“What kind of horses are they?”
He glanced back at her and then he pointed to the brown horse. “That one with the black mane and tail is a bay, that’s her color. She’s an Arabian, though. Etta bought her somewhere outside of Tulsa. She saw this horse, half-starved in a round pen and she pulled into the drive of the house and told the people to name their price. Goldie here is a Palomino. She’s Andie’s old barrel horse. This Appaloosa, with the white rump is the mare that Etta rides.”
“They’re beautiful. Maybe while I’m here I can ride.”
“How long are you staying?” He glanced back at her as he dumped the hay in piles a good distance apart. “Or have you already told me?”
“I don’t know how long I’ll stay.” She hadn’t thought about it. How long did it take a woman to find herself? How long would her grandmother want her here, in this house, this town?
What if she didn’t want Alyson at all? Maybe there was a reason Alyson’s mother had taken her away and left Andie behind.
Jason pulled out his list, marking off feeding Etta’s horses. He shoved the notebook back into his pocket and watched as Alyson leaned over the fence, trying to pet the Appaloosa while still holding the yowling kitten. The horse moved a little closer and Alyson scratched its neck.
“I need to take a drive out to the youth camp. Do you want to go along?”
“Youth camp?” She turned from the horse and leaned against the fence.
“Camp Hope. A good friend of mine and her husband run it.” He ran a thought through his mind. “You could volunteer if you’re here for a while.”
She held the kitten tight, like a five-year-old with a new pet. That’s what it was about her—she acted as if everything was new. “What could I do there?”
“I don’t know, maybe play the piano.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, I don’t play the piano.”
He closed his eyes, trying to drag the memory back, surprised that it had been there at all. He remembered. She’d been playing a hymn, probably from one of Etta’s songbooks. That’s why the memory had stuck with him. He knew the song. It was one his mother had sung, a long time ago.
“I remember you playing.”
“You didn’t even remember me being here.” She walked past him and he caught up with her.
“I remember you playing the piano.” He followed her through the barn and across the yard to the house, his walk a kind of skip as he tried to keep up. “I can hear the song you were playing. I think it might have been ‘It is Well.’”
“It was.” They reached the house and he opened the back door for her. She slid through, still holding the cat.
“So, you’ll go with me. You might as well get out and see what’s going on in the community. It’ll get old, sitting in this house waiting for Etta to get back.”
“I won’t get bored. I love having nothing to do, nowhere to go. You have no idea.”
No, he didn’t. “So, tell me, why do you want to be here, with nothing to do?”
She glanced back, over her shoulder, her eyes a little narrowed. She looked like the kitten, about to hiss. He laughed a little, because that was Andie, always ready to strike out at someone or something.
“I lived in Boston.” She held the kitten in one arm and opened the fridge door. “I’ve lived in San Francisco. I’ve lived in Seattle.”
“And now you’re here? That’s a big change.”
“I’ve never lived here, or not since I was little. I want to know what this place is like. This was my father’s world.”
He nodded and somehow he retrieved the memory. His head was starting to pound. “James. He was here when he wasn’t on the road.”
“Where else did he go?” She turned quick, spilling a little of the milk she had opened to pour in a bowl.
“Not too much milk, it’ll make him sick.” Jason opened the loaf of bread she must have bought at the convenience store. It was half-stale and had a price tag on it that was twice what she should have paid. He pulled the piece of bread into pieces and dropped them in with the milk. She had cracked an egg to add to the mixture.
“What about my dad, about James Forester?” She opened a drawer and pulled out a fork.
“Years ago he was a saddle bronc rider. Later he drove a truck. He also worked offshore oil rigs. He was gone a lot.”
“Who took care of my sister?”
“Etta raised her when James was gone. But he came into town and he lived here when he wasn’t working.”
Alyson glanced away. He followed her gaze to the frame with a dozen or so family pictures. And not one of them was of her. That was a shame. There was a picture of Etta and Andie dressed up for the Fourth of July celebration a few years back. They’d won first place in that competition. They’d been a pair, always having fun, and fighting.
“Would I like her?” She turned her attention back to him, serious blue eyes locking on him, expecting answers.
He hadn’t expected this, to get dragged into what should have been personal. But she was waiting, holding that kitten against her and the bowl in the other hand.
“Etta is a free spirit. Andie is, too. You’ll like them both.”
Alyson put the bowl of milk and eggs on the floor and sat the kitten on the ground next to it. They stepped back and watched as the ragged little guy hissed and slurped in turn. And then he was gone, running out of the kitchen and down the hall, paws sliding on the polished hardwood floors.
“What now?” Alyson went after the cat.
“You’ll never catch him and Etta is going to be ticked. She hates cats.”
Alyson turned, her face a little pale. “Now you tell me?”
He grinned. “Head injury, remember?”
“What do I do?”
He shrugged. “You’ll catch him and Etta will forgive you.”
How could she not forgive her granddaughter?
He shook off the mental wandering that could only lead to trouble. He didn’t have enough space in his brain for that kind of trouble. “I have to go.”
“To the camp?”
“Yeah, of course.” He pulled the notebook out of his pocket. “First to the feed store.”
He held the notebook up and the words blurred and then doubled. The ache in the back of his head tripled. He slipped the notebook back into his pocket and blinked a few times to clear his vision.
“Are you okay?” A female voice from too far away. He looked up and she was watching him, her eyes focused and full of concern. He managed a smile.
“Of course I am.”
“You look pale.” She rummaged through the cabinet and while he tried to get it together, she ran water into the mug and held it out. “Drink this.”
He pulled off the hat that suddenly seemed too tight and wiped a hand across his forehead. She pushed the water into his hand and he took it, because she was determined.
“Thanks.” He set the cup on the counter.
A cool hand was on his arm, holding him closer than he should have been to her, to someone who smelled like lavender and roses on a summer day.
She led him down the hall to the parlor. He let her, because of lavender and roses, and because he couldn’t undo her hand from his arm. And he didn’t really want to.
Which meant he wasn’t too far gone.
“Sit down.”
She backed him up to the wing chair next to the piano. He sat, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to rest, just for a minute.
The screen door slammed and he didn’t want to open his eyes. But there were footsteps and perfume that hung over the air like some kind of heavy-duty air freshener. He opened his eyes.
“What in the world is going on here?” Etta Forester stood in the doorway of the parlor, a vision in tie-dyed clothes, lavender hair and a floppy, wide-brimmed hat.
It was a bad time to be seeing double.
The woman standing next to his chair looked like she was about to faint. He barely remembered he
r name, but he felt a lot like the ten-year-old Jason after he’d gotten caught playing house with Amy Baxter, his next-door neighbor at the time.
This was her grandmother? Alyson had thought she was coming to a normal, sane world. She thought she had left crazy behind. Maybe the town cat lady wasn’t as far-fetched as she thought. A giggle sneaked up on Alyson, surprising her, and she laughed. And then her grandmother laughed.
“Girl, I’ve wanted to hug you for twenty-something years. Come here.” Etta Forester took the few steps that brought them together and then her arms were around Alyson, holding tight.
Etta stepped back. “Well, it don’t look like they ruined you too awful bad. A little too much like a spit-polished boot, but you’ll do. I’d say you’ve had your first scuff marks in the last few weeks. Is that what…”
Etta jerked around, and then leaned to look under the sofa. “What in the world. Is that a nasty old cat in my house?”
Another laugh, this one deep, male. Alyson glared at the man sitting in her grandmother’s velvet wingback.
“Yes, it is a cat. He told me to bring it in and feed it.”
“I didn’t tell you to let it go.” He struggled to sit up. Alyson held out a hand and he pulled himself to his feet.
And he didn’t let go of her hand, not for a long moment, and it wasn’t easy, to untangle herself from the emotion that happened in that moment. The connection between them started in her fingers and slid down her arms, straight to her heart. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move away from his touch.
“Jason Bradshaw, what is the matter with you? Bull get you down?”
“Just a little. Some head—”
Etta waved her hand. “I read about it on the Internet. Concussion and some torn ligaments in your knee. How’s your noggin?”
“My noggin hurts and you’re pretty lucky that I remember you.”
Etta patted his cheek. “Honey, you couldn’t forget an old bird like me.”
“You are unforgettable.” Jason rubbed the back of his head and Alyson wondered if he was as okay as he pretended.
“There’s that cat again.” Etta pointed to the love seat. “Get that thing outta here. My goodness, you’re here for what, two days and you’re already dragging in strays. You always were animal crazy.”
Alyson turned, she held her grandmother’s gaze and she couldn’t look away. “I was animal crazy?”
“Of course you were. Drove your mother insane. Well, everything drove that high-maintenance female insane.”
“I’m sorry about the kitten. It was hungry.” She glanced at Jason. “And it wasn’t his fault.”
Being around her grandmother seemed to push both of them back in time about twenty years, Alyson realized. They were suddenly children, apologizing and trying to make excuses for their bad behavior.
“The kitten doesn’t have to go, but you’ll need a litter box and some food for the mangy-looking thing.”
“Since Etta is here, I think I can go now.” Jason walked to the door. He paused at the opening and leaned against it a little and Alyson remembered he’d done that yesterday. She realized now that it wasn’t about being relaxed. He was holding himself up.
“Jason, do you need a ride home?” Etta was more observant. It didn’t take her two days to notice when a man wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be.
“No, I think I’m fine. I just need a minute to get my legs back under me. Take care of each other. Etta, I’m glad you’re home.”
“Well, thanks to you I came back early and cut short a perfectly lovely cruise with friends.”
“I did that?” Jason shook his head. “I guess I probably did.”
“We’ll blame it on Alana. She called the ship. I got off at the next port and flew to Tulsa.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Alyson found it hard to believe that anyone would do that. And as she was taking it all in, Jason was saying goodbye. Her one familiar link in this town, a man who couldn’t remember her name.
He left, walking down the sidewalk to his truck, slow, even steps, and still that cowboy swagger. Alyson watched through the gauzy curtains as he got into his truck, pulling himself into the seat and sitting for a minute.
“We should probably drive him,” she whispered.
A hand touched her shoulder. Her grandmother stood behind her, staring out the window with her. “He wouldn’t thank you for that. A cowboy likes to take care of himself. He’s stronger than most. He’s been through a lot and came out just fine.”
“What’s he been through?”
“Now honey, if I told you that, then you wouldn’t have the fun of getting to know him. Getting to know a man, that’s part of the adventure.”
Alyson watched him drive away. “I’m not here to get to know a man. I’m here to find out who I am.”
Her grandmother put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re home, Alyson girl, glad you’re home.”
Chapter Four
Alyson stood in the center of her grandmother’s parlor and thought about Etta’s words. Glad she was home. Was this home? Or just a place to hide for a little while, until she figured out her next move, where she went from here?
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Etta flipped on a light and pulled the drapes open, sending a light cloud of dust across the room.
Alyson sneezed a few times as sunlight poured into the room, the beams catching the particles of dust that had flown from the drapes. Etta didn’t seem to be bothered by the sunlight or the dust. She swiped her finger across the windowsill and shook her head before turning back to face Alyson.
“Well?” Alyson’s grandmother was a tall, thin woman with hair that wasn’t gray, but a shade of lavender. Silver hoops dangled from her ears and her clothes were breezy and tie-dyed, like the ones Alyson had found upstairs in the room with the spinning wheel.
“I needed to find you.”
Etta’s brows went up and she shook her head. She pointed to the photo albums on the sofa and glanced back at Alyson. And then it hit her, that maybe she shouldn’t be here. Maybe she should have run to anyplace but Oklahoma. She knew people in California. She had friends in Chicago. She could have gone anywhere.
And she’d picked Dawson, Oklahoma. She’d picked Etta. She wanted answers to questions that had lingered in the back of her mind for years. There had always been flashes of memory, missing pieces and unanswered questions.
She had tried to research a few years earlier, when she first moved into her own apartment, but she’d hit dead ends. Maybe because she hadn’t really known what she was searching for. It was hard to search for something that felt like childhood dreams—nothing real, nothing tangible.
“You’re here because something happened.” Etta sat down on the piano bench and ran her fingers over the keys. “You played it when you were a little bitty thing. I knew then, when you were barely talking, that you had a gift.”
A gift, or was it a curse? Etta couldn’t know the pressure. She couldn’t know what it felt like, to never really have a childhood, to always be playing, to always be on for the people around her. Her weekends had been spent with her mother, poring over articles written about her performances. Nothing was more fun for an eight-year-old than to read about every wrong note she’d played.
And what happened to the prodigy when she became an adult, with hands that trembled and fear that squeezed the air from her lungs? What did she do when the pills stopped working?
“I didn’t know about you, about my family here.” Alyson walked to the window, she looked out at the quiet country lane. A truck pulling a trailer loaded with hay lumbered down the road, a Border Collie standing on the bales of hay.
Alyson turned to face her grandmother. “I had memories that I couldn’t figure out. I stopped questioning my mother years ago. She wouldn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry.” Etta stood, closing the cover over the keys of the piano and walking up behind Alyson. An arm, comforting and strong, wrapped arou
nd Alyson’s shoulders and pulled her close. “You and Andie were the victims. I couldn’t stop what they did, the way they decided to end things. I just prayed that someday you’d come back.”
“I guess your prayers have been answered.” The words were empty, because Alyson had never prayed, not real prayers that counted. She’d prayed to go to Europe, to have a pony, and to survive. That had been a prayer that counted. She just hadn’t realized it at the time.
“Yes, my prayers have been answered. But it isn’t all about having you here. It’s about having you happy.”
Alyson walked away from the window, away from her grandmother’s embrace. She stopped in front of the photo albums she’d left on the coffee table. She’d found pictures of herself in those albums, a toddler who smiled.
How did she tell her grandmother about the pills she took for anxiety, and about falling apart? How did she talk about how it felt to look in the mirror and see a fraud, someone so far from the perfect person everyone thought she was, that she didn’t even recognize the person looking back at her?
She picked up the album and opened to pictures of her father and her sister. Andie. She whispered the name and closed her eyes. There were so many missing pieces of her life she wondered how she had ever felt whole.
Had she ever felt whole?
She wasn’t sure that she was even there yet, not even with this knowledge, with this family she had missed out on, and with Etta standing next to her.
“He loved you.”
Alyson closed her eyes and tried to remember that love, those arms, and how it had felt to be a part of their lives, a part of Etta’s home and her family. Vaguely, she vaguely remembered him tossing her into the air and catching her.
There were other memories, memories that made her want to cry. She shook her head to clear the images of driving away. Images that had been explained away as childhood nightmares.
“I wish he would have come after me, after us.” Alyson didn’t mean to make it an accusation against a man who could no longer defend himself, but it happened.
“Aly, he couldn’t. They made a deal. Your mother and father were two different people. James was a country boy. Caroline was city. He grew up in church. Your mother didn’t. They couldn’t find a middle ground.”
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