That information startled Katy, although she supposed it shouldn’t have, given what Mrs. L. had said earlier about her parents’ generous nature. “Did Jace Foster know they planned to do that?”
“Oh, yes. It had already been surveyed. The stakes and ribbons are still out there in the woods. Of course I understand why you didn’t want to do it,” Mrs. L. added.
“You mean I backed out of an agreement my parents had made?” Katy felt a stirring of dismay.
“Nothing had actually been signed before they died, so you are certainly within your rights to do what you want with the property.”
“Why didn’t I want to go through with the donation?”
“You were talking about selling the ranch for use as a fishing resort or dude ranch. The larger acreage would be worth a lot more money, especially with the most usable river frontage being on the forty acres they were going to donate to Damascus.”
Katy nodded slowly as the course of events became clear. “And then Jace made an offer on the ranch, and I turned it down.”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Okay, Jace probably had a right to be disappointed, Katy granted. But it was apparently a simple business decision on her part, nothing he should be so hostile about.
A little hesitantly Mrs. L. added, “Then there was also the matter of letting the boys cross the land and use the river.”
Katy had only her usual blank ignorance in response to that statement, and Mrs. L. went on with an explanation.
“Most of the river in this area is very wild and dangerous, but there’s one nice, wide, slow-moving spot that Thornton and Mavis always let Jace and the boys use for swimming and kayaking. But you decided they couldn’t cross the ranch or use the river any more. Joe said you told Jace that if he or any of the boys came on the property again, you’d have them charged with trespassing.”
“Why did I do that?” Katy felt bewildered. It seemed like such a petty, mean thing to do to the disadvantaged boys.
“Maybe you thought they’d damage or steal something, perhaps devalue the property in some way.”
***
Later that day, Mrs. L. brought out an armload of photo albums, and they went through them together. Katy knew the fact that none of the photos roused even a faint twinge of recognition for her frustrated Mrs. L., and she tried very hard to absorb the past they represented. Even if she couldn’t remember it, she vowed she could learn that past and make it a part of herself. Yet thoughts of Jace kept simmering in the back of her mind, and even as Mrs. L. was showing her a photo of a school play long ago, telling her how she’d played a boy’s part because she was taller than everyone else, she was thinking about Jace and her banning of his boys from the river.
Yes, plenty of reason for his hostility, she had to admit. Yet she almost felt there was something more.
Katy suddenly interrupted the story of the school. “Mrs. L., was there something else between Jace and me? Something other than business dealings?”
Mrs. L. turned a page of the photo album slowly. “Possibly. You saw quite a lot of him before the disagreement about the property.”
Katy tapped her fingers on the hard surface of the cast as she uneasily considered the disturbing possibilities of that relationship. The not knowing about everything that had gone on before these last few weeks of her life made her feel so helpless, as if she were an outsider peering in and everyone knew secrets she didn’t. Her head suddenly swam and ached with the futility of the effort of trying to remember anything about the photos in the stacks of albums. She abandoned the project with the excuse that she wanted to take the daily nap Dr. Fischer had advised.
She didn’t think she’d sleep, with her mind churning restlessly, but she did, and she felt better when she woke. Joe arrived just as they were finishing dinner, knocking on the back door rather than coming to the front. After he changed the filter and oil in the Honda, Mrs. L. let him wash up in the laundry room and then invited him in for coffee and cookies.
He looked uneasy when he saw Katy sitting in the breakfast nook. He tipped the bill of his cap politely, however, obviously trying not to stare at her new “hairdo.” He didn’t sit, instead stood at the counter, where Mrs. L set coffee and peanut-butter cookies in front of him. With his lanky, almost bony build, he obviously didn’t have to worry about weight, and he immediately downed three big cookies. He was about Mrs. L.’s age, Katy guessed, but considerably more weathered.
“Kat . . . Katy was in an accident, in case you haven’t heard,” Mrs. L. said. “So she’s come back here to stay for a while now.”
Joe’s neutral response, “That’s too bad,” left Katy wryly wondering if the “too bad” meant the accident or her being here at the ranch. Had she also been unpleasant to him? Or did he simply share Jace’s hostility about the ranch? Winning friends and influencing people apparently was not a strong point of her character.
She finished her own coffee and excused herself, suspecting that both Joe and Mrs. L. would be more comfortable without her presence. She was right, she decided, when the conversation picked up even before she reached the arched doorway to the living room. Joe was saying something about how he’d spotted Mrs. L. in town at a corner phone booth and he’d wanted to take her to lunch, but she was gone before he could find a parking space in the next block. She could hear the two of them laughing companionably together while she watched the news on TV. On impulse, when she heard him getting ready to leave, she clumped back to the kitchen.
“Joe, could you tell Mr. Foster something for me?”
“I reckon.” He eyed her warily, as if he suspected some barrage of complaints or criticism.
“I have no objection to his taking the boys across this place and using the river, so they’re welcome to do that again if they’d like.”
Joe’s watery blue eyes lit up. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. He’ll be real glad to hear it, especially now that the weather’s warming up.”
***
Tired of the slit pants leg flapping around the cast, the first thing Katy did the following morning was whack it off at the thigh. Dr. Fischer called a few minutes later with the name of a doctor in Yreka for Katy to see.
”A head doctor or a broken-bones doctor?” Katy asked lightly.
“Broken bones. But if you want the other kind, I’ll dig up a name for you.”
“No, I’ll wait for nature to take its course.” She hesitated and then added, “If it wouldn’t be a violation of medical ethics, could you not mention my memory problems when you send my records down to Dr. Ralson? Mrs. L. and I decided it would be better if just the two of us know.”
“No reason the other doctor needs to know,” Dr. Fischer agreed. But Katy’s question apparently prompted her to ask, “Are you sure you’re really getting along okay?”
Katy decided not to worry her with yesterday’s mishap. “Doing great, and Mrs. L. is wonderful. I’m going to ride in to Wilding to pick up the mail with her a little later. This is a beautiful place, with a spectacular view of Mt. Shasta.”
“Bringing back memories?”
Katy sighed. “Not a one. But Mrs. L. is giving me a crash course in the life and times of Kat Cavanaugh, so maybe something will ring a bell eventually.”
“Hang in there. It will come. And Katy, call me after you’ve seen the doctor, okay? Call me anytime, in fact, if you just want to talk.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She called the doctor’s office in Yreka and made an appointment for the following week. She remembered then that she and Mrs. L. hadn’t gotten around to dealing with the financial situation yet, and she should write a check to send to the hospital before they went to the post office. She was just heading for the desk in the bedroom when a snatch of a rowdy old rock-and-roll song flooded the room. It took her a moment to realize that it was the doorbell, and, also realizing this was something her inventive father must have done, she went to the door with a smile of amusemen
t on her face. Cornball, yes, but sweet.
She cut off the smile when she opened the door and saw the rugged, unsmiling figure standing there. He was in heavy, dark work pants today, cowboy-style straw hat in one hand, leather work gloves tucked in a rear pocket. A pleasant scent of pine clung to him. He brushed at a scattering of broken pine needles clinging to his plaid shirt.
“I’ve been cutting wood with the boys. Joe said you’d changed your mind about prohibiting us from crossing your property and using the river.”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate further because she didn’t know why she’d enacted the ban in the first place.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He tapped the hat against his lean, muscled leg. “Would you mind putting it in writing?”
She blinked, taken aback by the blunt request. She hadn’t expected effusive gratitude, but neither had she expected this distrustful response. “You mean a legal document, notarized and everything?”
His booted feet shuffled uncomfortably, and she thought she also detected a faint hint of embarrassed color rising under his tan. “Well, no, just a written statement will do.” Then, as if he suddenly felt guilty about making the unfriendly request, he withdrew it. “But I suppose that isn’t necessary. It’s just that after you threatened— Never mind, forget it. Thanks again for changing your mind.” He turned away from the door.
“No, no, come in. I’ll be glad to put it in writing.” She swung the door open wide in a determined display of hospitality, and managed to throw herself off balance and lose a crutch in the process. She would have tumbled to the floor if he hadn’t caught her.
He tilted her upright. Flustered and annoyingly near tears, she tried to make light of the situation.
“I seem as tippy as a beginning tightrope walker, don’t I? First yesterday and now this. I’ll just go find pen and paper—”
She tried to move away but he didn’t release her. Instead his arm clamped tighter, his expression puzzled as he looked down at her. You seem different, he’d said yesterday. His hazel eyes repeated that statement now. Up close, she knew he must also be seeing the fresh scars that were not yet, as Dr. Fischer had assured her they eventually would be, hidden by her hair.
“Looks as if you had a real collision with something.”
“Yes.”
“Did this happen back in New York?”
“No, it was up in Oregon.” She broke off, thinking she shouldn’t have said that because it opened the door on more questions. She was right; he instantly jumped on the statement.
“Oregon? What were you doing there? How did you get there?”
It was on her tongue to say, I have no idea how I got to Oregon or what I was doing there! But she caught herself and simply repeated what Mrs. L. had told her. “I needed some time and space to think. If you could just hand me my other crutch—”
He kept one hand on her arm while he snagged the crutch with his foot. He helped her position the crutch under her arm and made certain she was balanced before he let go, seeming reluctant to do so even then. She hobbled to an end table where she’d seen a pad of paper and scrawled an authorization for Jace Foster and/or anyone from the Damascus Boys Ranch to cross her property and use the river at any time, such permission to be in effect until rescinded in writing.
“About the other, the sale or donation of the land. . .” She saw him tense as if expecting a confrontation. “I don’t feel in a position to make a decision at the moment, but I’ll give it more thought.”
He looked surprised but didn’t comment. He glanced briefly at the paper she handed him before placing it in his shirt pocket. “Thank you.” He hesitated and then, with an odd blend of truce and challenge in his voice, muttered, “Maybe the world would be a better place if more people got bumped on the head. It seems to have made a big improvement in you.”
It was a backhanded compliment at best. “Now if someone would just give you a good whack!” she retorted.
His slow, embarrassed smile grudgingly admitted that he could perhaps use a bit of personality adjustment himself. The smile did something totally unexpected to Katy, and a feeling like melted butter flowed through her in a warm, golden flood. They looked at each other with mutually guilty grins.
But, as if some unpleasant memory suddenly jabbed him, the smile flattened, and he raked his fingers through his dark hair. Finally he said, “Would you like to come along and watch the boys with their inflatable kayaks tomorrow afternoon? I could take you back to the river in the pickup.”
In spite of the shared grins, the offer did not come with the warmth of old friends making up after a spat. In fact, there was a definite lack of enthusiasm, as if Jace’s better judgment collided with a sense of obligation to make the offer as thanks for her change of mind. It was enough to congeal that golden flow within her to a greasy puddle.
She started to decline, then, almost perversely, because she suspected he’d rather she refused, she lifted her chin with a defiant toss. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
Chapter Six
After Jace left, Katy searched the rolltop desk in the bedroom for a checkbook. She couldn’t find a current one, which didn’t surprise her; she’d probably taken it with her when she left the ranch and lost it along with her other identification. She did find fresh pads of checks, however, from a bank in New York and a money market account at a Redding bank. She started opening the various bank and credit card statements that had accumulated in her absence.
The New York account was minimal, but the money market balance was large enough to make her blink. Yes, she could easily pay the hospital’s bill. She didn’t fully understand the complicated statements from the stockbroker , but they certainly suggested an impressive total of assets. Statements from VISA and MasterCard showed zero balances.
Then a peculiarity struck her. Earlier bank statements showed she’d written numerous checks, but apparently she hadn’t written a single check nor made any credit card charges since leaving the ranch. She leafed through the earlier charges that detailed her life in New York, curiosity changing to an appalled fascination: three-hundred-dollar haircuts, four-hundred-dollar highlights, massages, facials, waxing, herbal wraps, pedicures, clothes and shoes, a personal trainer, an expensive health club, a drama coach, a limousine service, a photographer.
She was, she thought with chagrin, a very high-maintenance woman.
Almost absentmindedly she traced a fingertip over the signature on the copy of a cancelled check that had come in one of the bank statements, the flourish of the K in Kat, the flamboyant loop of the C in Cavanaugh. Impulsively she wrote her name across the back of an envelope and slipped it below the copy of the check to align the signatures. She frowned, puzzled at the results.
Mrs. L. tapped on the open door. She’d been outside fertilizing the rose bushes. “Hungry for lunch, Sweetie?”
Katie motioned her inside. “Look at this. They don’t look anything alike.”
Mrs. L. peered over Katy’s shoulder. “I’m not surprised, after that injury to your hand. I sprained my right wrist once, and for a month I couldn’t put my lipstick on without looking like a clown. Perhaps you should put a bit of Ben-Gay or some other ointment on it.”
Katy rubbed her palm, which did indeed still tend to stiffen and cramp occasionally.
Mrs. L. laughed. “In the meantime, you’d better practice getting your signature back to normal, or they’ll investigate you for forgery!”
Katy did practice, and by the time she wrote a check to the hospital, her signature was close to her old one, although writing it that way still felt awkward. She wrote another check to repay what Mrs. L. had given the hospital, the expenses she’d paid after the household money ran out, and the salary she hadn’t received for the months Katy had been away.
Mrs. L. nodded appreciatively when she looked at the generous check. “Thank you. My funds were getting low enough to be worrisome.”
Katy thought abo
ut that comment as she stamped the envelope addressed to the Benton Beach hospital. Actually, she felt rather indignant about it. What Mrs. L. had spent on the hospital and household expenses had apparently almost exhausted her inheritance from Katy’s parents, which meant that the amount they had willed her hadn’t been particularly generous. Didn’t a faithful employee of long standing deserve better? Perhaps she could raise Mrs. L.’s salary.
Which reminded her that, even though her financial situation appeared more than adequate at the moment, she must make plans for the future. Which was apparently what she’d gone off to think about some three months ago.
After lunch Katy and Mrs. L. drove to the post office and store that made up the tiny town of Wilding. Coached by Mrs. L., she greeted Mrs. Grantham, the postmistress, and Lea Carlton, the store owner, by name, adding a question Mrs. L. had suggested about Lea’s arthritis. Katy’s leg cast and “hairdo” drew curiosity and sympathy, but there were no awkward references to the past.
On the way home, as Mrs. L. crowded the shoulder of the road to let a log truck pass, a thought occurred to Katy. “Do I know how to drive?”
“My goodness, until right now it never occurred to me to show you the cars in the garage. And there’s your father’s workshop you should see too. I’m sorry,” Mrs. L. added apologetically. “I know you can’t remember the past, but it slips my own mind that you also don’t remember all these little everyday things.”
Back at the house, Mrs. L. took Katy on a tour. There were two cars in the garage, a big, solid Buick and a sporty convertible that gleamed like a red jewel even under several months’ accumulation of dust.
“Your father loved taking the convertible out for a spin. He’d tell Mavis that he was working because driving it made him feel creative, although we all knew he really just liked to go out and ‘play cars.’” Mrs. L. smiled fondly. “Your mother liked to quote that old saying, ‘The only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.’”
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