“And you, Celeste?” Rafe switched his gaze to Cleo’s mother. “Is that how you remember it?”
Cleo could see her mother’s shoulders tense. “It was so long ago, Rafe. I don’t have much memory of those times.” Confusion clouded her usually beautiful green eyes. “But if Yvette says so…” Celeste shrugged. “I do remember Raven and Blanche, of course, and their love. But what about Raven’s younger brother, Storm? He might know something.”
Rafe nodded. “We’re trying to contact him—both the sheriff’s department and Jackson Hawk. But you can’t think of anything else, Celeste?”
She slowly shook her head. “I only seem to remember what came after. Of Summer, and what a beautiful little girl she was and then how glad I was to take her into my home and into my life.”
Cleo looked down at Jonah, still sleeping in her arms. She’d never doubted her mother’s love for her cousin, but with Jonah to care for now she better understood how a woman could take another’s child into her life and love it as her own. Without thinking, she looked over at Ethan and caught his gaze on her. There was something, some uncertainty, on his face, and it worried her. But Rafe’s next question distracted Cleo.
“The night that Raven disappeared, witnesses spotted him on your brother’s property. That was the last place Raven was seen. What do you both remember of that?”
Yvette spoke first. “I wasn’t home. I was getting my teaching credential at that time and was in Bozeman. When I came home, Jeremiah told me he’d offered Raven money to leave Blanche, leave White horn.” Her face was sad again. “It seemed like something Jeremiah would do, and it made me furious. But the damage had already been done. Raven was gone and Blanche was heart broken. I concentrated on my sister and dealt with my brother as little as possible.”
She turned to her sister. “And Celeste—”
Yvette broke off and no one else spoke as they all looked at Celeste. Her hands were visibly trembling and she stared unseeing into the distance.
“Mama?” Jasmine called, her voice frightened.
Cleo gently touched her mother’s shoulder. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
“That night…” Celeste said. One hand shook as she reached up to rub her temple. “It all seems confused to me. Everything about that time.”
“Don’t think about it, then, Aunt Celeste,” Frannie said hastily, obviously uncomfortable with Celeste’s distress.
But Cleo’s mother shook her head. “I don’t think that will work, Frannie. Blanche told me so, clearly, last night.”
“Blanche?” Rafe questioned quietly.
Jasmine looked at her mother, received a confirming nod, and then turned to Rafe. “Mama has nightmares. Vivid ones that frighten her. Last night, for the first time, Blanche was in Mama’s dream.”
Cleo avoided Ethan’s gaze. She could feel it on her, and feel his sudden understanding that she’d deliberately withheld the truth of the situation from him. Was he relieved or hurt?
“Blanche told me the past was rising up,” Celeste said, her voice wavering a bit. “She warned me to make the right choices.” She smiled in Frannie’s direction, a wan, worn smile. “And I have a feeling not thinking about the past isn’t one of the options open to me anymore, Frannie.”
Ethan drove Cleo and the baby home from the B and B shortly after Rafe Rawlings left. The sheriff had obviously been unsurprised at the lack of detail Yvette and Celeste had been able to give about events thirty years earlier. Events that appeared to include a murder.
A sweep of cold had run over Ethan the night before when Cleo had whispered “I love you.” It had rushed over him again this morning, colder and stronger, when he realized all that she’d been keeping from him in the past few weeks.
Guilt, remorse, and resignation coiled in his gut. He should have been there for her, and yet he doubted he could have given her the support she needed. She had her family for that, if indeed Cleo required anyone’s bolstering.
Ethan braked in the driveway of their house and reached for his door handle, but Cleo put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have told you what was going on. I don’t know why…”
Ethan remembered a night months ago, the night she had told him something. She’d told him about her mother’s nightmares then, and he’d kept on walking up the stairs, unwilling to get too close to her. Thinking it was best.
“It’s okay,” he said.
She swallowed. “It’s just that you weren’t around very much…and you didn’t seem that interested in local goings-on, and…” She trailed off again.
He hadn’t seemed that interested in her. Or interested enough. Damn. All along he’d been worried he hadn’t anything to give Cleo. And he still continued to take, take, take. From her body. He thought of that soft “I love you” again. From her heart.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s all right, Cleo. You don’t have to explain.”
“But I do. Honestly, at first it didn’t seem to have anything to do with us, with my family. But then—”
“Then those reporters showed up at Bean sprouts yesterday, Cleo.” Rafe had mentioned the incident and Ethan had quickly probed for the details. “Maybe I could have helped with that.”
She waved away the thought. “They were gone by the time you got there. And I’d already spoken with Jasmine. Everyone was okay.”
Except him. Ethan tried to force away the stupid, selfish thought, but it pierced him. Once again he’d had a chance to do something for Cleo, and failed. Once again she’d taken care of things herself.
Worry lines etched her brow and she looked over her shoulder at the baby strapped in his car seat. “Do you think Jonah is okay? He never takes a nap this long.” She released her safety belt so she could lean across her seat to put her hand to his cheek. “I think he’s a little warm.”
But she muttered the words to herself, and Ethan was certain she wasn’t soliciting his opinion. In caring for Jonah and everything else, Cleo was perfectly capable. And then there was her family. They’d rally around if necessary. It was his first hand knowledge of their unequivocal support and caring—he’d seen it in that kitchen just this morning—that made him feel so hellishly inadequate.
And unnecessary.
“I’m heading back to Houston tonight,” he said abruptly. The idea came out of nowhere, but it sounded good. Facing Cleo and his own inability to be what she needed—someone she needed—made him restless.
Her eyebrows shot up. “What? You just returned yesterday.”
He avoided her gaze, looking out the window instead. Through the trees he glimpsed the lake, but its calm waters couldn’t soothe him. “There’s always something that needs to be done at the office.”
He felt her looking at him. “How’s the move of your headquarters coming? When do you think you’ll be in White horn permanently?” she asked.
His hands squeezed the steering wheel. “It’s not that simple,” he said. Actually, whatever had been done could be easily undone. Perhaps it was better if he left Cleo and Jonah to their life.
The image of his sister jumped into Ethan’s mind. I’m sorry, Della. But I’m doing the best I can here. He knew she would want him to take care of her son. But he also felt certain she would understand why he found it so hard to become part of Jonah and Cleo’s life. When he looked in the mirror, he could never duck the reflection of Jack Redford. The man had been driven by his emotions: if he was despondent he would drink, if he was angry he would yell, if he was frustrated he would hit.
Ethan had always been grateful that he didn’t seem to have any emotions at all.
“I’m going to Houston,” he said again. Cleo and Jonah would be better off without him. He restarted the car, still refusing to look at her. “Go ahead and get out, Cleo. I have a few errands to run before I make this next trip.”
Ten
Cleo doodled on a list pad because she didn’t know what else to do with herself. Ethan was still on his errands, Jonah was taking his afternoon nap,
and she’d already dusted, vacuumed and scrubbed floors. Bed linens had been changed. But not one of those activities had improved her mood.
She couldn’t believe Ethan was leaving again. Last night they’d made love. Today he was running from her.
At the top of her pad she’d written “Things I Should Have Known.” An easy list to fill. Beside Item Ten, she’d penned “’Fat free’ was too good to be true.”
And at the Item One position, of course, she’d written, “Never marry for one-sided love.”
So, see, she couldn’t blame it on Ethan. He had never pretended to offer her more than the building that Bean sprouts was housed in—and Jonah.
Cleo crumpled her silly list and tossed it into the garbage, then wandered down the hall to Jonah’s dim bedroom. Though she hadn’t heard a peep from him yet, she still felt the need to check on him. He’d dozed the morning away and was still taking a full-length nap. Inhaling the sweet scent of baby, she leaned against the doorjamb and watched him sleep. Never, never could she regret Jonah in her life.
He was her love, and he could be her happiness.
All she had to do was let go of that little fantasy she’d been hoping to make a dream-come-true with Ethan.
She had to let go of Ethan.
Oh, he’d be there one way or another. Not in her bed or in their child’s life, but she had no doubt he’d send regular checks and put in erratic appearances.
But they’d never be a family. She’d have to let go of him…and of that sweet dream.
The shrill ring of the phone broke into her thoughts. Cleo hurried to answer it and then wished she hadn’t—because on the other end of the line was Jasmine saying, “We have a small problem.”
Cleo groaned. “No. Not another problem. Not today.”
“Sorry, sis, but this one actually has your name written all over it.” Jasmine hauled in an audible breath. “Jonah’s grandparents are here.”
“What?” Cleo blinked. “Who? Where?”
“You forgot ‘why?’”
Cleo squeezed the phone. “Jasmine.”
“Okay, okay,” her sister relented with a quick laugh. “At the B and B. It’s those Houston grandparents you told us about. You know, the ones who precipitated your quickie marriage to Ethan.”
“Jasmine,” Cleo said again, then instinctively lowered her voice. “Don’t call it a quickie marriage. And please tell me they’re not standing right there.”
“I’m in the office with the door closed. The Coving tons are enjoying tea and cookies in the living room.”
The B and B living room. Cleo’s stomach twisted. “What do they want?”
“To visit their grandson, they said. Ethan promised them the three of you would visit Houston in the fall, but they apparently couldn’t wait. They were driving in this direction to see some friends and decided to make a short detour.”
Cleo groaned. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jasmine countered cheerfully. “And they’re excited about meeting you, the paragon of all womanhood. Ethan must have painted quite a picture. You’re just lucky I didn’t tell them about the time you whacked off my bangs and gave me permanent-marker freckles.”
“I was seven!”
“And I was three. Just remember you owe me, big sister.” Jasmine’s voice changed from lightly teasing to serious. “And I’m about to collect.”
Beads of sweat popped out on Cleo’s brow. “What?” she said warily.
“I want them to stay with you.”
Cleo could only emit a little moan.
“Don’t keel over on me. It’s just that we’re pretty full here and I don’t want to put Mama under any more strain.”
Cleo moaned again. Jasmine was right. If Jonah’s grandparents stayed at the bed-and-break fast Celeste would feel obligated to entertain them. She was too exhausted for that.
“I don’t know where Ethan is,” Cleo said desperately.
“Well, you better find him,” Jasmine replied, “because the Coving tons can’t wait to get to know your entire little family quite a bit better.”
Your entire little family. Cleo’s stomach twisted again. That was exactly what the three of them were not. She blotted her damp forehead with her wrist. “Okay, Jasmine, give them directions to our house and tell them we insist they stay with us. But can you stall them for a bit? Maybe Ethan will get home soon. We’ll need a little time to get our act together.”
As she hung up the phone, she almost laughed out loud at her last words. Get their act together. Oh, yeah. Everything about their marriage was an act.
And for the Coving tons, who had given up their fight for Jonah because she’d become Ethan’s bride, it better be a darn good one.
In the end, Jasmine hadn’t been able to stall long enough. The first car to pull into Cleo’s driveway was not Ethan’s Range Rover, but an unfamiliar, expensive sedan. Cleo pasted on what felt like a sick smile, then walked outside to greet the older couple, Jonah in her arms.
Was Ethan going to be surprised when he returned.
If he returned.
At the horrible thought, she widened her smile and reached out a hand to the silver-haired woman and then her stooped but vigorous-looking husband. “I’m Cleo M—Redford,” she said, pretending she hadn’t almost forgotten her married name. “You must be the Coving tons.”
It helped that they were truly friendly and gracious people. Once they brought their few bags inside, the three of them sat in the living room to get acquainted. To Cleo’s relief, they told her almost immediately that they were happy to not have the responsibility of raising a baby at their age. They had been willing to adopt Jonah if it was best for him, though.
“But he deserves young people, a young family,” Mrs. Coving ton said, a warm smile on her lips as she sat on the couch with Jonah in her arms.
Mr. Coving ton was somewhat cooler, but even he seemed to approve. “Always liked Ethan, but he’s a busy man. Jonah needs a mother. And Ethan could use someone to come home to.”
Mrs. Coving ton beamed. “It was so clear he was taken with you, Cleo, when he came to talk to us in Houston.”
Cleo beamed back, hoping to conceal her panic. Oh, yeah. Ethan was so taken with her that she had no idea where he was and whether he’d be back in time for dinner.
Dinner.
Thunk. Thunk. The two syllables dropped into her consciousness like sandbags. She’d been so preoccupied with housing the Coving tons, she’d hadn’t even considered feeding them.
Swallowing hard, she rose to her feet. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” She smiled at their immediate assent and dashed for the phone in Ethan’s office, the phone farthest away from her guests.
Speed Dial No. 2 was the Big Sky B and B. She had to beg dinner off of Jasmine. No way would the grandparents leave Jonah with a woman who did what Cleo did to food.
For the second time that day a cold sweat broke out over Cleo’s skin. A short conversation with her sister didn’t help matters.
She hung up the phone, her heart thrumming. Even the sudden appearance of Ethan in the office didn’t bring any relief.
“We’re sunk,” she told him.
He blinked. “We can’t be. I just talked with Ned and Betsy. They like you. And I’m…sorry for leaving like that. But you covered just fine.”
All the tension she’d been holding at bay rushed in. Mortified, Cleo felt tears start in her eyes and she covered her face with her hands.
“Cleo.”
Shaking her head, she whirled away from him. “I’m fine,” she choked.
“You’re not.” He pulled her toward him and turned her into his arms. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said again. “I’m sorry for so many things.”
Cleo didn’t listen to his words. She only felt the warm comfort of his hands running down her back and his strong heartbeat against her cheek. This was what she’d wanted since going to the B and B this morning—Ethan holding her, Ethan saying it was going to be okay.
But then it struck her again. The knowledge that a hug couldn’t make this immediate crisis any better. She stepped away, rubbing her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “We’re still sunk,” she said.
He frowned. “Cleo, what the hell are you talking about?”
“We need to make a good impression on the Coving tons, right?”
He nodded cautiously. “Right.”
“Prove to them what a sweet little family we are, right?”
He nodded again. “Yes.”
“And food. A family would need that, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He retreated a step, as if he were afraid of what she might do next. “But we have food, Cleo, right? The refrigerator and freezer are full. The cupboards, too.”
She moved closer to him and lowered her voice. “That’s all for show.”
His brow pleated. “Cleo? Are you all right?”
She licked her dry lips. “What would you say if I told you I can’t cook, Ethan?”
“You can’t cook?” he echoed stupidly.
“Unless you consider instant oatmeal in the microwave, cooking.”
“What?” he said.
“I can pour from a box and add milk or pour from a can and add water. But even heating’s iffy.”
He took another step back. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe it. Not you.”
She nodded. “Believe it. And I tried to cover it tonight like I’ve done all the other times by begging a Jasmine donation, but she doesn’t have a thing for me and was on her way out.”
He blinked again and she could see his mind working, going over the meals they’d shared. He blinked once more and she knew he had tallied up all the take-out and leftovers and recipes that Jasmine “desperately needed” them to taste test. His head started shaking slowly from side to side.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Cleo whispered. “But unless it’s corn flakes or chicken noodle soup, we’re Titanic-level sunk.”
The Marriage Maker Page 13