Rodeo Baby

by Mary Sullivan

  Vy pressed her hands onto her thighs. “I never finished high school. I don’t have a diploma.”

  “Because of the baby and having to leave home?” Again, Nadine.

  “Yeah, but also because I felt like I owed my aunt so much. What if I hadn’t had anywhere to go when my mom kicked me out? Aunt Belinda was a lifesaver and she treated me well.”

  “I remember when we used to come in after school and you were serving our table,” Rachel said. “At the time, I didn’t think much of it. It was just part of reality, you know? But later, I wondered why you had never been in school.”

  “Somehow I fell through the cracks. I should have been there.” She’d felt the lack ever since. “Maxine, you mentioned that we’ve never made you feel less than the rest of us because of your lack of femininity, but I’ve always felt less than all of you because of my lack of an education.”

  “Vy,” Rachel said in a warning tone. She of all of the friends really understood Vy. “Do not for a single minute believe that you are not as good or worthy or smart as us, because that is utter nonsense.”

  Again with her reserved gesturing, Max indicated the diner and its customers. “My God, Vy, let’s get back to this place. You’ve made this diner a success. You make food that’s current yet homey. Add your own distinct, feisty character to the mix and this place rocks!”

  “Yeah, my feisty, uneducated character.”

  “Don’t do that.” Max’s sharp, fierce tone took Vy aback. “Don’t turn away praise with sarcasm. You always do that. Most of the time it’s funny, but today you need to own what we’re saying. I’m the last person who should be telling you this, me with all of my weird neuroses, but accept our love, Vy. You deserve it. Okay?”

  Deserve. That word Vy had so much trouble with, considering her actions when she was young.

  Max reached across the table, took one of Vy’s hands in her own and squeezed. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” Vy whispered. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” Max asked.

  “Okay, I accept everyone’s love and support. Thank you, damn you!”

  That broke the tension. They laughed.

  Overwhelmed by the goodness and affirmation, Violet stood. “I’d better get upstairs to pull myself together.”

  For a moment, she felt as lost as she had all of those years ago to find herself without her mother’s support after the rape and then to find out she was pregnant by a man she despised.

  But that was then and this was now. Now she had friends. Mind-blowing friends.

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll take a short nap.”

  “You know where we are.” Honey picked up their coffee mugs. “I can help out here if you need to take time to deal with this. It’s huge.”

  “Call if you need anything,” Max said.

  Everyone else agreed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shortly after eleven, in pitch darkness, Sam crept onto the porch of his grandfather’s house. No lights from within penetrated the moonless night. Thank goodness the women didn’t waste money on electricity when no one was about.

  A cool breeze cut through the denim jacket he wore. It ruffled his hair. He shivered.

  He’d brought a flashlight and a credit card to open the front door. Not that he’d ever broken into anywhere, but it worked in the movies so there must be some basis in reality, right?

  The porch creaked and Sam halted, not sure why he bothered. No one lurked in the shadows, but the amusement park felt eerie at night. All of the rides loomed large, hulking dark shadows hovering on deserted fairgrounds.

  He’d parked behind the carousel, hoping that anyone who might drive past wouldn’t see his vehicle.

  The gates had been wide-open. Maybe they didn’t ever close. Maybe they were rusted and no longer worked.

  Sam touched the doorknob, turning it out of curiosity.

  The door opened, with the house left unlocked so anyone could wander in.

  He shook his head. Small towns. Alarmed and locked-down, his house in New York could never be broken into except by the most determined and expert of thieves.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him to block out the wind. He wandered the first floor, not really knowing what he was looking for.

  It would have been better to have come in the daytime, but he doubted those women would give an inch now that Violet was pregnant and it was his fault.

  Correction, their fault.

  Violet was an adult, too. It had been consensual sex. So why did Sam feel guilty about going back to New York where he belonged? Why did Chelsea’s response still hurt?

  He turned all thoughts of that aside. He had this rare, if illegal, opportunity to see the inside of his Gramps’s house.

  Wanting to take in as much as he could, he swung the flashlight around. Ordinary furniture sat in ordinary configurations.

  An old armchair nestled into a corner of the living room looked like it had been shaped by his grandfather’s backside over a number of years, maybe a couple of decades.

  Sam sat in it, just to sense his Gramps close in this house, to experience a part of his heritage.

  If he’d ever taken a few weeks out of his busy life, he could have sat here with Gramps while he still lived in the house. Maybe had breakfasts with him. Gone for walks around the fairgrounds while Gramps showed off everything he’d built with Sam’s great-grandfather.

  In the beam of his flashlight, it all looked so ordinary, the coffee table and TV and worn sofa, and yet it meant the world to Sam to be here, even too late.

  With Gramps’s mind definitely going, soon there wouldn’t be much left. Then what would remain of him except Sam’s memories? Apparently, Sam no longer had even this house or Gramps’s stuff.

  Or did he?

  Was the lease for only the summer? For one year? For always? Sam didn’t know because Gramps couldn’t tell him.

  Was there an office in the house? There must be someplace where Gramps had done all of his business over the years. Maybe he’d rented an office in town. If so, were there records in the attic?

  He walked toward the back of the house, not bothering to hide his actions. Why? The house was empty.

  But just past the kitchen, light leaked out from under a door.

  Sam paused and held his breath.

  The door flew open inward, and a female voice called out, “Honey, is that you? It’s about time you got here. I’ve been here for an hour.”

  Oh, shit.

  Violet. Of all people.

  “Honey?” Her voice not as strong now, she sounded hesitant.

  Sam had to show himself, if only to stop scaring her.

  He stepped into the doorway, the light in the room bright after the dark house. He squinted and lifted his hand to cover his eyes.

  “You! What are you doing here?”

  The second his eyes adjusted, he recognized fear in hers, and in the arm raised to protect herself.

  “God, Violet, stop,” he said, pained that she would think he would harm her. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “No? You find out today that I’m pregnant and you think it ruins all of your future plans. Who could blame you if you wanted to get rid of the problem?”

  Disbelief surged through him. “Seriously, Violet? You could think that of me?”

  She faltered. “What else should I think? You just broke into this house while I’m here alone.”

  “I didn’t know you were here,” he explained. “And I didn’t break in. The front door was unlocked.”

  She startled. “It was?”

  “Didn’t you come in and leave it open?”

  “I parked in the backyard. I always come through the back door because the office is right here. I don’t know
who left the front door unlocked.” Her face hardened. “I would have made sure it was locked if I’d known you’d come snooping around.”

  Anger sizzled in Sam’s veins. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to be in this house, but he’d never given any indication that he was prone to violence. “I’m not here to steal anything or to murder anyone.”

  “How would I know that? You’re a virtual stranger.”

  “Who you introduced to your friends as a tenant. Remember? Obviously, you trusted me on some level.”

  She shrugged. So stubborn. She didn’t like to lose.

  “You made love with me by the stream. Don’t tell me you do that with every stranger who comes through town.”

  “No. I don’t.” A huge concession, and one that sounded hard to admit.

  “So you have some intuition that I’m not dangerous.” He stepped a little farther into the room and said as convincingly as he’d ever claimed anything, “I’m not a violent man.”

  She must have trusted the sincerity in his voice, somewhat. She retreated behind the desk but stayed coiled to attack. Or so it seemed to Sam. It pained him that she trusted him so little. But then, he hadn’t given her a lot to go on, had he?

  “I’m serious. I would never hurt you. Okay?” In fact, he’d missed her with an ache that took him by surprise.

  When she’d entered the stable today after two weeks of seeing her only at a distance, it was like a ray of sunshine had entered his life again.

  Then she’d dropped her bombshell.

  She nodded, face pale in the warm lamplight flooding the room.

  God. He’d really frightened her.

  “I’m asking only one more time,” she said, tone still hard. “I want an answer or I’m calling Cole Payette.”

  The sheriff. Not good.

  “What are you doing in this house?”

  Sam heaved a sigh. All he seemed to do these days was screw up. “Apparently, making a big mistake.”

  She didn’t relax.

  He could try to bullshit his way out of this, but the time had come for honesty. Not one speck of his subterfuge had gotten him a single answer in the three weeks he’d been in town. Add to that the four days he’d taken to drive across six states with his daughter.

  So much time invested for no return. As a business­person, he knew when to cut his losses.

  But he hadn’t come here as an astute businessman, rather as a grandson, and all of his decisions had been emotional, no matter how much he’d tried to convince himself otherwise. Chelsea had been right. He should have come here honestly.

  Exhausted by pointless dishonesty, he pointed to an armchair in the corner. “Mind if I sit?”

  As regal as any queen, Violet gave her consent with a stiff nod and he fell into the chair.

  He leaned forward on his elbows and sank his head into his hands. He breathed into his palms, preparing himself for the firestorm that would erupt the second he told Violet who he was.

  “My name isn’t really Sam Michaels.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “Surprise, surprise.”

  “It’s Carson Samuel Carmichael.”

  She stared at him for protracted moments with her mouth open. “You’re—”

  “Carson’s grandson.”

  Her hands dropped to the desk and she leaned forward, both aggressive and mystified. “But...why hide it?”

  “I...” Oh, crap, how to explain? “Gramps hasn’t been able to tell me what kind of deal he worked out with the rejuvenation committee.”

  “So you came here to spy on us. Right? You don’t trust us.”

  She was quick. He liked that about her, but maybe not so much at the moment.

  “Yes, I came here to spy on you.” Before she could gather a lungful of outrage to blast him, he forestalled her. “Understand that I love my grandfather and I thought you were all cheating him. It was my duty to find out as much as I could to protect his interests. To protect him.”

  “To protect your own interests, you mean, don’t you? These fairgrounds would be worth a pretty penny if you sold.”

  He took off the cowboy hat he’d come to kind of like wearing and tossed it onto the desk.

  “No. I could buy this land a number of times over.”

  When Violet crossed her arms, cocked one hip and stared, he said, “It’s true. I have money. I’m worried about Gramps’s money for his sake. He put his lifetime into this place. I didn’t want to see him robbed.” When she didn’t look convinced, he went on, “I really, truly came here to protect Gramps from what I thought were a bunch of dishonest women.”

  “Why would you assume we’re dishonest?”

  “First, because I didn’t know you. I would have trusted in Gramps in his opinion, but he isn’t himself anymore.”

  He had to stop speaking to draw a deep breath. Talking about his grandfather’s dementia left him emotional.

  “I know,” Violet said, her voice saturated with compassion and understanding. He liked her softer side as much as her spirit.

  “He told me disturbing things,” Sam said, “but then couldn’t remember other details I needed to make an informed decision about what was going on here.”

  She waited.

  “The only reasonable conclusion I could come to was to get out here to see what was going on for myself.”

  “And now that you’re here, what do you think?”

  In a rush of frustration, he leaned forward. “Nothing. I haven’t learned a damned thing! You’re the last person I should expect sympathy from, but do you have any idea how rotten it feels that I still don’t know if my grandfather is being ripped off?”

  “Even after meeting us, you still think we’re dishonest?”

  Compelled to reveal all that he’d been thinking lately, Sam said, “No. I don’t. I like all of you. Tonight, this—” he waved his hand to indicate the house “—was desperation. I wanted to see the house one time before heading back home.”

  She flinched at the reminder that he wouldn’t be staying.

  “Why couldn’t you have asked?”

  “Because it would have blown my cover.”

  “But why have a cover? Why not come to town and just ask us what was going on? We would have shown you the contract Carson signed.”

  Sam sat up. “He signed a contract? But...he told me he hadn’t.”

  “Of course we have a contract. Cripes, how stupid do you think we are to come into this venture without making everything legal?” She stretched to open a drawer but then shot him a look. “Don’t answer that. It’s obvious how stupid you thought we were.”

  “Not stupid. Dishonest.”

  “Just as bad. Here.” She tossed him a sheaf of stapled papers. “Read ’em and weep.”

  Sam caught the contract and leaned toward one of the lamps. He did, indeed, read it. The entire thing. Every word.

  Dear God, Gramps had gotten it all so wrong.

  They’d leased the land from him for one year for a thousand dollars. If they made a profit, Carson would receive a healthy percentage with the understanding that the rest would go toward improving the town, after expenses.

  “Carson told me none of this,” he said faintly. “Not one word. He said you gave him one dollar for the lease. He doesn’t even have a memory of there being a contract.”

  “If you knew his mind was going, why didn’t you take that into account before rushing out here to pretend to be something, someone, you weren’t?”

  “Because I didn’t know Gramps’s mind was going. I had no idea. I call him every week. I thought he was good until I came here and saw some of his odd behavior. I began to doubt everything he was telling me.”

  “But not enough to come out of hiding.”

  “No, not enough to s
top spying.”

  Sam checked out Gramps’s office. From this room, he’d conducted business for six decades or more.

  “Why was the house included in the lease?”

  “For this office and Carson’s records. The six of us? We’ve never done anything like this before. We’re ignorant about pulling off an event this large. It’s intimidating.”

  She walked to a bookcase lined with binder after binder. “Here, in all of these binders, is the history of the fair and all of the information that Carson wrote up over the years. A lot of it is outdated, but not all. It’s like a really great instruction manual.”

  Sam was silent for a moment, then he asked, “Where do we go from here?”

  “We? There is no we. You’re returning to New York City. Remember?” Still and contained, she sat down quietly. “Could our lives be any different?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Even if you were willing to live here in Rodeo—” she raised a hand when he would have objected “—I know that’s an impossibility. You aren’t cut out for life here.”

  He wanted to argue with her. He could live here, happily, but the business, his friends and his homes beckoned, as did his revenge. Okay, skip the rest. It was all about revenge.

  Somehow, someway, he would make Tiffany and her father regret the day they’d betrayed him.

  “Besides,” Violet continued, “after the way you’ve lied, I could never trust you again.”

  “This has been an aberration. I’m a trustworthy guy. Honest.”

  “I can’t trust, Sam. Ever. I have my reasons.” Violet sighed. “Let’s go to the kitchen. This story’s going to take a while. I need coffee.”

  He followed her and sat on a kitchen stool at a worn counter while she made a pot of coffee.

  Sam declined, but she doctored one for herself. He waited. Whatever she had to share looked heavy.

  * * *

  VIOLET COULDN’T SIT STILL, not when she had to tell her story twice in one day. Not when the story pained her.

  She did, though. Tell it, that was, and Sam listened and reacted with as much compassion as her friends had, to her surprise.