An Accidental Family

by Loree Lough

  He’d done what he could to make the place as comfortable as possible, though he refused to run electricity or water to it. Not because of the cost in dollars and energy, but because he liked having a place to go where he could get a sense for what life had been like for his father and grandfather, making it on their own in the middle of nowhere. If he hadn’t had the girls to take care of, he probably would have moved out there after Rose’s death…and stayed.

  He hiked to the equipment shed that housed tractors and old pickups used for moving hay or hauling trash to the road, and saw that his old red truck wasn’t in its usual place. He figured the ranch hands he’d sent to town for rope and saddle wax had taken it. Odd, considering they could have chosen newer, easier-riding vehicles.

  Checking the row of hooks on the wall, he chose the keys to his favorite truck. The motor turned over on the very first crank. Maybe he’d bring Frank out here, let him see how this ’65 Chevy purred, Lamont thought, grinning.

  In no time, the bed creaked under the weight of dry and canned goods. If the Canadian River was running, a stranded cowboy—or London daughter—could dip water from its banks and, with a fire in the belly of the woodstove, rustle up a rib-stickin’ meal. But since the construction of several dams upriver, it was more likely that the dry Texas winds had lapped every drop from her banks. Much as Lamont detested the tasteless stuff, he added bottled water to the truck.

  He tossed in a metal canister of kitchen matches to light the oil lanterns when night fell. Clean sheets and blankets, secured in plastic bins, would offer comfort to the dog-tired few who find themselves in a position of having to spend a night or two on one of the crude wooden cots. A new first aid kit rounded out his list and, after parking the loaded truck near the back door, he headed for bed.

  Lamont tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He didn’t know which to blame—the fact that Nadine had not agreed to become his wife, or anticipation about visiting the bunkhouse after so many months. Before the sun peeked over the horizon, he found himself heading north, alternately sipping hot black coffee from a Thermos and munching on a cold toaster tart.

  He caught himself smiling when the building finally came into view. Silhouetted against the red-streaked morning sky, it sat squat and wide, with nothing but a dozen scraggly salt cedar trees and scrubby shrubs serving as a backdrop. As he got closer, Lamont noticed that the wild grasses had been flattened into two distinct tracks. Tires had caused the paths, and recently, too.

  Didn’t seem likely that a drifter had bedded down in the cabin, because the place sat back too far to be seen from the road. Odder still, the door stood slightly ajar. No Texan in his right mind would have done that, for it was a sure way to invite diamondbacks, scorpions and pine caterpillars in out of the sun. Scowling, he made a mental note find out which of the knuckleheads on his payroll had been so careless, and went inside to inspect the usual nooks and crannies. Though the place was critter-free, something seemed off. For starters, it was way too early in the day to be this hot in the bunkhouse.

  Just as he’d suspected, Lamont found glowing coals in the belly of the woodstove. The scent of boiled coffee clung to the dry, dusty air, and a soiled crockery bowl sat beside a still-warm pot of stew. An indentation in a bed pillow caught his eye, reminding Lamont that he’d read The Three Bears to Amy last evening. Suddenly, he empathized with Papa Bear. Somebody had been sleeping in his bed.

  Julie came instantly to mind. What if she’d decided that all she and her young, angry husband needed was some time apart? That’s what had brought Lamont here, after all. And he’d given her free rein of the place. What would have stopped her from borrowing his red truck?

  But if she had, where was it?

  Peering out each window, Lamont scanned the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of it. Plenty of ways to hide a vehicle out here, if a body had a mind to.

  As he off-loaded the supplies, Lamont wondered how she’d survived the days, all by herself, with no money, no running water, no plumbing and no electricity? And if a seasoned cowboy like himself sometimes found nights on the prairie cold and daunting, how had a city girl held out this long? “That’ll teach you not to judge a book by its cover,” he muttered, sliding behind the steering wheel.

  Suddenly, Lamont’s neck hairs bristled, exactly as they had on a similar morning, years earlier, when he’d ridden out to the north pasture to check on a wintering herd. He looked up just in time to spot a mountain lion, perched on the rocky outcropping above him, ready to spring. To this day, he didn’t know which saved his hide, the single shot fired into the air to spook the cat, or that eerie “Somebody’s watching” sensation.

  He steered the truck over the rocky, rutted road. With every glance in the rearview mirror, Lamont hoped for a glimpse of Julie, or whoever had camped out in the bunkhouse. If he saw her, he’d make sure she understood how worried and distraught they’d all been since finding her note. Maybe, knowing how much she was loved and missed, the girl would swallow her pride and let him take her home without making a fuss.

  Not likely, given her medical history, but that didn’t stop him from praying for it, anyway.

  He hesitated before turning onto the highway, took one last, long look behind him. But Lamont saw nothing but scrubby pines and knee-high weeds, and prayed the good Lord would look out for the confused young woman who hid among them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He found the private detective sitting at his piled-high desk, tapping an eraserless pencil on his forehead. Without looking up from the folder on his blotter, he drawled, “Been expecting you, London.”

  “Why, ’cause I called and said I was coming?” Grinning, Lamont helped Winston find a new napping place. And as the tabby curled up on the makeshift credenza, he added, “New case?”

  “Nope, yours.” Leaning back, Frank clasped both hands behind his head. “Still.”

  Chuckling, Lamont sat in the cat-warmed chair. “Good gravy. I’ll have to sell a hundred acres to pay your bill.” He nodded at the file. “So what’s new?”

  “If the fire marshal doesn’t charge your girlfriend’s daughter-in-law with that fire, I’ll eat my hat.” He held up a hand to silence Lamont’s retort. “I know, I know. I’ve said that before. But I’m 100 percent sure about this. So sure that if I’m wrong, I won’t just eat my hat, I’ll eat yours, too.”

  It had been painful, admitting to himself that Nadine wanted nothing more than friendship from him. How much more would it hurt, he wondered, saying it out loud?

  Instead, Lamont launched into the story of how, after his trip to the bunkhouse, he and Adam and half a dozen ranch hands fanned out on horseback, searching every acre for miles for a sign of the girl. After three days without so much as a bootprint, they concluded it had been a vagrant, and not Julie, who’d holed up in the cabin.

  After popping a chocolate kiss into his mouth, Frank rolled the foil into a tiny silver ball and tossed it from palm to palm. “If I’d burnt down my mother-in-law’s house, guess I’d run off, too. Can’t say I blame the li’l fruitcake.”

  Lamont winced. “Isn’t Julie’s fault that she’s—”

  “A bubble off plumb? Off her nut? Crazy as a loon? Wacky as a—”

  “Enough. Adam wants to meet you,” he said, changing the subject, “the sooner the better.”

  Frank faced his computer monitor, and a flurry of keystrokes brought his calendar to the screen. “How’s three o’clock?”

  “Sounds good, but let me check, just to be sure.” Sliding his cell phone from his pocket, Lamont dialed home. When Nadine picked up, his heart skipped a beat. And ached. A strange and foolish and stupid reaction, because she’d been lady of the house for months now. Who else would answer his phone?

  “He’s in the barn,” she said when he asked for her son. “Want me to get him?”

  “Nah. Don’t waste time, running back and forth. Just grab a pencil…” He rattled off Frank’s phone number and directions to his office. “Tell Adam I’ll mee
t him here.”

  “Has Frank learned anything more about Julie?”

  He heard the tentative note in her voice, but no way he intended to shoulder the burden of guilt over it. She’d made the decision to reject him, not the other way around. “Not really.”

  He listened to her impatient sigh, and though he tried to fight it, it cut him to the quick.

  “Will you be home for supper?”

  It was the sort of question a wife might ask a husband who called home from work during a routine coffee break. Maybe she could pretend things were fine between them, but he sure didn’t know how to. “Dunno,” he grumbled. “Depends on traffic, I guess.”

  “Oh. Right. I’d almost forgotten how awful rush hour can be.”

  Okay, now she sounded out-and-out hurt, and yes, he felt like a lout, knowing his gruff manner had caused it. But for the love of God, what did she expect? She’d built a thick, high wall between them. Did she expect him to stay on his own side of it, and enjoy being there, too?

  “Drive safely, okay?”

  “Will do,” he said, and snapped the phone shut.

  As he dropped it into his shirt pocket, Frank chuckled. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Lamont only stared, inspiring a nonchalant shrug from Frank. “To be fair, I only heard half of that conversation—though it’s a stretch to call it a ‘conversation’—but things sounded pretty tense to me.”

  Leaning forward, he spoke slowly, quietly. “Frank, you ’n’ me—we go way back. I like you. Always have. Respect the work you do, too. If you ever need a hand, you know I’m your man.” He narrowed his eyes. “But what goes on under my roof is none of your business. Got it?”

  “Has this mess you got yourself into really turned you so old and crotchety that you can’t take a joke any more?”

  “Say something funny,” Lamont said, “and I’ll laugh with the best of ’em.”

  Frank considered that for a moment. “Fair enough.”

  “Do me a favor and keep your references to nutjobs and loony tunes to yourself when Adam gets here. The kid’s already been through the wringer.”

  “Fair enough,” Frank repeated. And glancing at his watch, closed Lamont’s file. “How ’bout I buy you lunch, bring you up to speed on the latest Julie findings.”

  “Is your calendar still open on that gizmo of yours?”

  Both brows drew together in the center of Frank’s forehead. “Sorry, pal, I’m not following.”

  “Just thought it’d be a good idea to make an official record of it.” One forefinger scribbled in the air, “Frank Duvall Opens Wallet.”

  Grabbing a Rangers baseball cap from the inside doorknob, Frank chuckled. “Let’s hope River Valley never goes belly-up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll never make a living as a stand-up comic.”

  Sometimes, Nadine thought, lying awake for the umpteenth night in a row, having a conscience wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If not for her acute sense of right and wrong, she might have been able to pretend she hadn’t hurt Lamont.

  In the years since Ernest’s death, Nadine worked hard to shed the “damsel in distress” cloak that made her susceptible to his empty promises. As she grew more independent, self-sufficiency allowed her to see herself as a clear-thinking, feet-on-the-ground sort of woman.

  Cold reality squeezed around her heart as she admitted that she’d been lying to herself.

  Just as Ernest had vowed to take her away from her abusive, alcoholic father, Lamont had come to her rescue, saving her and the kids from bankruptcy and homelessness. Would he subject her to physical and emotional abuse, as her husband had? Not likely, but since no one could offer a guarantee, Nadine couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it.

  She’d carry the guilt of having accepted his generosity and kindness, of leading him to believe in their love—if that’s what this was—until her dying breath. It was her fault, and hers alone, that they’d both suffer the heartache and humiliation of a separation when she got out on her own again, because, just as with Ernest, she’d leaped into the arms of the first hero to come along…without praying for the Lord’s guidance. Physical scars were the here-and-now evidence of her lack of common sense back then. And this time, her heart and soul—and Lamont’s—would bear the wounds of her foolishness.

  Nadine had kept herself deliberately busy and, thankfully, so had Lamont, because how could she look him in the eye after taking so much from him and giving him nothing but grief and pain in return? He’d done more—so much more—than open his house to her and the kids. And how had she repaid him? By making him feel like a stranger in his own home. If a more vile and contemptible woman existed, she certainly didn’t want to meet her.

  She had to concentrate on the fact that he was strong of character. It would sting for a while but, in time, his wounded ego and hurt feelings would heal. No way that could happen if she let him put that ring on her finger. “You’re doing this for his own good” had become her mantra, and if it took a hundred years to believe it in her heart, she’d keep right on telling herself that.

  Now, as thunder shook the house and lightning flashed outside the windows, she bit back tears. How unjust it seemed that, despite what he no doubt saw as a heartless, careless rebuff, she still had a safe place to call home, while Julie—whose offenses had been unintentional—was out there somewhere, cold and alone and afraid. If she could trade places with the girl, she’d do it in the blink of an eye. Maybe that would put the scales of justice into better balance.

  “What’s up?”

  Thankfully, she was facing the sink when Adam entered the kitchen. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him, too, by letting him witness her teary, self-centered weakness. “Just fixing a light supper, that’s all.”

  He distributed the plates and utensils she’d set out earlier. “All right, out with it.”

  “Out with what?” she asked, putting the soup pot onto a trivet.

  “You were chompin’ at the bit before to put in your two cents when Lamont and I told you what Frank said.”

  He was referring to what the salesman had told the reporter. “I’m worried about how she’ll feel about all of us, after she comes home, I mean. I didn’t exactly do a good job of bolstering her ego when I found out about the missing money.”

  “None of this is your fault, Mom,” he said, gripping the back of the nearest chair. “I know I didn’t confide much in you after Julie and I were married, but…” He paused, hung his head, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re not easy act to follow, you know, with your ‘can-do’ attitude. I was stupid—and mean—comparing her to you. If I hadn’t wasted so much time pretending things were fine, maybe I’d have taken her to get some help. Because there were signs. Lots of them.”

  “What kind of signs?”

  He shrugged. “She thought everybody was out to get her all the time. You should’ve heard some of the stuff she’d say about those gals she worked with.”

  “But honey, she’s young. And inexperienced. We all have to live a little before we can tell the difference between a friend and a—”

  “No, this was different, as if she actually believed people were out to destroy her. Or worse. There were times when she literally pulled her hair out, worrying about it.”

  Nadine tried to imagine what that must have been like for Julie. Marriage to Ernest hadn’t been easy, but even at its worst, it hadn’t made her question her sanity.

  “She even thought maybe you wanted to get rid of her.”

  A hand over her heart, Nadine gasped. “What! But I couldn’t have loved her more if she’d been my very own.”

  “I know that. And I tried to convince her of that.” Again, he shook his head. “When all that money went missing, she convinced herself that you didn’t trust her—or even like her any more.”

  “How could I have been so blind! If only I’d spent more time with her, shown her more affection, instead of being all wrapped up in my own petty pr
ob—”

  “I’ve been reading up on her condition, and even when schizophrenics are off their drugs, they can sometimes see the real world for what it is. She made some stupid decisions, and we might never know why—or understand them—but they were her choices, and I think somewhere in that fuzzy world where she lives, she knew that. I think that’s what made her run away.”

  Her heart ached for Adam. If only she had it within her power to ease his suffering, to erase his guilt. Nadine was proud, too, of the strong, loving young man he’d become. She hugged him, then ruffled his hair, the way she had when he was a boy. “God will help us,” was all she could think to say. “When Julie comes home, He’ll show us what she needs and make sure we have the strength to give it to her.”

  “I want to believe that, Mom. More than anything.”

  After breakfast the following morning, Nadine made a beeline for the toolshed. If she waited just one more day to clean up after Obnoxious, the yard would never recover.

  “Now where do you suppose Julie put that shovel?” she wondered aloud.

  And then she saw that it had slipped from its hook, its handle keeping the low, swing-away window from closing all the way. The dirt floor was covered with tracks and droppings, and she pitied the poor jackrabbit that had hopped inside and gobbled its fill of rat poison. Now she understood how Obnoxious had come by his bloodied muzzle the day before his near-death experience. Tonight, they’d give thanks for his complete recovery with a pot roast and all the trimmings, and the big goofy hound would get his share, too.

  But with no word about Julie’s whereabouts, no one felt much like celebrating. Nadine was dishing up wedges of home-baked chocolate cake when the phone rang.