Inheritance of Love

by Linda Ford

  He didn't even glance back as he climbed into his truck and drove out of the yard.

  Blake drove away from the old house and its memories, his frustration burning like a spray of battery acid. Why had Rob involved his older daughter? Now he was stuck with a woman who would march into his life—and Amy's—then leave. If her past were any indication, the visit would never be repeated. In the meantime, he had to pretend to be nice. And everything in him rebelled at the idea.

  He remembered the passage they'd been studying and discussing at Bible study. Something to the effect of forgive those who have sinned against you. He couldn't remember the exact wording because at the time he didn't see how it applied to him. He didn't hold grudges. Didn't need to forgive anyone.

  He gripped the steering wheel, arms and shoulders tight with frustration. And wasn't that just the point? Darcy hadn't hurt him—she'd hurt Rob. And now he carried a grudge on behalf of his stepfather. For years after Rob moved to the ranch, there was no contact between Darcy and Rob. Blake wondered about it occasionally but they were all busy and content. Except for the picture on the bookshelf, Rob seemed to have erased his previous life from his thoughts. Blake accepted the situation with a certain amount of gratitude. Perhaps a little self-righteous pride that Rob seemed to prefer his present circumstances over anything from the past.

  And then suddenly, out of the blue, Darcy sent Rob an invitation to her high-school graduation. His mom included. Rob had been cautiously happy about it. Mom kept saying it was the beginning of reconciliation. Rob could face his past and deal with it instead of ignoring it. Rob always answered by kissing Blake's mom and saying he preferred to enjoy what he'd found here.

  Blake pressed his lips together and let the pain pass.

  But the visit never happened. Mom ended up in the hospital. Her unexpected pregnancy with Amy revealed her weak heart. She tried to persuade Rob to go alone assuring him she'd be well taken care of in the hospital. But Rob refused to leave her side. He called to explain but Darcy never gave him a chance. She said she never wanted to hear from Rob again. Rob shrugged and said perhaps it was best to leave things as they were.

  Blake couldn't agree more. His jaw clenched. He had to prevent Amy going through the same disappointment Rob had with Darcy. He pulled up to the barn and hoisted the bag of cat food to his shoulder. The supply room door swung open, Amy riding it, her toes jammed against the board on the bottom.

  "Did you get the food?" she called.

  He studied this little sister who meant the world to him. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt. Cat hair clung to her ragged jeans. He guessed she'd been out here playing with her pets since he left. He tried not to see the likeness between the sisters. "Cat food and a present from your boyfriend."

  She gave him a disdainful look, her lips pursed like a big kiss. "I don't have a boyfriend."

  "Then I guess you don't want this sucker Joe sent you?" He held up the red candy.

  "Oh, Joe. He's not a boyfriend. He's old. Maybe as old as you." She reached for the sucker, yanked the paper off and popped the candy into her mouth.

  "Joe said to say hi." Blake shook his head and pretended to be puzzled. "He seems to think a lot of you. Sure you won't break his heart by saying he's not your boyfriend?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe when I'm older."

  He chuckled as he passed her and set the cat food in the corner.

  She dropped off the door and followed him. "Whatcha going to do now?"

  "I've got some cows and calves to look after."

  "Can I come?"

  "Not this time, pumpkin." One of the cows was unpredictable. No place for a little girl.

  "Aw." The kid could pack a whole world of emotion into that little sound. "I got nothing to do."

  "Why don't you go up to the house and out together one of your jigsaw puzzle?"

  Amy drooped her shoulders and tipped her head in a way that would win her an Oscar if she were playing a kid in one of London's eighteenth century orphanages. "Already did my puzzles today."

  "Then play with your stuffed animals."

  She sighed long and loud. "Don't want to."

  "It's almost supper time. Maybe you should go clean up."

  She ignored his suggestion.

  "Come on, get on my back and I'll give you a ride to the house." He had to change his boots before he headed into the corrals.

  She climbed the fence and jumped on his back. He trotted to the house, bouncing her until she giggled. "I'm gonna wet my pants."

  He ground to a halt. "Not on my back." But when he tried to shake her off, she clung like a stubborn cowboy set on winning the day's purse at a rodeo.

  He leaned over his knees pretending to be exhausted. "Okay, you win but don't you dare wet on me."

  She giggled. A sound that made him grin. He felt like a superhero to be the one who made her forget to be sad for a minute. They'd both lost so much yet they could still enjoy each other.

  He continued his journey toward the house, his steps slow and measured. Where was Darcy when Amy had been born? Where was she when Amy and Blake's mother died and Rob was too grief stricken to deal with Amy? It had fallen on Blake to deal with Amy. And where was Darcy when Rob got sick and Blake became more and more responsible for Amy?

  Why had Rob involved Darcy in Amy's care? He had trusted Rob since before the man married Blake's mom. Yet he had to wonder at this decision.

  At the house, he dropped Amy to the ground and shooed her upstairs to change her clothes. "Wouldn't hurt you to have a bath either."

  Amy shrugged. Blake promised himself to supervise bath time tonight—one of the things he enjoyed doing for his little sister.

  He changed his boots and headed out to tackle his work. He sighed wearily and rubbed at his neck. No way he'd finish up everything today, which meant that much more to do tomorrow. He was beginning to think he'd never catch up. And now one more thing to deal with. Darcy Hagen and her joint guardianship of Amy.

  He'd keep her from seeing Amy if he thought he could but all he could realistically hope to do was delay it as long as possible. Maybe Darcy would get tired of hanging around and take herself off on her planned vacation.

  Except she'd made it plain that wasn't going to happen and if she were anywhere near as stubborn as Amy...

  Well, he knew she wouldn't leave until she got what she wanted. About all he could do was try to protect Amy from being hurt because it seemed Darcy didn't get it—that Amy had been through more than her share of loss in her six years. She didn't need a sister who blew into her life and out again.

  He suddenly remembered his mother. After his father died, Blake had struggled with anger and resentment. Looking back, he understood there was a lot of fear as to how they would cope. Even then, at twelve, he saw his mother's pain. But she remained serene and confident explaining they had a choice—wallow in their sorrow and fret about the what-ifs— or trust God. She quoted a passage in Isaiah so often the words were blazed in his memory. But now, this is what the Lord says—he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God. The Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

  He didn't know if Darcy was a river threatening to drown him or a fire waiting to burn him, but who and what she was didn't change God's care and protection. He would follow his mother's advice and choose to trust God in this.

  Which meant he had to prepare Amy to meet her sister.

  3

  Darcy scrubbed the floor vehemently—a wonderful catharsis for her anger and frustration. She'd waited hours last night for Blake to bring Amy over. She'd practically glued herself to the doorframe, looking toward the two-story house across the yard. A nice comfortable distance for country neighbors she guessed. Close enough to be able to see a person wal
king around outside, yet far enough you couldn't see in the windows.

  She'd memorized her view of the house. White siding, green shingles, three sets of windows facing her on the upstairs. Downstairs, four big windows on one side of the wide front doors and three smaller ones on the other side. She guessed most of the traffic went in and out the back of the house, toward the barns and fences. And where she couldn't see.

  She'd stared at the house for hours, waiting for Blake to appear with a girl at his side. She tried to picture the girl. Would she come up to Blake's shoulder or was she still knee high?

  But Blake failed to show. Finally, as darkness closed in around her, she gave up, changed into an old, familiar pair of jeans and turned her energies toward scrubbing the house until it squeaked a protest. She worked late into the night and again this morning, all the time fuming.

  Blake might have bought himself a few more hours but that was all. Only concern for her little sister kept her from marching up to the other house and demanding entrance. In all fairness, someone should prepare Amy. But if Blake didn't, Darcy would. She just had to figure out the best way.

  She prayed for wisdom as she scoured the dirt off every shelf, cleaned every cupboard and polished the windowpanes.

  She finished washing the floor, sat back on her heels to admire her job and grimaced at her red, wrinkled hands. She'd have to slather on lotion and give herself a manicure tonight but it was worth it to see her house cleaned. Despite her anger and frustration over Blake not doing what she expected, as she scrubbed she experienced the foreign emotion of belonging. For every speck of dust she captured, every smudge she removed, every retreating bit of dirt she swept up, her joy grew. She owned this house, unlike every other landlord-owned, temporary home she'd known. She never knew having her name on a title made such a difference. She snorted, mocking her fanciful thoughts. Of course, she'd sell it and return to Seattle. But it was hers. Hers to keep or sell.

  "What're you doing in Blake's house?"

  The clear sound of a child's voice jerked Darcy's attention to the door where a small face pressed against the screen, lips bubbled into graph-paper squares.

  Darcy's heart knocked at her chest as wave after wave of emotion swept through her. Surprise. Regret. Disbelief. And a hundred things she couldn't identify. She couldn’t breathe. It was like the air had been vacuumed from the room. She couldn't move. She couldn't hear or smell or think. An intense feeling of loss crashed over her. Tears stung her eyes.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the child. Blond hair tangled around her head like a bad case of bed head. Blue eyes wide, she regarded Darcy with a familiar expression.

  Darcy blinked. She might have been looking at a picture of herself as a child. Except this girl had blonde hair.

  Slowly, she rose, setting the pail of dirty water on the counter.

  "This is Blake's house," the child said, her tone challenging.

  "Didn't Blake tell you about me?"

  The child shook her head.

  Humph. How like a man to promise to do something and then not do it. "Do you want to come in?"

  The child hesitated then jerked the door open and slipped in. She stood just inside the room, her expression cautious.

  Darcy took a step closer but as the child's shoulders tensed, she stopped and studied the tiny girl in front of her. She wore dirty jeans, torn at the knees and frayed at the bottom, and a tee shirt too wide at the bottom and sagging at the neck.

  "You're Amy, aren't you?" Her words caught on her tight throat.

  Amy nodded. "Who are you?"

  Darcy smiled at the way the child hid her fear behind a demanding tone. "I'm Darcy. How old are you?"

  "Six. Whatcha doing in Blake's house?"

  "I'm cleaning it." And scrambling mentally to figure out what to tell this child. Should she confess she was an older sister? And then how to explain why Amy had never seen her before? Or even heard of her. And what did she say about the guardianship issue? Would you tell a child this small such things? She didn't have a clue. About all she could remember about being that size was her disappointment when her daddy left. If only he had explained it to her, made sure she didn't blame herself. Ah. So she'd answered her own questions. Even a tiny child deserved honesty.

  "How come? Is Blake going to live here now?" Darcy heard the tremor of fear in Amy's voice that even her belligerence didn't disguise.

  "No. I am."

  "You can't. It's Blake's. You can't change things."

  "Doesn't Blake live with you?"

  Amy nodded.

  "You wouldn't want to change that would you?"

  "No." Amy crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin as if daring anyone to try.

  "Then he doesn't need this house anymore."

  "Didcha' buy it?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Then you can't have it."

  Darcy laughed. She loved the stubborn streak she glimpsed in her little sister. One thing she admired was someone who stuck to her beliefs. "Someone gave it to me."

  "Who? Blake?"

  "No. Your father."

  For just a moment, Amy's expression crumpled then she widened her eyes. "My daddy's gone to heaven."

  Darcy squatted to eye level and touched Amy's shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry. You must miss him a lot."

  Tears washed Amy's eyes as she nodded. "My mommy and daddy both went to heaven so they could be together."

  "Ah, sweetie. I'm so sorry." She opened her arms. Amy hesitated a moment then threw herself against Darcy. Darcy staggered back under her assault and landed on her seat. She sat on the floor holding the crying child.

  After a minute the tears stopped but Amy remained with her face cradled against Darcy's neck. .

  "How come he gave you the house?" The child's breath was warm.

  Darcy held back her anger at Blake for putting her in this position and tried to think how and what she should tell Amy. About all she could do was answer the child's questions as honestly as possible. If Blake didn't approve he should have taken care of it himself. But she didn't know this child and didn't know how she'd react. She silently prayed for wisdom. She inhaled slowly then spoke softly. "Because he was my daddy too."

  Amy leaned back and stared into Darcy's face, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "He wasn't Blake's daddy."

  "I know."

  "Then how come he's your daddy?"

  "He was my daddy before he married your mommy."

  "Is Blake your brother?"

  "No." She explained as simply as possible how she could be Amy's sister, yet not be Blake's sister.

  Amy settled back on her heels and looked Darcy up and down. Twice. She squinted into Darcy's eyes.

  Darcy hardly dared breathe as she let the child study her. She knew from the look of concentration that Amy was assessing the information she'd just received. Darcy wondered what her reaction would be.

  "Were you his little girl?" Amy asked.

  The words clawed at Darcy. She pressed her hand to her chest to ease the pain. "Once upon a time I was."

  "You look like the little girl in the picture."

  "What picture is that?"

  Amy shrugged. "Just a little girl in a picture." Her eyes misted with sadness. "My daddy's gone forever."

  Darcy pulled the child toward her. "I know how much you miss him." She remembered the feeling well. Waiting day after day, hopelessly hoping. Endlessly wanting. Until she'd made the decision to stop torturing herself. At least Amy would be spared the uncertainty and continual disappointment. Her parting was complete and explainable.

  "But you know he's in heaven now." Darcy couldn't go on. Had her father become a Christian? He wasn't when she knew him. Her mother had only become one a few years ago.

  Amy nodded. "He's with my mommy. He promised me I would see him when I go to heaven."

  "That's good then, isn't it?

  "I miss my daddy so much." Amy started to cry. "But I don't want to die."

  "Oh,
honey." She hugged Amy fiercely, her heart bleeding at the child's pain. "I'm certain your daddy doesn't mind waiting. He knows you have so many things to discover yet and so much stuff to do. The world is just waiting for Amy Hagen to do the things only Amy can do."

  Amy leaned back. "Really?"

  "Of course. That's why God made you. So you could do the Amy things in the world."

  "Like what?"

  Please, God. Give me the right words for this child. She thought of when she'd started going to church. "I remember when my Mom and I moved to a new house. I was about thirteen. There was a nice lady living next door, Mrs. Roland, and she invited me to go to church with her. She taught a class of girls my age and encouraged us to learn Bible verses we could use as guidelines for life. She gave us really neat rewards if we learned all the ones she chose." Even though Amy listened closely, Darcy was sure she didn't want to hear about the sleepovers and camping trips Mrs. R took them on. Nor that it was through Mrs. R's love and gentleness that Darcy found her way to God. "I think some of those verses might help you see what I mean. 'Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might. Rejoice before the Lord your God in everything you put your hand to.'"

  She smiled into the eyes that were so much like the ones she saw in the mirror every day. "That means whatever is in front of you to do, that's your job. You should do it well and be happy."

  "Like feeding my cats?"

  Darcy nodded.

  "I like feeding my cats."

  "There are Amy jobs everywhere. Going to school, being kind to your friends, giving out free smiles."

  Amy giggled then sobered so suddenly, Darcy knew she'd been surprised by a thought. "How come I never heard of you?"

  Darcy's throat tightened and she rocked her head back and forth and breathed slowly before she could speak. "I don't know."

  Amy jerked to her feet. "You're my big sister."

  Darcy nodded.