She was alone in the house with Rosie. Alone in the living room. At least, until Luke came home.
At the thought, her heart skipped a beat. She shouldn’t have come here. Not after the way she had run away from him last night. Not even after the way she had kissed him in the barn this morning. Not when she had finally convinced herself she could stay away.
Buster sat on the coffee table where she had left him. She picked up the toy and squeezed gently, smiling at his squeaky bark.
Upstairs in the ranch house that afternoon, she had taken Buster from his packing box and turned to leave the attic. Her foot had struck something on the floor. When she bent to look, she found the ribbon-wrapped bundle of envelopes.
Love letters from Luke.
A small bundle, appropriately enough, since they had dated for such a short time. But that bundle was huge in its impact on her life. Each note was filled with sweet nothings and simple chatter. Each was signed, “Love you, Luke.”
Leaving that bundle behind when she went away to college was the toughest thing she had ever done...up to that point in her life.
When she had come home for the first time after learning she was pregnant, she had wanted to look for the letters but found the will to resist. After she lost the baby, she wouldn’t let herself think of those love letters. Or the man who had written them.
This afternoon, alone in her room, she had read that final “Love you, Luke.”
Those words had brought her to him again tonight. Maybe she should have taken his absence as an omen that she’d made the wrong choice.
Trying to distract herself, she grabbed the women’s magazine Tammy had left lying on the coffee table. She hadn’t gotten through a third of the pages before she heard a cry from down the hall.
As she got up from the couch, Rosie cried out again.
To her own surprise, she recognized the sound wasn’t an urgent summons. It wasn’t a wail or a yowl, like those she remembered from the other night. The small noise was only meant to call attention to the fact that Rosie was awake and wanted attention.
Still, she stood in the doorway of the little girl’s bedroom filled with as much trepidation as when she had knocked on Luke’s front door.
Rosie stood in the crib, her little hands fisted around two of the upright slats, looking like a prison inmate clutching the bars of her cell. Carly couldn’t hold back a smile.
To her shock, Rosie grinned back at her. She bounced up and down a couple of times on the mattress, then reached between the slats, holding her arms out.
She wanted to be taken from the crib.
Carly swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t planned on having to deal with Rosie after Tammy left. She had expected the little girl to stay fast asleep.
An all-too-wide-awake Rosie threw herself against the wooden crib as if trying to extend her arms toward Carly. She gave a grunting cry. Even Carly’s untrained ear could hear the sound of frustration.
Now would Rosie give way to what she had feared the other night? Tears? Screams, maybe? Even a full-fledged tantrum?
That night, Luke had been there with her. Now, she reminded herself, she was on her own. If Rosie’s cries escalated, who knew what it would take to calm her?
The thought was enough to send her across the room to lift the little girl from her crib.
Rosie reached up to pat her cheeks with both hands. She seemed to wait for a response Carly didn’t know how to make. After a moment, the little girl evidently gave up. Leaning forward, she rested her head on Carly’s shoulder and snuggled against her.
Arms stiff, Carly held Luke’s child.
Soft curls brushed her jaw. The scent of baby powder washed over her. Warmth from the little body seemed to seep into her chest and spread through her heart.
A rush of tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes, cuddled Rosie closer and, her heart hammering beneath her breastbone, thought of her own child.
“I almost had a baby like you, Rosie,” she whispered.
Rosie rubbed her face against Carly’s neck, as if offering sympathy and unspoken support.
“I carried my baby for sixteen weeks. That’s four months. That’s a long time. Long enough for me to know how much I wanted to be a mommy.” Her sigh ruffled Rosie’s curls. “I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. But I know I loved my baby. Just the way your daddy loves you.”
Rosie lay still, content.
Even in the semidarkness of the bedroom, with the child asleep in her arms, she couldn’t whisper the rest of what she had never confessed to anyone.
How she had lost the baby she loved.
And how much she feared Luke, who loved his own little girl, would hate her if he ever discovered the truth.
Carly rocked the child against her, then began to walk the floor. Light and even and untroubled, Rosie’s breath tickled her neck. She cupped one hand around the back of the baby’s head, holding her close.
So precious. So little now. But year after year, Rosie would grow bigger, would go to preschool, move on to kindergarten. Would graduate from grade school and go on to high school.
Luke wouldn’t miss a moment. He would have another wall cabinet full of photos, with all the new stages of Rosie’s development displayed for all to see.
Any daddy would burst with pride at watching his little girl grow up.
Any mommy ought to feel the same.
But she hadn’t been given her chance to be that mommy. And her own mother, who’d had the chance, had thrown it—and her children—away.
Fresh tears filled her eyes.
Without a murmur, Rosie slept on.
Her crib stood empty. Her bunny sat waiting to be tucked in.
And still, with Rosie’s warm little body cuddled against her, Carly paced the floor.
* * *
LUKE WALKED BACK to the house long after his usual arrival time, expecting to find Tammy dealing with an uncontrollable Rosie.
Instead, he discovered her car gone and Carly sitting on the living room couch in tears.
He froze in the doorway. “What happened? Where’s Rosie? And Mom?”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and shook her head frantically, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. “No, it’s okay,” she said in a rush, “they’re fine. Rosie’s asleep. I brought her a toy. Your mom had some errands to run and asked me to stay.” She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.
Despite that kiss in the barn, after the way she had run from the house last night, he’d never expected to see her here again.
She’d brought Rosie a toy.
He saw the dog beside her on the couch. Feeling both elated and confused, he crossed the living room toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Staring ahead of her, she drew her legs up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around them.
He got the message. She didn’t want him near. Instead of taking the seat beside her as he’d planned, he dropped onto the chair beside the couch. “How can it be nothing when you’re sitting here crying your eyes out?”
She rested her chin on her knees. “I was...I was thinking about my mom and...and everything just got to me, I guess.”
“‘Everything’?”
“The meeting with Mrs. Lewis tomorrow. It might come to nothing, as you said, I know that. But it might come to something, too. It might lead to my mom. And I started thinking what that could mean.” Her eyes looked huge and glittery. “Ever since she left, I’ve dreamed up scenarios of how it would be when I finally saw her again. When I finally got to ask her why she left us. And now, one of those scenarios might come true.”
And all the stories she’d told herself, he’d bet, came with the standard happily-ever-after ending.
H
e didn’t want to be the one to burst that happiness bubble. He also didn’t want to see her crushed if things didn’t work out the way she’d dreamed. But life seldom worked out exactly the way folks planned.
“It might be a new scenario altogether,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Maybe one you’ve never thought of before.”
“Maybe. Mrs. Lewis said they’ve lost contact with each other,” she admitted. “But they were still in touch after Mom left the Roughneck. She’ll have more recent information than anything we’ve been able to turn up.”
“You said she lives in Lubbock?”
“A few miles outside of it. We’re meeting at her house, tomorrow night.”
“That’s a five-hour trip.” A long ride there, keyed up by years of anticipation. A longer ride home, if the news wasn’t good.
“I don’t mind the drive. It was the earliest she could meet with me. And the next day, she’s going out of town for a while.” She crumpled the tissue and shoved it into her jeans pocket. “I wasn’t about to wait till she got home again.”
“Is Savannah going with you?”
“No. I’ll stay overnight somewhere in Lubbock.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She sat up straight, her eyes wide again. “That’s not necessary.”
“Somebody needs to go with you.”
“No one knows about the search but Savannah. And Travis. I don’t need anyone with me. But thanks.”
“I’m going. And you don’t have to thank me.”
“You can’t just walk off for an overnight stay. You’ve got a ranch to run.”
Not for very much longer. But she didn’t need to know that.
He’d stayed late tonight to finish up some of his current paperwork. He had no backlog, no unfinished business. His files were all up-to-date. His men had the barn and the tack inspection-ready and all the equipment in good working order. The furniture here came with the house. He’d need to move only Rosie’s crib and their personal belongings.
Getting fired that afternoon had stunned him, but it wouldn’t keep him from leaving everything in top shape or making sure his departure was quick and smooth. Pride wouldn’t let him have things any other way.
He smiled. “I’m ready for a day off.” What was one day, anyhow, when he’d soon have more free time than he’d ever wanted, until he could line up another job?
“Really, you don’t need to go with me. You’ve got a... You’ve got Rosie to worry about.”
“Mom can keep her overnight. Or stay here, if it’s easier. She’s done it before.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He kept his voice low again. “Carly, I don’t want to keep throwing negatives at you, and I sure as hell hope your talk with Mrs. Lewis has a positive outcome. But I see how you are tonight, after just thinking about what you might learn.” He shook his head. “I’m not letting you walk into that meeting alone.”
Chapter Sixteen
In twenty years, Genevieve Lewis hadn’t changed much. The bright red hair of the stick figure in Carly’s pictures had faded a bit and become threaded with silver. The face had softened some compared to the memories triggered by those hand-drawn pictures. Other than that, Carly felt sure she would have known the woman if she’d met her on the street.
On the other hand, Carly had changed so much Mrs. Lewis didn’t recognize her when she opened the door to them. “Except for your eyes. You do have Brock Baron’s eyes.”
They were seated in the living room—the parlor, she called it—with steaming cups of tea on the table in front of them.
Carly hadn’t wanted the tea or the plate of cookies their hostess set out. She and Luke had arrived early in Lubbock, found a place to stay for the night and then gone for dinner.
She’d been too keyed up to eat much, both from anticipating the upcoming meeting with Mrs. Lewis and from the knowledge that, afterward, she and Luke would spend the night together. He’d taken only one room at the motel...though it did have two double beds.
Carly sipped at her hot tea and attempted to get control of her thoughts. This meeting was too important for her not to have focus. “You know my daddy, too, Mrs. Lewis?”
The other woman nodded. “Yes. Not very well, though. Most of the time, I visited Delia at the house during the day, when he was working. It was just your mama and you and your brother at home then. And Anna.”
“You know my mom...left the ranch when I was five.”
“Yes.” She looked down at her teacup. “I did tell you on the phone that we’ve lost touch and I haven’t heard from her in years now.”
“You did,” Carly assured her. “But, as I’d said, I’m trying to find out where she is now. And to contact her. Anything you can tell me might help.”
She nodded. “Well, when I lived in Dallas, I visited her at the ranch often. My younger son was already in high school and gone all day. With four children, Delia didn’t go far from home very often. But she enjoyed company, always liked having folks around her. And she loved to throw a party.”
Carly looked at her in surprise. “I remember family birthday parties from when I was young. I can’t place my mom at any of them.” Her voice shook. Luke put his hand over hers. She grasped his fingers, letting the solidness of him help to steady her.
She hadn’t wanted him to come with her on this trip. She knew she had to keep her distance from him. Her time with Rosie had only reinforced the wisdom of that. But now she felt grateful he’d insisted on accompanying her.
“We don’t have photos from those early parties.” Something she had never found odd till now.
“Maybe Brock destroyed any pictures from that time,” Mrs. Lewis said gently. “He might have thought you children would be hurt by seeing photos of Delia.”
By having reminders of the mom who was no longer in their lives.
And yet, the description Mrs. Lewis had given didn’t sound like a woman who would close herself off from people or walk away from her family.
“When you were about four,” the woman continued, “my husband passed away. I relocated here to be closer to my oldest son, who lives in Lubbock. In the year after that, I didn’t see Delia as often. But I still visited.”
“Did she seem any different to you that last year? Or in the few years just before?”
“She was a little more tired, maybe. That was all.”
Tired. Or depressed.
“Did you know she was planning to leave the ranch?”
Mrs. Lewis shook her head. “I had no idea she wasn’t still living in Dallas until one day when I received a note from her in the mail.”
“Did she say anything to explain what made her leave?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“But you knew she wasn’t at the Roughneck anymore. Did she say where she was living?”
“She was staying with a friend. Not someone I knew. And after all this time, I don’t remember her name.”
“What about the note?” Luke asked. “Can you recall the address she’d mailed it from or even the postmark?”
“It was still in Texas, that I do know. It might’ve been San Antonio. But I can’t say for sure.”
“Would you still have the note?” Carly asked.
“Oh, I doubt it. That was twenty years ago. And when I downsized, I got rid of so much old correspondence.” She considered for a moment. “My son has been storing a few boxes for me for a while. For years now, actually.” She laughed. “I turned the tables, didn’t I? It’s usually the parents who hold on to things for their kids.”
“Usually. That’s how I knew to get in touch with you—from something I’d stored away in the attic.” She thought of Luke’s letters to her and had to force a smile. “Is it possible you might have the note somewhere in those boxes?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
Her heart sank.
“Although,” Mrs. Lewis added thoughtfully, “I remember your mama always sent lovely Christmas cards, and I’m a great one for saving pretty cards. I always planned to do something crafty with them. That would be more of a possibility than the note, I’m sure.”
Carly tightened her fingers around Luke’s. “Would you be able to take a look?”
“Of course, I would. I’m going to be away, visiting my younger son. I’ll check once I get back, if that’s all right.”
She swallowed a sigh of disappointment. “That would be great.”
“But I would hate to raise your hopes for no reason.” A worry line appeared above Mrs. Lewis’s eyes. “I can’t swear that I’ll have saved any of the cards, or even if I did, that I kept the envelopes.”
“I understand.”
“Carly mentioned you’d been in touch with Delia after she left the Roughneck,” Luke said. “Did you mean the Christmas cards, or did you have other contact with her?”
“I saw her a few times. She visited me here. And we met once in Lubbock for dinner. That was a while after she had left the ranch.”
“Is there anything you can remember from those visits?” Carly asked. “Any details about...about her new life that she might have mentioned?”
“No, not that I can recall. I’ve been thinking about it since your phone call yesterday, and I haven’t come up with anything. Delia didn’t seem to want to discuss the present at all. We talked mostly of the past, about my boys, and you and Jet and your sisters.”
Carly clenched her free hand by her side. As if he knew how Mrs. Lewis’s statement had affected her, Luke squeezed her hand and brushed his thumb across her knuckles.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more helpful.”
“No need to be sorry at all, Mrs. Lewis,” she said sincerely. “You’ve given me hope of getting an address. I know it’s a faint hope but, still, it’s more than we’ve been able to find.”
The woman nodded. “Maybe your daddy will remember something else to help you, too.”
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