by Cait London
“Take the girl home, Rio. She’s done a good job,” Doc Bennett said quietly.
On the steps of Llewlyn House, Paloma scanned the big, wide porch filled with huge potted ferns and white wicker furniture. The porch swing moved slightly in the breeze scented of Rocky Mountain pines. “I have to go in now, Rio.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Are you certain? You’re tired and—”
“I want to clear my past. This is a good place to start.”
Inside, the old house had the same sounds and looked the same. A small rocker had replaced the piano. A clutter of children’s pictures ranged across one wall. Then a row of ten children, each held safely by Boone. They shared the same black hair, the same strong jaw. Paloma shivered; to her knowledge Boone hadn’t claimed any of the children who looked so much like him. The old leather-bound album rested on the ornate table’s doily as it always had. Paloma turned the pages to see Mrs. Llewlyn in her blue taffeta dress, posed formally with Mr. Llewlyn. Dressed for her wedding, Mrs. Llewlyn stood straight and tall, her clear eyes looking straight into the camera. “I look so much like her, and I have Boone’s jaw.”
Rio, never far from her, giving her courage, leaned against the wall. He followed her slowly upstairs to the room where she had slept in those safe intervals away from her mother. She sensed him behind her as she went from room to room and up into the attic, cluttered with toys. “So many memories. He was so kind.”
Rio drew her against him, rocking her. “Let me know if you want me in this. I’ll try to find what you need”
“You can’t protect me from the past and I know how hard it’s been, worrying about me. I don’t want you to worry, Rio. Please don’t.” She slid her arms around his neck, locking him to her. Rio held her safe and tight, whispering his love for her. She couldn’t give him half of herself; she had to clear up the past. Rio deserved a woman who could give him everything. She drew back from him, smoothing his cheek, now rough with the night’s stubble. “But I have to settle this, Rio. Please understand.”
“I made you. And you do this to me? How dare you?” Nlna Forbes’s shrill voice echoed off the expensive walls of her New York penthouse. It was the third week of June when Paloma faced the woman who had pushed and demanded everything of her child, treating her poorly. Nina glared at her, her long false nails sunk in a lush tapestry chair. “I did everything for you, Paloma, and you run off just when things are taking off for us.”
“I did everything for you, Mother,” Paloma corrected carefully. She treasured Rio’s last kiss, his tight embrace before he’d left just a week ago. As a Jasmine deputy, he had an assignment that he couldn’t reveal. After his departure, she had stayed just one day, Rio’s airy home whispering secrets around her. She had to clear away this one and had packed to do so immediately.
Her mother had the answers—if she would divulge them. Now the woman who had terrorized her as a child seemed old and brittle. Paloma spoke to her coolly, calmly, as she had been taught, burying her emotions. When she asked about Boone this time, she would not be put off. “You have regular payments from me. Now I want to know who Boone was to me. Was he my father?”
Nina Forbes stared at her blankly. Then her laughter chilled the room. “Your father? That old man? You think I’d let him touch me? Why is it so important to you after all these years to know who your father is?”
“Because you never told me.”
“That’s right I didn’t, did I?” asked her mother with the same purring tone as she used to torment young Paloma.
“Why did you leave me with Boone? Why do I look like his mother?” Paloma shot at her mother, and knew with a sinking feeling that she’d never pry it from her. She shivered, fearing the truth, or another lie. “Mother, I’m going to cut you off.”
When threatened, her mother could be brutal, but Paloma wasn’t a child any longer. She no longer felt fear for Nina, rather sorrow and loss. Paloma recognized Nina’s tight, furious expression and settled back in her chair. She studied the woman who had ruled her life. She preferred “Nina,” to “Mother,” which implied love and care. As Nina sailed through insults, Paloma remembered how in that one Sunday they’d shared, Rio had touched her, the way his eyes were dark and tender upon her. She’d prayed he wouldn’t be hurt, chilled when she’d seen his sleek automatic tucked in his shoulder holster. His grim, hardened expression had frightened her then, as he stuffed clothes into his overnight bag, checking his weapon...and that sleek, deadly knife....
Nina finished her tirade and glared at Paloma “Look at your hands. A concert artist has to take care of her hands. Your nails are short and you’ve got calluses. You’ve ruined them. Do you know how much your hands...your fingers are worth in cash?”
“You’re disappointed to have a six-foot gangling daughter who isn’t interested in making you rich. But I want to know who Boone is, in relation to me.”
“That cowboy you’re living with is just after your money. When he’s done with it, he’ll see no reason to keep you.”
“Rio doesn’t care about my wealth. He loves me.”
“Love? That’s a laugh. You?” After another tirade in which vivid memories of her mother’s anger hurtled at Paloma, Nina sprawled onto a settee. “Roman Blaylock knows everything. If I tell you anything, I’ll be cut—”
“Cut...off, Nina? Why?”
“I’ve suffered enough for you. You tell Roman that I didn’t tell you, and I want more.”
“More what? What is Kallista Blaylock to me? What is she to Boone?”
Nina smirked, twisting the huge solitaire diamond that Paloma’s talent had bought. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? I don’t have to tell you anything, and you won’t stop my payments. Read your contracts closer, Paloma-dear. I have an interest to be paid on any professional performances you give.”
“Then I won’t perform—professionally,” Paloma said quietly, meaning it. “But what I intend to do is examine my legal rights as an exploited child, forced to play until my hands and body ached. I believe I’d have a case.”
She stood and straightened her shoulders as Nina came flying at her, nails poised to strike, and suddenly, Paloma knew what to do. She smiled briefly, opened the closet door and shoved Nina into the darkness. She pulled a heavy desk in front of the door, and listened to her mother’s threats. Nina couldn’t hurt her anymore. And with the light switch outside, the closet was very dark. Paloma sat on the desk, listening to Nina’s muffled curses. When Nina quieted, Paloma asked, “Does your butler still serve a light brunch at eleven?”
“Of course he does. The staff usually serves brunch and afternoon tea and dinner at the same time every day.”
“Then, Nina, you’ll be in that closet for approximately one half hour before brunch. Remember to check your watch and yell then.” Paloma slid off the desk, noting that it slid with Nina’s shove. Her mother’s temper added to her strength and would be enough to push the desk away if needed. Paloma inhaled unsteadily, closing away one portion of her life before leaving the penthouse, “Don’t call me, Nina. I won’t talk to you until I’m ready.”
After a week away from Jasmine, late June spread across the fields and up the rugged mountains in a carpet of green. The flowers Paloma had planted scented the air, new calves frolicked in the pastures. Rio wasn’t at the ranch and Paloma missed him, wanting the safety of his arms, his warm tender kiss.
Though worn by a week of sleepless nights, the traveling and the details of closing her professional life with Lou’s help, Paloma called Roman at once and soon sat opposite Boone’s huge desk. The study was familiar except for Kallista’s framed picture, the intercom Roman had installed and the state-of-theart computer. Roman took the blue rattle from his work shirt pocket and toyed with it. He grinned as he shoved a stack of new photographs at her—Kallista’s beaming smile next to her black-haired infant son.
Paloma delighted in each new pose. “He’s beautiful. It meant so much for me to be with her. It was an incre
dible experience.”
“Kallista wants you to come over to the addition for tea when you can. We missed you. My son has grown since you saw him last. He knows me. He’s got a grip when he latches onto my finger, and not too shabby a squall, either.”
“He’ll be eating carrots and steak at any moment, right?”
Roman studied one of the photographs. “When she feeds him—you know, the natural way—it’s beautiful.”
“Roman, I need to talk with you. I’ve been to see my mother and she refers me to you. What do you know about my relationship with Boone? Who is he to me? My father?”
She held her breath as Roman frowned, meticulously stacking the photographs on the desk. “He’s not your father. But I am his executor and while he was dying, I made a promise to him. I intend to keep it. Tell me what you think of Jasmine. Would you consider living here?”
Roman’s serious tone was that of a caring friend, the brother she never had, and yet she sensed that there was more to his question. She looked out into the Llewlyn Ranch’s rolling fields, the grazing cattle. “I love it here,” she said softly, truthfully. “It was my only home as a child—when Mother...Nina let me visit. Now I love the people. I love my life here, my crooked garden rows, riding horses and just the thrill of watching the wildflowers bloom. I think that if I live a hundred years, I couldn’t find more peace than I’ve found here. I’ve been given love, by your family and others. Kallista is my first friend and I feel something very deep for her. Lucille is my first pet—thank you for taking care of him. Then, most of all, there’s Rio.”
“Have you told him that you love him?”
She twisted the horseshoe ring around her finger. “He wants to marry me. But I have to settle my past before I can make that commitment. I want to come to him as a whole woman. I need to give him everything. This hasn’t been easy for him, yet he was always there. I have never felt so safe.”
Roman looked at her solemnly. “As Boone’s executor, I have to ask this, just like this—do you love Llewlyn Land? Do you treasure it? Think carefully.”
Paloma met his level look. “I do. There is no other place that can be my home, except with Rio, wherever he goes. And I’m darned mad at him, too. If he came back since I left, he’s not answering the telephone.”
“Are you going to throw another flowerpot at him?” Roman’s smile reminded her of Rio’s.
“I may. I’m learning how to express my emotions and that hasn’t been easy. I’m working on it, and your brother can be difficult.”
Roman nodded. “He came home, but he’s fishing in the mountains today.”
“He’ll understand. I know he will. I trust him.”
“He is a good man and he’s waited a long time for you. He’s not apt to want to wait much longer before pushing your finger into a proper wedding ring. But now it’s time to tell you about Boone, your grandfather.” Roman spoke quietly in the old study filled with memories of Boone.
As a young man, Roman explained, Boone had loved the Blaylocks’ grandmother, Garnet, but she wouldn’t leave Jasmine for him. He’d married a woman who’d promoted his career and she’d given him two sons. Boone wasn’t proud of how he’d forsaken his children in search of wealth; then he’d discovered that they’d each married several women, using different names. He’d bought them free of legal danger, hiring top attorneys, but to protect the Llewlyn Land and his beloved heritage, he forbade them to visit Yet while Boone paid his sons and their ex-wives monthly payments to stay away from the land, he loved having the grandchildren, as children. Still ashamed of how he’d lived and of his sons, he didn’t want his grandchildren to know the truth about themselves until they could understand.
Roman sat back in his chair as though drained. “You are Kallista’s half-sister and Cindi’s, though Cindi doesn’t know yet. You look like Mrs. Llewlyn because you are her greatgranddaughter. Boone wanted you to have this portion of his mother’s jewelry. He said that of all his grandchildren, you looked most like his mother, a St. Clair. He said she was a strong, wonderful, loving lady, and I’ve seen that in you.”
Inside the velvet-lined box, antique ornate pins glistened. Paloma ran her fingertip over the damp spots her tears had made. The small box that Roman passed to her contained lovely rings that would just fit her hands. “That’s her wedding ring. Boone remembered it sparkling on her finger when she played. He wanted you to have it. The other ring was her mother’s, your great-great-grandmother’s.”
Paloma pressed the boxes to her chest, where her heart was beating wildly. “I’m Boone’s granddaughter. I’m his granddaughter. I have sisters and maybe brothers, and I am an aunt. I have a family,” she repeated as all the pieces fell into a seamless line. “Who is my father?”
Roman passed a file to her. “It’s all in there. Boone kept track of all his grandchildren and now I do. I have seven more grandchildren to bring back to Jasmine, and I ask you not to share this with anyone, not even them. It’s what Boone wanted.”
“Rio? Can I tell him?” How could she keep anything from him, this man who had changed her and made her full with life? He’d shown her truth and love and he’d never wavered. He’d meant his vows from that first night in the cabin, when he came to her fresh with rain.
“He’s part of your heart now, isn’t he?” Roman asked gently. “Tell him. By the way, the thousand acres that Boone left you borders Rio’s property. You are a landowner, Paloma. But, please keep your tractor driving on your side of the property. I’ve promised to take care of Boone’s land until my job is done.”
As Frisco carried him near his home, Rio studied the fields, lush clover and fescue and the natural pasture blooming with daisies and sunflowers. He’d served as an expert witness at the trial of the hunters who had used airplanes to shoot trophy bighorn sheep and other game and he’d returned to find Paloma gone. He should have known that she couldn’t be happy with him; he had little to offer. Paloma was classy, world-wise and eventually ruled her own finances—after a successful career, she was likely to be a wealthy woman. But when he located her, he’d try again, this time with a proper ring in his hand and he’d be more patient. He’d try to dampen his body’s need for her; he could and he would. He’d give her time; he’d take her to dinner, learn more about music.... Fishing in the mountains had been an excuse, because he couldn’t face the empty house and the knowledge that in the end, he hadn’t been enough. Sunset glowed on the remodeled barn and his livestock. He felt drained and aching and old, his heart torn from him. Paloma.
He unsaddled Frisco and turned him out to pasture, putting off going into the empty house. He stood and scanned his land and knew that if he had to leave everything for her, he would.
He tensed as he caught her scent and her arms closed around him from behind. Was he dreaming? She kissed his nape and Rio shuddered, the tight fist around his heart easing. He stood still as she placed her cheek against his back, nuzzling him. Their fingers laced on his stomach.
“I baked you an apple pie,” she said. “My first. I used your mother’s recipe. And I cooked a chicken.”
He inhaled, and wondered if his boots were floating off the ground. She hadn’t said she loved him, but he could live without that... “I built a chicken coop for you. There’s chicks in it, and you’re now the owner of a runt piglet from Boone’s sow.”
Rio swallowed. They weren’t exactly sharing eternal promises, but he hoped they would make her happy. When his terror settled a bit, he’d tell her everything. Now, his heart was in his throat. He turned in Paloma’s arms, fearing that she would laugh at his gifts.
Instead he found her dressed in bib overalls and dancing around in circles. In braids, she looked like a teenager. “Tell me where! Oh, Rio, tell me where! You built me a chicken coop—for chickens? Oh, how I love you!”
“You haven’t cleaned one yet, city girl.”
She stopped dancing and looked at him solemnly. “I still love you, but we are not going to eat my chickens, are we?”
<
br /> “They’re laying hens. For eggs.” Rio slapped his hat against his thigh. He couldn’t stop grinning as Paloma clasped her hands and looked at him as though he were that tasty apple pie and more. “Is that all I had to do to get you to say you loved me? Give you chickens and a pig? Then why did I go to the trouble of getting a goat and then ask Macy Freemont for the choice of his Labrador retriever’s litter?”
Paloma walked slowly toward him. She placed her hand along his cheek in the way that soothed him most. “I love you, too. I’ve known it for so long, but the words didn’t come easy for me. Now take me inside our home and tell me you love me.”
Rio swung her up into his arms. “Why, ma’am, I’d be honored.”
July slid by and Paloma hoarded herself in the empty room at the store; the new air conditioner hum blended with those of her saw and hammer. She collected boxes of old barbed wire, horseshoes, nails, photos and feed sacks, and wouldn’t tell Rio her plans—even when he tickled her. But in their times together, swimming at the lake or loving in Boone’s cabin, he knew that she was happy and that was enough. Paloma learned to milk the small cow he’d given her, delighting in making butter. She’d play Boone’s piano softly as if flowing in the music, not fighting it. It was a gentle time of loving, of quiet nights and holding hands.
When he could, Rio slipped away to Llewlyn Ranch, refinishing the one-horse shay that had been Boone’s mother’s. Paloma didn’t know about this inheritance; yet she treasured the other things arranged in their home.
The first week of August, Paloma posted Open House At The Feed Store notices. Pueblo feared the worst—a tea parlor. Dusty and Titus grumbled and Rio geared himself for an argument—Paloma was getting really good at expressing her emotions. To place weight on his side of the upcoming dispute, Rio drove the shay into Jasmine the afternoon of the open house. His family was already there with other residents of the valley and inside, Paloma played Roy Rogers and Gene Autry music on a portable keyboard. The log walls were lined with displays of barbed wire, named and dated, horseshoes and nails and framed feed sacks. Bits of Jasmine’s history lined the shelves—a butter chum, a kraut cutting board, old blue tinted jars and zinc lids and pottery jars, too. Framed tintype pictures of buggies and wagons parked in front of the store lined one wall and residents pointed out their relatives. At one end of the room was a row of small barrels for seating; glasses filled with cider rested on the rough-cut board lying across two larger barrels.
