Texas Redeemed

by Isla Bennet

  “About what she said …” Dinah went on with a pained expression as she selected a banana and began to peel. “Valerie’s just being careful. It’s her way.”

  Without offering or being asked, Peyton washed his hands at the sink and started placing strips of maple bacon into a frying pan.

  Dinah smiled. “D’you mean to tell me somewhere along the way in between bouncing from city to city, country to country, you learned how to cook?”

  “I get by. Surviving comes easier if you know a few necessary skills. Cooking’s one of them.” He adjusted the range’s heat setting and in seconds the delicious aroma rose from the pan. It felt good finding his way around the kitchen with Dinah at his side. It brought him back to his boyhood, to that first year after Marin had given him to his father and he’d followed his grandmother around scared that he’d wind up lost in the enormous house without her. He wished Dinah reminded him of his grandmother, but Estella had been unique with short, wavy blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes and a spirit that magnetized people. And he was hell-bent on remembering her that way, not as a pale, cold shell lying in a casket fit for a queen.

  “By the way,” he said, “what Lucy said wasn’t anything I didn’t already know.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  Peyton grabbed a pair of tongs and turned a strip of bacon. “Valerie and I had a—” A moment? An encounter? A brush with something too hot and dangerous to take lightly? “—a conversation on Halloween. She suggested I visit Lucy this week, making it perfectly clear that she wouldn’t be around. And it wasn’t hard to guess that she’d cover all her bases, namely having you stand guard.” He attempted a contrite smile. “A mother should keep her kid safe, I get it.”

  “That she does.” Dinah worked the batter in a mixing bowl with a whisk. “Lucy, Battle Creek and that children’s foundation are her life. Hovering over all three is what keeps the girl going. And I love her for it. Love that determination, that mama bear instinct.”

  “There’s a but coming.”

  “But she might have it in her head that Lucy, the ranch and the foundation are all there is to her. That’s what I don’t love.”

  Peyton considered this as he transferred the cooked strips to a plate covered with a paper towel. “Maybe that’s all she wants there to be. If it makes her happy, who am I to knock it?”

  “One problem. She’s not happy.”

  I was happy when we were friends. Sitting in the darkness with her practically in his arms, she’d made a confession—given him a clue that he’d set aside.

  “Doesn’t she have friends? I mean, what about Cordelia and Felicity—”

  Dinah cut him off with a sigh as she poured the first batch of pancakes onto the griddle. “She’s got friends in all corners of town. Good, down-to-earth folks who understand her.”

  “Does she have—” he averted his gaze, pretended it was necessary to push up his sleeves at that exact moment “—a man?”

  “If she did, I’d be shocked.”

  “Don’t do that, Dinah. You want me to believe she’s been alone all these years?” He wouldn’t believe it, not when busybodies at the gas station and general store and hospital were maniacally eager to taunt him with the names of men—and not all of them single—who were eyeing her. “What’s shocking is that she’s got any privacy at all in this town.”

  “She’s never brought a man home since I’ve known her. Home means something to her that I don’t think any of us can understand—and that’s fine. So if she had a relationship of substance, she would’ve let the man into her home.” Dinah turned slightly. “And here you are cooking in her kitchen.”

  “Look—”

  “Friendship is underestimated, you know.” She flipped the pancakes one by one. “It got her through life with Rhys. Lord knows that’s saying a lot.”

  Valerie’s uncle had been a stranger to Peyton, and the man had worked hard to keep it that way. But Valerie and all the laughter and fun and sweetness about her had kept him coming back to the dilapidated, depressing ranch and the moody iron-fisted cowboy who’d seemed to be all the family she had.

  “She told me he kicked her out when she got pregnant.”

  “I wasn’t in Rhys’s life then, didn’t know Valerie. What I gleaned about the whole thing was that he raised her to be who he wanted her to be.” She began cracking eggs. “Well, he’d tried to anyway. Strict rules, harsh punishments—you get the picture. As long as she conformed, she was a good girl. Pregnancy out of wedlock? Oh, definitely not a part of Rhys’s ‘good girl’ definition. I’m thinking he realized that he’d lost the one person he thought he could completely control.”

  “Was he like that with you? With Cordelia?”

  Dinah rubbed her cheek absently, as if it was an old habit that refused to die. “He hurt us, told Cordelia and her brother, Chase, that they were weak and didn’t have what it takes to survive on a ranch. He wouldn’t let Cordelia date—she’d be ‘easily turned out.’ He said she’d be like me, and never make a real man happy. That girl only worked herself to the bone to make him proud. Sometimes I think he got to her more than she’s ever let on. But Chase … he took the brunt of it. Rhys wanted to ‘toughen him up.’ Called him a mama’s boy and … a pussy.” She uttered the word on a broken whisper. “He was just a boy and his father wanted him to be a man. Or what he thought a man should be—brutal. I finally took my children to Montana and never looked back. Until he was gone.”

  “Where’s Chase now?”

  She pressed her lips together, as if steeling her emotions. “He was in the army, on his third tour. But now? Well, that’s anybody’s guess. Last I heard, he left Afghanistan. Left the service altogether, I believe, but who knows why? I think Rhys killed something inside him. God forgive me, but I hate him for it.”

  “As long as I’ve known Val, she’s been attached to this ranch.”

  “Likely why she never put up a fuss to live elsewhere.”

  “Or she didn’t know whether or not ‘elsewhere’ would be worse than life with Rhys.” Peyton wanted to reach inside his chest and remove the palpable tug of painful guilt, the sickening feeling that he’d ignored an obligation to Valerie. “Dinah, before I left town I asked her to travel with me. No, I demanded.” But only for his sake, because she had made his life good back then. He hadn’t thought about her needs. “She turned me down, and I thought she was dropping me … cutting me loose. I’d known that would pull us apart—her need to stay and my need to leave. We fought.”

  The old woman’s eyebrows pulled together, causing a crease to form between them. “Nobody’s blaming you.”

  “I am.” His friendship with Valerie had been her lifeline and he’d let some pointless argument sever it, leaving her to fend for herself and do God-knew-what to get through it all.

  Dinah moved to the range, scrambling the eggs with careful precision. “And what about you, hon? Got any friends yourself?”

  Over the years he’d met interesting people, formed some relationships. A few had tapered off, but he was still tight with several of the people he’d worked with during his most recent missions. Malcolm Pettis was the first friend he’d found in Baltimore, and had been there for Peyton after the stabbing and throughout the painful-as-hell recovery. But even Malcolm didn’t know that he had a life in Texas, was the heir to a menswear company he didn’t want a part of and had left behind a woman he’d never forgotten. Dinah didn’t need all the details though. “Yes, ma’am, I have friends.”

  “Got a woman?”

  There had been women, and sex that hadn’t been about more than just sex. He didn’t have a woman to trust, to want on a level that shot deeper than physical thirst. “No, I don’t. Doesn’t mean I’m in the market right now.”

  Dinah said nothing to this, only finished scrambling the eggs and observed their handiwork. Nothing too fancy, but still a delicious-looking spread. “I’ll get Lucy.”

  It took all of two minutes for his daughter to bolt to the counter, f
ill her plate and dive in without first waiting for Peyton and Dinah to serve themselves.

  Peyton didn’t want his first real visit with her to unfold this way. He didn’t regret calling her out—it needed to be done—but he wasn’t here as a fill-in disciplinarian for Valerie. But what the hell should a new father say to his child, especially when she was a few years shy of being able to vote and drive a car? “Uh … Music.”

  “What about it?”

  “Like it?”

  That warranted a narrowed-eyed glance. “What next? You’ll ask what my favorite color is? Or if I could be any animal, what would I be?”

  “Answer him,” Dinah encouraged.

  “Dinah, you know I like music. I asked for iTunes gift cards for Christmas last year.”

  “What do you like?” he pressed. “Rock?”

  Lucy chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Mom loves rock.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you know.” She cut into a pancake. “Rock’s cool, but I’m really into hip hop and pop now. Oldies, too. Nineteen seventies funk, definitely. Indie, underground stuff. My taste’s—what’d you call it, Dinah?”

  “Eclectic.”

  “Yeah. Mom says it’s well rounded.”

  “Here’s a question,” Dinah offered. “What’s the most played song on your iPod, Luce?”

  “‘Tears in Heaven.’”

  Peyton was surprised. Valerie had accused him of not letting music affect him, but the Eric Clapton song made him feel uneasy … haunted.

  “I’m done. Want me to load the washer, Dinah?” Lucy asked, and once her great-aunt had waved her off, she tossed her napkin onto the counter and flounced into the family room.

  After Peyton helped Dinah clean up, she excused herself to make a phone call, leaving him alone with Lucy. Except she was bullheaded about tuning him out as she stared at the television.

  “Can I sit?” He indicated the two-cushion-wide space on the sofa beside her.

  “If you want.”

  That was better than a no. He could be grateful for small victories. “This is Shrek?”

  She nodded, and when she shifted on the sofa he could swear she was an inch closer to him than she’d been before. Or maybe he was just hoping too hard for progress.

  “What music do you like?” she suddenly inquired, eyes still on the television.

  “Classical,” he replied without having to think about it. “My grandmother was big on classical music.”

  “Estella was the reason you and my mom met.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mom really loved her. D’you know she taught her about the constellations and stuff? Mom even made this star map up on the Crest.” Lucy folded her legs underneath her. “Wish I’d known her.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So what do you do, besides work all the time?”

  Since he’d returned to Night Sky there wasn’t much he did outside of work, other than swinging a bat for exercise and driving just to think. “I’ll show you. Next visit we’re taking a trip to my world.” He glanced at the green ogre and talking donkey on the screen. “One more question. If you could be any animal …?”

  Lucy twisted her mouth in a this-is-pathetic expression. “A bird. Birds can go anywhere they want. As long as they can fly, they can find someplace to fit in.”

  Peyton recalled the drawing he’d found in his grandfather’s study. Did Lucy think life on a cattle ranch didn’t suit her, that fashion did? He knew better than anyone what it was like to be expected to slide into the wrong lifestyle.

  “Hey, Lu—”

  “Shh! Lord Farquaad’s coming up. This is hilarious.”

  He settled against the sofa, wanting to store in his memory bank this moment of sitting with his daughter and watching a movie at home.

  Only this wasn’t his home. It was Valerie’s. And if not for Lucy and the loss of Anna, would their lives intersect at all now?

  Peyton directed his attention to the television, caught some sly joke and chuckled. Beside him, Lucy whipped her head around, laughing, too. “See? Told you it was funny.”

  He laughed a moment longer, and pretended not to notice when Dinah peeked into the family room to check on them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DINAH SAID A man who was punctual was a man you could count on. It made Lucy stop and think when her father’s Lincoln arrived at five o’clock on the dot, and she was still sorting it out in the back of her mind on the way to the destination he’d kept secret from even Dinah.

  From what she’d heard growing up, Peyton Turner was not a man to count on. At least, he hadn’t used to be. Patients at Memorial sure counted on him now—especially after he’d saved the life of man who’d fallen off a roof in the warehouse district the other day and a reporter had come to the hospital to take his picture for the Gazette. And he was annoyingly good about making certain that her homework and chores were not just done, but done well. Now Dinah and even her teachers counted on him to keep her on her toes.

  A billboard for Big Bros’ Cages stole her attention, and she leaned forward in the backseat to grasp her father’s headrest. “A batting cage? This is where you hang out?”

  Peyton hopped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door for her. “Decent exercise. Solitude on most days. It’s a special place.” Something she couldn’t figure out touched his eyes. “Ever been here?”

  “No. What about you, Dinah?” Lucy hoped her great-aunt wasn’t still royally pissed off over Lucy’s spur-of-the-moment choice to show Owen McNamara the windmill when he and his dad had made a feed delivery earlier. Dinah hadn’t been steamed about Lucy running off with Owen, but about the fact that the horse Lucy had ridden out to the windmill was Brute.

  Okay, so she’d lied when she told Owen that her mom let her take Brute out whenever the mood struck. Fine, she’d been showing off to impress a boy whose uncle was in the rodeo circuit. So what? Brute had been faster and more powerful than she’d expected, and he’d almost flung her to the ground like a wild bull. She hadn’t gotten hurt, and at the windmill Owen had given her his necklace—a cool, ancient-looking talisman pierced with a thin leather strap. It was supposed to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck.

  Lucy could certainly use good luck. Last night she’d had a nightmare, and Dinah had found her sleeping in the bathtub. In the dream, she was standing at the cemetery, in front of Anna’s grave—except her name was on the marker, not Anna’s.

  She touched the talisman now, as she waited for Dinah’s response. The dreams were always worse when her mother was away. They screwed with her head, taunted her about stuff she already knew. The wrong twin—the good twin—was gone.

  “Oh, yes, I’m ready for the major league,” Dinah said sarcastically. “Honey, of course not.”

  Honey. Lucy tucked the talisman beneath the collar of her Beatles tee shirt, glad that her great-aunt wasn’t mad anymore.

  Peyton came around the vehicle to help Dinah out. “Today you’ll learn the ropes.”

  “Before I switched to soccer, I played T-ball,” Lucy told him as they approached the cages.

  “Should I watch out for the competition?”

  He was teasing her, she could tell. Doctor Peyton Turner, emergency surgeon, aid worker, ex-badass, knew how to kid around?

  At the cage, Peyton offered her a helmet and bat. Cautious now, she said, “What if I’m no good at this? I don’t want to look stupid.”

  “You sound like I did when I tried out my buddy’s motorcycle,” he said with a headshake. “Motorcycles are important to me now.”

  “Gramps said you got one when you were in high school. Do you still ride?”

  “Yeah.”

  As he helped her put on the helmet, careful not to pull her hair, she tried to picture him on a bike. The image fit. People said he was a “bad boy,” and what bad boy didn’t ride around in a leather jacket on a motorcycle?

  “Who goes first?” Peyton asked, moving his gaze fro
m her to Dinah. Silence. “Dinah, you blinked first, so c’mon. You’re up.”

  The old woman fussed and blushed as she took a bent-kneed stance at the end of the cage across from the pitching machine, and Lucy took a few pictures with her phone’s camera before Dinah could catch her. The first ball whizzed by her at a speed she didn’t expect, despite Peyton’s warning that it would be fast. Then the second one surprised her, zooming straight at her, and she yelped, dropped her bat and scurried off, telling him she’d have his hide for putting her up to the fiasco.

  “You go,” Lucy told him when he came over and said it was her turn. If she freaked out like Dinah, or missed all the pitches, her dad would probably be embarrassed, disappointed, or both. She didn’t know if she could do this, didn’t know if she could deal with failing someone else … letting down another parent.

  Dinah stood outside of the cage, designating herself cheerleader, and when the first pitch sent the ball sailing Peyton’s way, he swung the bat hard and sent the ball in the opposite direction with a bone-chilling Thwack!

  “Goodness gracious!” Dinah marveled, and she continued to watch as he hit the next three baseballs with equal force.

  No way could Lucy mimic that. She prepared to set her bat aside, but noticed the light towers flash on at the exact moment that her dad swung his bat a second too late—and the ball flew past him.

  He missed!

  Peyton stepped away and hitched his chin at her. “How’s the competition feeling?”

  Like going home. “Okay.” Lucy let him help her get set up and position the bat properly. The pop of the pitching machine made her jump, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the ball passed.

  “Open your eyes.”

  At the sound of her dad’s voice, Lucy did open her eyes—to glare at him. Dinah was right. This was a fiasco. “I—I can’t hit the ball. It’s too fast—”

  Another pop. Another ball zooming by. Then another.

  Lucy sighed with frustration, deciding to swing this time. No luck. The ball hit the cage, making the chain-link fencing rattle. Last pitch, she thought, feeling her sweaty hands slip on the bat.