by Imani King
His eyes widen. “Sure. The Reeves family owns it. It’s in Parkdale, almost on the base of Mt. Hood.”
I ask casually, “Do you know exactly where the ranch is?”
“Sure, you can’t miss it. Take 35 twenty miles north towards Mt. Hood till you get to Parkdale. Take a right at the US Forestry office and continue about a mile. You’ll see the big gate with two triangles on it.” He smiles, happy he knows so much. “So, why are you going out there?”
“Business.” I fold the map and stuff it back into my purse. “Thanks for your help.”
“Uh, sure. Listen, if you aren’t—”
“Is there a taxi in town?”
Gone is his hopeful expression and his voice is less friendly. “Yeah. There’s usually one waiting around when the bus gets in.”
I grab the suitcase and hurry from the bench, pausing only to drop my wrapper in the trash. Outside, I see a taxi. He seems to be pulling away. I run across the lot and the bulky suitcase bangs my leg with each stride. As I reach the taxi, it turns towards the street. I drop the suitcase and wave. The taxi slows to a halt
The driver’s side window rolls down. An older man with heavy jowls and sparse, gray hair sticks his head out. “You need a ride?”
“Yes please!”
“Hop in.”
I grab my bag and come over to the passenger side. The driver is unhelpful so I toss the suitcase into the back seat alongside me. The backseat is more careworn than my suitcase and harbors a smell of stale cigarettes and disinfectant. “I need to find a pawn shop, and then I want to go to the Double Mountain Ranch.”
He rolls up his window. “Jenny’s Pawn is just up Fourth.”
I lean against the seat, trying to catch my breath. I’m not breathless from jogging across the lot, but rather from the thought of holding my baby within the hour. I don’t know how much longer I can stand being separated from Tamara.
The driver pulls into the lot of a small brick building. I get out of the car, clutching my purse and enter the shop. Bars line the windows and there is a retractable gate at the door. Its dim inside and there is only one clerk and one person ahead of me in line. Merchandise is stacked haphazardly throughout the store.
I walk up to the counter. The clerk is a big woman wearing a blue sweatshirt. Her iron-gray curls look as if they lost their spring years ago.
“Can I help you?” The clerk asks pleasantly.
“I need a camera. One that…” I think about the vibe of the town, “an artist might use.”
“Oh, I have just what you’re looking for!” She leads me over to a side cabinet. Several cameras cover the shelf. She unlocks the case carefully, as if the contents aren’t cameras but highly delicate explosives. “What kind of project are you doing?”
“Um, I’m taking some nature photos.”
“This one is great for that.” She removes a camera with a detachable flash and a bag of accessories. “It’s a Nikon. It comes with different lenses, including a telephoto.”
I see the price tag. Oh man. “Would you be willing to sell it for $100?”
She smiles. “You better show me some of these photos when you’re done taking them!”
Oh no. “Okay,” I say, feeling like I’m going to hell. I might not even be staying in town long enough to take a picture.
The old cashier rings up the purchase and hands me a few coins. I take the camera and leave, pleased to find the taxi driver still at the curb.
“The Double Mountain Ranch?” he asks as I get in.
“Yes.”
I put the camera accessories in their case. The roads are steep, which I guess makes sense considering we’re heading up to the mountain. One side of the road is forest the other drops down to the river. The road curves, and I get my first real look at the mountain.
It looks like Mt. Hood is right in front of me. It’s huge. Each time we wind around 35 it looks like it’s getting closer. By the time we get to Parkdale I feel like I can reach out and touch it.
That kid was right. The gate to the Double Mountain Ranch would have been impossible to miss. Two big triangles sit on the horizontal beam at the top of the gate. The Double Mountain Ranch was aptly named. The views of Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams from here can’t be beat.
The gates are open. The driver turns up the winding drive. It’s at least another mile before we can see the house. My mouth drops open as I get my first look at Tamara’s temporary home.
The home sprawls across a cleared plot of land. It shoots up three stories. The wood and trim are whitewashed. A steep roof with dark green shingles provide the only relief from all that whiteness. Massive trees frame the sides of the house. Not one but three brick chimneys sprout from the roof.
The driver stops the car of to the side of the house, and I realize I need to close my mouth.
“Miss?”
I blink and try giving him a bland look. “Yes?”
“Should I wait for you?”
I chew on my lip. “Well...”
“I can come back at a prearranged time.”
“No, please wait for me. I’m not sure how long this will take.” I pay him and add a hefty tip to insure he waits. The meter ticks as I stand beside the open car door. Casually, I drape the camera over my neck and stand there looking at the house.
The cabbie gives me encouragement. “Go on, miss. Mr. Reeves won’t bite you.”
I give him a weak grin and close the door. Climbing the wooden steps to the covered porch seems an eternity. He could do so much worse than bite me. He could keep Tamara. My stomach sinks as I stand before the ornate glass door. Before I lose all courage, I force myself to knock.
I almost turn and run back to the taxi in the time it takes for someone to come to the door. Will they know who I am? What if I’m shut out before I can even see Tamara? It takes all my willpower to remain on the weathered wood planks of the porch.
The door opens.
I stop breathing.
The man towers above me. His powerful frame seems as impenetrable as a mountain. The muscles in his arms bulge beneath his Pendleton flannel as he lowers his hand from the door to his side.
I gulp. Vaguely, I remember Brad telling me something about his brother being a football player in the NFL. But this man doesn’t seem like a football player, he seems like a viking.
I shiver, suddenly very aware of my grungy attire. His deep blue eyes narrow as he takes me in. They’re beautiful, but slightly bloodshot. Has he not been getting enough sleep? A stubble shadows his jawline. He hasn’t shaved in a few days.
He leans on the doorframe and folds his arms over his chest.
It’s go time, Shawna! “Hi, I’m—”
“You’re late.” He holds the door open. “Well, don’t just stand there.”
“Excuse me?”
He holds the door open wider. His impatience is evident. “Ms. Templeton said you would be here at eleven, and it’s nearly three. We’ll do this in the sitting room, where Tamara spends most of her time.”
Tamara. My heart stops. Time seems to stop. I can’t say anything let alone formulate a response. Hearing her name makes me ache. She’s so close…
Tamara’s cries ring through the house. “What are you doing to my—I mean, the baby?”
“I left her with my mother. Tami hasn’t bonded well with her yet.”
I nod, stepping inside the house. This isn’t playing as I had imagined. Is it better? Worse? I don’t know.
However, I do know one thing: Tami needs me.
I follow Jackson through the house. My brain is spinning too quickly for me to be able to take any of my surroundings in. Clearly my scheme of being a photographer taking pictures of the ranch was unnecessary. I was led into his home with no questions. He’d even been expecting me.
We enter a very elegant sitting room. The toys and blankets on the floor seriously dress down the atmosphere. My eye is drawn to my wriggling baby on the pile of quilts. Seconds later, without a thought or hesitation, Tama
ra is in my arms.
Immediately, Tamara’s cries cease. She lifts a sunny smile to me. At the sight of that fully developed smile, and a hint of her first tooth poking through, tears come to my eyes. I bring Tamara in closer and rub my cheek against my baby’s soft dark curls. Tamara drives her face into my neck, and I struggle to suppress my joy. I turn to find Jackson and his mother looking at me in wide open-mouthed wonder. “What?”
A wide smile curves across the woman’s mouth. “It’s amazing. She hasn’t responded to anyone like that except Jackson.”
“Uh...” I look over at Jackson, trying to see what Tamara would have sensed in him. All I can see, beyond the handsome exterior, is another obstacle between me and my baby. In addition, he bears the surname Reeves, which in itself is enough to set me against him. Even in the best of circumstance, and these would certainly qualify.
“Ms. Sherry, this is my mother, Lillian.”
7
Shawna
Ms. Sherry? Were they referring to me?
Lillian’s gnarled hands shake as she extends one. I step forward to accept it, still feeling lost. “I’m not—”
His mother interrupt me before I can finish. “Mrs. Templeton said you had glowing recommendations, but I was skeptical. Now that I’ve seen you in action, I’m in awe. Thank you for coming out.”
“But...” my voice trails off. I realize my advantage in becoming Ms. Sherry, at least temporarily. I shift Tamara’s weight to my other arm to remove the camera around neck.
“Sit, please.” Jackson indicates the chaise lounge, where a brightly colored baby quilt lay across the back.
I ease down onto the stiff-looking seat and find it plush and comfortable. Once I allow my shoulders to sink against the upholstery I shift Tamara up to my neck. I place the camera beside us.
“What are your qualifications?”
I look up at Jackson and blink rapidly in effort to come up with an answer to that question. “Um—”
“What does it matter, Jackson? She’s obviously highly recommended, and already has a rapport with Tami...” Lillian’s eyes narrow as they come to rest on my face. “Yes, what are your qualifications?” Her tone had turned from friendly to frigid.
I swallow heavily with the knowledge that my brief stint as Ms. Sherry is about to end. Not knowing who or what the other woman is, I can’t bluff my way through this. “Well—” My heart skips a beat when the doorbell rings. Probably the cabbie checking to see if I still want him to wait.
“Excuse me,” Jackson says as he leaves the sitting room.
My eyes dart to Lillian, and I am discomfited to find her deep blue eyes so intently studying me. I force a small smile, which suddenly widens as Tamara squeals and waves her chubby fists. I look down at Tamara, amazed at how she had grown in a month. Her dark hair is longer, and she has filled out. Her features are more defined, her brown eyes show more expression, and her skin is just a few shades lighter than my own. Tamara seems to be following my blueprint. I breathe a sigh of relief to know that Brad had left nothing discernible to our baby. Luckily he was too self-centered to spend his time being her father.
The uneasy silence is broken by the heavy, hurrying footsteps of Jackson, followed by clicking heels. Jackson returns to the sitting room with a scowl on his face, quickly followed by a starched, prim-looking woman with short, white hair, a long dress, sensible court shoes, and a brown cardigan. His eyes burn when they settle upon me. “Who are you?”
My stomach quivers with fear, and I subconsciously tighten my hold on Tamara, making her protest. “I’m...what?”
“This is Ms. Sherry.” He motions to the woman hovering slightly behind him. “Now, who are you?”
“I-I came to take pictures,” I blurt out, momentarily forgetting my well rehearsed script. “I heard your home was beautiful...” I point to the Nikon beside her.
Jackson glowers at me. “Do you always present yourself under false pretenses just to take pictures?”
She return his ferocious scowl. “Wait just a minute! You didn’t give me a chance to say anything. You dragged me inside and sat me down in this room. You introduced me as Ms. Sherry to your mother and I was too stunned to correct you.”
He opens his mouth and hesitates. His anger seems to fade as he mulls over my point of view. His mouth twists into a strained smile. “You’re right. I did make the assumption. I apologize.”
“No problem.”
“You’re free to wander around the property to get your pictures.”
“Thank you.” I try to keep my lower lip from wobbling at his hasty retraction. Now there was no reason for me to linger beside Tamara. I couldn’t think of a way to be alone with her, let alone spirit her away from this place.
“If we may?” Ms. Sherry’s attitude is as crisp as her appearance. She steps around Jackson and marched in silent cadence to the couch, where she held out her arms to me. I didn’t immediately release Tamara. Ms. Sherry shook her index finger in front of my face. “The infant please, miss.”
I bit back tears as I hand my daughter over to the older woman. Inside I shudder at the thought of that cold woman having responsibility for Tamara’s upbringing.
Before Ms. Sherry could even settle Tamara into a comfortable position, the baby starts screaming. She flails her arms and legs as the woman ignores her struggles and tucks her in her arms, tightly against her sagging bosom. “There, there.” Her voice didn’t audibly soften. Ms. Sherry turns and places Tamara on the floor.
Jackson and I both take a step forward, and the nanny holds up her hand, turns her head so her frown encompasses both of us. “A baby will soon learn not to cry if you just ignore her.”
Lillian snorts. “You can’t ignore that child.”
“You mustn’t let Baby get the upper hand, ma’am. She is much like a wolf pup...”
“What?” I demand, hands on hips.
Ms. Sherry spares me a frosty look before continuing. “She needs to learn who is the alpha. This can only be done with assertiveness, punishment, and reward.”
I push past her, ignoring the woman’s outraged sounds as I bend to pick up Tamara. I turn back to Ms. Sherry, holding a suddenly quiet baby. “You can’t punish a five-month-old baby.” My eyes widen as I realize I have revealed Tamara’s age. Would Jackson or Lillian pick up on my slip?
My eyes dart to them, but they seem to be paying more attention to the standoff between Ms. Sherry and I. It must be obvious to them that Ms. Sherry didn’t care about children. They couldn’t seriously consider entrusting Tamara to that woman. I look back at Ms. Sherry when I hear a strange breathy sound coming from her, much like a hiss.
Ms. Sherry’s gray eyes are wide with anger. “Do not presume to tell me my job. I know how to handle a special child. Mental impairment must be handled—”
I gasp and hold Tamara all the more more tightly. “There’s nothing wrong with this baby. You’re incompetent.”
Ms. Sherry shifts her appeal to Jackson. She wore an outraged expression. “I demand to be treated with respect, Mr. Reeves. My methods are tried and true, with extensively documented successes to back them up. Either rein in your house guest, or I shall leave.”
Jackson steps forward, with a forced smile, and touches Ms. Sherry’s shoulder, causing her to stiffen. He immediately drops his hand. “Thank you for coming out, Ms. Sherry. We’ll pay your travel expenses, of course.”
She falters. Her mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I don’t understand.”
“We won’t be needing your services.”
“I am a specialist!”
“And highly recommended,” he says in a soothing voice. “However, Tamara seems to have a rapport forming with Miss—”
“—if you give in now—”
He ignores her while easing her toward the door. “There is a taxi waiting in the drive. Why don’t you take that one? If necessary, we’ll call another for our guest.”
“But...”
Lillian interrupts Jackson. “A
re you sure this is wise?”
Jackson’s eyes widen and he frowns. “We’ll discuss it later,” he says as he escorts Ms. Sherry out of the sitting room.
As they leave, I look to Lillian. I find her watching me with narrow, turbulent eyes. I turn away and cradle Tamara.
Jackson returns a few minutes later, looking ruffled and annoyed. He sits on the chaise and smiles at me.
“Please, have a seat, Miss...?”
“Davis,” she say without thinking as I move to a straight-backed, velvet-cushioned seat. I wince as my tongue betrays me again.
“Do you have a first name?” Jackson gives me a small wink.
She study him carefully, realizing my last name hasn’t set off any alarm bells. Should she use her first name?
“Well?”
“Shawna,” I blurt out, unable to think of an alias. I tighten my hold on Tamara, terrified he will suddenly try to rip my baby away. To my relief, his blue eyes remain only curious.
“What do you do?”
I try to remember the story I had rehearsed, but only snippets come back to me. “I’m on vacation.”
He lifts a brow. “Okay. From where?”
She shrug. “I was a college student.” Not a total lie. Before meeting Brad, I had completed a semester at Topeka Tech. “I’m exploring my options now.”
He nods. “Are you looking for a job?”
My heart skips a beat and I nod. “What kind of job?” I resist the urge to cross my fingers.
“Tamara needs a nanny.”
She look down at my baby, and then shoot a look at him through my eyelashes. “Your daughter is beautiful.” My throat tightened and I barely squeezed out the word daughter. For a wild second, I wonder how different things would have been for me—and Tamara—if this Reeves was my baby’s father, instead of Brad. I mentally give my head a shake. Come back to reality.
“She’s my niece.”
I try to appear puzzled. “Where are her parents?”
Jackson frowns, but doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Her father isn’t ready for a baby and neither was the mother.”
