her earlier awareness was evidently gone. They sat and watched television together, and then Glen rose to leave.

  His father walked him to the door. Glen hugged his father for a long moment. “The retirement place is a good idea, Dad.”

  Phil nodded and they broke apart.

  Amy McMillen, the pastor’s wife, came into Tumbleweed Books and gleefully told Annie, “Wade has the children for the day, and I’ve got instructions to indulge myself with a good book.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” Annie said as she stepped toward the cash register. Now that she, too, was both a wife and mother, her own reading time was severely curtailed—but she had no regrets. “Any special reason he’s giving you a free day?”

  “It’s my birthday, and when he asked me what I wanted, I told him twenty-four hours to myself.”

  “It’ll be good for him, too,” Annie told her. “He’ll have a greater understanding of all the work you do—and appreciate you even more.”