West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  “That’s why I want to check. I don’t want to go off half-cocked, bring him in and then get both of ‘em mad at me for doing the wrong thing. Where’s she at?”

  “Maybe her office,” Shannon guessed. “Christine and I were working there earlier, but she disappeared at lunch to—”

  Gib didn’t wait for her to finish. He called a quick “Thanks!” over his shoulder and set off down the hall.

  Shannon frowned at his back. “I’m not sure I want to go in there right now, do you?” she asked.

  Christine shook her head. “No.”

  “Let’s wait out on the porch, and if Gib does have to go get Rafe, we might as well call it a day. Mae’ll probably want her office for the rest of the afternoon.” She paused. “I wonder what it is?”

  Gib was out of the office in less than five minutes. His expression, when he came upon them on the porch, was even more strained. “Gotta go get him. She says no one’s answering the radio and what she needs to talk to him about won’t wait.” Gib ducked his head and jogged off.

  “That answers one question, then,” Shannon said. “We get the rest of the day off.”

  CHRISTINE DECIDED the best place for her was her room. She lay down for a while, trying not to think about what was happening downstairs, trying not to wonder if it could have anything to do with her. She also tried not to think about what Morgan was doing, if he was in any danger or would be in danger while helping to deal with the rustlers. But she did let herself think about him. Wondering, enjoying, daydreaming about what would happen when once again they met.

  She drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened sometime later by a knock on her door.

  She sat up, slightly bufuddled. “Yes?” she called, searching for her shoes with her toes, while at the same time trying to straighten her shirt and smooth her hair. She crossed to the door and swung it open to see Shannon standing there. She looked.odd. Strained, white-faced, her eyes filled with concern.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” she apologized, “but Mae wants to see you. Rafe’s here now. So’s Morgan.”

  “Morgan?” Christine repeated stupidly.

  Shannon nodded. “Come on. We have to hurry. Otherwise, Mae.” She didn’t finish. Instead, she grabbed Christine’s arm and pulled her downstairs.

  Christine’s mind slowly cleared as they hurried down the hall to Mae’s office. “What is it?” she asked. “Something to do with the packet Mae received?”

  Shannon didn’t answer. And when the door opened to reveal the people inside, Christine felt like an aristocrat being presented at the guillotine. Mae, Rafe, Morgan and Gib waited for her.

  Shannon accompanied Christine inside and, once there, remained beside her, a stubborn look on her face. I’m not leaving, her expression said.

  Mae was seated at her desk. She looked as if she’d shrunken and aged since Christine had last seen her. The lines on her face were deeper, she’d lost color, and her eyes. Her dark eyes almost burned when they fixed on Christine.

  Christine glanced at Morgan. She’d been looking forward to the moment when she’d see him again, but she hadn’t planned for it to be like this. What could possibly have happened? He, too, looked shaken, like the rest of them.

  “Sit down,” Mae directed her, her words clipped.

  “I’d rather not,” Christine said, just as she had the first time she’d gone through one of Mae’s interrogations. She wanted to scream, demand she be told what was going on. But she wouldn’t do it. Intimidation was a huge part of Mae’s repertoire, and if she pretended not to be intimidated, Mae would lose a large portion of her control.

  “I should have known it from the beginning,” Mae muttered. “From the way you stood up for yourself.” Then she was silent a moment before finally collecting a sheaf of loose papers and shaking them at Christine. “I don’t know what kind of game you and Ira have been trying to play—” her voice shook on the last word “—but it’s come to an end with this! This is the biggest, most unmitigated—” Her voice shook again, then cracked, and finally she dropped the papers back on the desk.

  Christine was scared. She didn’t understand. What kind of information had reached Mae that could result in such a complete breakdown of her usual control?

  She looked around, her gaze skipping from face to face, begging silently for information. It stopped on Morgan. He took a step toward her, but Rafe held him back.

  “This has to be settled,” Rafe said quietly.

  Morgan shook off Rafe’s hand and crossed to her, anyway.

  “What?” Christine said to him as Shannon slipped quietly into Rafe’s arms.

  “You might ask that, yes,” Mae said, having regained her strength. “Why didn’t you tell us you were Ira’s daughter?”

  “But Erin’s not Ira’s daughter,” Christine said. “I know I let you think she might be, but I don’t see how you can—” She stopped. “What did you say?” she asked.

  “I said—”

  “Mae, be kinder,” Shannon pleaded, “please. Don’t you see she—”

  “I said why didn’t you tell us you were Ira’s daughter in the first place? It would have saved us all a lot of time and trouble!”

  Christine looked at Morgan again, standing close beside her, his hand clasping her arm. She needed him to translate. She was having trouble understanding.

  Mae thrust a sheet of notepaper directly at her. It was filled with a familiar spidery scrawl—Ira’s handwriting.

  “Read it,” Mae commanded. “We all have. It was written to me.”

  Christine took the notepaper, but stared at it unseeingly. “Did you say Ira’s daughter? But Abigail is Ira’s daughter.”

  “Ira’s other daughter. Read it. Like I told you.” Mae’s voice had grown less angry, as if even she could see that Christine had entered a state of shock and couldn’t quite grasp the significance of what was being said. If Christine was acting, it was a great performance.

  Christine felt Morgan’s arm move to her shoulder. Felt him lead her to a chair and heard him urge her to sit down. Which she did. Still, her fingers wouldn’t function properly. Nor would her brain. The notepaper fluttered to the floor.

  Morgan picked it up.

  “Give it to Shannon,” Mae ordered. “Read it out loud, Shannon.”

  “No, Mae, I won’t.” Shannon stood her ground. “I think this is something Christine should be told on her own, without witnesses.”

  “We’re family here,” Mae snapped. “Morgan included. And her included, it seems. Or so these blood tests say.” She rattled more papers. “Parker blood. Ira’s blood. Unless they’re faked.”

  Rafe took the notepaper from Morgan. “I’ll read it,” he said quietly.

  “Read this, too,” Mae commanded, “so she’ll know who sent it.”

  Rafe accepted a more formal letter. “Christine,” he said levelly, “this letter is from Eugene Hernandez. It’s on his letterhead, has his signature and is dated yesterday.” He began to read. “‘Dear Ms. Parker, please find enclosed a sealed collection of material entrusted to me by my deceased client, Ira Lee Parker, before his death. The seal is intact and unbroken. As instructed, it is being sent to you exactly one week after confirmation that Ms. Christine Patricia Grant and her daughter, Erin Margaret Grant, are in residence at the Parker Ranch. Upon completion of this duty, my entire responsibility to my late client is terminated.’

  “Now the other,” Rafe said after a quick glance at Christine. “This is from Ira to Mae, signed by him, and dated March 25 of this year. ‘Mae, I know this is going to come as a complete surprise, but the young woman I sent to you, under the guise of inheriting a share in the ranch, is in fact my daughter. A daughter I had no knowledge of until her mother contacted me as she lay near her own death almost a year and a half ago. I didn’t tell Christine who I was for fear of having her hate me. By this time you’ll know that I have died. But I couldn’t leave things as they were, with her struggling, alone, trying to raise my only grandchild.
I sent her to you with the knowledge that you wouldn’t rest until you learned the truth, which I’m now providing. And that once learned, you also won’t rest until Christine and Erin are treated fairly. Proof positive is in the blood tests. If you want to recheck the tests, I’ve made provisions for a sample of my blood to be maintained at the laboratory. Christine’s you can get from her. The tricky part of this entire undertaking is Christine herself. She’s very proud, very independent—having had to be independent from a young age. Please, Mae, help me make her understand. Please tell her for me—as many times as it takes—that I love her, and that she and Erin made my last months in this world worthwhile. Also, Mae, please be sure that she’s given her rightful inheritance, and that she accepts it. For Erin’s sake, if not for her own. And, again, that she knows I love her.”‘

  The effect of Rafe’s low voice reading Ira’s words echoed through the room. Mae twitched, Shannon wiped away a tear, Gib looked down at the floor, and Morgan’s fingers, which were gripping her shoulder, tightened.

  “So,” Mae continued, seemingly undaunted, “is it true?”

  Shannon came to stand by Christine’s chair. “Mae. This has to stop. Rafe, please!”

  Rafe, shaking off any lingering doubt, took command. “That’s enough for now, Mae. I think we have our answer. Let’s allow Christine to have some time on her own to get used to it. We’ll talk later. Does that sound all right with you, Christine?”

  Christine looked up at him. Ira? Her father? But how? When? He and her mother had never.

  Rafe stepped over to the desk and extracted from the myriad papers another envelope. This one had her name on it. “Ira asked us to give this to you, too,” he said quietly, and placed it in her hands. Then he went to the door and motioned for everyone, including Mae, to leave.

  Soon, only Morgan and Christine were left in the room. Without a word, Morgan knelt beside her and pulled her close.

  She shut her eyes and tried to experience only this moment. To be aware of his strength and his kindness and his desire to make things better for her. And his wish to take away some of her pain.

  “Morgan, I don’t understand. How could Ira be my.” She couldn’t say the word out loud.

  “Maybe the answer’s in there,” he said, nodding at the envelope. Then he smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her temple, her forehead.

  “But I can’t be Ira’s child!”

  “Hush,” he advised, pulling her closer. “For now. For a minute. Just breathe steady. Relax.”

  Christine did as he said, and slowly, some of the blood that had frozen in her veins began to flow again, and her mind didn’t seem as unable to cope.

  She returned his embrace, holding him as tightly he was holding her. His strength, his steadiness, was helping.

  Finally he broke away. “I’ll leave you, too, now. So you can read what Ira—” He stopped. “I’ll be out in the hall. I won’t go away,” he promised.

  Christine nodded, burning both with curiosity and dread.

  Morgan hesitated, then bent to kiss her full on the mouth. Smiling slightly, he left.

  Christine glanced at the envelope. She still didn’t know what she felt. Everything within her seemed to be on hold. She ran her finger over the spidery letters that formed her name.

  She opened the envelope and sliding out a sheet of paper began to read. “My darling daughter Christine, by now you know the truth. I can’t begin to make everything up to you, to erase the past. If only I’d—but I didn’t know. And coward that I’ve proved to be, I couldn’t tell you once I did. I was afraid that, in your pride, you’d reject me, as well as what I offered. Your mother contacted me shortly after she’d entered the hospital for the last time. She said—and this I think she wouldn’t mind me telling you—she felt remorse at how bad a mother she’d been, and how bad a grandmother. I met Jeannette when she entertained at a private club where I was a member. We met two or three times after that. I can’t say it was love. I also can’t say that it wasn’t—at least temporarily. I had no knowledge of the pregnancy, and I don’t know why she didn’t contact me for money to help raise you. She wouldn’t say. She refused even to tell me where you were. Just that you were out there somewhere—my daughter! I hired someone to track you down. Then I became ill again. Christine, take what little I offer. Take it for Erin. And forgive me. Please. All my love, your devoted father, Ira Parker.”

  Her father. Her father! How many times had she wondered who her father was? How many days and nights had she ached to know something about him, to the point of scouring her mother’s photo albums and counting back the months and years until she settled on a likely candidate? And all that time—her fingers tightened, crumpling the notepaper—and all that time her mother knew Ira was no more than fifteen or twenty miles away! Living with his two other children, showering on them everything that she.

  Christine started to shake. Why? Why hadn’t he told her? She’d liked him! She’d admired him! She’d held his hand as he died!

  It was too much. All she wanted to do was rail and cry and throw things. Why had her mother kept his identity a secret? Why had Ira sent her here to what he knew would be certain rejection? Because he was afraid she’d refuse his delayed gift of inclusion? Well, she would reject it! Just as she’d reject him. She didn’t need him or his money or his love. She’d been on her own taking care of herself all her life! She didn’t need anything from him!

  Morgan. She did need Morgan. To help her think. To help her wade through this morass of lies and partial truths.

  She went to the door and, opening it, heard Mae say, “I appreciate all you tried to do, Morgan, even though now it seems that checking up on her didn’t really matter. She’s a Parker, and as a Parker, she—”

  Christine must have made a sound. A strangled gasp. Morgan turned, and from the way the blood drained from his face, it was clear he knew he’d been found out.

  The crumpled note tumbled from her suddenly nerveless fingers. Morgan had been checking up on her for Mae? That was all their budding relationship had been? Another subterfuge? Another out-and-out lie? And if that was so, who could she believe-ever?

  He reached for her as she lunged past them. “Christine!”

  She wouldn’t stop. She ran down the hall and to the stairs, passing Shannon and Rafe on the way, but she wouldn’t look at them, not even when Shannon called her name.

  She ran on, pounding up the stairs and into her bedroom. Boots pounded after her, but she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, hoping to keep Morgan on the other side, away from her.

  His fist beat against the wood. “Christine!” he called. “Open the door! It’s not what you—”

  “Go away! Go away!”

  “I have to talk to you, Christine!”

  “No! I don’t want to talk to anyone! Leave me alone, all of you!”

  “Christine, I love you!”

  She closed her ears against him. It didn’t matter what he said, because it wasn’t the truth. No one told the truth, here or anywhere. No one cared enough to tell the truth. Morgan in particular.

  He rattled the doorknob. “You had a hard hit just now. Christine, please, let me explain.”

  “I hate you! I hate you all!” she shouted. She knew she sounded like a child, but that was exactly the way she felt, betrayed by those she cared most about—yet again.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said tightly.

  “Yes, I do! I really do!”

  Her breaths were coming in gasps. Her heart thundered in her ears. Tears streaked her cheeks. She waited, listening, for him to go away, and when he finally did, she dragged herself, stumbling, to the bed.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to fill the world with her tears. Only, now that she was free to give in to her emotions, when no one would see her or hear her, she couldn’t.

  She lay there, unmoving and dry-eyed, for what seemed like hours. Then, finally, she cried.

  MORGAN CAME DOWNSTAIRS slowly. He felt
like death warmed over, his emotions drained. All he could see was the look on Christine’s face. All he could hear were her anguished cries of betrayal.

  Rafe and Shannon were in the living room on the couch. Rafe was holding Shannon protectively, as if she’d been crying. Mae stood at the window staring out at the courtyard beyond.

  “She won’t talk to you?” Rafe asked quietly.

  Morgan shook his head and collapsed into a chair.

  “I should’ve known she was a Parker,” Mae muttered again, her back turned to the room.

  “That was a pretty brutal way to handle things, Aunt Mae,” Rafe said, his lips tight.

  “She didn’t know,” Shannon murmured sadly.

  “Which was what we had to find out, wasn’t it? What was I supposed to do?” Mae demanded, spinning around. “Pussyfoot about? No. I asked and we found out the truth.” She frowned. “I don’t know why she’s acting so huffy all of a sudden. It’s an honor to be a Parker, not a tragedy!”

  “Maybe she doesn’t see it that way,” Rafe said.

  “Then she’d be wrong!” Mae snapped. “Ahh! I’ve had about enough of this. Tell her when she’s over her snit to come see me. We’ll get all the paperwork started to give her her share in the ranch. And as far as staying here goes, she can keep on doing that, too. Shannon, you’ll be living at Rafe’s place in a month. The two of them can take both guest rooms, as far as I’m concerned. Give ‘em a little space to spread out.” Her shoulders twitched as she added uncomfortably, “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

  Morgan said nothing. He couldn’t. Everything he knew about Mae told him that she truly hadn’t meant to hurt Christine—or him. But she’d said exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time more than once that day. Bull in a china shop, he recalled hearing his dad describe her years ago. Dub was right.

  Mae left the room, her head held high, but with a giveaway hitch in her walk. She wasn’t quite as invincible, or as uncannily right, as she wanted everyone to believe. She knew it, only she didn’t like to admit it.