Montoya's Heart

by Bonnie Gardner

  As the tractor engine grumbled to life, Rance heard another sound. How he heard it, he didn’t know. Maybe his ears were especially attuned, or it might be ESP. But before Maggie’s gray minivan turned off the main road and into his lane, Rance knew she was coming. And the sight of Maggie’s riot of flaming curls through the rolled-up window was more welcome than the sound of any machine could have been. He plucked the match from his mouth, broke it and tossed it away.

  Maggie drew the van to a halt behind her father’s pickup. But instead of coming over to the porch, she walked around to the back hatch of the van, calling Buddy to her. He hefted out a large cylindrical container, and Maggie slammed the door shut and looked Rance’s way. His heart soared as she raised her hand in a cheery wave.

  How was it possible that he had become so dependent upon her to brighten his day? Maggie had become a definite ingredient in Rance’s recipe for happiness. His heart beat faster as she hurried across the dusty yard.

  She’d changed to a cool summer shift of lime green that skimmed her body and dipped at her hips to meet a slightly gathered skirt. It was shapeless and comfortable, but didn’t hide the womanly swell of her breasts or her well-shaped arms. Rance would have liked to see her in something more revealing, but he understood the need for comfort in the Alabama heat. Besides, the skirt stopped just short of her well-turned ankles and sandaled feet.

  “What’s that?” Rance called when Maggie and her son were within hailing distance.

  “My world-famous secret-recipe cherry-chocolate-chip ice cream. Or it will be when Buddy and Jen get finished cranking it.” Maggie flashed a sunny smile and climbed the steps.

  Rance held his breath as Maggie held the door open for Buddy. Would she follow her son in?

  Maggie paused at the door. “I made a batch of it yesterday, but we never got to eat it.”

  “Yes, we did,” Buddy called from behind her. “It was great!” He proceeded into the interior of the house.

  “Well, Rance and I didn’t get to have any. It was my contribution to dinner.” Maggie let the door swing shut and turned to the glider. “Is there any room for me?”

  If there hadn’t been, Rance would gladly have made it. As it was, there was plenty. He slid carefully to the left and patted the bare wooden seat. “I’ve been saving you a spot.”

  Maggie dropped her purse by the door, then lowered herself to the swing. She leaned against the glider, one hand on her lap, the other palm down on the seat between them. Her fingers seemed to invite him, and Rance edged his own fingers closer to hers until they touched. She didn’t draw away, and she smiled.

  It was cooler than Maggie would have expected in the shade of the porch; those old-time home builders must have known what they were doing when they constructed these houses, with their wraparound porches and with glider swings. The gentle sway of the glider provided enough breeze to keep her comfortable, but the very close, all-male body of Rance Montoya was enough to heat her up again.

  . Since she had discovered Rance’s birth name, Maggie wasn’t certain what to call him. Hightower or Montoya. His dedication to the house and surrounding land declared him a Hightower, yet his exotic dark features said Montoya. But why had he hidden the truth?

  Maggie retracted her fingers and placed her hand on her lap. She shifted slightly and turned to face Rance. “You promised me an explanation.”

  Chapter 9

  Rance looked out over the brown lawn, over the trees, and toward the distant orchard. He was silent for a long moment. Then he turned back to Maggie and reclaimed her hand. “There’s nothing sinister about my keeping quiet.”

  “Why, then?”

  “I was seven when my father died. Later, when she realized we couldn’t pay the huge debt, much less make ends meet, Mama and I moved to San Antonio. Too young to understand what had really happened. Maybe the emotional stress of Dad’s death and the move caused me to forget things I knew.” Rance dug into his pocket and pulled out a matchbox. He turned it over and over in his hand.

  “I never really knew what led up to my father’s suicide. My grandfather would mutter something about foolish scandal, and my mother would cry. Mama would just say that we were going to go home again some day. That it was my birthright. She worked long hours waitressing at my grandfather’s restaurant, saving her tips to buy this place back.

  “I held on to my mother’s dream about regaining the place even after she was gone. And I finally bought the place back. To tell you the truth, once I had it back, I didn’t know how the neighbors would react. I didn’t know what I’d be walking into. For all I knew, that scandal Grandfather always spoke of could have been murder. Maybe I wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “Why didn’t you ask your mother?” Maggie asked simply.

  “My mother disappeared when I was nine.” Rance took a match from the box and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

  No wonder he had wanted to dig through those dusty stacks of papers in the library storage room. “I’m sorry.” Maggie squeezed Rance’s hand. “Did you find out what you wanted?”

  “Yes and no,” Rance answered, after a moment of reflection. “I thought that the facts would ease my mind, help me to understand. But they just gave me more questions.” He broke the match and tossed it over the rail into the stubbled brown yard. “I finally know why my father killed himself, but the information didn’t put the past to rest. My mission is far from over.”

  . Maggie sensed that intruding with words would hurt rather than help, so she squeezed Rance’s hand and waited for him to continue.

  “Dad lost it all on a failed business deal,” Rance told her, confirming what she’d already discovered for herself. He laughed ruefully. “That’s what happens when a farmer messes with something he doesn’t understand.

  “What I still don’t know is who wrote the terms of the business loan. My father had put his land up as collateral, and apparently somebody—I think his name was Drake—wanted it. I think he stacked the terms in his favor, and when Dad couldn’t pay, he stepped in.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately. I expect he waited until the bank foreclosed, then he bought it cheap.”

  “Well, it might have been legal, but it was hardly moral,” Maggie stated indignantly.

  “I agree. I think that’s why my mother was so angry, and why she left me with my grandfather in San Antonio.”

  “You don’t know?” Maggie angled her body around to look Rance squarely in the face. He clamped his mouth tightly closed, and a muscle in his lean jaw twitched. Maggie waited and watched as Rance’s grim expression changed to that of pain.

  Rance hadn’t expected the question, and he was unprepared to answer it. It had taken him most of his life to deal with his mother’s disappearance. He had managed to sublimate his feelings, but something still festered deep inside. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bare those emotions to Maggie and risk opening up old wounds. He was in enough real pain without dredging up best-forgotten childhood anguish.

  Maggie squeezed Rance’s hand. She seemed to be offering gentle reassurance, yet demanding nothing. “You don’t have to go on,” she whispered softly.

  That clinched it. Maggie’s sensitive understanding told Rance that she would accept what he needed to tell her with compassion and grace.

  He drew a deep breath and looked out over the trees at the edge of the yard. Somehow it seemed easier if he didn’t have to look at her. “All I know,” Rance mouthed slowly, “is that my mother set off on the day before Mother’s Day in 1968. She told me that she was going away, and when she got back, we’d be able to move back home.”

  “But you didn’t till now,” Maggie murmured softly.

  “She never came back for me,” Rance finished, choking on the words.

  “Did somebody look for her?” Maggie whispered.

  Rance shook his head. “Of course. We reported her missing. There was an investigation, but in spite of my grandfather’s insistence otherw
ise, they concluded that she disappeared because she wanted to go.” He swallowed a lump of emotion. “I don’t think anybody much cared about a missing Mexican woman.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. Rance knew what she was thinking. Or thought he did. Nobody wanted to doubt the intentions of those whose job it was to serve and protect.

  After years of dealing with his mother’s abandonment by himself, he’d thought he could talk about it. He’d even consulted a shrink about it when he was in the service. He’d thought he’d gotten past the hurt. But damn it, it did hurt. Then. Now. Still.

  Rance looked over Maggie’s head and blinked, struggling to force back the tears he had held at bay all those years. He gulped in great lungfuls of air until he could see clearly. Until he could speak.

  “You know, I haven’t heard a word from my mother in thirty years. I even manage not to think about her for weeks at a time.” Rance sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “Yet since I’ve been in this house, it’s as if she’s been with me. I can feel her. I don’t know why, but I sense her presence.”

  Maggie looked surprised. “You know, it’s odd, but I had the strangest feeling of a female presence here last night.” Then she smiled and shook her head. “Silly, huh?”

  “No, I don’t think it’s silly at all.” He found himself tearing up, and he looked away until he could compose himself.

  Maggie squeezed his hand, and Rance returned the comforting gesture. “Maybe it’s because your family lived here. You probably have many happy memories about this place. It’s natural that you’d think about her,” she suggested quietly.

  “Maybe.” But how could Rance tell Maggie that it was more than that? He’d felt as if she were actually here. She’d spoken to him at night in his sleep; she’d welcomed him home. She had called to him last night. He didn’t know how he knew it, but Rance was certain her spirit was here.

  That the sun still shone and the sky was still blue seemed remarkable to Maggie, in the wake of what she’d just heard. Yet the birds still twittered in the trees, and life went on. She tried to imagine how lost the little boy Rance had been would have felt growing up alone. How could a child cope with two such devastating events as the death of his father and the disappearance of his mother—all in such a short span of time?

  “I don’t know what else to say,” Maggie whispered shakily, unable to meet Rance’s eyes. Not because she was repulsed by his revelation or because she was embarrassed, but because if she looked at him she would cry. And that was the last thing she suspected Rance needed right now.

  “I know. What can you say?” Rance’s reply was as soft as Maggie’s had been. He angled his head, as if to look at the porch overhang, but Maggie knew he wasn’t seeing anything. “I never wanted to believe she meant to leave me, but it’s been so long with no word.” He paused. His next words were soft, barely a whisper. “But now that I’m back here, I think there’s a very real and terrible explanation why my mother didn’t return.”

  Maggie looked at Rance, surprised. Rance’s expression was calm. Serious. Resolute. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know yet. Call it a feeling, intuition, ESP. You know the car in the pool?”

  “Yes,” Maggie replied, puzzled about where Rance was taking her.

  “I think it’s part of the answer to this puzzle.”

  Cold chills traced icy fingers down Maggie’s spine. “How?”

  “The car is a Chevrolet, the same make as my mother’s was.” He shrugged, wincing as his injured muscles reminded him of their presence. “The final answer is here. In this house. I know it. I just have to find it.”

  The tone of the conversation had been getting too heavy. Rance wanted to steer it to another topic altogether. He would much rather enjoy his time alone on the porch swing with this pretty woman by his side. Yes, he wanted the answers to all his questions, too. But those were not to be found today.

  Maggie was here beside him. Why not make the best of the situation? Rance maneuvered his arm around to the back of the porch swing.

  The inviting aroma of fried chicken drifted to them, and Rance gratefully accepted the opportunity to think about food. Anything but Rose Montoya Hightower. Anything but the jumble of questions that were his past and present.

  He blinked and shook his head and forced a smile. “I think your mother has dinner nearly done. It smells good,” Rance announced heartily, in an effort to change the mood.

  Maggie’s pensive expression lightened. He hadn’t intended to upset her with what he said. He hadn’t expected to blurt out as much as he had, or he wouldn’t have started at all. He was used to being strong and silent. He was used to keeping everything inside. For now, he was happy to see a shy smile brighten Maggie’s clouded turquoise eyes.

  “You don’t know what you’ve been missing,” Maggie said with an infectious grin. “My mom makes the best fried chicken east of the Mississippi and south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

  Rance returned Maggie’s grin. “I hope she made lots. I’m starved.”

  “Lounging around on a porch swing can really work up an appetite,” Maggie teased. “We’re all in for a treat. Mom hardly fries anything anymore.”

  “I guess she heard about the evils of cholesterol, even way out here.”

  “Not to mention the dreaded fat and calories. Let’s go inside.” Maggie eased carefully out of the swing and held out her hand.

  Rance took it, leaning on her more than his masculine pride would have preferred. He shoved himself out of the glider, sending it swinging wildly, and he bit back a grunt of pain as the seat walloped him in the behind. He’d forgotten his sore ribs for a while, but when he got up, they’d wasted no time in reminding him why he’d been lounging around on the porch all day.

  Maggie would rather have returned to the swing after dinner, but Rance insisted on a walk. He had let Buddy and Joe help him down the steps, and was now pacing carefully around in the yard, working out the stiffness in his hurt muscles.

  “I’m almost ready,” Maggie called as she watched Rance move slowly around on the lawn below. She smeared on another glob of sunscreen and rubbed it in. How she hated to stop everything and slather sunprotection goo on her white skin every time she wanted to go outside in the daytime. But she liked it better than sunburn.

  Screwing the cap back on the plastic bottle as she went, Maggie headed for the steps. She stopped at the top and tossed the bottle onto the swing seat and skipped down to join Rance.

  He was looking pensively at the grounds. “You know, I haven’t really looked at the yard since I lopped off all the tall grass.”

  “Well, let’s do a short walkaround. You really have some nice shrubs here. They need some pruning and some T.L.C., but they should come back very nicely. Those old-timey plants have a lot more staying power than the hybrid nursery-grown stock we get today.” She pointed to a straggly stand of orange blossoms. “There’s a nice bed of day-lilies.” Maggie changed directions and pointed to a clump of tree-size bushes that showed a riot of hot pink blossoms. “And look—those are crepe myrtles blooming over there.”

  Maggie pointed to the west side of the house. “There are some azalea bushes,” she exclaimed, and gestured toward a row of tall, leggy shrubs that grew up against the east wall.

  “You can tell they’re azaleas? How? There aren’t any blooms,” Rance exclaimed.

  Maggie laughed as they ambled over to give the shrubs a closer look. “They are identifiable without blooms.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Rance drawled as he carefully examined the row of bushes. They looked like a bunch of scraggly brush to him. He stepped back to take in the side view of the old house, a look of pride and contentment on his face.

  The landscaping possibilities in Rance’s yard were interesting, and Maggie strolled over to a dogwood tree nestled among the pines that stood on the periphery of what would be the lawn. She’d always loved the way the dogwoods spread their gnarled and
twisted limbs beneath their tall, straight neighbors.

  Rance ambled up behind her. Maggie smiled, oddly pleased that she could draw his attention away from the house. She spoke without turning to look at him, content to know he was there.

  “You know, it’s remarkable how much survived here, in spite of the neglect.” A warm tingle spread throughout her veins when Rance placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. She fought the urge to rub her cheek against the strong, tanned fingers.

  “I hadn’t given much thought to the grounds,” Rance admitted. “My first priority was to get a couple of fields ready for cultivation. I have my military retirement to live on, but it won’t go far. I’d like to bring in a cash crop as soon as I can.” Rance’s hand fell from Maggie’s shoulder.

  Missing the warm caress, Maggie turned to see what had taken Rance’s hand away. He had found another match, and was rolling it thoughtfully between his fingers. His eyes shifted from the grounds around the house to the dirt track that led to the dying peach orchard. “You can still get the yard squared away and get the fields ready,” Maggie suggested, feeling that she was intruding on his private thoughts.

  Rance glanced absently at Maggie, as if he’d forgotten she was there. He smiled a gentle smile. “But I don’t know anything about flower beds or the difference between annuals and perennials. Sure, I’m self-taught about crop rotation and horticulture, but I don’t have any practical experience.”

  Maggie laughed. “The basic principles are the same for both. You just can’t eat the results.”

  Rance laughed. “I can’t eat anything that grows around here now.”

  “But you will. In the meantime, you can get your yard in shape, as well as prepare your fields.” Maggie resumed her survey of the yard. “Yup, you’ve got plenty of potential. In fact, it’ll probably be easier to bring this back than the farm.”