Having it opened Tuesday afternoon by Luke was even better – because of his interest in the ranch’s history, of course.
“Luke, this is so fascinating. The supplement to the Banner was interesting, but this ... Marti wasn’t able to use even a third of her research in the special section – What’s wrong?”
“Just got a call from Fran.”
“Fran? But – Emily – ?”
“She’s okay.” He took his hat of, ran a hand through his hair as he seemed to consider his words. “She’s not hurt. Fran said to get there right away. And plan on bringing Emily home.”
“I don’t understand. What – ”
“I don’t know. I gotta go now.”
“Luke, is there anything I can do?”
He stopped with his hand on the door. “Kendra and Ellyn are at work. If I have to talk to Fran, and Emily’s upset ...”
“Do you want me to come with?”
“I know it bothers you how it might look to folks, but Em – ”
“Of course I’ll come.” She snagged her purse and stood. “Let’s go.”
He looked at her for another heartbeat then gave a curt nod. It warmed her the way no thank you note ever had.
The drive to town was fast and silent.
As Luke pulled the truck under the shade of the big cottonwood near the street, Fran appeared at the basement door, holding Emily’s hand.
“Stay here.” Luke had the door open and one long leg out before he half turned and softened the order. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
He started across the parking area. Emily broke away from Fran and ran to him. Luke’s stride lengthened and in another two seconds, he’d scooped up the little girl whose sobs were audible to Rebecca. Not as loud as in the airport, still as heart-rending.
Luke glared at Fran, who looked grim.
“Get her settled in the truck, then come talk to me,” she said.
Settling Emily was no small task. She didn’t want to release Luke. She didn’t want to be strapped into her car seat. She didn’t want to be alone in the back seat. Finally, Rebecca moved into the back seat, holding the child in her lap.
If Fran had looked grim, Luke looked like a prime candidate for an executioner’s job as he backed out of the truck’s back seat to head for their meeting.
Impulsively, Rebecca reached out, resting her hand on his arm while she held Emily with the other arm and rocked her.
“Luke, listen to what Fran has to say. She’s on your side – and Emily’s.”
* * * *
He was lucky he had enough hide left to sit on the way Fran had blistered it.
On his side? He’d hate to meet Fran if she wasn’t on his side. Fran on his side was even worse than Helen Solsong slithering over to his truck Sunday morning and blathering on about things that were none of her business.
“Luke?” Rebecca said softly as he turned the truck toward Far Hills Ranch.
“Later.”
She glanced toward the backseat, then at him. “Okay.”
Emily’s eyes were still puffy, but her mood had improved by the time they got home. She went off to dig in her sandbox while he and Rebecca sat on the kitchen steps.
“I understand if you don’t feel this is any of my business, Luke, so if you don’t want to tell me – ”
“I haven’t been lectured to like that since I was eight years old.”
“What did Fran lecture you about?”
“My language. Lifestyle. Attitude. You name it.”
No matter how much you might want to, you can’t go around this life pretending that what you do doesn’t affect other people and vice versa, Luke Chandler. So get that ostrich head of yours out of the sand.
“But why? You’ve always been like this, haven’t you?”
“You mean a bum who deserves that kind of lecture, so why’d Fran choose now?”
“You know I didn’t mean that.” That prim dignity of hers used to make him want to shake her. Sometimes now it made him want to kiss her. Right now, for no logical reason, it eased some of the sting from Fran’s words. “I’m just trying to make sense of this. And what it has to do with Emily and the babysitting co-op. While you were talking to Fran, Emily was crying about Jason’s mommy saying she couldn’t go back there.”
He nodded. “Willa Arnold. One of Helen and Barb’s satellites.”
“Why would this woman not want Emily back there, and why on earth would Fran listen?”
“Fran says Em’s been repeating things I say. Seems Jason took one of the more colorful ones home and used it on his mother.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Never thought that kid had the smarts to learn something like that, much less hit a bull’s-eye in applying it to Willa.”
“Luke,” Rebecca admonished. “What are you going to do?”
“Do? Nothing.” He’d decided that from the minute Fran started lighting in to him. “Keep Emily home. The boys’ll have to pick up some of my work. It’ll be okay as long as Marti’s not gone too long. Maybe Ellyn and Kendra’ll help.”
“The babysitting co-op – ”
“That’s up to Marti. She can beg to get back in if she wants. Not me.”
An apology might go a long way, Luke.
I’m not apologizing to a pack of close-minded busybodies. I don’t give a damn what they think of me, and I’m not going to say I do.
“I was going to say the co-op’s been one piece of stability for Emily with her mother gone, one routine that hasn’t changed. Besides, she has friends there, and she’ll miss them.”
“She’ll be fine here. It’s just temporary.”
Unless Fran held good on her threat, which she usually did.
There’s no way on earth you can make her stop imitating you, so change your ways for good or that child won’t be coming back here, Luke.
She’s Marti’s kid, not mine. I’m not responsible for –
Oh, yes you are. You might think you’re rolling through life with no attachments – you’d be a fool, but you might think that. But even a fool would have to see when other folks have gotten attached to him. And that means you can hurt them, whether you mean to or not.
“If there’s anything I can do to – ”
“No. Thanks. Nice of you to help today.” The color in Rebecca’s cheeks darkened and he wanted to brush the back of his fingers against the satin of her skin. Instead, he stood. “I know you’ve got other work to do, and so do I.”
Even without looking at her directly, he caught the flicker across her face, as if she’d winced.
You can hurt them, whether you mean to or not.
This time he’d meant to. A little hurt now to prevent bigger hurt later. Like vaccination shots.
“Of course. I hadn’t meant to hold you up.”
“No problem.”
She left in a hurry then. He didn’t try to slow her down any, but he watched the trail of her little car until all the dust stirred by her passing had settled back to earth.
“Emily Susland!” he called. “We need to get some things straight, you and me.”
* * * *
Emily or Fran? Which talk had been harder?
Luke lay on his back in the main house guest room he was occupying while Marti was away. His head rested on his crossed wrists, which let him see out the window to the night sky.
Fran had inflicted more wounds. Talking with Emily, his wounds had been self-inflicted.
Why do you say them if they’re bad words?
She’d stumped him with that one. He could say because they were true, which they were. But how to explain she shouldn’t repeat them because they hurt other people’s feelings when he obviously didn’t give a damn about those people’s feelings had eluded him.
He’d heard himself saying he was going to work real hard at not saying them anymore. And he hoped she would, too. And they would remind each other if they slipped.
She’d solemnly agreed, and he’d felt something
lift off his chest. Fran was right; Em shouldn’t have to grow up to be a hermit like him.
If that meant working on minding his maverick manners so she could be happy as part of the herd, he’d do it. He might even apologize after a spell. Making an effort to polish up his reputation.
Like Rebecca had said all along.
Rebecca ... You can hurt them, whether you mean to or not.
Fran’s words rattled around in his head.
He was hurting Rebecca, whether he meant to or not.
And it wasn’t by using a few rough phrases.
He’d seen how that friend of Rebecca’s grandmother had reacted to him in the Denver airport. He knew enough of the world to know she objected to more than his jeans and boots. She’d been willing to overlook those when she’d thought he might be a big shot. No, what she objected to went too deep, was too much a part of him to ever change. Even if he wanted to. Even if he were willing to remake himself for a woman. Any woman. For Rebecca.
It couldn’t be done.
He’d known from the first that no good could come of the two of them. Despite some mocking twist of chemistry that produced the sizzle between them that could only burn, not warm.
And then there was the Dahlgren factor.
“She’s way above you, you know,” Helen had said to him through the open truck window Sunday morning.
He’d considered closing it when he’d seen her coming. He’d seen Helen yapping in Rebecca’s ear as they’d headed toward Helen’s house. And he’d seen Rebecca finally say something in return. Rebecca strode off, and Helen huffed in place for a minute or two before wheeling around and coming at him.
“She’s a Dahlgren. A Dahlgren of Delaware. She might have forgotten it for now, but she won’t be forgetting it for long. They’ve got more money than you can imagine. And don’t be thinking you’ll latch on. I can guarantee, Luke Chandler, that Antonia Dahlgren won’t let that happen. She’d cut Rebecca off without a dime. Just associating with you would hurt that young lady – if someone took the time to tell Antonia Dahlgren what’s going on.”
There’d been more of the same before Helen tired of an audience that responded to none of her stings.
Now, as much as he hated to admit it, a few had lodged under his skin.
With only himself to consider, he’d tell Grandmother Dahlgren to go to hell.
But he wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t deaf.
Sounds like you should tell Grandma to take a flying leap, too. he’d advised Rebecca early on.
I would never do that. My grandmother is all I have.
All Rebecca’s rules were ties she thought bound her to people who gave her what she needed – a sense of belonging. He might think she’d be better off cutting the ties like he had, but it wasn’t his call.
What was his call was to make damn sure he wasn’t the cause of her becoming estranged from her only close relative.
He’d try to change for Emily. For Rebecca, the best he could do was leave her alone.
* * * *
Rebecca had finished the old journal earlier Saturday evening, and spent the past two hours comparing entries to the detailed family chart Marti had included in the packet.
During the week and even earlier today, she’d worked long hours at Fort Big Horn, followed by longer hours at the library. But now the library was closed, and Vince had chased her out of Fort Big Horn’s headquarters.
That left her to her own devices. Reading about Annalee’s sorrows had put her own in perspective.
So what that Luke had been at his most unapproachable the past several days. So what that the ease – even a kind of closeness – that had been growing in fits and starts between them seemed to have disappeared in an instant. It wasn’t as if there’d ever been anything serious or enduring between them ... except the desire she felt for him. That was both serious, and she feared, enduring. His distance didn’t stop her heart from jumping at the sight of him. Didn’t stop her hands from aching to touch him. Didn’t stop her lips from craving his. Didn’t stop her dreams.
Opposite all those feelings balanced the harsh reality of Annalee Susland’s life as recorded in her journal.
The first son Annalee had borne Charles had died of diphtheria as a child, another had died at birth. Of their three surviving children, a daughter died in childbirth, a son in an insane asylum and another son shot by bank robbers. The next generation had fared no better.
Rebecca could see why the legend of the curse had taken hold. The Suslands had had a fair measure of material success, but when it came to living long, healthy, happy lives, they had definitely missed out.
She was studying Marti’s notes on the current generation of Suslands – birthdates, college degrees, marriages and such – when she realized there was another packet of papers left, neatly held together in a bankers clip as the others had been, with a blank page on top.
What could be left? She removed the blank page and started reading.
CHAPTER NINE
The TV news and the ranching magazine Luke held were losing the battle against the urge to nod off, when a bark from Bailey, one of the ranch dogs, jolted his awake. He heard a vehicle approaching. It pulled to a stop outside his door, and the dog’s bark shifted from warning to greeting.
Luke opened the door before the knock fell, startling Rebecca. She was still only half as surprised as he was.
“What the hell?”
He’d spent four nights and four days reminding himself of the need to be as distant as he could be with her working in the office and him tied to the house taking care of Emily. The times he couldn’t maintain physical distance he’d relied on curt coolness, but the temperature of his dreams didn’t drop a single degree. And some of the dreams came when he wasn’t asleep.
Now she stood on his doorstep.
“Oh. I didn’t know if you’d be here. I thought you might be at the main house with Emily, or out with ... someone. But I saw a light, and no lights at the main house, so I took a chance – ”
She was pale. He saw that right off.
“Kendra’s got Emily overnight. She’s going with them to church in the morning, and Kendra said this would be easier. I wouldn’t just lock her up in the main house and come over here or go out on some hot date, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to question your – ”
“What are you doing here, Rebecca?”
“I ...” She drew in a deep breath. It sounded uneven. “I’ve been reading those papers Marti gave me. All the papers. I finished the journal, then some notes about the Suslands, and all the tragedies and accidents that hit so many members of the family, right from the start and all the way through to Kendra and Grif. There was this other packet of information. It said ‘Leaping Star-Charles Susland descendants.’ ” She shook her head. “That made no sense. There weren’t descendants, because their children had died. That’s what Annalee said, that’s what the legend said – that’s what the curse was all about.”
She shivered, reminding Luke she still stood on the front porch. He drew her inside and shut the door against the night chill, even though he felt none of it. Opening the door to Rebecca Dahlgren took care of any chill he’d felt, despite wearing only a T-shirt and jeans after his post-work shower. He was hotly, tightly aware that he wore absolutely nothing else.
“Sit.” Pressure on her arm dropped her into a corner of the sofa. He took an afghan from the sofa back and drew it around Rebecca’s shoulders. She’d worn only an open-collared shirt and some sort of thin, loose pants. “You need coffee.”
“No.” She wrapped both hands around his wrist as he started to pull back, and held on. “I’d never sleep if I had coffee now. I’m not sure I’ll sleep anyway, but with coffee there’s no chance. I had to talk to someone. I had to tell them... If Marti had been here ... I couldn’t think of anyone – ”
Else. She might as well have spoken the word. If she could have thought of someone else to
talk to, she wouldn’t have come to him. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t thought of Kendra or Ellyn, she’d thought of him.
He didn’t like the warmth that gave him. This whole thing was dangerous. He should send her on her way, hustle her out of here –
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and confused.
He conceded to the pressure of her hold and sat beside her.
“Tell someone what?”
“I’m Leaping Star’s descendant. Hers and Charles Susland’s.”
“What?”
“I know, I know! It’s crazy, isn’t it? But Marti’s research has been so careful – She must have known about this all along. But she never said a word. Why wouldn’t she say something? Unless she didn’t want me to know. But she gave me the papers, and she’d have to know I’d spot it. I mean it’s there, so clear – See this? Look!”
He skimmed over the pages she scrabbled to pull out of an envelope, less interested in what they said than what they said to her.
“It says Runs at Dawn, their youngest daughter, the one the legend says was about to die when Leaping Star asked Charles for help, didn’t die after all. And she had children, and one of those children had children, and then it comes down to – here, see that name? Clark Pryor, who had one child, a daughter with Suzanne Dahlgren. Clark Pryor was my father.”
So she had some of her answers ...
She said it much too calmly, her eyes much too wide.
“Was?”
“He died six years ago.”
... And would never have many others.
“It explains a lot, don’t you think? My looks. My grandmother not telling me – she doesn’t understand anything that’s different from her way of life, and a Crow Indian from Montana ... But my mother must have ... I mean there must have been something between them. His name was once on my birth certificate. See?” She reached one arm from under the afghan and pulled another sheet of paper from the pile, this one a copy of a birth certificate. “My mother used his last name then – there was even a birth announcement in the newspaper using those names. Mr. and Mrs. Clark Pryor are pleased to announce ...
Hidden in a Heartbeat (A Place Called Home, Book 3) Page 17
