Darrel did not worry him so much. Darrel was a smart child, and he would take this in stride. If it came to a court battle, he would never choose to leave his mother and the farm to live with Brandon, just as Mercedes wouldn’t force him to stay when it was time for him to leave for college. However, it did wound Wayne to the heart that the boy would finally know he wasn’t his birth father. Would their relationship change? There was really no way to predict that, though he’d done his best to teach Darrel well. Sometimes he found himself spending more time with Darrel than with the other two, as though to prove to the world—and himself?—that he loved him every bit as much.
Whatever the cause, he loved Darrel with his entire heart, just as if the boy had been his own son. He’d been there for his birth, his first fever, his first steps. He’d given him his first and only spanking and had lain beside him at night studying the stars. They’d read hundreds of books together, first because Wayne had felt intellectually inferior to Mercedes and wanted to please her and then because he and the boys had simply loved to learn.
Opening the cab and jumping down from the tractor, Wayne knelt in the freshly turned soil, picking it up in his hands to examine the texture and content. The lovely, rich smell brought memories rushing back.
“You watch after my girl,” Lucinda Walker had said to him at the kitchen table while her husband, Jed, was out in the barn checking up on Austin. He could never seem to trust the boy, though at sixteen he did the work of a man and had for years.
“I do, Mrs. Walker,” he said, as he always did when she brought it up.
“It’s more important now since she’s grown. I don’t want her being her daddy’s slave.” Like herself was what she meant. “She deserves a man who loves her. A man like you.”
A flush crawled over Wayne’s face. Had he been so transparent? Since Mercedes had started studying at the local college, his feelings about her had begun changing. He felt tongue-tied, and the familiar ease between them had vanished. She was no longer the little girl who’d built maze houses in the alfalfa fields. He made it a point not to be around when she came home. Unless he knew Jed was drunk. Then he would make sure to be there to run interference.
“I’m sure she’ll find someone,” he told Lucinda. “And so will I. That reminds me. I won’t be here Friday night. I’m going on a date.”
Lucinda studied him. “You got it bad, don’t you? Hang on there, Wayne. Mercedes still might wake up before it’s too late. She belongs here, not out there. Not like Austin.” She looked down at the linoleum floor. “Not like me.”
They both jerked as Jed stomped into the kitchen, railing on Austin as they came in together. “You ain’t never gonna to amount to nothin’ if you don’t listen to me,” he bawled. “You gotta stop being so blasted stupid!”
Austin’s eyes went to his mother’s, pleading for assistance, but she looked away. Wayne took a breath. “I got to get something in town. If you’re ready, Austin, I’ll drop you off at school so you don’t have to take the bus.”
“Thanks! I just need my books.” Austin paid no attention to the breakfast on the table, only too glad to accept the escape offered him.
Jed gave Wayne an icy glare. “Thought you fixed the steering yesterday.”
Wayne ignored his tone. He was bigger than Jed, and besides, Jed needed him. No other man knew as much about this farm as he did or would work for such an irritating man. “The part they gave me don’t fit.” Don’t fit. That was how he talked, though Mercedes and Austin teased him about it. Doesn’t fit, he corrected himself mentally.
“Those people are idiots!” fumed Jed.
“No, just young. They don’t pay ’em much.” Wayne left Lucinda cowering beside Jed in the kitchen like a frightened hen. He didn’t know why she stayed. The only reason he did was because of Austin and Mercedes and even Lucinda. And because he loved the land. But no one could deny that things were quickly falling apart for this family. The minute Austin turned eighteen, he’d get his scholarships and be gone. Mercedes was already talking about sharing an apartment in town with friends. With no love lost between Jed and the children, they wouldn’t be back, and Lucinda was dying little by little under her husband’s neglect and abuse.
Shaking aside the memories, Wayne let the dirt slide between his fingers. He stared up at the sky, not caring that his hat fell from his head. I don’t know that I have strength for this. I love her so much.
How long he had knelt, Wayne didn’t know, but a touch on his shoulder brought him back to himself. “Dad?”
“Darrel!” Climbing to his feet, he briefly hugged the boy. “Glad you’re here, son. I hope you don’t have much homework because I really need the help.”
“I had math, but I did it on the bus. It’s too easy.”
“Well, we’ll have to look into that, won’t we?” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had him moved to a different class or supplemented at home.
“Is everything okay?” Darrel asked. “Mom looked like she’d been crying.”
How much to tell him? Wayne felt at a loss. This wasn’t like book learning where he could give Darrel as much as he could absorb. “She’s all right. Just a little sad. She saw an old friend today, and it brought some sad memories of the old days. Hey, that reminds me, this fellow’s coming to dinner tonight. He’s a doctor. You might think of some questions to ask him.”
“If he makes Mom sad, why’s he coming to dinner?”
“It’s not him so much. Just that time in her life. She was actually good friends with this guy. But you know your momma had a difficult upbringing.”
Darrel nodded. “Sometimes it seems hard to imagine Grandpa being so mean.”
“Well, he’s changed some.” Wayne was glad to say it, though the change wasn’t near enough and had come far too late in life to help Jed’s children. Mercedes had forgiven him when he’d asked nearly five years ago, but her brother had gone seventeen years without seeing his father. Last year he’d finally visited Jed at the assisted-living facility in Rock Springs where he’d been for more than twelve years. Things weren’t perfect, though they were all at least on speaking terms. But Wayne noticed Mercedes didn’t offer to have Jed move back in, nor would Wayne have permitted it. Jed was trying, but he was still a grouchy old man with a tendency to abuse others, especially those who loved him.
“Should I drive the tractor?” Darrel asked.
“If you want. We’ll need to fill the drill with more seed.” He pointed down the road where he’d left the seed truck.
“Oh, yeah, I just remembered. My teacher gave me an article on nanotechnology.” Darrel stopped halfway up the side of the tractor and looked back at Wayne, his face alive with eagerness.
“Good. We’ll read it later tonight. I hope we don’t have to look up so many words in the dictionary like last time.”
Darrel laughed. “I read a little bit. I think we will.”
Wayne gave an exaggerated sigh. “Good thing your momma insisted on getting the Internet. I bet half the words aren’t even in our dictionary.”
Darrel laughed again as he settled into the seat. He was a small, thin kid, who hadn’t yet come into his height or bulk. Given Brandon’s build, he’d likely never be as muscular as his younger brothers, but he should at least get the height and the looks. Both Brandon and Mercedes were beautiful people, and their genes ran clearly through Darrel’s body. Yet his thirst for knowledge was also shared by Wayne, though he was content to do it from an armchair, for the most part. Darrel would need to seek it out and touch it. Experience it. That was who he was.
I love you, son, Wayne thought, and no matter what genetics say, you are my boy.
Chapter 5
Diary of Mercedes Walker
June 21, 1994
Daddy came back from Texas as poor as ever after more than two years away. His dreams of making it rich on a Texas ranch were as elusive as the love Austin and I craved from him as a father. As I suspected, he didn’t even know Momma was go
ne. When he heard, he lay down in their bed and didn’t get up. He’s really ill. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, and he won’t go to the doctor.
Good thing Wayne is still there to keep the farm running, or we’d lose it for sure. I worried that he’d leave when Daddy returned so suddenly. Wayne is so much more than just a hired hand, no matter what Daddy may have said in the past. The farm is still in our family only because of Wayne. If I had any say, I’d give it to him. I know he’d always let me visit, if I needed to. Grandma actually owns the farm on paper, but she’s too heartbroken over Momma to care about anything other than her charity work. But there was nothing she could do to stop Momma. Nothing any of us could do. She was sick. I understand that now, but it doesn’t take away the pain of being deserted once again.
Brandon was nervous as he drove off the main highway and onto the dirt road leading to Walker Farm. The sun hung halfway down on the horizon, and fields stretched for miles around, beckoning as the short stalks of wheat or whatever was growing there bent and swayed in the evening breeze. There was something that was absolutely foreign to him here; he’d felt it every time he’d been to the farm, even with Mercedes all those years ago. He knew it was because he didn’t belong. He’d once thought she didn’t belong either, but he’d been wrong. Seeing her that morning in the garden, she was every bit as much a part of the farm as the peas she was growing. A quiet partnership existed that even he couldn’t deny.
What if his son had the same connection Mercedes did to the farm? Brandon had come to entice him away, but after Mercedes’ emotional pleas, he wondered if he’d have the strength. If his son belonged here, would there even be a choice?
He’s my son.
What if the child took an immediate dislike to him? What if Mercedes had said something that made him hate Brandon? But she wouldn’t do that, would she? Brandon simply didn’t know the woman she’d become.
Yet he wanted to know her.
How did things go so wrong? He should be driving home to his house in California now, with Mercedes and their children awaiting him. Or maybe he’d be picking up their son to meet her at the office where she was helping a late psychiatric patient. That was how they’d talked about it, and he knew it hadn’t happened mostly because of him. He’d learned during his marriage that women needed to be told and shown often how important they were. He should have told Mercedes that he’d come back for her or send for her. If he hadn’t been so arrogant, so assured of her love, so completely absorbed in his new career, he would have understood her mind. He would have put aside his own hurt at not hearing from her and realized something was wrong.
Yet would he have done the right thing even then? He had no way of knowing, and the truth was—the truth that hurt deeply, like a wound that would never heal—it didn’t matter for them now. That was over. She had gone on with her life, even if he had not.
Regret every bit as painful as the treatments he’d endured for his stomach cancer rolled through him in a terrible, blinding wave. There was nothing here for him.
No, that wasn’t quite true. There was still his son.
He pulled to a stop before the low-slung farmhouse that had been built a little at a time as the family who resided in it grew. Mercedes told him there had been only one bedroom when she was a child, and she’d slept in a small alcove built into the hallway. Her brother slept in the kitchen by the stove until a room had finally been added. Mercedes and her husband had made more new additions in the years since he’d first visited, though he couldn’t be sure how much from the outside. One of those rooms Mercedes shared with her husband. In another, Darrel slept, dreaming . . . of what? Brandon wanted to know that more than anything.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the car door. This time he was greeted by a red retriever followed by at least five puppies. The dogs began barking, keeping him from coming onto the porch. The front door opened, and Mercedes emerged. “Di, down. Come on, girl. He’s invited.”
She was wearing a buttercup yellow dress that skimmed the tops of her brown bare feet. The yellow contrasted with the dark hair that fanned out over her shoulders. Her eyes looked black in her face, which was tanned despite the silly hat she’d been wearing that morning. She was so exactly like his Mercedes from the past that he found it impossible to do anything but stare.
The dogs had stopped barking, and now he was being attacked by warm, wet black noses as the puppies investigated his dress pants.
“Shoo!” Mercedes scolded. Her head turned. “Joseph! Scott! Come and get these dogs.”
Seconds later two young boys shot from the door behind her and tumbled into the array of puppies, giggling all the while. They cast shy glances at Brandon but didn’t speak to him.
“Take them around to the barn and put them in the empty stall,” Mercedes said. “Not the one with the baby goats.”
“Aw, they hate that.”
“It’s just for dinnertime. Now go.”
Whistling for the dogs, the boys raced around the side of the house. The puppies’ mother looked between her retreating offspring and Mercedes, as though trying to make a decision. “You can go, too, Di,” Mercedes encouraged, but Di, giving a low bark, chose to stay with her mistress. “Well, that’s fine then,” Mercedes said with a smile. To Brandon she added, “She considers herself my protector. Come on inside. We’ll be eating on the back deck. It’s nice out this evening.”
“So many dogs,” he said, just for something to say. “What are you going to do with them?”
“We’re only keeping one. We’ve promised the others to neighbors. Tomorrow, in fact. They’re in high demand around here. Di and Thunder—that’s the father—have good pedigrees. I’m letting the boys pick just one because they lost their other dog, Jellybean, last year when he deserted us for my brother’s wife.”
“Deserted?”
She laughed. “Jellybean is a very self-centered, lazy dog. A disgrace to his parents. He knew he’d get more attention there.”
She led him through a front room, down the hall where he saw the alcove where she’d once slept—now filled with sewing paraphernalia—and into the kitchen. Delicious smells reminded Brandon that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Mercedes pointed to the door leading to the deck. “Why don’t you go through there and have a seat? I have to check on a few things, and then I’ll be out.”
Where’s Darrel? he wanted to ask.
As though reading his mind, she added, “Wayne and Darrel are just washing up. They’ve been in the fields until now.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
A faint smile touched her lips, her dark eyes luminous and sad. “I live with four men. I’ve learned to read between the lines.”
He felt a distinct disappointment. She hadn’t guessed because she knew him or felt anything for him. Anything but perhaps resentment and hatred. I’m really sorry, Mercedes, he told her silently. I don’t know what else to do.
“Go on,” she urged, as though talking to the dogs.
He did as he was told, amused that Di followed him out to the deck. “Keeping an eye on me, are you?” he asked the creature. Di sat near the door and studied him, her demeanor regal. Only once, when they heard one of the boys shout happily from the distant barn, did she look away briefly.
The backyard was exactly as it had been that morning, with the exception of the clothesline that was full of damp clothing. Socks, pants, shirts, little boys’ underwear, but nothing that was notably Mercedes’ except one dress and maybe a pair of jeans. If he hadn’t been coming, would there have been more? A dressy blouse perhaps? A pair of nylons? Of course there would be nothing he would recognize, not after all these years.
The table on the deck was set with matching dishes. Six places. A green salad in a plastic-covered bowl, a basket of rolls, and a pitcher of milk sat in the middle. A normal family dinner. Brandon remembered his wife, Hannah, arranging a similar table and how he’d loved to come home and find everything rea
dy.
“Oh, you’re home!” Hannah met him in the hall, lifting her face for his kiss. Her blonde hair was cut short, and he liked the way it followed the curve of her head.
“How was work today?” he asked.
She wrinkled her cute, slightly uptilted nose. “Beginning of a new year. You don’t want to be anywhere near a grade school during the first week. My phone didn’t quit ringing today. Half from teachers looking for missing supplies, and the others from concerned parents wanting to move their children to other classrooms.”
“Thank heaven schools have regular hours.”
“Yep. No emergency bypass.” She pulled him into the kitchen. “Come on. I have dinner ready. It’s your favorite.”
“You made pizza?”
“No, your other favorite.”
“Ah, shrimp.” He took her hand. “You are so good to me.”
The cancer and the treatments had changed all that. He didn’t blame her—he was the one who’d taken out his frustrations on everyone around him, including Hannah. Before he realized what he was doing, it was too late.
The story of my life, he thought bitterly.
Mercedes and Wayne came onto the deck, carrying steaming dishes. They moved with the familiar rhythm of those who knew each other well and were comfortable together. Wayne was wearing clean jeans and a polo shirt, his white-laced red hair wet from the shower. His face was gentle, but his eyes were cautious. Brandon had the impression of great power within the man, this man who had probably never studied further than his high school diploma, and he looked away uncomfortably.
The boy emerged next, carrying a set of small dessert plates. Brandon stared. This is Darrel. The child looked younger than twelve. He was thin everywhere, from his face under the dark brown hair to the narrow bare feet sticking out under his stiff, new-looking jeans. His eyes, so dark as to be nearly black, were Mercedes’, and the oval curve of the cheek as well, though his had a sharpness that had never touched his mother’s. His skin was tanned, and a few stray freckles were scattered over his nose. There was nothing of himself that Brandon could see in the child. The hair was darker than his own and would likely darken even more to the same color as Mercedes’. He was his mother’s child through and through.
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