Unexpected Family

by Molly O'Keefe

  Couldn’t she have some time to grieve? To lick her wounds? To hide?

  Such a coward.

  The Rocky M ranch slipped in and out of view through the pine trees until she turned left up the long driveway. The brown ranch house sat under a granite overhang. As a kid she’d prayed more than once that the mountain would fall down on that house. It baffled her that Mia could call this place home.

  Mia and Lucy had grown up on here as the children of ranch employees. The McKibbons, Walter and his wife, owned the land while her father, A.J., had been the foreman and Lucy’s mom, Sandra, the housekeeper and cook. Mia and Lucy’s childhood hadn’t been unhappy, but it had never been secure. Not a moment had passed that they’d been unaware of their status. Every tie they had to this home and this land could be severed. And almost had been.

  That this was where Lucy chose to lick her wounds was even more strange. But beggars couldn’t be choosy. Broke didn’t even begin to describe her financial state.

  She parked beside her sister’s old pickup truck, rolled up the windows and turned off the engine. The quiet echoed and boomed like a heartbeat. Like the house was alive and waiting for her.

  Exhausted by the roller coaster of the night, she finally pulled herself out of the car and into the house through the side door. It was midnight and the house was silent.

  Mia and Jack were living a mile up the road, using the house Mia and Lucy grew up in—the little two-story that their mother, Sandra, had cared for so passionately—until their new house up in the high pastures was finished. Walter, Jack’s father, still occupied the ranch house. And for the past three weeks, Lucy and Sandra had been staying in the rear guest rooms of the house; they smelled like mothballs and had beds like hammocks.

  She unzipped her boots in the mudroom, stepped back and looked at her gray high-heeled Prada knockoffs next to the filthy work boots. She saw it as the perfect example of how she didn’t belong here. Had never belonged here.

  Just a little bit longer, she thought. Just until I formulate a plan. Get my feet under me.

  Through the dark she walked right to her mother’s bedroom and knocked softly on the door.

  “Mom?” she called, and she heard the bed creak.

  “Come in, Lucy,” her mother said, and Lucy walked into the small bedroom. Mom pushed herself up in bed, her black hair a cloud around her shoulders. The white of her nightgown glowed in the dark. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Knowing she needed no special permission, she crawled into her mother’s bed, the warmth under the covers immediately banishing the chill of the evening.

  She curled up on her side and stared at her mother’s still-young face. They needed to find her a life. A man to take her dancing. A church group that would keep her young.

  “Fine,” Lucy whispered, and Sandra turned on her side, her hands under her chin, mirroring Lucy’s position.

  “It’s time for us to go home,” Sandra said.

  “What? Why?”

  “I thought it would be easier coming here,” she said. “But it’s difficult—”

  “Because of Walter?” Lucy practically spat the man’s name.

  “Not just Walter, he doesn’t help. This place used to be happy and now…now it is haunted.”

  “But Mia’s here—”

  “And married. Settled.” She blew out a long breath, looking at her hands. “There’s nothing for me to do here. No way for me to be useful.” Lucy could not understand her mother’s driving need to be needed.

  “But, Mom…” She grasped at straws, finally settling on the truth she hadn’t wanted to face in the five years they’d lived in Los Angeles. “You don’t like the city.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She gave her mother a wry look.

  “Well, I don’t like it here so much, either.” Sandra sat up. “There’s nothing for me to do here. I’m useless.”

  “You’re cooking—”

  “Cooking!” she cried, and then shook her head, as if biting her tongue.

  Lucy wrapped her fingers over her mother’s fist. Her father had died five years ago and, in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t all that long. Sandra was still grieving.

  Yeah, Lucy thought, and you’re the ungrateful daughter keeping her someplace she doesn’t want to be.

  “What about your jewelry?” Sandra asked. “You’ve been gone three weeks—aren’t you needed back at your studio?”

  Her heart was a rock in her chest. Lying to her mother made her sick, but Lucy couldn’t give her mother more grief. Couldn’t give her a failure as a daughter. “I’m the boss, Mom. And I haven’t had a vacation in years. I’m…I’m burned out. I haven’t had a new design in months.”

  Sandra stroked back Lucy’s hair. “This is true. You work so hard. A few more days, then? And then we go back.”

  Lucy wished she was rich, and not for the first time. Wished that she could take her mom on vacation, whisk her away to Rome. But she was more than broke. And they couldn’t go back to Los Angeles, nor could they stay here much longer.

  Talk about limbo.

  Lucy forced herself to smile. “Sounds good.”

  “Sleep, sweetheart,” Sandra murmured, and Lucy let her eyelids shut, pretending to sleep so her mother wouldn’t worry.

  * * *

  LUCY STARTED AWAKE at the sound of her mother’s snores. Hard to believe, but Saint Sandra snored like a merchant marine. Her father had always joked about it, saying sleeping next to his wife was like being back in the navy—no one thought twice about it when they found him asleep on the couch. Chased out of his bed by his wife’s deviated septum.

  “Oh, man, Mom,” Lucy muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “We gotta get that fixed.”

  The moon in the window was so bright she could read her watch—3:00 a.m. It would be a battle getting to sleep again. She’d never needed a lot of sleep, but in the past year she’d flirted with insomnia. It was as if her brain was a giant hamster wheel, and every hamster in the world wanted a turn. She just couldn’t turn off her thoughts.

  She followed the moonlight that lay across the floor in big sheets, heading out the door of the room. But instead of going to her own room, she went to the kitchen. And to whatever dinner leftovers might be in the fridge.

  The carpet of the hallway changed to stone as she walked into the dining room and she rounded the counter that separated the kitchen from the eating area. Then she stopped dead in her tracks.

  Walter, owner of the Ranch and Mia’s father-in-law, sat on the floor in a puddle of moonlight, small orange pills scattered around him. His face unnaturally pale in the bone-white light.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to brace himself against the floor so he could move. But she could see he was in too much pain.

  “What happened?” she asked, crouching beside him. She smelled booze on his breath and she stood back up. “You’re drunk.”

  “I fell.” His hard face cracked into a grimace. “I think I hurt my leg.”

  His ankle, which jutted out from beneath the frayed edge of his light blue pajamas, was swollen and purple. Damn it, it had to be sprained and who the hell knew how long he’d been sitting here.

  “You fell because you’re drunk.”

  He sighed, looking down at his body as if it had betrayed him.

  “I dropped a pill and bent down to get it… . I just lost my balance.”

  “Because washing down Parkinson’s medication with whiskey improves balance?”

  “Could you…could you just get Jack? Or Mia?” he asked.

  Anger popped and pulsed inside of her. “No.” She went back into the mudroom and jammed her feet in her boots, then she grabbed the keys off the counter, calling Walter all the names under her breath that she was raised too well to say to his face. Stomping back into the kitchen she glared down at him.

  He stared down at his hands. Ashamed. Good.

  “Sandra—”

  “Everybody is sleeping and I�
��m not dragging them out of bed because you were too drunk to stay on your feet. You’re stuck with me.”

  He nodded slightly, his white hair picking up the moonlight and glinting silver. Walter was still handsome, a big masculine man, but all she saw when she looked at him was ruin.

  “You’re going to have to help me a little,” she said, crouching beside him and flinging his arm over her shoulder.

  He grimaced. Sweat bloomed across his forehead but he didn’t groan. Nope, not Walter. Just like he’d sit here all damn night rather than scream for help.

  All that pride wasted when it came to drinking. It’s a shame.

  With a lot of effort she got him to his feet and when he shifted his body to go toward the living room she steered him instead to the mudroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine—”

  She shifted her weight away from him and he stumbled, catching himself on the counter that split the kitchen from the dining room. Tentatively he put his foot onto the floor and cursed when he couldn’t put any weight on his ankle.

  When he glanced at her she shrugged. “It’s sprained at least, and you’ve been sitting there for how long?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Right, then, we’re going to the hospital.”

  Hopping and stumbling and then begrudgingly accepting her help she got him out to the sports car.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked.

  “It turned into a pumpkin.” Carefully, she eased him into the passenger seat and then walked around to the driver’s side.

  She backed the car up, gravel spitting out from under her tires. He didn’t say anything and she drove into the night, the moon’s watchful eye hovering over the car.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” Walter said, his chin up, his shoulders back. Clinging to the pride he had.

  “Tell that to my mother.”

  She stopped, realizing what had just happened. Walter had a sprained ankle. At least. Combined with the drinking, the Parkinson’s…he’d need help. And Sandra needed to be needed. Lucy couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Walter said.

  “No. You wouldn’t.” But, oh, Lord, it was funny. The Fates could not conspire to help her business, but they could conspire to keep her on the ranch.

  But at what cost to her mom?

  “Not three hours ago Mom was saying she wanted to leave.” Her fingers curled into talons around the steering wheel. “And I had to convince her to stay. And now you have handed us the perfect reason to stay and I can’t…” She stopped at a stop sign and glared at him. “And I can’t abide by the thought of her taking care of you.”

  “I haven’t asked her to. I wouldn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You need her. I couldn’t drag her away if I tried.”

  She pushed the accelerator, too hard, and Walter winced as his foot hit the car door. In his silence the past rushed back, drowning her in bitter memories.

  “Your wife—”

  “Is gone. Divorced.”

  “Too late. You don’t win any points for that, Walter! And she tried to kick my mom out of her home after Dad died. My dad, who was your best friend!” She threw the words at him like grenades lobbed across the car. “He was your most loyal employee. And what did you do to stop your wife? Nothing. Just like you did nothing when she was beating up Jack.” He flinched at that and her stomach turned.

  This isn’t you, she thought, but she couldn’t stop. The bitterness was out of control.

  “You stood by while your bitch of a wife ruined everyone’s lives and I can’t just shrug my shoulders and let my mom take care of you like nothing ever happened!”

  The sound as he shifted in his seat was loud and she glanced over at him, furious.

  “Don’t you have something to say?”

  “I can’t forgive myself, either. And as for your mom…I don’t want her to stay. Not for me.”

  She laughed, dark and resentful. “Well, at least that we can agree on. Not that it will do us much good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, like it or not, we’ll be staying.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER A FEW HOURS of sleep Lucy woke up, got dressed in her favorite jeans and loose white T-shirt, pulled her hair back in a sloppy ponytail and contemplated her jewelry.

  Everything was too light, she needed something heavy. Something dark. But her designs never leaned that way. Finally, she settled on the beaded silver hoops.

  Sandra was already up, humming as she put scrambled eggs onto a blue plate. She glowed with a grim purpose, which was entirely expected.

  Careful what you wish for, she chided herself.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said, grabbing the keys to Reese’s sports car from the dish on the counter where all the keys sat. She opened her purse and pulled out her cell.

  Meisha had called four times this morning.

  She turned off her phone.

  “You’re up early.” Her mother’s voice, softened and textured by her Spanish accent, was still the best sound in the world. And the sight of her in a kitchen was like seeing an animal in its natural habitat. Sandra ruled the kitchen, every kitchen. It didn’t matter where she was, in ten minutes she would have food and drink to end your hunger and soothe your soul. She was magic in a thin, five-foot package. And this morning all that magic was ignited.

  “I’ve got to take a car back over to Stone Hollow.”

  “You want some eggs?” Sandra put a fork on the plate.

  “I’ll take a bite.” She reached for the fork, but Sandra moved the plate out of the way.

  “These aren’t for you. I’ll make you some, though.”

  “Walter?” Of course she would already be waiting on Walter.

  “It was good what you did, getting him to the hospital.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what they say—no good deed goes unpunished.”

  “Lucia Marie—”

  “Mom.” She took a deep breath and fanned her hands over the counter as if finding, by touch, the argument that was going to work. It was time to get her head out of her own misery and take care of her mom, the way her mom had always taken care of her. “I get it, he needs you, but don’t let him take advantage of you.”

  “He hasn’t even let me into his room, honey.”

  “You wanted to leave…remember? One more week.”

  “He’s going to have that cast for at least three.”

  “Jack’s not poor, Mom. He can hire someone to take care of him.”

  “And how will that work? Walter—”

  “I don’t think Walter gets a vote on the subject anymore.”

  “Everyone is allowed their pride, sweetheart.”

  Lucy put her head down on the counter. Lifted it and thunked it again. “Mom, he’s a drunk. He will always be a drunk. Caring for that man will bleed you dry.”

  “Not if he quits.”

  “And you honestly think that will happen?”

  “I pray for it.”

  Like a true sinner, she wondered what prayer’s success rate was against alcoholism, but she kept her mouth shut. There was no arguing with her mother when she was all hopped up on playing the nursemaid. And Walter was like an amusement park of need.

  “Have you forgotten what he did to us after Dad died?” Lucy hated saying the words, bringing the memory up front like this. It made her stomach hurt. It made her want to do over last night and let Walter sit in pain on the kitchen floor for another couple of hours.

  “I have forgotten nothing.” Sandra’s tone of voice made her seem a foot taller. “But the man has a sprained foot, Lucy. When did you get so hard-hearted?”

  “Me?” Lucy gaped at her mother. “It’s not like I’m saying let’s leave him in the mountains to die. I’m saying you’ve done enough, Mom.”

  “How about this,” Sandra said. “We st
ay until they hire someone Walter can live with to take care of him.”

  “That will be forever.”

  And that suits your purposes just fine, a dark voice said. Three more weeks of not having to face up to the mess you made in Los Angeles. Why are you fighting this?

  Sandra licked her lips. “I’ll…I’ll do what I can to hurry it along.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Walter doesn’t want me here, not really. And when reminded of that, he’ll…” She shrugged. “He’ll agree to have someone else help him.”

  Lucy wasn’t going to ask for more information. She had enough problems of her own without digging into Walter’s issues with Sandra.

  “Okay, three weeks. That’s as long as we’re staying. I swear, Mom, if I have to drag you—”

  Mom lifted a hand, her face unsmiling.

  Right, Lucy thought, Mom didn’t get dragged. She went willingly or not at all.

  “Three weeks should be sufficient,” Sandra said.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” Lucy said. “And then I’ll talk to Mia and Jack about getting a nurse.” She grabbed her bag and headed out into the sunny morning.

  Once in town, she used what money she had left in her wallet to get gas. She was going to have to get a job soon. Or sell the condo, but she needed to talk to Sandra about that, since she helped put down the deposit, and that was a conversation she wasn’t quite ready to have.

  Then she drove by her Civic at the bar just to make sure it was still there. It was. Dusty and red and old. Reese could drop her off here after she returned the car.

  She stared at her car for a while, stalling for time, reluctant to go up to Stone Hollow and pretend like that sad desperate kiss had never happened with Jeremiah. Because that was really the only thing to do.

  Life sure has gotten complicated in the past twenty-four hours. She sped out of town, opening the engine up over the pass in a fond goodbye.

  She could use a car like this to outrun all the problems after her. Hell, a car like this she could sell and solve most of her problems.

  The parking area in front of Jeremiah’s house was empty and she nearly sang a little song of relief. No brooding cowboy problem. Huzzah.