by Pam Crooks
Carina leaped back with a startled squeak. Hot brew spilled over the back of her hand, and she yelped at the sting of pain. The cup dropped, and the coffee pooled into a murky puddle at her feet.
Mavis Webb, dressed in black henrietta and crape—mourning clothes, for the son she’d lost—pressed a thin, blue-veined hand to her bosom in alarm.
“Did you burn yourself?” she asked.
Carina stiffened. “Yes. You nearly gave me heart failure standing there. And the coffee was fresh-made.”
Mavis didn’t move, though her careful glance drifted over the reddened knuckle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Whatever pain remained from the burn was lost in the apology Mavis Webb humbled herself to offer. Had Carina ever heard one from her before?
Except for her driver waiting in the yard, it appeared she’d arrived alone in her fancy rig. Carina’s mind stirred with suspicion.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“I—I couldn’t stay away any longer.” A faint quaver replaced the hoity-toity inflection normally present in her voice. “Some things are meant to be said in person, and oh, Carina, there are so many things I must say to you.”
Carina figured there wasn’t much of anything Mavis Webb could say that would make Carina want to listen, but she strained to be civil. “Like what?”
She drew in a breath. “I put Callie Mae through a terrible ordeal, taking her away from you like I did. I’ve been thinking of her constantly.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and—and how is she? Does she hate me overmuch?”
“She’s a strong child.” Carina laid the truth out. “But she doesn’t stray far from me. I think her sense of adventure has been satisfied for a while. She’s learned the hard way what’s important and what’s not.”
“She’s happy, then?”
“Very.”
“What Rogan and I did—”
“Was unforgivable and something neither of us will ever forget. We don’t talk about him much. I hope the day comes when we never will again.”
Mavis flinched, her pride broken. “I’m most grateful you declined to press charges against me. You should have, I suppose, to the fullest extent of the law.”
“I wanted to.”
“So why didn’t you? I deserved it.”
“Because you’re Callie Mae’s grandmother, and Callie Mae loves you. Still.” So many times, Carina had questioned the wisdom of her decision, the reluctance to throw the old witch in jail where she belonged. “She’s lost her father. I didn’t want her to lose her grandmother, too.”
“Thank you.” Mavis bit her lip. “She’s all I have, you know.”
“Yes.”
But Carina thought of all Callie Mae had gained. Penn, at the top of the list, who embraced honor and ideals and who’d grown to love her as a father should, something Rogan had never been able to do.
Mavis angled her head toward the ash tree in the backyard. Her gaze held on the old man and young girl seated around the checkerboard, both oblivious to her presence. For long moments, she appeared at a loss for words.
Carina swallowed hard. She dug in deep to find the forgiveness that most days proved elusive. And found a shred to cling to.
“Would you like to come in, Mavis?” It took a valiant effort to extend the offer, but once it was made, Carina had no regrets. “I’ve just baked a cake, and—”
“No, but thank you.” Seemingly with great effort, she turned back to Carina. “I only wanted to stop for a moment.” Her eyes filled with watery hope. “But maybe—maybe next year, I could come for a visit, a short one, of course, to—to see Callie Mae.”
“Yes,” Carina said quietly and vowed to find a way to endure it, for her daughter’s sake. “I think she’d like that.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you, Carina.”
As if she feared she’d lose what little remained of her composure, she pivoted toward the steps. In the next moment, however, she pivoted back.
“You’re wearing a dress,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen you in one.”
“Yes, well.” Of course, Mavis would notice. “It’s just percale. Nothing fancy.”
“It suits you, you know. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Her smile with the rare compliment, though hesitant, was genuine. She turned, and with a rustle of black henrietta, hurried down the steps. Carina’s thoughtful gaze lingered on the departing rig until it disappeared from sight.
But she didn’t go into the house. Instead, her glance shifted toward the horse corral. Lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the sun, she found Penn with TJ Grier, both of them inside the rails, working together to tame a feisty yearling.
Watching them, love and pride rushed through her. The C Bar C was a better place with her husband beside her at the helm. Strong and enduring.
Peace settled around Carina.
The Lockett legacy would continue, for many years to come.
THE END
About Pam
While expecting her first child (more years back than she cares to count), Pam Crooks read her very first romance novel, and she’s been in love with them ever since. She grew up in the ranch country of western Nebraska, and it was inevitable she’d eventually write lots of books about cowboys. Pam still lives in Nebraska with her husband (who is not a cowboy), four married daughters and a whole slew of perfect grandchildren.
She’s a long-time member of RWA and RAH, her local chapter. Pam is also one of the founders of Petticoats & Pistols, a popular blogsite for western romance. She loves to cook, hang out at her lake cabin, and decorate birthday cakes for anyone who will let her.
To see other books Pam has written, visit www.pamcrooks.com
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