The waitress shook her head apologetically. "Sorry—no. Wait a minute!" She snapped her fingers, already heading toward the kitchen. "I'll bet Herb knows. He's lived here forever."
"Take the first road to the left heading north out of town. Turn left again at the first intersection," she announced, bustling through the double doors a moment later. "It's the house at the end of the gravel road. Only one there, so you can't miss it."
"Thanks so much. I'll just be on my way, then." Jenna smiled gratefully and paid for her breakfast. Glancing back, she saw the waitress gazing after her with an odd look in her eyes. Jenna sent a little wave over her shoulder as she exited the tiny caf6.
She quickly walked across the street to where her car was parked in front of her motel room. She inserted the key in the lock, but suddenly she stopped, one hand poised on the dark blue roof as her mother's words from yesterday came back to her. How would Megan feel about her dropping in without any warning? It could be quite a shock, she suddenly realized. For a moment she hesitated, temptation almost overruling reason in this instance. Then, with a sigh, she turned and trudged the few steps to her room.
Inside, she sat down on the double bed and reached for the phone. The Garrisons' phone number popped into her head without conscious thought, and for a moment she sat stunned. Why was it that she remembered it after all this time? Was it because she hadn't wanted to forget? Her hand gripped the receiver as she recalled the last time she'd telephoned, to let them know her labor had started. Once again she could hear Megan's ecstatic voice coming over the wire.
"Oh, Jenna, I can't believe it! It's finally about to happen! A baby—our very own baby! We'll be there as soon as we can."
The memory was both poignant and sweet, and Jenna took a deep, shuddering breath to force back the odd sensation gripping her heart. She punched out the number with steady hands, aware of a faint flutter in her chest as she eased back on the bed and waited.
The phone rang once, twice and then again. Jenna felt her heart beating crazily.
"Hello?"
She couldn't prevent a note of breathless excitement from entering her voice. "Megan?" She sat forward on the edge of the bed, her body taut as a bowstring. "Is that you, Megan?"
There was a long silence, and then a female voice demanded, "Who is this?"
Recoiling from the sharp tone, she shifted uneasily as she realized it wasn't Megan who had answered. "I... my name is Jenna Bradford." She heard a soft gasp but paid no mind. Her tone was cautious but hopeful as she spoke to the woman on the other end of the line. "I've just driven all the way from Galveston and I was calling to see if I might be able to see—'' Robbie. She stopped the word from slipping off her tongue just in time. "Megan," she finished hastily. A little puzzled by the awkward silence that followed, she bit her lip. "I'm sorry...I must have dialed the wrong number."
"No. No, this is the right number."
The admission came readily enough, but there was something in the tone... it was brusque, even a little hostile. Jenna's words were polite but guarded. "If I have the right number, then who are you?"
Again there was a long empty silence before the unknown woman spoke. "Eileen. Eileen Swenson." She seemed to hesitate. "I'm Ward's sister."
Ward's sister. No wonder the surprise at her name. "Then you know who I am," she said softly.
"Yes—yes, I do. And I think I know why you're here."
There was no denying the challenging note in Eileen Swenson's voice. If this was any indication of how Megan or Ward would feel... She could only pray it wasn't. She prickled a little but said politely, "If it's not too much trouble, could you put either Megan or Ward on the phone?''
There was a seemingly endless silence. "Megan's dead," the woman finally said quietly.
Dead...Megan was dead. Her mind reeled. It didn't seem possible. She'd never known her, not really. Was it possible to mourn someone's death without ever really knowing that person? But certainly Jenna knew all she needed to know. Megan was a warm, vital woman whose capacity for love went far beyond any ordinary measure, if indeed love could be measured. A dozen questions tumbled around in her brain. How had Megan died? And when? She couldn't suppress a burning feel of resentment against Ward for not letting her know, even while the rational part of her argued there was no need for her to know.
But suddenly she remembered Robbie. Megan was gone, but did that change anything? Her reason for being here? No.
"I'm sorry," Jenna said softly. "When... ?"
Eileen Swenson had no trouble understanding. "About a year and a half ago."
She twirled the cord around her finger and thought a moment. "Mrs. Swenson, I'd still like to talk to Ward—"
"He isn't here."
Jenna took a deep breath. "Then could you give him a message for me?''
"I'm sorry. I—I don't know when I'll see him again."
The woman was beginning to sound a little agitated. "Look," Jenna said evenly, choosing her words carefully. "I'm really not here to cause trouble, but don't you think you should let Ward decide whether he wants to talk to me?"
"I'm not lying," the woman defended herself. "He isn't here and I couldn't say when he'll be back. I only stopped by this morning to check on the house while he's away."
"Where is he?"
"New Mexico. He's working on an irrigation project there."
New Mexico...Lord, and she'd come so far already. Her muscles tensed with an emotion she wasn't yet ready to name. "I see," she said slowly. "Is Robbie with him?"
"No. He's staying with me. But please don't ask to see him. I couldn't possibly agree without Ward's permission."
Jenna's body went limp with despair. "I understand." Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt inside. She wasn't such a fool that she didn't know that engineering projects sometimes lasted weeks, months even. But suddenly there was a glimmer of life inside her. Surely Ward wouldn't leave Robbie for weeks at a time. "Do you expect him back soon?" She made no attempt to disguise her hopefulness.
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm really not sure. Early next week maybe, but as 1 said before, I'm not certain." It was obvious the admission was made with great reluctance. "I'll let Ward know you're here... if you decide to wait around that long. Where are you staying?"
"I'll be here," Jenna promised in a low voice. "I'm at the Sundowner Motel." She paused. "Mrs. Swenson...?"
"Yes?"
"I—thank you. Thank you for telling me."
The moment stretched out into a taut silence. When Eileen Swenson finally spoke, her voice sounded oddly strained. "Don't thank me yet. For all I know, you may have made the trip for nothing."
Jenna stared pensively out the window after hanging up the phone. The shimmering sunlight outside seemed a stark contrast to the dark emptiness of her mood. Apparently, all the odds were stacked against her. It had all started with her vague, restless feelings about Neil, and then he had warned her against coming. Then her car had broken down, and now—this. Megan was dead, and Jenna had been so certain she would let her see Robbie. It would be days before Ward returned, a hollow voice inside her protested. Better to go home now and forget she had ever come, forget she had even tried to see Robbie, forget he had ever been born.
But she couldn't. Dear Lord, she couldn't.
Refusing to give in to that tiny voice, Jenna got up, grabbed her purse and walked outside. Dispiritedly she walked the few blocks to the town's business district. There was more to the town than she had originally thought; she noticed at least three drugstores, a steakhouse and several more small cafes, one small but complete department store, one clothing shop, even a movie theater and a playhouse. All the amenities of a city, Jenna thought to herself halfheartedly, but without quite the variety to choose from.
Her steps eventually took her back to the motel, and Jenna found herself driving toward the Garrison place. The directions she'd been given earlier unconsciously guided her. Before she knew it, her car was parked in
the gravel drive and her feet were carrying her toward the front door. Her footsteps echoed emptily as she mounted the steps, and for a fraction of a second, she stopped before lifting her hand to the brass knocker.
Silence greeted her.
After a long moment of almost fearful waiting, she turned and trudged slowly down the steps, her emotions so tangled that she felt unable to sort through them.
Taking a deep breath, Jenna forced her attention back to her surroundings. Beyond the cross-fenced boundaries of the small acreage the plains stretched for miles, rolling and clipping endlessly, glinting yellow in the bright September sunlight. In the distance she could see the sun-baked, gently rolling hills to the west. Settling herself under a towering cottonwood tree, she turned her eyes once again to the two-story farmhouse.
The yard was well kept, and the white clapboard exterior of the house looked newly painted. Although it was quiet outside, there was a warm, homey look to the house itself. A wide swing hung from the porch rafters near the front window. Jenna could almost visualize the inside, cheerful and cozy, a comfortable sofa laden with pillows in the living room, thick braided rugs covering the floor and knickknacks and treasures strewn throughout. The urge to scramble to the window and peer through the sheer curtains was so strong that she almost succumbed. Only the feeling that she would be spying, intruding where she had no business, prevented her from doing exactly that.
The thought sent a chill through her. Why had she come here? She agonized silently. Despite what Eileen Swenson had told her—that Megan was dead and Ward was gone—had she really believed it? Had she really expected the door to be thrown open and to be welcomed with open arms? She shivered. No. She could never expect that from Ward. She didn't know how she knew, but she did.
What if he said no? What would she do then? Could she deal with it, or would she handle it the way she had handled h all this time, sweeping her feelings under the rug once more? Denying the hopeless longing to see her child, to hold him, to know him? All these months—years!—she hadn't let herself think of him, but no matter how hard she tried, the memory was always there, lurking in some distant corner of her mind. Denied but never forgotten. For the first time, she realized how desperately afraid she was that Ward would refuse to let her see Robbie.
But her need outweighed her fear by far.
"Oh, Robbie," she murmured faintly, fervently. "I'm so close." Slowly she closed her eyes, unable to stop a wave of despair from sweeping through her. She heard words spinning through her brain—words she couldn't speak. So near and yet so far.
Her entire body trembled as she stumbled to the car and started the engine. She drove back to the motel in the same trancelike state she had left it. Outside, the small town went about its business while Jenna shut herself away in her room. Neil...Megan...Robbie... Faces whirled through her imagination, the features obscure and blurred. The squall of a newborn infant resounded in her subconscious and she flinched.
Finally she stumbled over to the bed and lay down, her body curled in a tight ball. She knew she desperately needed an outlet for all the pent-up emotion inside her, but as always, the tears refused to come. All the pain was tightly locked up inside her, and her heart was an unbearable weight in her chest.
***
It was nearly dark when the wheels of the small Cessna touched down in a perfect landing on the small airstrip just outside Plains City. Skimming across the smooth surface, the plane gently glided to a stop in front of the metal barn that served as a hangar. Moments later, a lean figure emerged from the building and strode toward the house. Though the man was rapidly approaching forty, a rangy, muscled hardness to the six-foot-three-inch frame had not yet been softened by the years.
Though Ward Garrison was tired and weary to the bone, a kind of hurried impatience marked his long- legged stride as he took the porch steps two at a time, heading with intent toward the den.
The room was paneled in knotty pine, and sparsely but comfortably furnished. Bookshelves lined nearly every available wall space. The only decoration was a pair of old flintlock rifles mounted above the stone fireplace. Near the window stood a worn leather armchair that had seen many years of use. A massive desk dominated the room, and Ward directed his steps toward it.
The chair behind the desk creaked a protest as he sat down. He made no move to reach for the phone; instead his hazel eyes rested on the framed photograph that occupied a place of honor on the desktop. A shuttered look came over his face as he picked up the oak frame, studying the fragile features in the photo as if to memorize them. But there was little need. Even without the reminder of those laughing blue eyes and silky blond hair, the image was printed indelibly on his brain. She looked so happy and carefree.... And it seemed like a lifetime ago that he had felt that way.
"Megan," he said aloud. And then he wished he hadn't, as the familiar tightening began to build in his chest. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but long minutes passed before he set aside the photograph and leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, Meg," he murmured faintly. "Sometimes it's still so hard to believe you're gone—" She had been a part of his life for so long... forever. And then a quirk of fate, a moment in time... and she was no more.
His eyes flitted to a smaller picture, but one no less dear to his heart. He felt a surge of pride and possessiveness. His son. His own flesh and blood, the one bright spot left in his life. The son Megan wanted so badly but wasn't able to have. Despite the brief time allotted to them, no one could have been a better mother to Robbie than Megan. She was1 his mother, the only mother he had ever known.
Ward's eyes grew unusually soft as he reached out a finger and traced the outline of the miniature features so like his own. Robbie had his bold nose, the same square jaw line. But his eyes... those vivid green eyes could belong to only one person.
The reminder was one he had learned to live with. Not that he was ungrateful... but there were times when he was strangely resentful of the woman who had given him his son, as well as of the fact that his own wife could never hope to conceive...while it had been so simple for her. And there were also times when Robbie would look up at him, his eyes unusually serious and urgent, yet so full of life and expression, and he felt a brief surge of anger jolt through his body, because he looked so damned much like her.
Ward reached for the phone and punched out a number. "Eileen?" He swiveled around in the chair to stare out the window. "It's me."
"Ward!" Mild surprise was registered in his sister's tone. "Are you home already?"
One side of his mouth quirked upward. "I pushed the crew as hard as I pushed myself so we could finish ahead of schedule."
"Well, thank heaven you don't do near as much traveling as you did five years ago." There was a brief pause. "It's hard on Robbie with you gone, as young as he is. He tries not to let it show, but I can tell."
"I know." There was a bitter edge to his smile. "You wouldn't believe how much I miss him. But with Tyler breaking his leg and laid up in the hospital, I had no choice but to fill in for him." He lifted a hand to smooth his rumpled dark hair. "Is Robbie still up?"
"No. I put him to bed right after dinner." Eileen's voice was full of apology.
Ward's smile was halfhearted at best, but he disguised his disappointment. "Well, don't bother waking him. I'll be over tomorrow to pick him up."
"Don't hurry on my account." Eileen laughed. "You know Robbie—always where the action is. And if there's nothing going on, he creates a little excitement of his own. But he keeps me busy and I love haying him around. The house is so empty with Tim and Katie away at college." She stopped for a second. "But I'm really glad you came back early. Frank's going to a cattle auction in Amarillo on Monday, so maybe I'll go along and do some shopping."
He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, then—"
"Ward, wait! There's something you should know—"
The sudden urgency in Eileen's voice stopped him from hanging up. Frowning, he spoke into the mouthpiece again. "
Yes?"
"Ward..." Her voice dropped, and she seemed unsure of something. "I was at the house today to pick up the mail, and... someone called."
Something in her tone brought his tired senses fully alert. He leaned forward in his chair and asked in a clipped voice, "Who?"
It was a full minute before Eileen spoke. He could scarcely make out her muted tones. "Jenna Bradford."
"Jenna Bradford!" Ward sat back disbelievingly, his fingers tensing around the phone. "What did she want?"
Eileen was silent, hesitating just a moment too long, but somehow he already knew. "Robbie."
His insides were suddenly tied up in knots. Why now, after all this time... ? "What else did she say?"
"Nothing really." Eileen sounded just as confused as he felt. "She just said she didn't want to cause any
trouble—but wants to see Robbie. And she's staying until she talks to you about it."
"Staying? You mean she's here?" He felt as if he'd been struck.
"Yes. She's at the Sundowner Motel in Plains City." An empty silence hung in the air as their thoughts veered in the same direction. "Ward, do you think...?" Eileen swallowed, almost afraid to say the words aloud. "Do you think she wants him back?"
"If that's the case, she won't be long in discovering she'll have one hell of a fight on her hands," he said grimly, "because I'm not about to let anyone take my son away from me. And the sooner she finds that out, the better." On that unrelenting note, Ward slammed down the phone and walked out the door.
There was no point in putting it off—he intended to find out exactly why Jenna Bradford was visiting.
***
The evening stretched out emptily after Jenna finally roused herself. She must have fallen asleep, she thought vaguely, switching on the bedside lamp. Sitting up, she glanced at her watch. It was just after nine. A dull ache throbbed in her temples, and she stumbled to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. As she dried her hands, she studied her reflection. She looked strained and rather drawn, her eyes the only splash of color in an otherwise pale face.
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