If this new mass turned out to be cancerous, though, his oncologist would likely suggest a bone marrow transplant. Justin would need to come clean about his health then, with both his dad and Willow.
“Do you remember what your dad was like before your mother died?” Willow was looking at the wedding photo of his parents he kept on the mantel. “He looks so young and happy here.”
“I was only six, but I do remember. Mom’s death really changed him.”
“And he’s never even dated anyone since then?”
“Not that I know of. When I was younger I liked it being just the two of us. I hate to admit to being so selfish, but I probably would have resented a new woman in his life. Now nothing would make me happier than to see him find someone.”
“If he hasn’t in all these years, I doubt he will now. Some people still do mate for life in this world, hard as it is to believe.”
It was a romantic notion and from Willow’s wistful expression, Justin suspected she was thinking of Paul. An ugly jealousy surged briefly, painfully, in his chest, proving he hadn’t managed to put the past behind him as successfully as he’d hoped.
His father’s signature five raps sounded on the front door then. It was exactly six o’clock and his punctual father had come bearing gifts. A bottle of wine for dinner and a plastic crate containing the old train set Justin had loved as a child.
Standing slightly behind her mother, Geneva’s gaze was riveted on the crate.
“This Thomas the Tank Engine train set is pretty hard to put together. Would you be willing to give me a hand, Geneva?” Clark placed the crate on the floor and let the little girl peer inside.
Solemnly she nodded.
“Thanks for the wine, Clark,” Willow said. “Can I pour you a glass?”
“Maybe later. Geneva and I have some train building to do.”
Justin watched his father get down on his hands and knees. He let Geneva pull out the pieces, one by one, not hurrying her, or showing her how the pieces fit together, unless she asked.
“He’s so good with her.” Willow returned from decanting the wine, and handed him a glass.
“Yeah. He was like that with me, too.”
“The potatoes are ready. Want me to mash them?”
“Sure. I’ll come make the gravy.”
As they worked together in the kitchen, the murmur of his father’s voice from the living room filled Justin with a sense of rightness. Contentment. This was what it meant to be a family. His father clearly loved being a grandfather. Justin glanced at Willow, his earlier jealousy forgotten as his heart expanded with gratitude that she had made all this possible for them.
“I wish I could get Geneva to connect with me as well as she does with my dad.”
“Don’t take it personally.” Willow paused, seeming to consider something, before adding, “Paul is a tall guy like you and he could be emotionally volatile at times. I think Geneva is a bit on edge around you, in case you ever act the way he did.”
Justin’s heart contracted abruptly, painfully. “Did he ever hurt her?”
“No.” Willow let out a long breath. “At least I don’t think so.”
What? He forced himself to count silently, one, two, three. When he trusted himself to be calm he turned to her. “Tell me the truth, Willow.”
“I’m not sure what the truth is. Paul was impatient with Geneva and I didn’t leave them alone together often. But when I took Geneva to the clinic last month to catch up on her vaccinations for the day care, the nurse said a few things that worried me.”
“Such as?”
Willow kept her gaze on the pot of potatoes, even though she’d stopped mashing them. “She commented that Geneva was quiet and withdrawn compared to other children her age. She asked about developmental milestones...had Geneva been slower than other children in walking, talking, being potty trained...”
“And? Was she?”
“It’s hard to say. Children learn to do these things within a fairly wide range of ages. But as I thought about it I realized Geneva had always been in the slower zone of each range. Especially in potty training.”
“But she goes to the bathroom fine now. So what’s the issue if she took a little longer than normal?”
“Probably nothing. But the nurse’s probing didn’t feel casual and when I got home I did some web surfing. Her questions were the same ones medical professionals ask when they suspect something is wrong at home...”
Willow stopped there, but she didn’t need to say more.
Justin felt as if his throat had suddenly swollen to twice its normal size. “No,” he managed to say. “Paul wouldn’t.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself.”
Their gazes connected, and Justin saw the same thing in hers that he felt in his own heart.
Insidious and corroding.
Doubt.
Chapter Sixteen
On Monday morning the sky was an icy blue and the grass crunched with frost as Tiff headed for the barn, laden with the new purchases she’d made during a trip to Missoula that weekend. Halfway there she was joined by Spade who had been sleeping on the sunny front porch of the guest cottage.
“Hey, old boy. Want to help me set up a new accounting system today?”
Spade panted agreeably.
Though four trucks—presumably belonging to the hired help—were angle-parked by the barn, no one was around. The guys must already be out working in the fields. Spade’s pace picked up as Tiff made her way inside. As soon as Tiff nudged open the office door, Spade rushed inside. He circled the room, carefully sniffing out the corners, then settled on a rag rug next to the desk.
Spade had come to the family a few years after her father died. He’d been her dog for years, sleeping in her room and following her around whenever she wasn’t in school. But after she’d left for college, he’d been a little lost. Now that she was back, she wondered if she could convince her mother and aunt to let him live in the main house again. Maybe if she offered to clean up all his accidents?
Tiff set down the box containing the printer onto the floor, then shrugged off her backpack where she’d stowed the new laptop. The office looked as if it had been freshly cleaned and the only items on the desk were the phone, the adding machine, and the jar of pens. Kenny had removed the framed ski photograph.
Tiff checked the garbage next—still empty—then the sofa. The cushions looked freshly plumped, but she couldn’t stop herself from checking behind them.
Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Kenny would have made darn sure of that.
Finally she could procrastinate no longer. She plugged in the laptop. She’d never converted a manual accounting system before. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too complicated.
As she settled into the old leather chair she realized this was probably the same chair her father had used, back when he was running the farm. What would he say if he could see her here now? It wasn’t hard to picture him coming into the room, looking surprised and then pleased.
Though he’d been gone for twenty years, Tiff thought of him often. Playing the “what if” game probably wasn’t healthy, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wondering what her life would have been like if he’d lived.
Better yet, if her dad and Casey had lived...
The computer was asking her to set up a password. She typed in RavenLunatic.
Which was what she would be if she didn’t start focusing on the present rather than the past. But even as she went through the steps of setting up a new email account for the farm—she couldn’t believe they didn’t have one, yet, let alone a website—her thoughts began to drift again, this time to yesterday, when she’d gone to church with her mom and Aunt Marsha.
After the service, they’d visited with their friends and neighbors while sharing coffee and sandwiches in the church basement. Her aunt had quickly been swallowed into the crowd, while Tiff had made a point to stick close to her mom. She’d been shocked to see how her
mom’s old friends patronized her. Only Sybil had bothered to have a real conversation with her mom, not seeming to mind the vague responses Rosemary gave her.
At first Tiff had been overcome with her usual anger. She’d wanted to say, Come on, Mom. Snap out of it already, would you? But slowly compassion had overtaken the anger and she’d realized that getting her mother to re-engage with the world was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. A good start might be to get a second medical opinion. Hopefully her aunt and Dr. Pittman wouldn’t take it as an insult.
Eventually the intellectual challenge of setting up a new chart of accounts pushed Tiff’s worries to the back of her mind. She became so engrossed she worked through lunch and was surprised when her aunt showed up with a sandwich and some cookies.
“I figured you must be hungry. Egg salad okay?”
“Sounds yummy. I’m starving.” She saved her work, then set aside the laptop to make room for the plastic containers. “Thanks, Aunt Marsha, but you didn’t need to go to all this effort. At some point my hunger pangs would have forced me to take a break.”
“I don’t mind having the chance to fuss over you now and then.” Her aunt flipped a few pages in the Accounts Payable Ledger sitting on the corner of the desk. “So how is it going?”
“I’m easing into it. Once I’ve set up the chart of accounts I’ll start inputting opening balances, and eventually create a link to our bank account. Going forward every transaction will automatically get recorded in our books.”
“I would say that sounds awesome except I don’t understand half of what you just said.”
Tiff laughed. “Basically the bookkeeping is going to be a lot easier once I’ve finished the setup.”
“Well that’s wonderful.” Marsha ran a hand along the bookshelf, straightening one book, then adjusting a mug from the National Christmas Tree Association. “Have you started looking for other accounting clients yet?”
“No. I wanted to get up to speed here first.” Tiff had a feeling her aunt was going somewhere with this. “Do you think I’ll have trouble finding more work?”
“It’s possible. Lost Trail is a dying town. Every few years it seems we lose another business. I’m afraid you’ll invest your time and money in this venture only to realize you can’t make a go of it.”
“If that happens maybe I’ll let Kenny go and start running the farm.”
She’d been joking—sort of—but her aunt’s appalled expression surprised her.
“Would that be such a bad thing for me to do?”
“Personally, I’d love it. But your mom was talking to me this morning, and while she’d never admit it to you, she’s worried about your decision to live in Lost Trail.”
“Really?” Tiff tried not to sound hurt. She’d always assumed—incorrectly, apparently—that the option of running Raven Farm would be open to her if she chose it.
“She’s afraid your talents will be lost in this small town. But her bigger concern is letting you down. At church today, you were trying to be kind by sticking so closely to her, but she felt you were trying to push her into interactions she would have preferred to avoid.”
“But—we were just talking to people she’s known her entire life.”
“Simply attending church is difficult enough for your mother. She’s happiest living a simple life, here at home.”
“But is that really happiness? Cutting yourself off from your community and all your friends?”
“I don’t believe your mom has wanted to be happy since your brother and father died. She just tries to carry on.”
“Is it possible she’s suffering from an undiagnosed medical problem?”
“Clark and I have done our best to find medical solutions, but heartbreak isn’t always treatable. Now, don’t go bringing up this subject with your mother. It will only upset her needlessly.”
“Right.” Tiff put down her half-eaten sandwich.
Once her aunt returned to the house, she tried to focus on the accounts again, but worry for her mother kept distracting her. She went to the window and looked out at the view down the valley. Row upon row of noble fir stretched across the hill. On the other side of the gentle valley she could see the Scotch pine—her personal favorite when it came to Christmas trees.
The usual time span to grow a tree to maturity was about ten years—which meant the last trees planted by her dad had been harvested about a decade ago.
So many years. Was it really his death and her brother’s that were responsible for her mother’s mental state? Shouldn’t she be showing at least a little improvement after so much time?
Aunt Marsha seemed to think every medical avenue had been explored. But she was going to broach the idea of getting that second opinion with Dr. Pittman.
With Spade for company, Tiff went for a long walk, to clear her head, careful to avoid the field where the men were harvesting. She didn’t want to make small talk, or deal with Kenny and the complicated way she felt when she was around him.
As she tromped through rows of fragrant fir she noticed threatening clouds mounting from the north. Given the bite in the air she guessed a snowstorm was coming. It wasn’t yet winter, but in Montana snow rarely waited for an official invitation.
Last night she’d pulled up YouTube video clips of Kenny’s various skiing adventures. There were lots of them. The more she investigated, the more she appreciated his strength and skill. From accompanying comments and links to various blogs and magazine articles she could see he had a respected name in the industry and was one of Montana’s highest-rated backcountry ski guides.
The fall that had resulted in his sprained knee had been caught on camera and was spectacular. Watching him fly off the cliff, tumble in the air, then awkwardly hit the ground on one leg before smacking into a tree, she couldn’t believe he’d survived.
His injuries, besides the sprained knee, had included a severe concussion, several cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder.
Something else she’d learned from the Internet was that before his accident Kenny had been engaged to Kate Novak from the Canadian National Olympic ski jumping team. There was a clip showing Kenny watching on the sidelines while Kate competed in Sochi. Then another of the two of them carving powder in Glacier National Park.
There were no videos, blog comments, or articles about a break-up, but Tiff guessed one had occurred. The only question was whether Kenny or Kate had been the one to pull the plug.
As she looped back toward the barn Tiff became aware of the grumpy engine sounds of a big tractor. A moment later the John Deere came into view, pulling a trailer loaded with fir.
She hurried her pace, hoping to make it inside before the driver noticed her, but she was too late. The engine quietened with a shudder, and then Kenny jumped to the ground. At that moment Spade left Tiff’s side and loped toward Kenny, tail wagging enthusiastically.
Kenny bent to pat the dog, then headed for the barn, holding the door open for her. “How’s the bookkeeping going?”
He smelled of sawdust and pine resin, familiar aromas that for once did not give her a sense of comfort. His cheeks were reddened from the cold, and his scruff of a beard had a hint of frost on the bristles. As always his deep-set dark eyes were inscrutable to her.
“Fine. I just needed to clear my head.” She had a hard time meeting his gaze, unable to stop herself from picturing him in a compromising situation with young Riley.
“Finding everything you need?”
“Yes.” She stepped back from him a bit. “I noticed you cleaned the office.”
Their gazes met and this time they held. She waited for him to say something about the pink underwear. Surely he had some explanation to offer.
“What you saw the other day...I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
Right. She bet he didn’t. “But that underwear—it did belong to Riley?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes—but it wasn’t what it may have looked like. I would never
—”
When he paused, she raised her eyebrows.
“Hell, don’t make me spell it out.”
Despite the theory she and Zak had discussed last night she wanted to believe him.
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have brought it up again. I was just hoping to clear the air. Seems I got off on the wrong foot with you from the beginning. You didn’t like finding me in the cabin and you didn’t like me helping myself to a mug in your family kitchen either. I assure you, I’m not trying to butt in on your territory.”
She wanted to deny all the pettiness he was accusing her of. But it was true. And it was unwarranted. She had to offer him some sort of explanation without admitting that the real reason she felt uncomfortable around him was a lot more complicated.
“My life in Seattle blew up this year. When I came home, I was hoping for some peace and stability.”
“And a new farm manager was too much for you?” His tone was mocking, but not unkind.
“This isn’t just about you.”
It was about her mom getting worse rather than better. And Derick, so friendly on Facebook but now avoiding her. And, of course, the murder of Riley Concurran. Since her brother’s and father’s deaths Tiff had been all too aware that life could deliver some wicked blows. But the brutal murder of a young woman, an employee of Raven Farm, was unfathomable.
“We have to work together, Tiff. It would be nice if we could get along.”
“I can’t argue with your reasoning.”
“Why don’t you come over for a drink later tonight?”
Her mouth went dry. This wasn’t a proposition, was it? “You mean to the cabin?”
He shrugged. “It’s where I keep my alcohol.”
Nothing in his expression or tone suggested an ulterior motive for his invitation. “I guess one drink wouldn’t hurt. What time?”
“Whenever. Like you and your mom, I’m a night hawk.”
How did he know...?
“I go for drives some nights when I’m feeling restless, and I see lights in the upstairs windows. Used to be just the room over the garage. Now there are two lights burning late. You and your mom always had trouble sleeping at night?”
Bitter Roots Page 11
