by Brenda Mott
He said nothing, fighting the urge to push himself away from Sarah’s bed and cross the room, close the door behind him and simply leave with Bailey.
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t care about her, couldn’t fall in love with her. Love meant pain, and the very aura that surrounded him in this room was enough to tell him what he had to do. The answers he’d sought in California came clearly to him now.
“It’s all right,” Trent said. “But you should probably go now.”
The look of hurt that flashed across Bailey’s face was enough to tear his heart in two. “You’re right,” she said.
She turned and left without a backward glance.
And he sat staring at the floor, hating himself for letting her go, yet knowing it could be no other way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BAILEY SHUT the door to her office and sank into her desk chair. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. The sight of Sarah’s bedroom refused to fade from her memory, as did the look on Trent’s face last night when he’d told her to leave.
She’d found sleep all but impossible after going home to her own bed. Thoughts of Trent whirled through her mind, making her toss and turn. That he might never have cleaned out his daughter’s room after she died hadn’t even occurred to her. Knowing he kept the room just the way it had been when Sarah was alive sent a clear message—one she could not afford to ignore.
Bailey stared at the potted plant on her desk and recalled her past. Losing her parents at an early age and being shuffled from one foster home to another—more than thirty in fourteen years—had been hard.
Some of her foster parents had been nice, and most had treated her decently, but many had not. Whether it was a personal possession—of which she’d had few—or simply being considered a member of the household she lived in, Bailey had constantly battled for what should rightfully have been hers.
You’re not my real sister. My parents only take in foster kids for the money social services pays them.
The words of Dottie’s eldest son still echoed in her mind. And before that, there’d been the twins she’d shared a room with when she was eight years old, in the tenth of her foster homes.
Go ahead and tell our mother we took your Barbie doll. We’ll tell her you’re lying, and that you always lie and steal things. Our dad will throw you out on the streets, and you’ll be homeless.
She’d only stolen once. Feeling lonely and unwanted, Bailey had longed for something to love and take care of. The twins had a puppy they’d gotten for their ninth birthday, but Bailey was seldom allowed to play with him. While walking home from school, she’d spotted a kitten inside a pet shop window, and when the store clerk had his back turned, she’d lifted the kitten out of its cage, tucked it inside her jacket and taken it home.
Since she slept in the far corner of the room she shared with the twins, she didn’t think they’d find the kitten hidden in a box under her bed. But they had, and they’d told on her, and Bailey had gotten the spanking of her life. Her foster parents made her take the kitten back to the pet store and apologize to the manager. Bailey never stole anything again, but just knowing the twins would use the single incident to blackmail her into letting them keep her Barbie doll was enough to send Bailey looking for vengeance.
Climbing onto a kitchen chair, she got the powdered packs of Kool-Aid her foster mother kept in the top cupboard and poured them into a box of bubble bath in the master bathroom. When the woman took her bath and found that Kool-Aid, not Calgon, had taken her away in a sea of pinkish-purple foam, Bailey had once again been spanked.
Never mind that she’d cleverly planted the evidence of the empty Kool-Aid packets in the pockets of the twins’ jeans in the laundry hamper. Never mind that she’d pleaded temporary insanity, using her wildest imagination to come up with a logical explanation about why she’d done what she had. Within weeks, Bailey found herself being moved to yet another foster home.
And each time she was shuffled from one home to the next, a part of her spirit died. But she’d survived, and learned to put her past behind her and move on. She’d chosen a new life for herself here in Ferguson, the type of life she’d always wanted. She still planned to have a family, still wanted to give her children what she’d never had. She was more than ready to take that step. Obviously, Trent was not.
The look on his face last night had broken her heart. She’d stood in the doorway of Sarah’s room, torn between wanting to cross the floor and take Trent into her arms and wanting to turn away and leave him to the privacy of his grief and sorrow. The expression on his face had held her momentarily rooted in place. He, too, had seemed torn.
She’d seen something in his eyes—for the span of a heartbeat—a silent plea that said he needed her and wanted to reach out to her. Then the wall had closed around him once more, and he’d asked her to leave. She could have been more pushy in offering him comfort, could have refused his request that she go. But what would have been the point?
Before work this morning, she’d taken flowers to Sarah’s grave. She’d laid them down at the foot of the little blue spruce and stood there for a long time, thinking. She’d known before that she loved Trent, and after last night, there was no doubt in her mind. She loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone. But if he couldn’t open his heart up to her and love her back, she couldn’t force him to do so. And no amount of wishing things were different could change that.
Bailey had always prided herself in being strong. She’d had to be to live through what she’d experienced as a child and move on. And that was exactly what she would have to do now—stand strong and move on with her life. No matter how much she loved Trent, she couldn’t afford to spend a lifetime pining away for a man she could never have.
She’d made up her mind to go to him tonight after work and tell him that they could be nothing more to each other than the friends they’d started out as. She’d rehearsed the speech she would give him so many times that she had it memorized. But now that the time had come to leave work and confront him, the thought of doing so practically made her laugh.
How on earth did one go from making love to a man who felt like her soul mate, to turning her back on him and treating him as a mere acquaintance? It seemed an impossible thing to do, but somehow, she vowed to do it anyway. Pushing away from her desk, Bailey gathered her things and left the bank.
After changing her clothes, she fed the animals. She was too edgy even to think about eating supper. It would be better to go straight over to Trent’s house now, before she lost her nerve. The sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could begin the long, painful process of forgetting what they’d shared.
As she left the barn, the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway drew her attention. Buddy barked a warning from his post on the porch. The minute Bailey saw Wade Darland’s truck, she remembered what she’d forgotten. Days ago, while she and Macy had fed Trent’s horses, the little girl had invited her to the 4–H club celebration that marked the end of the show season.
Roundup Days began tomorrow night and lasted through the weekend, and Bailey had promised to take Macy shopping for some new boots and fancy western shirts to wear for the event. Wade had telephoned to make sure she didn’t mind and that Macy hadn’t sweet-talked her into it. Bailey had assured him she’d be delighted to go shopping with Macy, and Wade had seemed more than happy to turn the very uncowboylike task over to her. He’d agreed to drop Macy off at Bailey’s house this evening, but in the wake of all that had happened last night, the shopping expedition had completely slipped her mind.
“Hi, Bailey,” Macy said as she climbed out of the truck and slammed the door shut. Excitement laced her voice, and she skipped, rather than walked, toward Bailey. She wore her usual boots, jeans and ball cap and, in one hand, clutched a Breyer collectible horse.
Bailey smiled. She’d been in love with the Breyer horses since she was a kid, and still had the one she’d gotten as a child—a plastic m
odel of Marguerite Henry’s Misty of Chincoteague—sitting on a shelf in her living room.
“Are you ready?” she asked Macy, waving to Wade as he turned his truck around and headed back down the driveway.
“Oh, yeah,” Macy said, following Bailey into the yard. She plopped down on the porch step and scratched Buddy behind the ears. “Dad gave me some money, plus I’ve got my allowance all saved up. I want to get these really cool lace-up boots I saw at the western store.”
“I see you brought your Breyer horse.”
“Uh-huh.” Macy held out the black-and-white Appaloosa. “I wanted to show him to you, since I saw your Misty horse in the living room.”
Bailey took the horse and examined him, admiring the lifelike detail that had gone into the workmanship. “He’s beautiful.”
“He was Sarah’s,” Macy said.
A spark of sadness jolted through her, clenching Bailey’s heart. She saw the horse in a new light.
“Trent gave him to me after Sarah died. He said he knew she’d want me to have the Appaloosa, because it was her favorite. He thought I should have something special to remember her by.” Macy smiled sadly. “But even if he didn’t give me anything, I’d never forget her.”
Bailey swallowed over the lump in her throat. The horse felt warm in her hands. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she said. She ran her fingertips over the Appaloosa, then handed him back to Macy. “He’s one of the prettiest Breyer horses I’ve ever seen.” She smiled, and Macy smiled back.
“I knew you’d say that. He’s my favorite, too. Can I put him on the shelf with your horse for now?”
“Absolutely.” Bailey held the screen door wide.
Minutes later, she gathered her purse and a light jacket, and headed for the door with Macy. Indian summer continued to fill the days with sunshine and high temperatures, but the evenings could grow chilly.
“Shall we take the truck?” Bailey asked. Macy loved the old Chevy, and had made Bailey chuckle at her obsession with pickup trucks, especially ones from the fifties. Bailey had to admit that she, too, had become attached to it. Living on the farm, she’d quickly discovered just how handy having a pickup could be.
“Sure,” Macy said. “It’s too bad Lester never got it painted. Are you going to?”
She hadn’t really given it much thought, since she’d planned to sell the truck back to him. Now, she wasn’t so sure that would ever happen. “I probably will. Maybe you can help me decide what color.”
“Cool!” Macy grinned at her, and Bailey laughed.
They climbed into the Chevy and started off for town. Bailey glanced down at the fuel gauge. It was near empty. “We’d better stop and get some gas in this thing before we end up stranded somewhere,” she said. Within minutes she pulled into the parking lot of the one and only convenience store in town, which also sold gas. Normally, she bought her gas at the Texaco station, but since Lester worked there, it wasn’t the best choice now.
Bailey filled up, then leaned in the open driver’s window and spoke to Macy. “I’ll be right back, kiddo. Want something to drink?”
“Sure,” Macy said. “A Mountain Dew?”
Bailey tapped the truck with the palm of her hand. “You’ve got it.”
Inside the convenience store, she waited in line to pay for her gasoline and two Mountain Dews, then went to rejoin Macy. She’d come to enjoy the little girl’s company immensely. Being around her made Bailey long all the more for a child of her own. Thoughts of Trent assailed her, and she did her best to ignore them. Her heart ached, knowing she would never have a child with him, when he’d grown to mean so much to her.
She’d never meant to fall in love with a wayward cowboy.
The sound of squealing tires reached her ears a split second before the sight registered. Her truck careering out of the parking lot, Lester Godfrey behind the wheel, Macy still in the passenger seat.
TRENT TOLD HIMSELF he’d made the right choice. Loving Bailey felt wonderful, but the uncertainties that came with it were too much for him to deal with. Over and over, he recalled his resolution to remain alone for the rest of his life. But his heart argued with his head, waging a constant battle that he felt he was quickly losing.
If nothing else, the least he owed Bailey was an explanation.
He’d promised her they would talk when he returned from California. Instead, he’d sent her away from his home—from his bed—in the middle of the night, as though she’d done something wrong. He felt like a jerk.
Bailey deserved far better. A woman like her should have someone who could love her without holding back, and if Trent couldn’t, then he needed to tell her so face-to-face. Pushing her away without an explanation wasn’t right. She knew that Sarah’s death had devastated him. Yet he’d never bothered to tell her exactly why he could never give his heart to anyone again. The risk of loss was so painful.
Would she understand?
Trent climbed through the fence and headed for Bailey’s house. Buddy lay stretched out on the porch, and Star grazed contentedly in the pasture. The peacefulness of the farm gave him a warm feeling, stirred a longing to be a part of it. He wished things could be different. How on earth was he supposed to keep his distance from Bailey with her living so close to him? Maybe he should just move back to California.
As quickly as the thought came, he pushed it away. He could never do that. He didn’t want to live anywhere remotely close to Amy and her new family, and more important, he could never abandon Sarah’s grave. Who would take care of her tree?
Trent knocked on the door, making Buddy bark. He spoke to the dog, and the heeler tentatively sniffed his pant leg. “What’s wrong, fella? You haven’t forgotten me already, have you?”
Buddy wagged his tail but jumped out of reach when Trent reached to pet him. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said to the dog. “It’s not easy to trust someone, is it?” He knocked again, then glanced around the yard, noting Bailey’s Mustang in the driveway. There was no sign of her truck. She must have gone to town.
Disappointed, Trent walked back home. It had taken him all day to drum up the courage to face her.
Climbing behind the wheel of his truck, Trent headed to town. If Bailey was out and about, chances were he could find her, since Ferguson wasn’t very big. Unless, of course, she’d gone someplace else.
He drove slowly down Main Street, his gaze combing the bank parking lot on the off chance she was working late. He also checked the parking lot of the video store, the feed store and the ice-cream parlor. Nothing. At the edge of town, he approached the convenience store, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted her truck next to the gas pumps. It pulled away just as he drew near, and Trent saw that it wasn’t Bailey behind the wheel.
He had only a moment to register that Lester Godfrey was driving the Chevy and that Macy was in the truck, before he saw Bailey. Futilely, she ran toward the pickup as it sped off, her face hardened in fury, her lips mouthing words at the departing vehicle.
Trent stomped on the gas and swerved into the convenience store parking lot, pulling up next to Bailey. “Get in.” He leaned over and threw the passenger door open, and Bailey hopped inside. She tossed her purse and two bottles of pop onto the seat, then clamped a hand to her forehead.
“My God, Trent, Lester’s got Macy!”
“I know. I saw him.” He reached for his cell phone and thrust it at her. “Call 911 and get them to send the sheriff’s department.”
Bailey dialed while Trent raced after Lester. The Chevy shot down the two-lane highway at break-neck speed, rapidly putting distance between it and Trent’s Ford.
He hoped to God he could catch Lester.
Trent punched the gas pedal. His focus on driving, he was barely aware of Bailey’s voice as she gave their location to the dispatcher. She stayed on the line until the surrounding mountains broke up the cell phone’s reception.
Bailey turned the phone off and gripped the dashboard. “Oh my God, this is all my fault.
I shouldn’t have left Macy in the truck while I went inside the store.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trent said. “We’ll catch them.” But cold fear had knotted his stomach and refused to unwind. From the way Lester was driving, Trent would safely bet he was drunk, and that, coupled with the high-powered engine under the Chevy’s hood, could only spell disaster. If anything happened to Macy, Trent would never forgive himself.
He’d be damned if he’d give up easy.
Only now did he realize how attached he’d become to the little girl. Knowing she’d been close to Sarah was only part of the reason. Macy was a good kid, and he enjoyed being around her. The way she and Bailey had so much fun together gave him a good feeling deep down. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
He’d kill Lester with his bare hands if harm came to that child.
Up ahead, Lester slowed the pickup truck a bit. Even drunk, he must have known the curves in the road were beginning to tighten. Taking advantage of that, Trent closed the distance between his truck and Bailey’s. But the moment he did, he realized his mistake. Spotting the Ford in his rearview mirror, Lester sped up once more, pushing the Chevy to a dangerous rate of speed.
“Lord.” Trent clenched his jaw and backed off. Frustration filled him, but an instant later, Lester slowed down again. Was he playing some sort of sick game of cat and mouse with Trent? Trent, too, slowed.
“What are you doing?” Bailey asked.
“I’m hoping to get him to ease up a little,” Trent snapped, then regretted his loss of patience. Like him, Bailey was scared. “I can’t catch him,” he added. “Every time I try, he just speeds up.” He glanced at the speedometer. Lester might be driving slower, but he was drunk, and they were still going faster than they should be.
“Where the hell is the sheriff’s department?” Bailey’s voice shook with fear and anger. “I swear, when I get hold of Lester he’s going to wish he’d never met me.”
