by Janet Dailey
“Forever. Unless you have other plans.”
“Not at the moment.”
He rolled over and kissed her again.
They were in the kitchen and he was broiling a steak on top of the stove in a cast-iron frying pan, and heating a second pan. The windows were wide open.
“There’s method in my madness,” he assured her. “Sorry about the smoke.” He waved it away.
“It’s okay,” she coughed. “It smells great. Can’t wait.”
“Another minute on both sides.” Choya took the frying pan off the flame and used a spatula to free the steak, then flipped the meat over into the second pan. It sizzled wildly when it hit the hot iron surface and more smoke rose up.
“How come you don’t call it a burnt offering when you do that?” she demanded.
“Because it’s still rare inside.”
The smoke detector began to shriek a warning.
“Okay. It’s done,” he said confidently. He took a platter from the warm oven and served up the steak in all its juicy glory, setting the platter in the middle of the table.
“Thanks, caveman.” Her eyes were watering but it did look good. They were still alone. Robbie and Sam had been invited to Garth’s house to have dinner with him and his wife.
She got out the butter and set it next to the baked potatoes. The breeze kicked up and soon cleared the smoke and the detector shut off. Jacquie closed the window when it did.
He cut the steak expertly into thin slices with a carving knife and speared a potato for her, proffering it on the end of the matching fork. “Care for a cave-spud?”
“I’d love one.”
They ate the simple meal with gusto and skipped the small talk. She sipped the good red wine he’d uncorked—the second of the evening—and poured into glasses for both of them.
He pushed back from the table, finishing after she did. “I needed that.”
“It was excellent. Thank you.”
In sync, they cleared the table and put away what was left over, forgoing dessert in favor of coffee, which they took into the living room.
The fire he’d made earlier was doing well. They didn’t want to do anything but stare into it for a while, cuddled up.
“Choya,” she said, letting her fingers take a walk up his shirt buttons. She tapped him on the chin.
“Huh? What?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He groaned softly. “Is this a we-have-to-talk type of question? What’d I do?”
“Nothing,” she laughed softly. “I just thought since we were alone, I should ask it.”
“Go ahead.” He adjusted his position so that both of them were more comfortable.
She raised her head. “Sam told me about adopting you.” At his frown, Jacquie took a deep breath. “I wanted to know more about that story of how he found you.”
Choya gave an impatient sigh. “You mean in the cholla patch—I’m never going to live that down. Too bad it’s true.”
His flip response had an edge to it. She got the message: Proceed with caution. And ignored it. “Sam doesn’t lie.”
“No. He exaggerates sometimes. But not about that. What do you want to know?” His tone was suddenly flat. “I was abandoned. Someone wanted him to find me.”
“That’s basically what he said.”
Choya sighed. “Sounds like you got the unabridged version. He told me everything he knew when he thought I was old enough.”
“When was that?”
“I was seven. Robbie’s age now. Though he’d let me know I was adopted before that. But not the rest of it.”
“How did you—”
“React?” he finished her sentence. “Not quite the way he’d expected. I think he regretted telling me so much. I guess he didn’t want me to hear it from some other kid, who’d heard his parents talk about it. After that I stuck to him like a burr for about a year.”
He straightened away from her, not looking at her.
“I’m sorry, Choya.”
“Well, I guess we should talk about it.”
“Maybe now isn’t the right time.”
He shifted uneasily. “It’s as good as any other. If it’s on your mind, we might as well get it out of the way before Sam gets back with Robbie. I don’t want him to brood about things he overhears and doesn’t understand. He’s more sensitive than I was at his age.”
“Sounds like you were afraid,” Jacquie said tentatively.
“Does that surprise you? Yeah, I was sometimes when I was a kid. I imagined that my mother or father or both of them might show up someday to take me away. And I was angry.”
Jacquie hesitated. She hadn’t expected him to say that.
“If you’re adopted, you generally want to know where you came from—or you don’t. In my case, there were absolutely no clues and no one ever came forward to claim me or give information about my parents.” His voice was shaded with bitterness. “I never wanted to look for them. I know Sam tried to find my mother, but he gave up long ago.”
Jacquie only nodded.
“She didn’t even leave a damn note, let alone a birth certificate. Officially, I didn’t exist until the court ruled that he could adopt me. Do you know what that feels like?” he asked coldly. “When I look in the mirror I see a face that doesn’t resemble anyone I know. I can’t explain it better than that.”
He got up and stood in front of the fire, then moved away as if it was too warm for him, even though it was dying down.
“Sam thought he might have seen your mother once,” she whispered.
“He told me that too, but he waited until I was a teenager. I didn’t care then. I still don’t.”
She looked at him with questioning eyes and he shook his head.
“Sam raised me. He’s my only parent. Period. Maybe he didn’t do it by the book, but he did right by me.”
“Choya, you don’t have to explain—” she began, then broke off, biting her lip to keep back tears. She hadn’t been hurt. But she had hurt him, simply from her desire to know more about the enigmatic man who had aroused so much passion in her. “I’m just so very sorry.”
“For what? Being curious? You have a right to ask a few questions. I wish I could answer them.”
“I won’t mention it again.”
Choya shook his head. “I just don’t want Robbie to hear all the details.”
“You mean he doesn’t know?” She looked at him with genuine shock.
“He’s been told I was adopted by Sam when I was a baby. But don’t forget that he lost his mother when he was too young to remember her—he doesn’t need to know that mine abandoned me. Not until he’s a whole lot older.”
“I understand.”
“Hell.” He raked his hands through his hair and then let them drop. “I guess it’s time I told you what happened to Rosemary.”
“Only if you want to.” His expression made her shrink back into the sofa. He seemed suddenly like a very different man.
“I said I would, didn’t I? It won’t take long. She and I—well, we got married too young. She felt trapped by the time Robbie came along. We started to fight and we were both too stubborn to stop. She used to get away from me by going into town and having a good time. It was like she was running away and looking behind her at the same time, making sure I would take care of everything. She didn’t want to be bothered with a toddler. She wouldn’t listen to me or Sam or her own parents. She did what she pleased.”
Jacquie swallowed hard. Running away and looking behind her at the same time. She had done the same thing. Not on purpose, though.
“I’m not saying she hit the bottle, Jacquie—or that she cheated. But I heard that she flirted. Danced with anyone she wanted. Came home at all hours. One night she ran that damn car off the road and went through the windshield. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt. An hour after the deputies stopped by to tell me she’d been taken by helicopter to a trauma center in Tucson, I didn’t have a wife and Robbie didn’t h
ave a mother.”
There was nothing she could say. Platitudes weren’t made for tragedy.
“I don’t let myself think about it. I put our photo album away. Robbie can look through it when he’s older—he can have it, in fact. Right now he doesn’t seem to be asking questions about her. And he does have that one photo.” His eyes held a dark fire of remembered anger over his terrible loss. “I don’t have a damn thing.”
“You have me,” she whispered.
Choya looked at her without replying. His golden eyes gave nothing away.
Chapter 13
A high wind had roared around the corners of the house all night, scouring the barren land with dust and dry, blowing weeds. Jacquie hadn’t slept well, troubled by the angry sound, and she’d woken up with a headache.
The intense discussion with Choya had stayed with her. Admittedly, they’d both had too much wine and she had caught him off guard with some very personal questions. But she’d never meant to press on a sore point. And it wasn’t as though the story of how he’d been found was classified information—it was more like a local legend.
What had happened to Rosemary was not something people talked about. The tragedy of her accidental death still cast a shadow down the years—a shadow that might come between them eventually.
Done with the explanation, Choya had turned away from her and said nothing more, until she’d gotten up from the sofa and simply left the room. He’d kept his distance ever since, speaking to her courteously but unemotionally.
The sudden ring of the phone made her jump in her seat at the breakfast table where she was sipping coffee. Choya rose to get it. She looked at Robbie over the rim of her coffee cup, watching him scoop up the last of his milky cereal. Absently, she listened to Choya’s brief, lowvoiced reply to whomever was on the other end of the line without making much sense of it.
“The wind took down some power lines,” he announced when he came back to the table. “Robbie, you’re in luck. The elementary school is going to be closed today.”
Robbie had grabbed his down jacket in anticipation of the school bus’s arrival and had the hood over his head. But it didn’t prevent him from hearing the good news.
“Yay!” He took off the jacket and flung it in a corner. Choya shot him a disapproving look, and he picked it up again, returning it to the coat rack.
“Jacquie, did you have plans for today?” Choya asked.
“Um, no.” She finished the last of her coffee. “Are you saying that you do?” Choya wasn’t usually indirect about anything.
“I was going to drive to Tucson and I wanted to get an early start.”
He could have told her that last night, she thought with a flash of irritation. But he’d turned in right after Sam and Robbie came home, she reminded herself, not seeming bothered by the relentless wind. He’d grown up listening to it.
Choya added quickly, “I’ll be back around suppertime. Maybe a little later.”
“No problem. I could take Robbie into Tombstone.” There wasn’t really anywhere else to go. “We can amuse ourselves, can’t we, Robbie?”
The little boy bobbed his head eagerly. “Yeah. We can walk around town and later we can finish sorting out the ornaments. Dad, can you bring a Christmas tree back from Tucson?”
Choya shook his head. “I think we should pick it out together, son. You and me and Jacquie and Sam.”
His father walked slowly into the kitchen. “A tree is a tree. Y’all can choose one without me. My knees are aching today.” He eased into a chair. “That means a change in the weather,” he told Robbie.
“Really? Why?”
“Knees don’t lie when you’re my age,” his grandfather said solemnly. “Winter is officially here.”
“Robbie, we’ll get the Christmas tree on Saturday,” his father inserted. “The feed store ordered a truckload from Colorado. I drove by there yesterday. They looked nice and fresh.”
“Okay.” The boy didn’t seem terribly disappointed.
“You going to be okay with this bundle of energy?” He half-turned to nod toward his son.
“Of course.”
Robbie picked up his cereal bowl and put it in the sink. Jacquie rose and added her cup to the breakfast dishes.
Sam got up too and shuffled out. “I’m going back to bed,” he announced.
Choya took down his jacket and Stetson, turning to give Jacquie one last look. “Do you want anything from Tucson?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Thanks, though. Drive safely.”
Choya did no more than nod in reply. Jacquie lifted a hand in farewell. She could have used a hug—a big hug. The physical contact would have told her instantly whether the rift between them was something to worry about. She told herself not to be such a baby as he tipped his Stetson to her and left.
Jacquie heard the TV go on. Robbie quickly lowered the volume on a silly show and made a flying jump onto the sofa. Not the end of the world, she thought idly. His father was gone—she could see the dust cloud behind the jeep, though not the jeep itself. She’d let Robbie watch TV for twenty minutes or so while she showered and took extra time to do her hair, something that always soothed her. The wind picked up again and she frowned. Her hair would be in tangles the second she went outside. She decided to braid it and wear a baseball cap.
Two hours later, she and Robbie were strolling the board sidewalks of Tombstone. There wasn’t a storefront without Christmas decorations and merchandise. Red bandannas were everywhere and the gaudy displays cheered her up. Stopping in front of the souvenir store, she eyed a gorgeous gingerbread house atop a box. It was a perfect replica of the photo on the front, covered with candy in a riot of colors and set in sculpted white icing that was supposed to be snow.
“Look at that,” she said to Robbie, enchanted. “It’s a kit. You put it together yourself.”
“Really? That’s so cool,” he breathed. “You know, I saw this other kit in a magazine—”
“Not now.” Jacquie took his hand and swung open the door. “Let’s find out how much this one costs.”
The friendly saleswoman at the counter greeted Robbie by name. “And you must be Jacquie Grey.” She beamed at both of them. “What can I do for you today?”
“How much is the gingerbread house kit in the window?”
“Isn’t that something? A customer made that one.” The saleswoman named the price. It was inexpensive for such a spectacular confection. “That’s a very popular item. We only have one left.” She smiled down at Robbie. “Would you like to look at it, honey?”
He nodded with interested eagerness.
She moved toward a back shelf and took the boxed kit down. Then she set it on the counter. “The instructions are inside. I understand you just slap it together,” she said to Jacquie. “The gingerbread’s already baked.”
“What holds it up?” Jacquie wanted to know. The illustration showed piped frosting along the edges. Somehow she didn’t think the Barnett kitchen had a squeeze-type frosting bag. If it did, Sam had probably used it for barbecue sauce.
“The frosting, I believe. I know there’s a recipe for it included. Or you can use the tub kind. I stocked some when I got the kits in. Who wants to fuss with homemade frosting when you can buy it?”
Jacquie peered at the small print on the box. “Not me. I see the candy’s not included either.” No wonder the kit was inexpensive.
“We have both right over here.” The store owner pointed to a stack of icing tubs—chocolate, strawberry, lemon, and plain white—and a basket filled with small bags of hard candy in different shapes. “Take your pick.”
Jacquie let Robbie choose the candy he wanted, but she insisted on white icing. One way or another, she was going to get some snow this Christmas.
“Can we build it before Dad gets home?” he wanted to know as they got into the car.
“We can try. But I’ve never made a gingerbread house before, have you?”
“Nope.” He held the box t
o his chest to protect it. The ride back to the ranch seemed longer than ever but at least they had a project to occupy their time when they returned. That was something to look forward to. It was late afternoon by the time they pulled into the yard and Sam had turned on a few lights. The red-shaded lamp that he liked to read by glowed a welcome in the front window.
Robbie went ahead of her, waiting on the front slab step for Jacquie to open the door for him, still cradling the box in his arms. “Wait ’til I show Gramps,” he said in a whisper, “he knows how to build stuff.”
“Okay,” she whispered back, turning the doorknob and swinging it open, “but you don’t use hammer and nails for gingerbread.”
Robbie marched in and headed for the living room. His grandfather sat by the red-shaded lamp, reading an old shoot-’em-up with a cowboy on the cover. The wellthumbed pages told Jacquie he’d read it before, several times. There was a shelf devoted to them.
“There you are,” he said, looking over his half-glasses. “It’s gettin’ dark. I was just beginning to worry.”
“Jacquie knows the way to Tombstone and back by now,” Robbie defended her. “Look what we got!”
Sam’s gnarled hands steadied the large box that his grandson plopped onto his lap. “A gingerbread house!”
“We want to put it together right now so it’s ready before Dad comes home,” Robbie said, taking the box back and handing it to Jacquie. “Want to help?”
Sam held up the old book. “Nope. Things are heating up at the Oh-No Corral. I gotta find out what happens. You two go ahead and have fun.”
“Okay!” Robbie headed toward the kitchen, followed by Jacquie.
He struggled out of his down jacket and took hers to hang up, then scampered back. She had already slit one side of the box and was pulling on the packaging inside.
“Wow,” Robbie said, studying the color brochure taped over the slabs of hard gingerbread. Whoever had made the house in the shop window had followed the instructions to the last lemon drop—it was identical. They didn’t have the same candy, Jacquie realized. But Robbie wouldn’t care if their house wasn’t exactly like the other two. “I feel hungry.”
