Inheritance of Love

by Linda Ford

  Amy stared open-mouthed and then smiled so wide it must have hurt. In fact, Darcy knew it did because her smile matched Amy's.

  They grinned into each other's eyes for a full, sweet minute then Darcy got to her feet. "I have a present for you." Amy followed Darcy as she padded barefoot into the bedroom and retrieved the parcel she'd brought from the store. "It's a welcome sister present."

  Amy tore the bag open and pulled out the catnip balls and bell toys. "For my cats. Goody. They love toys." She looked uncertain. "I don’t have a welcome present for you."

  "But you do." She was the best present one could ever expect but Darcy knew that wasn't what Amy meant.

  "What?"

  "A big hug and kiss."

  "Aww. That's nothing."

  "It means a lot to me." Darcy sat on the edge of the bed and opened her arms. Amy planted a warm, generous kiss on her cheek and hugged her so tight Darcy almost choked.

  Blake finished the barn chores and headed straight for the house. He'd planned to sit down with Amy last night and tell her about Darcy, but the yearling steers had broken down the fence and got in with the cows and calves. Calves bawled for their mothers. Cows bellowed for their offspring. It was a mess and totally preventable. He'd noticed the loose planks on the fence days ago but kept running out of day before he got to fix it. In the long run it would have saved him time to get to it somehow.

  It had taken him three hot and frustrating hours to fix the fence, then get the steers parted out and back to their own pen.

  Another hour to sort out the calves.

  And then the maternity pen demanded attention.

  By the time he got it all cleaned up and headed for the house, it was long past Amy's bedtime. Aunt Betty had bathed her and put her to bed, had gone to bed herself.

  Aunt Betty, bless her heart, had left food out for him. She wasn't the world's best cook. She favored macaroni cooked to the consistency of glue, colored with processed cheese. Varied it with scramble fried hamburger and canned vegetables. She seldom bothered with the Grade A steaks and roasts in freezer. He kept the fridge stocked with fresh fruit for Amy to snack on. Their diet was adequate despite his craving for a good meat and potatoes meal.

  The cold food she'd left held no appeal. He scraped the leftovers into the garbage and built a thick peanut butter-jelly sandwich. The nutrition-deprived white bread stuck to the roof of his mouth as he chowed down on it. He could vaguely remember thick slices of homemade bread, nutty rich with freshly ground whole-wheat flour. His mother had made the best bread in the world before she got too weak to do anything but care for Amy. He chased the sandwich with a tall glass of milk, rubbed a weary hand over his aching eyes, and thanked God for the temporary reprieve in dealing with the elder Hagen daughter.

  But things were under control this morning...for a few hours, and he hurried to the house to find Amy. He'd tried to decide how to tell her about Darcy. But how did he explain why she'd suddenly shown up? Why she'd never contacted any of them? He didn't want Amy hurt by knowing Darcy hadn't cared enough to look her up. It was due to her own neglect she didn't know about the child. He had no idea how to put a positive spin on it for Amy.

  "Aunt Betty, where's Amy?"

  The woman was mixing up the special diet she prepared for her old, ailing cat. The cat had seen better days and elicited more affection and attention from Aunt Betty than he understood. He was, nevertheless, grateful for the older woman's help. Her idiosyncrasies seemed minor in comparison to what some of the other nannies had inflicted on him. He'd endured everything from hot pursuit to huge long-distance charges on his telephone.

  Aunt Betty paused a moment to answer him. "She was playing next to the house."

  He hadn’t seen her as he passed. "I'll see what she's up to." He went to her room. Amy wasn't among the scattered stuffed animals or on the rumpled bed. He picked her dirty sneakers off the pillow and carried them down to the back entrance. "I'll have another look in the barn."

  He searched the supply room and wandered through the machine shed calling her name. Nothing. She wasn't on the swing set in the back yard. She wasn't under the tree where she often played. He stood in the middle of the yard, rubbing his chin. Where had she disappeared to this time? His gaze shifted to the low house half hidden in the trees not more than five hundred yards away.

  It wouldn't have taken more than a few minutes for her to discover the unfamiliar car parked over there and knowing her curiosity....

  His neck went into full out spasm. What was he thinking not to tell her about Darcy before this? As he jogged toward the house, he uttered a desperate prayer he would get there before Amy made any unpleasant discoveries. Why had Rob brought this on them? What was God thinking to allow it?

  He rounded the corner of the house and headed for the back door. His boots echoed across the wooden deck. He caught a whiff of something that made his taste buds spring to life with a vengeance.

  Then he heard Amy laughing and ground to a halt. Battered by so many losses, Amy never laughed with anyone but him. Not since Rob's death.

  Hot protectiveness scorched up his throat. He would not let his fragile little sister be hurt by this woman.

  Through the screen door he heard Amy's voice. "Do I put them in now?" she asked.

  "Yes. And now you have to stir it." A pause. "Gently."

  Blake smiled. Amy didn't do anything gently.

  He knocked.

  "It's open," Darcy called.

  Blake stepped into the kitchen and stared. The two of them stood before the stove, Amy on a chair as she stirred a pot. Due to the difference in their ages, the sisters looked like mother and daughter. But the similarity between the two was unmistakable. Both wore old jeans, and baggy tee shirts. They smiled at each other with the same pleasure-filled expression. The same wide blue eyes.

  Memories fired across his brain. When his mother was alive, he'd lived with scenes like this—domestic scenes full of food and love and warmth. Mom flipping pancakes. Her pride in her homemade spaghetti sauce. The special smile she reserved for him. He always felt so warm and welcomed in her presence. Would he ever know that homey feeling again? Did Amy remember standing on a stool next to their mother chattering away like a bird?

  An ache as wide as the blue Montana sky swallowed up his insides. The what-ifs? and if-onlys that haunted him late at night when he couldn't sleep rushed forward for attention but only in the depths of the darkness did he admit he longed for a home such as he'd known. A woman who smiled at him and greeted him like her world revolved around him. Instead, he had Aunt Betty and the responsibility of his precious little sister.

  He pushed aside the memories, shoved the pain into hiding. The hole in his life would never be filled. He had Amy to take care of now. There was neither room nor time in his life for more. He wouldn't let anything—anyone—hurt her.

  He focused on Amy. She looked different. It took a moment for him to realize her hair had been brushed back into a ponytail matching Darcy's hairdo.

  The delicious aromas made Blake's stomach growl.

  "Amy," he said. "You shouldn't be here."

  Two pairs of blue eyes looked at him with scorn.

  "Why not?" Amy demanded. Even though Darcy didn’t speak, he read her silent echo of the child's words.

  "Aunt Betty's worried about you."

  "Why?" The child's question was blunt. "I can look after myself."

  Both pairs of eyes turned back toward the bubbling pot from which came aromas of tomato and garlic. The smell was enough to drive a man mad.

  "We're making chicken zinni," Amy said. "Right, Darcy?"

  "That's right." Darcy flicked a glance toward Blake. "There's plenty. You're welcome to stay for lunch." She looked at Amy as she spoke, her gaze filled with such hunger Blake immediately forgot his appetite.

  "Can we, please, Blake? Please." Amy would have bounced off the chair if Darcy hadn't caught her. When the two sisters looked at each other and giggled, Blake's insides fil
led with fire. He didn't want Amy to be hurt.

  "Aunt Betty will expect us. We have to go."

  Amy pushed her bottom lip out so far he could have hung his hat on it. "I don’t like what Aunt Betty cooks." She made a gagging sound.

  Blake's stomach threatened to revolt at the thought of choking down another meal of unappetizing food. But staying here was not an option. "The food is perfectly adequate."

  Darcy lifted Amy down. "You better go home. Thanks for your help."

  Amy hugged Darcy. "I want to stay here."

  Darcy hugged her back and laughed. "You just want to eat my food." But Blake saw the sheen of tears.

  "Run along, pumpkin," he told Amy. "I'll be right there."

  Amy slammed out the door. Blake waited until he heard her footsteps pounding away before he faced Darcy. "She shouldn't have been here."

  Darcy gave him the same defiant stare Amy had. Great. This was going to be fun, dealing with two of them.

  "Why not? She's my sister and I have, need I remind you, joint guardianship of her."

  "I can't imagine what Rob was thinking when he did that."

  "Me either. Unless it was guilt."

  "Guilt for what?"

  "You'd never understand."

  "Listen to me. Amy is going through a difficult time and I don't want anything to make it worse. Besides, she didn't have permission to come here. I've been looking all over for her."

  "So tell her to ask permission before she comes back."

  "You just don't get it do you? I don't want her visiting here."

  Darcy succeeded in looking like he'd slapped her. "No, you don't get it." She jerked her gaze away, turned the burners off and wiped her hands on a towel. "I think we need to talk." Her eyes were as hard as her tone. "Why don't we sit at the table?"

  He hesitated. He didn't want to spend any more time in this house than he had to. It was too full of memories—memories he couldn't afford to think about. He had far too many responsibilities to linger on the past. But she was right. They needed to settle this. The sooner the better. Then she could return to her vacation schedule and he could get on with his work.

  He crossed the floor and parked himself on the chair next to the patio doors.

  "Coffee?" She began to pour a cup.

  "No thanks." He regretted his answer as she poured the coffee down the drain and sat across from him.

  She studied her hands clasped in her lap then slowly brought her gaze upward. Her generous smile caught him off guard. Maybe he misjudged her.

  "You said you would tell Amy about me."

  He shrugged. "Something came up."

  As did her eyebrows at his excuse. "I see. No, actually I don't. However, it doesn't matter. I told her we were sisters."

  He couldn't get rid of the churning, burning bile taste in his stomach. He had prayed for strength to deal with this. He was determined to trust God. But all he had to do was sit across the table from her, look into her determined face and his good resolutions fled like snow in a heat wave.

  "I've left it to you to tell Amy about the guardianship order." She made it sound like she'd done him a favor.

  "I don't intend to tell her." Now when had he decided that? Why did this woman make him put his brain in park and drive with his errant emotions? He gave himself a mental shake. Nothing about this woman could be allowed to distract him from what really mattered—protecting Amy.

  She stared at him. "Why not? Kids deserve the truth."

  "What would be the point? Don't you see how stupid and useless it would be? You're leaving again in—" He glanced at his watch hoping she would get the none-too-subtle hint that he hoped it would be very soon— "How long, did you say?"

  "I didn't."

  "What's to keep you here?" No need to remind her she wasn't interested in visiting when her father was alive. When she might have had a reason.

  "Amy."

  He planted his fists on the table as he leaned toward her. "What are you trying to do? Mess her up? She's had enough to deal with. She doesn't need a sister—" He sneered the word. "—who is here today, gone tomorrow. Just leave her alone." He leaned back. "Leave us all alone."

  She looked hurt and confused. Nice touch, he thought. Try to make me feel sympathetic. But it's not going to work. He relaxed as stubbornness set into her features. This emotion he understood.

  "I want to get to know her better."

  "Don't mess with her. She's just a kid."

  "I'm not going to hurt her if that's what concerns you. I know what it's like to be a kid and be disappointed by adults you care about."

  The skin around his eyes tightened. "You keep suggesting you were a poor, helpless victim of some injustice. Sorry. I don't buy it. And I won't let you blame Rob especially when he's not here to defend himself. You could have visited him anytime you wanted but you didn't. How am I supposed to think you won't treat Amy the same way?" He pushed back from the table and stood over her. "Don't you think it would be best for everyone concerned if you let the lawyer look after arranging the sale of this house and get on with your vacation?"

  She grabbed his wrist before he could escape. "Wait." An electric shock raced up his nerves at her cool touch. "I've decided to stay for a few days so can't we be civil about this?"

  He jerked away. "There is no room in my life for anything but my work and Amy. So if you're going to stay, I suggest you keep out of my way."

  She snorted. "Like that's going to be a problem. But what about Amy?"

  "What about her?"

  "Is she going to be allowed to visit me?"

  He glowered at her, matching her look for look. "Are you the least bit concerned with what's best for her?"

  Again, he caught a fleeting look of pain that made him feel like a heartless bully. Then she lifted her chin, and he wondered if he'd imagined it.

  "Yes, I am. I see a little girl who's hurting from the death of her parents. I think I can help her." She didn't blink under his stare. He felt himself dragged into the significance of what she said. As if she knew how to deal with loss. As if she knew the shape of pain. He stared out the window. If she did, she had no one to blame but herself and he was getting thoroughly sick of her suggesting Rob was to blame. No disrespect to his own father, but Rob had been the best father a man could ask for.

  "Unless you're afraid." Her soft voice rang with challenge.

  "What would I be afraid of?"

  She lifted one shoulder. "Are you sure it's Amy you're trying to protect? Or yourself? Maybe you can't handle the possibility she might find someone besides you to care about."

  Anger stomped through him, indignant and hot. How dare she assign her motivations to him? But he'd let her accusation go unchallenged if it gained him an advantage. And he knew exactly what he hoped to gain by ignoring her words. "I'll let Amy visit on one condition."

  "Name it."

  "When you leave you give up your guardianship."

  She stepped back. "You can't be serious."

  He had her cornered. "Aren't we talking about what's best for Amy?" He kept his voice soft, pressing his advantage. "You live in Seattle. How can you begin to think you could have input into her daily life?"

  She turned her back to him, stirred the savory-smelling concoction. "You're right, of course." Her words were soft. "But I'm afraid I can't agree." She swung around to face him, her expression fierce. "I will not lose my little sister. Not when I've just found her. And I won't let you keep us from enjoying each other."

  He blinked and tried not to admire her guts in challenging him even as anger chewed through his insides at her failure to agree to his very good plan. He closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for patience. Tons of it. Immediately.

  "You have two weeks off?"

  She nodded.

  In two weeks she'd be gone and out of their lives. And if her past were any indication, they'd probably never hear from her again.

  She suddenly grinned. "Do you realize I might be doing you a favor?"r />
  He snorted. "How's that?"

  "She's on spring break, right?" She barely waited for his nod. "Seems she could use a little more supervision." He started to protest even though he knew it was true. He just didn't need an outsider coming in and pointing it out. But she went on steadily, not giving him a chance to pull his thoughts into a coherent argument. "I can help keep her entertained." She shrugged as if to suggest the advantages were obvious. And even though he didn't want to agree, he knew she was right.

  They stared at each other. He wouldn't blink first. Finally, she smiled, a conciliatory gesture. Her eyes turned sunny blue. She was nothing like he'd expected. And it wasn't just her resemblance to Amy. It was the quickening of emotions that danced through her eyes before she could hide it. She seemed almost normally human with regular emotions, which he wouldn't have thought possible twenty-four hours ago. Something inside him yielded. He put it down to God showing him it was okay to give in on this.

  "Two weeks and then you'll be gone." It was more of an order than a question.

  Her smile fled and he instantly regretted his harshness. "I have to return to my job."

  "I'll tell Aunt Betty Amy has permission to come whenever she wants."

  Darcy's eyes brightened. "Thank you."

  He snorted. "You might not be thanking me in a few days after you've had Amy barging in here like a runaway freight train whenever she feels like it."

  Darcy shook her head, smiled widely. "You're wrong. I'll still be thanking you."

  He wondered if her voice trembled just a tiny bit.

  4

  Darcy pressed her arms across her stomach and stared out the window until she could no longer hear Blake's receding footsteps. Only then did she let the intermingling waves of pain, shock, rage and grief wash over her. It was tempting to cry. To scream and rail against her loss.

  She pulled herself together. She'd forgiven the past, her father's abandonment. She'd learned to lean on God as her strength and healer. But right now she couldn't seem to separate her faith from her feelings.

  She hurried to the bedroom, pulled her cell phone from her purse and punched in a familiar number. It rang twice before someone answered.