Redemption Road: Jackson Falls Book 5 (Jackson Falls Series)

by Breton, Laurie

  “It’s in South Carolina.”

  “I know where Myrtle Beach is. But what’s my dad doing there?”

  “Hopefully, he and his wife are enjoying retirement in their new RV.”

  It all began to make a horrid kind of sense. The messy kitchen. The missing photos. His familiarity with the house. But, no, Dad wouldn’t do that. This was the family home, where he’d raised his kids and lived with Mama until she died. There was no way he’d ever let it go to a stranger.

  In her haughtiest tone, Colleen said, “And who, precisely, are you?”

  He held out a muddy hand. They both stared at it before he reconsidered and withdrew it. “Harley Atkins,” he said. “And it most certainly is my kitchen. You’re looking at the new owner of Meadowbrook Farm.”

  ***

  Shock and desperation.

  Those were the only words that adequately described how she felt right now. Dad had given shelter, respectability and self-esteem to a dozen destitute farmhands over the years. Now, his youngest daughter, equally destitute, equally in need of respectability and self-esteem, had been forced to come crawling home, only to discover that, in an ironic twist of fate, that home had been sold out from under her.

  Harley Atkins had turned out to not be a serial killer after all. He’d taken a single look at her ashen face and had settled her on the rim of the tub before she could crumple to the floor. He’d left her with the dog, returning with a tall glass of ice-cold water. She drank it down slowly, savoring the taste. Colleen had spent years pining for the sweet, delicious water that flowed from Dad’s artesian well. She’d lived in a lot of places, and found nothing like it anywhere.

  But it came with a price. One she’d been unwilling to pay.

  So she’d stayed away. Relinquished her family ties. Burned a number of bridges. And now, she was in trouble.

  She briefly considered calling Bill. She and her oldest brother had once been close. But Bill was married to Jesse’s sister. Trish Lindstrom Bradley hadn’t liked her much before the divorce, so she could only imagine how her sister-in-law felt about her now. She’d rather eat ground glass than ask Trish to take her in, even for a night or two. So Bill was out.

  And she certainly couldn’t go to Jesse. She’d sleep in her car in the Big Apple parking lot before she’d turn to her ex-husband for help. He’d already done enough for her. More than she deserved, to be truthful. Their parting had been amicable, but he’d been left with a nine-year-old son to raise. And he’d done a bang-up job of it. Mikey was eighteen now, a fine young man, polite and handsome and smart, and halfway through his freshman year at Stanford. The credit for that went exclusively to Jesse. Oh, sure, she’d spent time with her son after the divorce. Christmases, school vacations, a few weeks in the summer. But none of those things compared to being there for him 24/7. It was the biggest regret of her life, those years she’d lost with her son, years she could never recover.

  So Jesse was out. That left just one person she could turn to: the older sister she’d spent her life alternately idolizing and resenting. She Who Could Do No Wrong. The responsible one. The one who, after Mama died, had taken over the job of raising her younger sister, a job that bore a striking resemblance to herding cats. The one who remained universally adored. The family favorite.

  The one who wouldn’t hesitate to say, “I told you so.”

  Colleen gripped the steering wheel harder, her mouth clamped in a grim line as she followed the directions Harley Atkins had given her to Casey and Rob MacKenzie’s new house. Up Route 37, left onto Ridge Road, drive for 2 miles, give or take, big yellow house on the right. A black and gold sign out front that read Two Dreamers Records. She found the house with no trouble, pulled into the driveway and shut off her engine. Checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Should she put on lipstick? She pinched both cheeks to add color to a face that was pasty white. How did she want to play this? She didn’t want to look desperate, even though she was. Whenever she’d imagined her homecoming—which hadn't been often—she’d imagined sweeping into town on a wave of triumph. Never had she pictured herself limping in with empty dreams and emptier pockets, behind the wheel of a car that should have long since met its destiny in the crusher.

  It shouldn’t matter so much. She and Casey shared childhood memories and the same DNA. Why was she so intimidated by the prospect of facing her own sister?

  “Oh, hell,” she muttered, and flung open the car door. She might as well be the brassy and bold Colleen they’d all come to know and love. As bad as this day had been, it had nowhere to go but up. She straightened her sunglasses, took a deep breath, arranged her face in a smile so fake it hurt, and picked her way carefully across wet paving stones to the porch.

  At the front door, she rang the bell and waited. Inside the house, a small dog erupted into frantic barking. After a few moments, when there was no human response, she rang it again. The barking grew louder. She was just going for her third attempt when, without warning, the door was flung open and a wave of warmth engulfed her.

  The little dog raced through the door and circled her ankles, sniffing aggressively, undoubtedly picking up the scent of swamp creature that still permeated her clothes. “Leroy,” warned a male voice, “get your furry butt back in the house!” The dog retreated and hid behind the man’s legs, peering at her from a safe distance. To her, the man added, “Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”

  Her sister’s husband was tall and lanky, with neatly clipped wavy blond hair. He held a baby in the crook of his arm, as comfortably as though he’d been holding them all his life. In one hand, he carried an open jar of baby food. In the other, a spoon. She automatically ran him through her Colleen-o-meter, her personal hotness rating system, by which she judged the men she met on a scale of 1-10. Compared to Husband Number One, her sister’s current main squeeze was a pretty average-looking guy. Nice eyes, and nowhere near ugly, but on the other hand, nothing to write home about. He would probably rate a 5 on her scale, except for those eyes, which bumped him up to a 6. She raised her sunglasses to see him more clearly. “Hi,” she said. “I'm—”

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  She removed the sunglasses. “Funny thing. I get that reaction from men all the time. But usually it comes a little further along in the relationship.”

  He flashed her a grin that instantly shot him up to a 12. Whoa. This explained a lot. Forget everything she’d said before. If he wasn’t already married to her sister, she might offer to have his babies.

  “You can only be my wife’s sister,” he said.

  “And you can only be my sister’s husband.”

  Juggling baby, spoon, and jar, he stuck out his hand. “Rob MacKenzie.”

  His handshake was strong and confident. “Colleen Berkowitz,” she said. “You have strained peaches all over your shirt.”

  “Yeah, we generally have to hose down the kitchen—and all participants—after we feed Miss Emmy Lou Who. Come on in. Casey’s at the grocery store. I’m on Mommy duty. Did I miss the memo?”

  She followed him through a pleasant, cozy living room and into the kitchen. “What memo?”

  “The one that said you were coming. Casey never mentioned a thing.”

  “She doesn't know I’m here. I thought it would be better to surprise people. I’m not sure that was such a hot idea. So far, yours is the only friendly face I've seen.”

  He strapped the baby into her high chair and said, “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “I’d kill for a Coke if you have one.” When he started toward the fridge, she waved him off. “I can find it myself. Looks like you already have your hands full.”

  She sat on a wooden bar stool with her Coke and watched him feed the baby. He was patient and efficient, dodging tiny hands and effectively navigating a squirming body and an eager little mouth, while managing to deposit more food inside the baby than outside. “How is it,” he asked, scraping strained peaches from his daughter’s face and redistributing them
in her mouth, “that we’ve never met?”

  “I guess our paths just never crossed.”

  He dabbed at Emma’s face with a dish towel, and the baby let out a squeal of delighted laughter. “How long will you be in town?”

  Colleen took a long, cold drink of soda. “I'm not really sure.” She drummed her fingernails on the sweaty bottle, noticed that the polish had chipped on one of them. She was in desperate need of a manicure, but she wasn’t likely to find one in this town. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Was anybody planning to tell me?”

  He glanced up, raised his eyebrows. “Tell you what?”

  Her mouth drew together in a thin line. “That Dad sold the farm.”

  “Ah,” he said, understanding lighting his face. “So you didn't know?”

  Irritably, she said, “No, I didn't know. I walked in and made a damn fool of myself. Nobody tells me anything. I’m the black sheep, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Funny, I hadn’t heard that about you. But then, I tend to avoid all the family drama. I get enough of that from my side of the family.”

  “And who the hell is this Harley Atkins? Besides being a rescuer of mangy and pathetic dogs?”

  “So you met Harley?”

  “Oh, I met him, all right. He walked into his kitchen and found me standing there. Washing his dishes.”

  The grin returned. It made her fidgety. “That would’ve been worth seeing,” he said.

  “He waltzed in, covered with mud, and carrying this filthy stray dog. They both looked like creatures from some direct-to-video horror movie. Somehow, he managed to rope me into helping give the mangy thing a bath. He was wearing so much mud, I doubt I’d even recognize him if I saw him again.” She thought about those piercing blue eyes and reconsidered her last statement. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

  Rob shoveled another spoonful of peaches into the baby’s waiting mouth. “He’s from some little town in Georgia. I guess he went to law school at USM before he moved to New York and made a pile of money. When he started hankering for the simple life, he remembered how much he’d liked Maine, so he moved here and bought your father’s place.”

  “The guy is a lawyer?” Good God. He’d looked more like a street bum. Her embarrassment factor rose. Exponentially.

  “And he has a twelve-year-old daughter. Annabel.”

  “Why the hell would he want to live here, of all places?”

  Her brother-in-law stood, carried the empty jar of baby food to the sink, and returned with a damp cloth. Wiping Emma’s face, he said, “Why not here? I came here. I stayed.”

  “You’re here because my sister is here. You have an excuse.”

  “There’s a certain level of truth to that statement. But the place grows on you after a while.”

  “Right.” She picked at the chipped nail. “Like a bad fungus.”

  He unsnapped the straps to the high chair and lifted Miss Emmy Lou Who from her seat. “I have to get her some clean clothes,” he said. “Here, hold her for me.” Before she could protest, he thrust the child into her arms and was gone.

  Colleen held the baby gingerly. How the hell had this happened? She didn’t like babies. Had never liked babies. Wasn’t comfortable with anybody she couldn’t interact with on an adult level. Her niece was staring at her with wide-eyed wonder. She should probably say something. At least acknowledge the kid. “Hi, Emma,” she said.

  Emma’s green eyes widened. Except for her blond coloring, which came from her father, the baby looked so much like Casey that it was scary. Softening, Colleen said, “You cutie-patootie.”

  “Gah.”

  Something inside her melted at that single syllable. It had been so long since she’d held a baby. Inexplicably and without warning, tears flooded her eyes. Quickly, in case her brother-in-law returned before she managed to get herself under control, she buried her nose in Emma’s hair and breathed in that wonderful, unforgettable scent. The smell of fresh, clean baby was like no other. A single tear broke loose and rolled down her cheek. “Sweet thing,” she whispered, cradling the baby more closely against her breast. “Sweet, wonderful baby Emma.”

  Somewhere in the distance, a door opened and shut. “Rob?” her sister called out. “I’m home.”

  Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Colleen hastily blotted her wet cheek with her shirt sleeve. Casey appeared in the doorway, laden with grocery bags, her eyes absorbing the warm little domestic scene taking place in her kitchen. She blinked twice, and in astonishment, said, “Colleen?”

  And Colleen smiled. “Surprise,” she said.

  Casey

  She found him waiting for her in their bedroom, sprawled on the window seat in the moonlight, wearing just a pair of jeans, one bare foot braced against the floor, one lanky knee pointing due north. Casey Fiore MacKenzie crossed the room to her husband, settled herself between his thighs, and he wrapped a warm, possessive arm around her. “Hey there, hot stuff,” she said.

  He pressed his nose to her hair, kissed the tender line of her jaw. “Hey yourself, my gorgeous, sexy woman.”

  She leaned back into him, and he adjusted his position. Recently showered, he smelled of fresh, clean man and Ivory soap. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the ones I sleep with. And that’s a pretty short list.”

  It was, but it hadn’t always been that way. There’d been a time, after his second divorce, when Rob MacKenzie had bounced from woman to woman like a red rubber ball. More than once, Casey had vehemently expressed her disapproval of his lifestyle. But that was then, and this was now. These days, there was only one woman on his radar. They were life partners, and partners for life, their friendship ripened into something intense and breathtaking and so powerful it shook her to the marrow.

  Casey pressed her cheek to his bare chest and exhaled a sigh of contentment. This was their private time, the last half-hour of the day, and they tried to keep it sacred. With a big house to run, a new business just getting off the ground, community responsibilities, a teenager, an eight-month-old baby, a dog and a cat, it wasn’t always easy to find time to be together. So they fought for it, worked to make it happen, treasured it, kept it inviolable. Their marriage was too important to let it flounder in a sea of mundane details.

  She drew back the gauzy curtain from the window. “Look at all those stars,” she said, snugging her head against his shoulder. “Is there anything more beautiful than a winter sky?”

  Together, they contemplated the star-studded heavens. “Did you get everybody settled?” he said.

  “I did. Emma didn’t want to go down for the night. She was a little fussy. I think she’s teething.”

  “Poor kid. I’ll have to give her a little extra Daddy time tomorrow.”

  “Paige is doing homework, and Colleen’s settled in the downstairs guest room. So, what do you think?”

  “About your sister? She was damn quiet during supper. Considering that you and I lived inside each other’s pockets for the better part of two decades, and this is the first time I’ve met her, I’d say she’s pretty desperate. And probably pretty broke.”

  One corner of her mouth drew up in a perplexed frown. “I don’t understand it. I know her late husband was wealthy. Where’d all the money go?”

  “Beats me, but did you get a good look at the car she’s driving? I checked it out when I brought in the groceries. Looks like she just bought it. There’s a temporary plate on the back. It’s rusted and dented, and the hood’s been replaced. The tires are pretty close to bald. The damn thing belongs in the crusher. How she made it all the way from Florida, I can’t imagine.”

  “What do you suppose went wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but it must be pretty bad for her to turn to you. The two of you aren’t exactly close.”

  “We were once,” she said wistfully. “When we were little girls, we were each other’s best friend. We were inseparable. Then Mama died, and thin
gs were never the same again.”

  His warm breath tickled her ear. “Ah, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. That was a long time ago. I’m over it. Things change, and there’s nothing that can be done about it now. I can’t go backward and rewrite history.” Casey gnawed at her bottom lip. “She obviously thought she was coming home to Dad and Millie.”

  “But why’d she come home in the first place? Based on what she said to me, Jackson Falls isn’t exactly high on her list of favored places. And there was something else. Something in her face and her attitude. Something she’s trying to hide. She seems so…for lack of a better word, I guess I’d say brittle. And she’s scared. But of what?”

  “I have no idea. So what do we do now?”

  “Well…if her visit’s as open-ended as I suspect it is, she’ll be needing a place to stay.”

  Casey let out the breath she’d been holding. She should have known he’d come through for her. He always had, right from the start, years before their feelings for each other ever took a romantic turn. “The apartment over the studio?”

  “That's what I was thinking. We’ve wrapped up Ray’s album, and things are pretty quiet right now. It’s just sitting there, empty.”

  She pulled away from him, sat upright, swept the long hair back from her face. “Are you sure? I was afraid to ask. You’re not responsible for my sister’s welfare.”

  “Give me a break, Fiore. I’m as responsible for her as you are. I’m your husband, and she’s family. You don’t turn your back on family, no matter how crazy they make you. And it’s not as though she’ll be a financial drain on us.”

  “No. But she could be an emotional drain. You don’t know her like I do.”

  “I don't know her at all. Are you worried? Because if you are, we could always rent her an apartment somewhere in town until she gets back on her feet.”

  “You’d do that, wouldn’t you?”

  “If that was what you wanted. But I don’t think it is.”

  “No.” She ran a hand along his thigh, worn denim soft against her fingertips. “It’s not what I want. She’s my sister. What I want—” Casey sighed. “Maybe it’s not even possible at this point. But what I really want is a second chance to be her sister.”