Had Christine been mentally unbalanced, as Russ and Della and Norm had all claimed? Maybe. Parking a toddler in a crappy motel room and taking off for the unknown wasn’t exactly normal behavior.
But wasn’t mental illness a better excuse than not loving a child enough to keep her?
“Who was she?” Shallie asked, surprising herself. She hadn’t planned to jump in like this; the plan called for patience. Caution. “My mother, I mean.”
Russ shook his head. “You know who she was,” he said with an exasperated sigh. Perhaps he was missing a rerun of some stupid reality show or merely wanted to drink in peace, but he wanted Shallie out of there, that much was obvious. “Crazy Christine. Mom’s hal sister.”
“Okay,” she said, resigned, taking out her billfold. Russ knew more than he was saying, she was sure of that, but she didn’t have the energy to probe. Not tonight. She’d try again tomorrow, see if she could coax some forgotten detail from his booze-soaked brain. Not that Russ was a bad guy, and who knew what he might remember. Maybe if she asked the right questions...
“Put your wallet away,” Russ told her with a dismissive wave. “This is on me.” He turned to the wall and retrieved the key for Room 2.
“I don’t mind paying,” she said evenly.
Russ folded his arms, shook his head again. “You’re family,” he said, with a note of mockery or, worse, pity.
Shallie put her wallet back in her purse. Moved, key in hand, to the outside door.
At least the rain was letting up; she hoped that was a good omen.
“Shallie?” Russ’s voice was quiet, almost kind.
She didn’t turn around or speak. But she did stop.
“What business could you possibly have, way out here in Buttcrack, Montana?” he asked.
She ignored his profane description of the town, although it probably described his view of it. “Here’s the deal, Russ,” she replied, still facing the door. “You tell me what you know about my mother—not Della’s version, but what you, yourself, remember—and I just might answer that question.” She wondered if he realized she’d actually given him her answer, or part of it, anyway. Her need to learn whatever she could about Christine Fletcher.
Russ was silent.
Shallie pushed open the door and stepped out into the drizzle. This time, it felt good, the rain, warm and gentle and, somehow, soothing.
CHAPTER THREE
NOW WHAT? CORD HOLLISTER asked himself, as he drove the winding road to the ranch, the girl sitting silent in the passenger seat of his truck, arms wrapped tightly around her backpack. Thankfully, the rain had tapered off in the last hour, now reduced to a drizzle.
After some whispered discussion back at Sully’s, he and J.P. and Eli had decided it made the most sense if he took the girl home—to stay with Mitch and Tina Robbins, the ranch foreman and his wife.
Thank God, when he called Tina, she’d readily agreed to take her in. Tina and Mitch were good people, and since their own brood was grown-up and gone, there was plenty of room in their spotless double-wide trailer for one skinny, bullheaded girl-child.
Maybe Tina could get something out of the kid, like her real name for one thing. Cord wasn’t buying the “Zelda” bit, and he was getting tired of thinking of her as “the girl” and its few variations.
“I looked you up online,” said the mystery child. “You know, Google. I looked you all up. That’s how I knew who was who. You’re pretty famous. Are you rich, too?”
Cord laughed. “I’m not famous outside the horse-training world,” he said. “And I guess I do all right, moneywise.” Certainly well enough to pay child support, if I’d known I might be a father. Damn it, Reba, any one of us, all of us, would’ve stepped up if you’d told us you had a child—and that we might each be the father...
“I like it, that you work with horses,” she said.
“You like horses?” It was a start.
“Better than people, most of the time.”
Cord smiled at that, but he felt another ripple of sadness, too, remembering that story about her dog. If it was true—and it felt true—it was a real heartbreaker.
A lot of people liked animals better than their fellow human beings, he supposed, and he could empathize. He’d often thought the world might be a better place if the critters had it to themselves.
They were quiet for a while, man and girl; the silence was weary but companionable enough.
“You could teach me how to train horses, like you do,” ventured his might-be daughter. “And how to ride...” In some ways, maybe a lot of ways, Cord hoped this spunky little hellcat really was his, and not just some clever con artist looking for a mark.
If it hadn’t been for her heart-stopping resemblance to Reba, he probably wouldn’t have believed a thing she said. That resemblance couldn’t help awaking a few very specific memories of Reba. The post high school party, of course, the one that ended in disaster for his most important friendships. An evening of laughter at the old pre-Brynne Bailey’s. A walk in the woods, with plenty of moments spent leaning against trees, kissing...
Cord shook his head, dispelling those memories.
“I could teach you,” he replied after a moment. “But I’d have to know your name, for a start. Not a made-up one, either. The real deal.”
She considered that. “It’s stupid,” she said, at some length. “My name, I mean.”
“Your mother must not have thought so,” Cord observed carefully.
A long pause ensued.
“It’s Charlotte,” she admitted with marked reluctance.
Cord repeated the name in the silence of his mind. Liked it.
“What’s wrong with ‘Charlotte’? I think it’s kind of pretty. Classy, even.”
“It isn’t me,” said Charlotte. “Do I look classy to you?”
“Whoa, back,” Cord said. “The tattoo maybe not, and your clothes have seen better days, but I reckon you’d clean up all right.”
“Gee, thanks.” She glowered at him. “What do you have against tattoos?”
“Nothing,” Cord responded truthfully. Except when they’re on the neck of a teenage girl who might have my blood running through her veins.
The turn onto the ranch road was coming up in a few hundred yards, so he signaled a left and slowed the rig.
“Is that it? Your place?” She pointed toward the large house on top of the rise, lit up against the gloom, thanks to Tina. She’d be waiting there, all down-home sweetness and good will, with fresh coffee brewing and some hearty dish ready to be popped into the microwave.
“That’s it,” Cord confirmed.
“It looks big.”
“It is. But it isn’t fancy, so don’t think you’re headed for the Ponderosa.”
“What’s the Ponderosa?”
“Never mind,” Cord answered, with a tired grin. His grandfather had loved the old TV Westerns, especially Bonanza and Gunsmoke, and Cord had been raised on the reruns. He still spoke the lingo.
They bumped along the dirt road for a couple of minutes, and Cord stopped the truck beside Mitch and Tina’s SUV.
The barn loomed in the darkness, more shadow than substance, but the house glowed like a Christmas tree.
“You’re about to meet one of the kindest women on the face of the earth,” Cord said after shutting off the engine. He knew he sounded serious, and that was fine because he was. “We’re giving you the benefit of the doubt, kiddo, but I’m telling you right now that if you try to jerk Tina around, lie to her, or hurt her in any way, you’ll have me to deal with.”
The kid’s eyes were wide. “Okay,” she told him. “I hear you.”
Cord shoved open his door. “Good,” he said.
Bandit and Smoky, part-Lab mutts, rushed to greet him, barking with that foolish joy particular to the canine crowd.
Cord glanced at Charlotte, about to tell her not to be afraid, that the dogs were harmless, but she was already approaching them, laughing at their enthusiasm.
“Hey, guys!” she crowed, ruffling their ears.
Tina stepped out onto the wraparound porch, her petite, slender form rimmed in light from the kitchen behind her.
“Hush up, you critters!” she called. “You’ll scare our company away!”
“Remember what I said about messing with Tina,” Cord said in a low voice.
“I’m not completely without manners, you know,” Charlotte retorted in a loud whisper.
Tina was headed toward them, and they met in the middle of the yard, the dogs still half-frenzied with delight. For those two, every arrival was cause for celebration.
“Hi,” Charlotte said warmly, extending a hand to Tina. “I’m Carly.”
Carly, Cord thought. The diminutive did suit her better than Charlotte.
Tina pulled Carly into a brief, tight hug, then held her at arm’s length, running a motherly eye over her. “Lord, child, we need to get you inside so you can warm up.” She cast a disapproving glance in Cord’s direction, but she was already steering the girl toward the house. “You could catch your death in those damp clothes.”
Carly seemed to lean into Tina just a little as she allowed herself to be hustled across the wet grass, and Cord, walking behind them, felt his spirits rise a notch. Until that moment, he’d wondered if the kid was ever going to let down her guard.
Well, she had with the dogs, which was an encouraging sign, certainly to someone like him. But he hoped he’d see more of who she was—and not just because she reminded him of Reba. That had its pluses and its minuses. But because she might be his daughter. Or Eli’s. Or J.P.’s. Regardless of whether she was his kid or “honorary niece,” she’d be part of his life. She’d change his life. And he’d change hers, he vowed. They all would.
Please God she wasn’t lying! But, considering her Reba-ness and her age, he’d begun to decide she probably wasn’t.
He watched as she and Tina hurried inside. All the way to the side porch and in through the kitchen door, Bandit and Smoky frolicked on either side of the females, a two-dog party. Big as they were, they were still pups, and it showed.
“Wow,” Carly murmured, looking around the large, old-fashioned kitchen. “Time warp. It’s the 1950s all over again.”
The kitchen, in fact, was much as his grandmother had left it, right down to the wood-burning cookstove, scuffed linoleum floor and avocado-green appliances. The rest of the house—thanks to his ex-wife, Jenna—not so much...
Jenna had only been interested in their bedroom and the rooms on public display, the ones she could show off to guests (not that there were many, outside of Cord’s friends). Besides, she’d counted on Tina to provide the majority of meals.
Tina had been after him to update the kitchen, too—brought up the subject once a week on average—and he always promised he would. Eventually. He glanced around; Mimi’s needlework still hung on the walls, and her embroidered dish towels lay neatly folded in the cabinet drawer they’d occupied since she’d come to this house as a young bride. These things were deeply important to him. It was all about family. And memory...
Carly went straight to the iron beast against the far wall, warming herself in the woodsmoke-scented heat it gave off. Looking back over one shoulder, she frowned curiously. “Why are there two stoves?” she asked.
“A reasonable question,” Tina said with a twinkle. She wore her silver-gray hair in a short, curly bob, and her brown eyes smiled behind her stylish glasses.
Tina was one of those people who lit up all over when she smiled.
“That stove,” she went on, pointing to the green range, “barely works. The oven won’t heat up half the time, and two of the burners are out of commission. And don’t get me started on the fridge.”
“Seems to me,” Cord said dryly, “that something already got you started.”
Tina made a pffft sound, followed by a dismissive gesture. She was focused on Carly, one hundred percent. “At least the other stove works, and there’s a microwave,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
Carly shook her head, and the tiniest smile curved her mouth. “No,” she said, watching Cord. “So are you, like, a hoarder or something? Or just really, really behind the times?” She pointed to the tattoo on her neck, a reminder of their conversation in the truck. “Like, hello, this is a whole new century. Ink isn’t just for sailors and guys in jail and guys who ride motorcycles anymore, and what is this stuff on the floor?”
Cord laughed, sent the dogs to their beds near the woodstove with a quiet word and a motion of one hand. They obeyed, collapsing onto the matching sheepskin pads with sighs of resignation, their brown eyes rolling toward Carly, liquid with devotion.
He was chilled, since the kid was still wearing his jacket, and he felt drawn toward the stove, but Carly was already there, and he didn’t want to crowd her. She reminded him of a fawn, spindly legged and easily spooked.
“It’s called linoleum,” he said, looking down at the scrapes and scratches, noticing the places where the pattern had worn away. “As for the ‘ink,’ as you call it, no comment.”
“Oh, yeah. Linoleum. I’ve heard of it.” Carly was grinning and more relaxed than before.
Cord credited Tina, who was busy pouring coffee, with keeping the tension level down.
“Sit,” Tina told Cord briskly. “You make me nervous, standing there like a telephone pole.”
He chuckled, went to his customary chair at the long trestle table. Once, it had been his grandfather’s place, and sitting there still felt odd, even after almost twelve years.
“Will this keep you awake?” Tina asked Carly, with sudden concern. Late-night coffee was an institution on the ranch, but the girl was a newcomer.
“Nothing keeps me awake,” Carly replied, leaving the stove at last and taking a seat on one of the long benches lining either side of the table. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Well, coffee doesn’t, anyway.”
Cord wondered what did keep her awake, but he wasn’t about to ask.
He still felt the need to give the kid space and, besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. God only knows what she regarded as the twenty-first century norm.
“Well, you drink up, then,” Tina said cheerfully, addressing the girl, setting three steaming mugs of hot java on the table. “Soon as you’ve warmed up a little, we’ll head over to my place. You can take a hot bath—or a shower, if you’d prefer—and I’ll rustle up pajamas for you. You’re about the same size as my Susan. She keeps some clothes at our place, since she visits pretty often.”
Carly cupped her hands around the mug in front of her, breathed in the rising steam with obvious appreciation. “Thanks,” she said, and she sounded sincere.
Cord watched her and wondered if the kid was behaving herself because of the don’t-mess-with-Tina edict he’d issued earlier, or if she simply enjoyed being mothered.
No question, Tina had a gift for that.
“You’re entirely welcome,” Tina said, patting Carly’s shoulder gently as she passed, heading for the much-maligned refrigerator to grab a dairy carton.
To Cord’s amusement, she sniffed the contents—in Tina’s opinion, he played fast and loose with expiration dates—before coming back to the table and sitting down in Mimi’s chair at the other end. She settled herself for a few minutes, watching fondly as Carly loaded her brew with plenty of sugar and sloshed in a generous dollop of cream.
It was an ordinary moment, but suddenly something warm and bittersweet welled up in his chest and overflowed. He didn’t try to identify the emotion, he just let it ride.
Despite the coffee, Carly soon began to yawn.
Tina smiled. “Let’s go home,” she said, rising from her chair.
&n
bsp; Carly visibly registered the word home, nodding, eyes closed. “Okay,” she agreed.
Cord stood, too, out of long habit, and waited while Carly said goodbye to the dogs, then snatched up her grubby backpack, ready to go. She was at the door before she stopped and turned to Cord, starting to shrug out of his jacket. “I almost forgot to give this back.”
“Keep it for now,” he said.
She considered that briefly, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“The car’s unlocked,” Tina told Carly, after a brief and awkward silence. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Carly paused, then went out.
“Who is this child?” Tina asked, as soon as she and Cord were alone.
Cord shoved splayed fingers through his hair. Sighed. “I’m not sure,” he replied honestly.
Tina’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’ll tell you what I know, which is damn little, by the way, but not tonight, if that’s okay with you.” He was bone-tired, though he knew sleep would be elusive, if it came at all.
“Of course it isn’t okay with me,” Tina answered sweetly, “but since you look as if you’ve been dragged backward through a knothole, as my grandmother used to say, I’ll cut you some slack.”
Cord laughed. “That’s mighty big of you, Tina,” he teased.
“Just this once,” Tina was quick to respond. “Tomorrow, we talk.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed, feeling even wearier than before. The next day would be full, since he had a private client scheduled to show up bright and early for a one-on-one version of his basic horse-training course.
Damn if he hadn’t forgotten all about that.
“It slipped your mind, didn’t it?” Tina chided, though kindly. She could have made a good living as a phone psychic, the way she went around reading people’s thoughts. “That you’ve got a student coming first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah,” he confessed. “It did.”
“Well, then, you’d better get some rest. You have a reputation to maintain. The man who knows all there is to know about horses, and then some.” Tina approached, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Too bad you don’t understand people, as well.”
Country Strong--A Novel Page 5
