“A week?” Judi’s voice rose in astonishment.
Gran’s mouth stayed straight but her eyes crinkled. “Thomas is made of sterner stuff than his father was.”
Judi felt heat rising up her throat. Did Gran think she…that they…? Why that was ridiculous. Besides, Maureen sounded like a femme fatale, and no one had ever accused Judi Monroe of being that. Not even Sterling who had supposedly been so head-over-heels in love with her that they had to get married right away.
She stood. “C’mon, Gran, let’s get you into the recliner in the family room so you can watch TV in comfort while I clean up.”
“There’s more story to tell.”
“You can tell me another time. You know what the doctor said about moving. Besides, the recliner’s more comfortable for you.”
“You’re getting as bossy as Thomas,” Gran grumbled. But she gave a relieved grunt as Judi helped her into the recliner.
“What’re you doing here?”
Judi shook her head. This business of disembodied voices speaking her thoughts had to quit.
She’d been entertaining that very thought—what was she doing here? These past few days she had not felt as carefree as she had earlier in the Great Escape. Probably a result of being around Thundercloud Thomas.
No, in fairness he wasn’t alone.
Gran had become increasingly restless. This morning, when Judi had tried to check for signs of blood clots, as Thomas and the instructions had emphasized, Gran had swatted her hand. She’d grumbled about lunch—not the sandwich Judi served, but that she had to be served at all. Judging from the frazzled state Alice displayed when she’d left an hour ago, physical therapy hadn’t gone well, either.
When Judi had ventured into Gran’s room after Alice left, Gran had been in bed for a nap. And, she’d declared, she didn’t want to be awakened by Judi rustling around, so she’d better get herself outside if she knew what was good for her.
Considering Gran’s mood, Judi had taken the warning literally. She’d wandered toward the area she was interested in. But first Steve had driven in, calling hello. Next Gandy had come from the shed with something mechanical in a rag and started checking the remains of a truck. At that point, she’d decided she would wait for darkness for this particular chore.
She’d pretended to adjust her shoe, in case anyone was watching, and tucked the items under the porch steps where they were out of sight but easy to retrieve. For lack of anything better, she’d decided to circle the house, planning to widen her exploration after that. Halfway around the house she made a decision, tracked down Gandy and asked for tools and gloves.
Ever since, she’d been unearthing the remnants of a vegetable garden from the weeds and neglect that had nearly choked it. Roses along the house’s side also needed tending—she’d get to those later.
As she pulled up thistles and scrub grass, she discovered spindly tomato plants, chewed-to-the-nub lettuce, a possible patch of carrots, sad-looking bean plants, and a vine she thought might be pumpkin.
But her mind had been on other matters.
Gran was not the only one proving testy. Becky tightened up like a guitar string given a good hard yank any time Thomas opened his mouth.
Last night at dinner when he’d asked how the fence was in an area where she’d gone to check mares and their foals, she’d gone sarcastic about how there was a huge gap in it and horses were caught up in the wire, but she’d left them there because she did exactly what she was told and no more than she was told.
Thomas had scowled, but had kept his response remarkably mild, considering.
“Helga? Did you hear me?”
Not a disembodied voice. Definitely Becky. Judi turned her head cautiously.
“Oh, hi, Becky. Were you talking to me?”
Becky looked around. “You see anybody else?” She sounded amused, not hostile.
Judi was tempted to point out that if Becky used that tone with Thomas she’d get a lot further. But she knew it would sound exactly like her mother used to sound to her as a teenager and kept a lid on temptation.
She’d been tempted before to say things to Becky that would have sounded like her mother—her own mother, not Becky’s. Although Judi loved her mother dearly, it was a bit depressing to be turning into her at the age of twenty-eight.
Besides, it raised the question—what had happened to Becky’s mother? The beautiful Maureen.
“Uh, no, I don’t see anyone else. Sorry, I was thinking deep thoughts about zucchini and how it got named,” she improvised.
“Oh, God, did Gran plant zucchini this spring?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Judi pondered the pile of vegetation she’d pulled up. “Not that I recognized, anyway.”
Becky followed the direction of her gaze and giggled. “No great loss if you did pull it out. I’d be real surprised if Gran planted it. She didn’t get in as big a garden as she usually does because her hip was bothering her and with the surgery and everybody working extra, nobody’s been taking care of it. I’d forgotten all about it.”
“It’s pretty sad, but I think it’ll come back with TLC and water. Here. Can you tie up this tomato plant while I hold it to this stake?”
“Is that what this is, a tomato plant?”
“Hey, don’t let it hear you. You have to talk nice to get tomatoes to grow.”
“Sorry, Mr. Tomato. I’d love for you to grow—so I can eat you,”
Judi chuckled. “Better watch out, it’ll turn out to be zucchini, and I’ll hold you to it about eating it.” Except she wouldn’t be here when these plants produced.
“Nah. Besides, the more I think about it the more I’m sure Gran wouldn’t plant zucchini. She always says there’s no need to plant it because Tellie Cushwell grows it and she’s always bringing stuff over—zucchini bread, zucchini soup, zucchini muffins, zucchini casserole. I swear, one time she made zucchini ice cream.”
“Good Lord! Does the woman have a zucchini fetish?”
“No. A Thomas fetish.”
“You’ll have to explain that one.”
“Tellie’s one of the women who’s always after Thomas. About five years back we were paired up with the Cushwells for a roundup, and Tellie brought zucchini bread. Thomas said he liked it—he’d been in the saddle all day without anything to eat, he probably would have liked cardboard. But that’s all it took for Tellie.”
“She’s not alone, I take it?”
“Nah. Just about every single, divorced or widowed woman in three counties has come through here with food at one time or another. Gandy was pulling for Mary Weed a while back because she makes brownies with chocolate chips and nuts.”
“But nothing came of it?”
“With Thomas? Give me a break. They’re all over him and he’s totally dense.” She rolled her eyes. “So then they start in on me. As if he’d want to hear anything from me these days.”
“Why’s that?”
“Who knows. I just know he treats me like I’m about three years old. He won’t even let me date.” Judi knew that was a true grievance in the girl’s mind, but the way Becky looked off to the side and wouldn’t meet her eyes renewed Judi’s belief there was more. “Just because he’s too blind to see that there’s more to life than this ranch.”
“So you want to get off the ranch?”
“No!” That was genuinely horrified, but quickly covered by teen ennui. “I mean it’s great, but it’s not like we’d die if we didn’t have the ranch. You know? But that’s how Thomas acts. Sometimes I think it would do him a lot of good to take up one of these women on what they’re offering.”
That surprised a laugh out of Judi, though the image was not particularly amusing to her. “Becky!”
“Well, I mean it. It might make him lighten up. Besides, it would make one of the women really, really happy, and then maybe the rest would leave me alone. You wouldn’t believe how they go on and on about his eyes.”
“They are pretty unusual, and—”<
br />
“They’re just green,” Becky interrupted firmly. “I like blue eyes.”
Like Steve’s. Ah, and now the he-won’t-let-me-date complaint took on more weight. She’d noticed Becky’s voice seemed to change when Steve was around. And he looked everywhere but at Becky—unless he thought no one was watching him.
First love could sure explain some of Becky’s moodiness.
She’d also been in Becky’s position as the younger sister of a hunky brother, which compounded the slings and arrows of a first love by contrast. She remembered all the females who’d figured little sister was both a prime source for information and a conduit for getting into Paul’s good graces. And while all these women were trying to win over Paul, were any males paying attention to Judi? Oh, no.
“Green is pretty ordinary,” she agreed. “You see it all over. Just look at this tomato plant. Green. Or that cottonwood tree. Green.”
“Or grass.”
“Or broccoli.
Becky giggled. “Or peas.”
“Money.”
“Frogs,” Becky contributed with relish.
Judi supposed the girl deserved this mild bit of payback to Thomas. Would-be girlfriends weren’t the only baggage a younger sister had to carry. Paul had considered himself a parental consultant. Not only did he tell Judi when he thought she was off track but he would tell their mother when he felt she needed more discipline, stricter rules or less freedom. How much worse must it be for Becky, since her older brother was also acting as her parent?
“Seaweed.”
“Slimy seaweed.”
What had finally helped Paul see her as a grown-up, most of the time, was his falling in love, then marrying Bette. Bette treated Judi as a friend and an equal. Because Paul respected his wife—in addition to adoring her—he’d followed her lead.
All Becky needed to solve her problems with her over-bearing, overprotective brother was to have Thomas fall in love with someone beautiful and wise. Certainly too wise to get caught in the kind of mess Judi now found herself in. Yeah, Thomas would be real happy with his beautiful, smart wife. She wondered what Tellie Cushwell and Mary Weed looked like.
“Mold,” Judi contributed grimly.
“Vom—”
“Oh, no—no more! Don’t say it.”
Becky giggled, but she complied. And as they moved on to the next pathetic tomato plant, the conversation shifted to horses, clothes, hair and cattle—an interesting mix that came absolutely naturally to Becky.
The teenager had her problems, but she knew where she belonged, knew where she fit, and was comfortable with her life. Judi stifled a sigh.
Good grief, what was she doing envying this girl her place in life? It must be part of the what-am-I-doing-here mood she’d been indulging in earlier.
Come to think of it, her mood probably had nothing to do with the people of the Diamond V ranch. After all, she wasn’t destined to be a major part of their lives, so surely she wasn’t letting their mood affect hers. More like this came as a natural result of being isolated from her family, uncertain of her future, without wheels and with the remnants of an egg on her head that could have been laid by an ostrich.
Sure, that must be the reason.
Chapter Four
Hah! Let Christine Welmer say now that she wasn’t capable, didn’t deserve responsibility, didn’t have leadership qualities. Judi had retrieved the bag from under the steps, and she was zeroing in on her destination, and not even James Bond could have done a better job.
Well, Christine hadn’t actually said any of those things. But she’d implied them by the way she’d acted—or not acted. The way she hadn’t given Judi vital jobs, the way she hadn’t listened to her comments, the way she hadn’t acted on her suggestions.
It had started the first month Judi was with the company. When she’d told a prospective employee the truth about advancement possibilities. Christine had not approved. Especially when the employee didn’t accept the company’s low-ball offer. After that, Christine relegated her to exit interviews. That wasn’t so bad at first, because after interviewing disgruntled employees she’d developed ideas about how the company could improve, along with the turnover statistics to prove it. Christine hadn’t listened.
She sighed, her exultant mood dissipating with the exhalation.
Judi had wanted to leave. But she didn’t know where she wanted to go. Running away without running to something seemed like exactly the sort of thing people expected from the youngest child of a successful lawyer from Lake Forest.
So, instead, she’d jumped into the whirlwind courtship with Sterling…and run away from her wedding to…here.
But what happened after these few weeks? What would she do after Geoff’s “girlfriend” caught Sterling, and she could go back to Illinois without risking giving away the little she knew?
She’d be right back where she had been—no, worse, since she didn’t have a job. Sterling had said there was no reason for her to work, he would provide for her. No reason for her to worry. Each place they went, he pointed out he was sparing no expense. He’d made a big deal of intending to sign over assets to her when they returned from the honeymoon. She’d figured the need to impress her with money was a foible—wasn’t everyone entitled to them? She’d given in and quit her job.
Looking back she realized he hadn’t offered to help with the wedding expenses, while she’d used up most of her savings. Her parents had offered to pay, but it didn’t seem right for them to pay the premiums charged because Sterling wanted to get married fast.
Thank heavens she hadn’t let him talk her into giving up her apartment. The lease ran for another six months and she’d planned to sublet it. At least she had a place to live when she went back.
In the meantime, she would use this time of being Helga Helgerson to figure out things about Judi Monroe. And while she was telling Thomas she couldn’t remember her name, maybe she’d find out who she was.
From the porch, Thomas watched the shadow that was Helga Helgerson slip between the wreck of her car and the skeleton of a ranch pickup.
Now that he was more relaxed about the care she was giving Gran, he’d stayed away from the house the past few days. Not that he was avoiding her.
Even if he had been trying to avoid her it had been impossible. It seemed like any time he walked in the door she was there, in the kitchen. Or he heard her in the den with Gran, or down the hall in Gran’s room.
Except late this afternoon when he’d come to the house to get a phone number. He’d found Gran napping in her room. But there was no sign of Helga anywhere.
Then he’d heard her laugh through the open window in the den.
When he looked out, he saw her and Becky amid the remnants of Gran’s garden out back. Despite dirt-encrusted hands, Helga held a scrawny plant upright like it was made of spun glass while Becky tied it to a stake.
Without making out their words, he could hear and see the animation in his sister. Becky used to talk to him that way. But not lately.
A kind of bleakness pulsed through him. He pushed it away.
He was doing his damnedest to see to Becky’s practical welfare. When he had that nailed down, maybe he’d have time to spare to figure out what was up with his younger sister. Or, if he was really lucky, she’d be past this stage by then.
Too bad females had to go through the teenage years to get from girl to woman. Though even the old lady in his life was giving him trouble these days. And that change he could pinpoint to the day Helga had crashed into their lives.
He’d turned from the window then, heading back out.
Not only had the phone number—his reason for going to the house—gone completely out of his mind, but not until a few minutes ago did he realize he’d missed an ideal opportunity to search her things this afternoon.
This moment, with her out of the house, might count as another opportunity. But as soon as he’d spotted her he’d been determined to see what she was up to.
He’d sat here, silent and still, watching her work her way across the rutted driveway, along the pasture fence, past the barn, along the fence of the corral they mostly used for saddling horses, and in amongst Gandy’s relics. Her pace hadn’t varied. She hadn’t suddenly looked around, but he still had the feeling her car had been her destination all along.
Maybe that was runaway suspiciousness on his part.
He was certain there was nothing for her to retrieve, because he and Gandy had examined it as thoroughly as they could short of stripping it down to its chassis.
She opened the rear passenger door, and he thought he heard a muffled gasp. The car’s overhead light didn’t come on—he doubted it had worked any time in the past decade. But she wouldn’t have needed much light to get a general idea of the inside of her car.
When Gandy had objected to ripping the upholstery to check for anything hidden in the cushions, Thomas had said they’d tell Helga it must have happened when she hit the tree. Gandy had harrumphed and said he wasn’t worried about explaining it to “Missy,” he regretted the waste of perfectly good bench seats.
Gandy treated a vehicle that no longer ran the way the Indians used to treat the buffalo they hunted—making use and reuse of every scrap and fiber.
She disappeared from sight. No, that darker shadow was the top of her head, wasn’t it? Was she sitting on the threshold of the door? Looking for something?
They’d taken the doors apart, too. And found nothing there or anywhere else,
It didn’t ease his suspicions.
He was going to have to search her clothes. Sometime.
The Runaway Bride Page 7
