At a firm tap on her shoulder she turned around, beaming.
"Just exactly how long," Sara demanded, her face an alarming shade of red, "did you expect me to wait for you?"
Polly felt as if she'd been punched. "Oh, dear God. Sar', I'm so sorry. I—" But what could she say except the truth. "I forgot."
"Obviously." Sara's dark eyes were furious.
And Polly really couldn't blame her. "I'm so sorry, hon'. How did you—?"
But Sara just shook her head, clamped her mouth shut, spun on her heel and, pushing past Daisy, stalked out.
Staring after her, Polly felt the joy of the evening vanish.
Jack, halfway up the ladder, a threaded heart in his hand, asked, "What'sa matter with her?"
For just a second Polly didn't move. Then she gave herself a little shake and looked up at her son. "I forgot her. I was supposed to bring her home from Livingston this evening. After we got done with—" She paused, her mind spinning back and forward, touching on other things she'd forgotten in the push to get the town hall ready for the film crew invasion. "—after we got done with … your dentist appointment."
Jack's guileless blue eyes widened.
"You were supposed to go to the dentist this afternoon," Polly said. It wasn't a comment. It was an accusation.
Jack blinked rapidly, innocently. "Me?"
Polly might be forgetful, but she wasn't a complete pushover. "Why didn't you remind me?"
She had no trouble reading the answer in his wordless gaze.
As if.
Damn. She thrust the cardboard heart she'd been threading into Daisy's hands. "Here. Tell Aunt Celie I've got to go, and she'll have to close things up. I've got to talk to Sara." Even as she spoke, she was stepping around Noah and Tess Tanner's little boys who were chasing Becky Jones's little brother, Will. "Sara!" she called desperately after her daughter.
But Sara was gone.
Polly ran after her out into the January night, wearing only her jeans and a thin cotton shirt. "Sara! Wait!"
But Sara was halfway down the street and she never looked back.
"You might as well let her go."
Polly spun around to see Jace Tucker standing by his truck.
"I have to talk to her! I forgot her tonight. I was supposed to pick her up and I left her in Livingston. I don't even know how she got home!" She turned to run after Sara.
"I brought her," Jace said.
Polly stopped. "You did?"
"She's okay. She was just worried."
Polly sagged and shut her eyes. "Yes."
Underneath Sara's anger she had seen fear and understood it. Her mother hadn't shown up. Six years ago, late one night, her father hadn't come home. Hours later a trooper had come instead. She knew the connection Sara would make.
That was why her forgetfulness was inexcusable.
"I need to talk to her."
Jace smiled a little ruefully. "Right now I don't think she wants to listen."
"Probably not. I've blown it. Bad."
"I doubt it. She was worried, but she'll get over it."
Polly wasn't sure about that. She'd forgotten Sara before, but never in circumstances that were as likely to make her daughter recall Lew's accident. "Her dad…"
"I know."
"She told you?" Sara had never talked about Lew's death. She'd only got very self-contained, very controlled, very silent.
"Not in so many words. But I … knew."
Yes, Jace would know. He'd been at the rodeo Lew had left that night. He'd have heard the news that Lew had never arrived home.
Polly tried to paste together a smile that would express her gratitude. "Thank you for bringing her. I suppose she tried to call."
"Said no one was home. When she got home and you weren't there, she tried to call your mother. That's when she heard about the town hall. Fixing it awful early, aren't you?"
"There's a film crew coming." She didn't give a damn about the film crew now. She was too concerned about Sara. "Where did she find you? Were you in the Page and Leaf?"
He smiled wryly and shook his head. "I was in The Barrel."
"Sara went to The Barrel? Oh, my God."
It wasn't that The Barrel was terrible. It was just not a place Sara would ever go. It was completely out of her element—a rough-and-tumble, loud-and-noisy cowboy bar. A weekend evening didn't pass without a bar fight or five. Lew had taken her there on a couple of the rare occasions when they'd left the kids and gone out. Polly had always enjoyed herself.
But Sara wasn't Polly.
Sara didn't like rough-and-tumble. She hated loud-and-noisy. She would have been as uncomfortable and out of place in The Barrel as Polly would have been at a time-management convention.
Not only that, she was exactly the sort of beautiful girl that a passel of drunken cowboys would think was God's gift to them. Polly felt a shudder run through her.
"She's all right," Jace said quickly. "Nothin' happened. When you didn't come, she came looking for a ride." He spread his hands as if to say it was as simple as that.
But Polly hadn't been a mother for nineteen years without developing some instincts that sent her maternal warning signals into overdrive. There were things he wasn't telling her, she was sure. But she didn't press. She would talk to Sara.
She had to talk to Sara.
"I need to find her. To explain."
Jace shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well, good luck."
Behind them the door to the town hall opened.
"Polly! What are you— Oh!" Celie didn't finish her sentence. The minute her gaze moved from her sister to Jace Tucker, her words dried up and she hugged Polly's jacket against her chest.
"Celie." Jace touched his hat in greeting.
Celie gave a quick nod, but her gaze stayed on Polly. "Daisy said you had to leave. You forgot your jacket."
But even as she said it, she made no move to hand the jacket over. Instead Celie clutched it like a shield.
Polly nodded. "Jace will explain." She reached out and wrested her jacket from Celie's grasp.
Celie let it go abruptly. "No need." She began backing toward the door.
"Well, I need to thank him," Polly insisted. She turned to Jace. "I will later, I promise. Go in with Celie and she can get you something to eat. I think there's still chili left and maybe some ribs if you're hungry."
"Why would he be hungry?" Celie demanded. "It's almost midnight."
"Actually," Jace said. "I'm starving."
Polly smiled. "There you go, then." She gave his forearm a squeeze of gratitude. "Thanks, Jace."
Then she turned and hurried home, trying to think what she would say to Sara when she got there.
Just what she needed. Jace Tucker.
The end to a perfect evening, Celie thought sourly. She could feel him almost literally breathing down her neck as she went back into the noisy overheated town hall and he limped along behind her.
He wasn't using his crutches anymore. She'd seen him three times this week—rather, she ignored him three times this week—when he'd come into the hardware store. She'd like to ignore him again now, but it seemed he'd done Polly a favor and she'd been appointed to thank him for it.
Well, she'd try. But she wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. "I'm not sure there's any food left," she said over her shoulder. "We ate hours ago."
This was something of an exaggeration. People had been dipping into Loney's chili pot all night and, even so, there always seemed to be more. There were also probably still a few of her mother's brownies left and maybe a little bedraggled lettuce salad.
"Anything's fine," Jace said.
He was still right behind her, but he was gawking around, not looking at her. "Pretty impressive."
"Lots of people worked very hard." In case he thought it was tacky or something.
But he just nodded. "I can tell." He turned and his gaze lit on the huge banner over the stage that proclaimed in big red letters: EL
MER LOVES SLOAN.
He burst out laughing.
Celie bristled. "I believe they plan on rephrasing that tomorrow."
Jace grinned broadly. "Probably a good idea. Won't do much for his image otherwise."
Celie ignored him. She had pointed that out herself, but she didn't think he needed to laugh quite so hard. She looked in the chili pot and, yes, there was some left, so she handed him a plate.
"Help yourself."
"I will." And there was such hunger in his tone that she looked at him, surprised. And was even more surprised to discover he wasn't looking at the chili pot, but at her.
Celie turned away abruptly, flustered. "Go sit down." She pointed to a chair. "I'll see what else is left."
She wanted to just leave him there and vanish, but if she did, no doubt Polly would hear about it. So she scraped up some salad and found a couple of ribs lurking at the bottom of one of the pans. There was still cornbread and brownies, too. She heaped everything on another plate, carried it back to where he sat and slapped it down on the table in front of him.
He grinned at her. "Hey, great. Thanks."
Celie grunted. He wasn't welcome so she wasn't going to say it.
Jace kicked out the chair across the table from him. "Sit down."
"No, I—"
"Ah, Celie." Mary Holt came bustling up, her baby, Mac, in her arms. "Good. I've got to help Felicity in the kitchen and I need someone to give Mac a bottle." She pressed the squirming baby and a bottle into Celie's arms. "Thanks. You're a peach." Mary beamed and hurried toward the kitchen.
Celie looked down at the tiny bundle of baby in her arms and felt a stab of longing. Of course she'd held babies before. She'd held all of Polly's and Mary Beth's. But that had been years ago. Jack was nine now and the triplets nearly seven. Then she'd thought she would still have her own babies someday. But now—
Mac fussed and started to cry.
"Sit down." Jace Tucker shoved the chair out again.
Not looking his way, Celie sat. She cradled the baby against her breasts and gave him the bottle. He glommed on eagerly, sucking as if his life depended on it. She smiled and touched the baby's cheek tenderly. Solemn blue eyes looked back. Around her the noise and bustle faded. She was only aware of the baby.
God, she wanted—
"You should have kids." Jace's voice startled her back to the present.
Celie stared at him, suddenly furious that he should read the longing in her—especially since he was a good part of the reason that she didn't have them.
"Thank you very much for that brilliant observation," she said acidly.
He looked startled at her animosity. "Huh?"
Celie gritted her teeth. "Nothing."
She wished he'd go away. But he had a plateful of food in front of him, and he seemed determined to eat every bit. She ignored him, focusing instead on the baby, smiling at him, willing him to look back at her, wishing she didn't still want so very much to have a husband and children of her own.
"So," Jace said after a few minutes, "how much you gonna bid?"
Since he was obviously talking to her, Celie forced herself to look his way. "Bid on what?" she said with supreme indifference.
"Our man Gallagher, of course." He grinned.
Celie felt her face flush. "Who says I'm going to bid anything on him?"
"Just figured you might, you bein' such a fan and all."
Her cheeks warmed even more. "Who told you that? Did Polly tell you that?"
"Nobody told me. I watched you droolin' over him in that magazine."
She'd had a magazine with an article about Sloan sitting on the counter at the hardware store this week. "I was not drooling!" Her voice was so sharp that Mac's face crumpled as if he were about to cry. "Shh, Macko," she whispered, shooting Jace a furious glance as she tried to soothe the baby. "Shh, now. It's all right."
"Right," Jace said, amused. "You weren't drooling. You were seriously obsessed, though."
"I'm a student of film," Celie said loftily. "And Sloan Gallagher is a good actor. I admire his skills."
Jace mopped up his chili with a piece of cornbread, popped it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "And I buy Playboy for the articles," he said solemnly.
"You are such a jerk."
Jace grinned. "So you don't think he's good-looking."
"Of course he's good-looking!"
"His nose is crooked."
"It was broken." Celie knew that from the articles she'd read.
"Damn right," Jace said with considerable satisfaction. "I broke it."
"You! You broke Sloan Gallagher's nose?"
"He was asking for it. Shootin' off his mouth about how much better things were where he came from. No big deal. He survived. Who knows? Maybe it's the nose that attracts them. Maybe he owes all those women in his life to me." Jace's grin widened.
"Oh, right!" Celie was furious. How typical of Jace Tucker to break someone's nose and be proud of it. She struggled to her feet, still holding Mac, still giving him his bottle, but absolutely unable to sit there and listen to Jace Tucker for one minute more. "He should have broken yours!"
"Oh, he did," Jace said wryly. "He pounded the crap out of me."
"More power to him," Celie said, and meant every word.
Sara's door was closed. As usual.
Most of the time Polly told herself that was normal—that any nineteen-year-old young woman who had to live in a house with her mother, her grandmother, her aunt and three siblings would want a bit of privacy.
If it meant more, if there was something seriously wrong, Polly hadn't let herself think about that. It would have meant confronting Sara, and Polly had never felt able to do that.
From the day she was born, Sara Madeleine McMaster had always seemed cleverer, smarter, more organized, more focused—older!—than her mother.
Of course, while Sara had been a baby, Polly had managed to convince herself that she knew best. But as her daughter had grown older and smarter and more organized, it had been harder and harder to convince herself of that.
Especially when Sara seemed to be having so much trouble believing it, too.
Tonight it was especially hard to believe.
But whether she believed it or not, Polly knew she couldn't turn a blind eye to the closed door any longer. But before she faced it, she sent a prayer winging heavenward.
"She's your kid, too," she told Lew.
In fact, Polly thought Sara had always been more Lew's than hers. Sara had adored her father. She'd followed him everywhere. She'd always listened to Lew.
"So give me some inspiration now," Polly beseeched him. "Help me figure out what to say."
She tapped on the door. There was no answer, but she didn't walk away. She knocked louder. Still nothing.
As if silence would deter her tonight. Nothing would deter her tonight.
"You're in the right, Sara," Polly said loudly to the closed door. "So why are you hiding in there?"
There was another considerable silence during which Polly wondered if she'd once more said the wrong thing. Finally the door opened.
"I'm not hiding," Sara said sullenly.
"Good." Polly tried a smile, hoping Sara would return it.
She didn't.
So Polly took a deep breath. "I'm very sorry about not showing up. Sloan Gallagher called and said there was a film crew coming on Sunday. We needed to be prepared. To decorate the town hall. I got involved and I … forgot."
Sara's expression didn't change. She didn't move. Eventually she shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she said indifferently. "I got a ride."
"Jace told me. That was kind of him. He also told me you had to go to The Barrel to find someone—"
"I was fine!" Sara said sharply.
"I'm sure you were. But it's no place for a young woman alone and—"
"You should have thought of that before you forgot to come!"
"I should have. It was my fault. I should be more organized."
> "You always say that!"
"Because it's true. I find it difficult. I try. I'm sorry I frightened you."
"I wasn't frightened!"
But even now Polly could see the fear flashing in Sara's eyes. She longed to take her daughter into her arms and hold her. She longed to bury her face in Sara's thick cap of dark hair and breathe deeply of the scent that was so uniquely hers, to hold her close and remember all the years when they'd been close. Before…
Before Sara had begun to shut the door.
She could see the rejection on Sara's face. Her daughter had her arms crossed over her chest.
If she put her arms around Sara, Polly knew there would be no answering hug. Sara would resist.
But Polly was Polly. She couldn't not reach out. She wrapped her arms around Sara, anyway.
She felt Sara's body stiffen in resistance. The arms stayed locked across her chest, trapped between them as Polly hugged her. Sara was as tall as she was now. There was no burying her face against the top of Sara's head. But there was the soft brush of her short hair against Polly's nose and lips. There was that indefinable scent that was and always had been Sara.
And Polly could feel her daughter tremble even as Sara remained rigid in her arms. As if her daughter feared she might crack if she softened her stance, if she gave an inch, if she let go…
Let go. Please, let go.
But seconds ticked by and Sara held fast to her pose.
She stayed stiff and unyielding in Polly's arms, except for one eventual small squirm of irritation that told Polly she'd pushed as far as she dared.
"I'm sorry," she said against Sara's ear one last time. Then she stepped back, loosed her arms and let them fall to her sides. She looked at Sara, who wouldn't look at her.
"I love you, Sar'."
Sara flicked a doubtful, gaze in her direction for just an instant. It didn't last long, but its disbelief cut Polly to the quick.
"Yeah," Sara said. The positive that meant a negative. Then she stepped back. She swallowed and started to close the door again. "G'night."
It was all the olive branch Polly knew she was going to get. A one-word offer to return things to the distant politeness that had existed between them before she'd forgotten her daughter.
The Great Montana Cowboy Auction Page 10