Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  She’d never met her great-grandfather. He’d died before she was old enough to remember him. But she hated him anyhow, because he hadn’t wanted her to be born.

  So why was Dad stuck on these pictures? She had almost thrown them away many times. She would have, if she hadn’t felt kind of guilty, as if she didn’t have the right.

  But her dad should have done it. It was disloyal, keeping pictures of someone who hated your wife.

  He must have heard her breathing behind him. He closed the album quickly, as if he had something to hide.

  He turned with a smile so fake it took her breath away. “Hey, there, kiddo,” he said. “Hungry?”

  And all of a sudden, for no reason she could understand, Ellen was angry with him. Really, really angry.

  “No,” she said. “And that’s mine.”

  She scooped up the album, took it into her room and closed the door, though she was careful not to slam it.

  And then she lay down on her bed and began to cry.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FRIDAY NIGHT—a week and a day before the wedding. Where had the time gone?

  Rowena and Bree were coming over for dinner, the first time she’d hosted anyone at the duplex. Penny had spent all day putting the finishing touches on her house—and by “finishing touches” she meant things like rearranging and rehanging pictures, and repainting the hall in a better shade of cream.

  She wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted them to see what a good investment the duplex was, and how happy she was living here.

  She definitely didn’t want to offer any excuse to reopen the debate about whether she should move back to Bell River.

  When the doorbell rang, she took a deep breath and composed her face. Showtime!

  An hour later, as they sat at the dining room table eating a variety of sample food from the caterer—everything from spinach and brie turnovers to caramelized pears and popcorn shrimp—Penny braced herself for the verdict.

  Bree took Penny’s hand. “It’s gorgeous, Pea. You’ve created a real home here.”

  For the first time all day, Penny’s shoulders relaxed. “You really like it?”

  “Like it?” Rowena laughed. “You’d better watch out. We love it so much, with all its charm and peace and quiet, that we’ll probably move in, and then you’ll never get to open your studio!”

  Bree shook her head and tsked. “Don’t scare her, Ro. The last thing she wants is to have to fear the invasion of the sisters.” Bree turned her placid face toward Penny. “Ro just means it’s fantastic. Compared to Bell River at the height of the fall season, it’s like an oasis of peace in a desert of absolute madness.”

  “Plus, we have Alec.” Rowena grinned, as if she knew that was the trump card. “We’ll be running here as refugees, not as interfering sisters. You’ll have to take us in, because you’re a well-known humanitarian.”

  Penny laughed. They were kidding, of course, but she could see she’d scored a hit. When she’d shown them her master plan for opening her art studio, both of them had been almost insultingly surprised at how professional it was. It was as if they never had fully accepted that she was a real adult.

  Now, perhaps, they were starting to see. Now, as they laughed with her, she felt that maybe the expression in their eyes was just a shade different. Even their tones were just a microscopic bit less maternal.

  More the tone you might take with...an equal.

  She’d always be their little sister, but maybe, for once, she wasn’t their tragic little sister. This day had been a long time coming. But maybe, just maybe, she’d carved out her own space, where she could be close without being smothered.

  That was enough, for now.

  She waved toward the table. “Let’s eat! We have to get this menu decided once and for all. Marianne may be a friend of Gray’s but she’s not a saint.”

  For the next half hour or so, the only talk was about the food. Marianne Donovan, owner of Donovan’s Dream, had been very patient and flexible, but even she had production realities to deal with. She had to receive their list of final choices by tomorrow.

  This was their final tasting party, and Bree frantically jotted down notes about which dishes were the best balance of aesthetics and just plain good eating.

  Eventually, Penny gave up. Groaning, she leaned back in her chair. She suddenly wished desperately that she’d worn something loose and flowing, instead of her jeans and sweater.

  “I’ve officially tested my last bite,” she announced. “I’m going to pop.”

  “Me, too.” Ro put her fork down and rested her hand on her stomach. She didn’t look quite as tired as she had for a while, though she was still unusually thin. Penny watched her carefully, still just a little worried. She’d be relieved when the wedding was over.

  “But we haven’t decided on the salad yet!” Bree held out the list, showing the blank space where the salad choice should be.

  Ro’s eyes darkened abruptly. “Too bad Bonnie isn’t going to be here. She made this burgundy mushroom salad that was to die for.”

  Penny hated the sad sound she heard in Ro’s voice. “No word at all?”

  Rowena shook her head. “It’s been two weeks since the last postcard. I can tell Dallas is getting edgy. He’s starting to make noises about trying to track them down.”

  “Well, maybe he should.” Penny glanced at Bree to see what she thought. But Bree looked just as mutely concerned as Penny felt. Obviously, there was no easy answer to this one.

  “He promised Mitch he wouldn’t. Dallas would rather die than break a promise, but...” She bit her lower lip. “Mitch is his baby brother. He’s worried. I know all about that, and I can’t blame him for thinking he should do something.”

  And then, out of nowhere, her green eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Bree took one of Ro’s and Penny’s hands in each of her own. Instinctively, Ro and Penny joined hands, too, completing a magic circle.

  She squeezed their hands tightly. “Honestly, we’re so lucky to have each other back again, aren’t we?”

  They all nodded, their hands tightening in response. Penny was tearing up, now, too—and even Rowena’s eyes were shining suspiciously.

  As she looked at her beautiful, complicated sisters, Penny could barely believe this wasn’t just a fantasy. Chilly, ultracomposed Bree and sardonic, hard-hearted Rowena—both brought to tears as easily as the baby sister, Penny. Both clinging across the table to the family they’d once told themselves they didn’t need.

  Penny had dreamed of moments like this, back in Aunt Ruth’s house, all those years ago.

  If she was dreaming now, she never wanted to wake up.

  Ro cleared her throat self-consciously, but she didn’t release her sisters’ hands. “Okay...so, as long as we’re already doing the group hug thing...”

  Penny and Bree both turned to Rowena, curiously. They recognized that teasing tone, and that devilish grin.

  “I’ve got...news.”

  For a fraction of a second, no one reacted. Bree cast a sidelong, almost surreptitious, glance toward Penny, who was sending a similar sneaky glance toward Bree.

  “News?” They said the word at precisely the same moment, and with the same inflection—as if it were a foreign expression they had never heard before. It might as well have been a comedy routine they’d rehearsed for days.

  Rowena laughed. “Yes, news. You see...I’ve been waiting to tell you. I’m— That is, Dallas and I—

  “Oh, my God!” Bree leaped to her feet. “I knew it! You’re pregnant!”

  Penny stood, too. It wasn’t possible to contain all this happiness and excitement while sitting down. But she didn’t speak. She wanted to be sure, absolutely sure. She wanted to hear Rowena say the words.

  But Rowena was laughing, l
etting Bree hug her and spin her around. She shook her head, pretending to frown.

  “You guys sure jumped to conclusions. What if I’d been going to say we were moving to Montana? Or we’d won the lottery? Or we’d decided to get a divorce?”

  Bree waved that away like the nonsense it was. “I knew it. I knew you were either very sick or very pregnant. And you were way too happy to be very sick.”

  Penny finally found her voice. “Is it true, Ro? You and Dallas are going to have a baby?”

  Rowena nodded, and her eyes once again caught the overhead light and sparkled with tears that made them appear to be made of green crystal.

  “We are,” she said. “That’s one of the reasons he wants so badly for Mitch to come home, to be...”

  And then she caught her breath on a ragged inhale. To Penny’s shock, the tears spilled over and ran down Rowena’s cheeks.

  “Oh, look at me. I’m being an idiot. It’s just that—” She brushed the tears away roughly. “It’s just that I never—”

  But she didn’t need to say the words. They all knew. She had been alone so long, walled off inside her anger and her grief. The love inside her had never found an outlet. Then came the miracle of Dallas and Alec.

  And now a child of her own. A new life, a new child. Penny could hardly contain her happiness.

  It was, in a way, a chance for the daughters of Moira Wright to completely rewrite the ending of the story.

  “Anyhow,” Rowena said briskly, as if embarrassed by her display of emotion. “I’ll give you all the details later. Right now, since we’re all here together, just the three of us, there’s something I want to do. And I want you to be here when I do it.”

  This time Penny and Bree weren’t as sure what to think. Ro seemed more muted suddenly, as if the next step wasn’t as simple.

  “Of course,” Penny said automatically. “Whatever you need, Ro. We’re here.”

  Rowena moved into the living room. Her dramatic coloring stood out among the soft blues and browns and creams like a cardinal nesting with finches. She sat on the sofa and picked up her purse.

  Bree and Penny followed slowly and sat on either side of her, like bookends, like library lions. It was as if some subconscious protective instinct had dictated their choice.

  As they watched, she pulled a large envelope out of the canvas shoulder bag.

  At that moment, comprehension dawned—belatedly perhaps, but with a powerful clarity. Penny realized that Ro was finally ready to find out who her biological father had been. His name was in the P.I. report Bree had commissioned all those months ago. It had remained sealed inside that envelope.

  “It’s time, I think.” She put the folder in her lap, smoothed it once and turned to Bree. “I know you didn’t understand why I wouldn’t look at this sooner. I guess it’s the old cliché...what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

  “I understood,” Bree said, putting her hand on Rowena’s shoulder. “Honestly, I did. Not at first, maybe, but I did eventually get it.”

  “Thank you.” Rowena seemed strangely humble. “Anyhow, something about knowing I’m going to have a baby has changed the equation. This is not my information anymore—not mine alone, anyhow.”

  She picked up the envelope. Her hands were trembling, and Penny bit her lower lip, forcing herself to wait patiently.

  “This name belongs to the baby, too,” Rowena said, staring down at the envelope as if it might start moving of its own accord. As if it were something magical, not of this world.

  And in a way, it wasn’t. It was a name that would take them to another world—the world inhabited by a man none of them could name, but whose blood even now ran through Rowena’s veins.

  And her baby’s.

  Rowena raised her chin, and Penny knew that meant her big, brave sister was very frightened. “This is my child’s grandfather. I don’t have the right to take that away just because I’m afraid.”

  Penny held her breath. What would the report reveal? Would the name written there belong to someone they knew? It could be a neighbor who lived two houses down, or a stranger living thousands of miles away. It could be a saint or a sinner, a fool or a genius. It could be a living man—or a dead one.

  Most importantly, it could be someone who would welcome the news that he had a daughter...or someone who rejected Rowena all over again, just as Johnny Wright had done.

  And that, of course, was really why Rowena was afraid. They all were, for her sake. For her sake, they prayed for a father she could be proud of. A father who would be proud of her.

  Penny put her arm around her sister’s back and leaned in. “We’re here,” she said again. “No matter what, we’re here.”

  Bree elbowed Ro and shot her a teasing smile. “And, hey. No matter what, you’re trading up. Nothing is worse than what we were born with, right?”

  Ro nodded. She took a deep breath, ran her finger inside the envelope’s seal and opened it. Quickly, as if she feared she might change her mind, she slid out the paperwork inside, held it up and scanned it.

  Bree and Penny looked, too, of course. If she hadn’t wanted them to, she wouldn’t have held it where they could see.

  And there it was. The name that for so long had loomed so large in all their imaginations.

  You could almost hear the tension fizzle out of the room, like carbonation escaping an uncapped soda bottle.

  Dr. Rowan Atherton Reese, it read. Age: Fifty-six. Occupation: Surgeon. Marital status: Married. Children: Four.

  Address: 1923 Eaton Drive, Crested Butte, Colorado.

  “But...” Bree sounded dazed. “But...”

  The bewilderment was an echo of Penny’s own. How could it be? How could it possibly be true? None of it meant anything to any of them. Could the P.I. have made a mistake? They’d never, ever heard of this man.

  Then Rowena turned the page, and the next sheet was a photo, printed from the staff page of a Crested Butte hospital. Dr. Rowan Reese, head of surgery...

  And there it was. All the proof their bewildered minds could ever need. Dr. Rowan Reese was dramatically, elegantly tall and thin. His posture was proud and unyielding. He was long-limbed, weather-beaten, outdoorsy, athletic. Handsome, passionate, driven, fiery.

  His salt-and-pepper hair had clearly once been jet-black. His lips were full, sensual, his smile wide over shockingly white, strong teeth. His eyes showed intelligence, wit—but most importantly they were burning coals of green fire.

  He was all the things Johnny Wright could never be.

  He was Rowena’s father.

  * * *

  MAX WAS IN the basement in Mexico, but he was screaming. That was how he always knew he was dreaming. He hadn’t ever really screamed in Mexico. They would have killed him, and he had to stay alive. He had to get home to Ellen, no matter what it took.

  But in his dreams he screamed. In his dreams, he always thought someone was nearby, someone who might hear him and call the police.

  He woke himself up with the noise, even though Lydia told him that the sound he made didn’t really qualify as a scream. It was more like a choking, with a high-pitched something deep in his throat.

  It was really more like a gagged person trying to scream, she’d said with a faint thread of distaste. After a couple of months, she’d slept in the guest room. It was just too disturbing, she said, especially since he wouldn’t ever talk to her about it afterward.

  It drove her crazy that he wouldn’t talk about it. But it would have driven him crazy if he did.

  Max slept in sweatpants, but he rarely wore a T-shirt over them, because he always soaked it through on the nights he dreamed about the basement. It was easier just to keep one by the bed and drag it on if he had to go check on Ellen.

  Tonight, he didn’t bother. He pulled himself out of bed. He
poked his head through Ellie’s doorway, saw that she was out cold, then wandered onto the back deck shirtless and shoeless. At three in the morning, he wasn’t likely to run into anyone but owls and possums, who really didn’t give a damn how he was dressed.

  After the dreams of the musty, unventilated basement, he welcomed the sting of cold air against his skin. He went to the railing and put the heels of his hands on it, stretching his torso up, as high as it would go. He breathed deeply. In through his nose. Hold. Then out through his mouth. Over and over, until his lungs believed there really was enough air, and his muscles believed it was safe for them to relax.

  The wind moved through the trees briskly, as if it had a timetable to meet and somewhere to be. The shifting branches winked silver, then olive-green, then silver again in the moonlight. He bent over, hands still gripping the railing, and stretched his torso.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement on Penny’s porch—but when he looked, it was only the gazing balls, reflecting back his own strange stretches and bends. When he inhaled deeply, light fractured in half a dozen balls, all of which were aimed at him from one angle or another.

  It should have been eerie, but it wasn’t. It was oddly comforting, as if they were conscious things, aware of his distress and sending him a signal that he was not alone.

  He smiled, appreciating the irony. A few mirror-covered bowling balls were a heck of a lot more company than Lydia had ever been.

  “Max, are you okay?”

  For a minute, he wondered if his imagination had truly run away with his sanity, and he had let the gazing balls start talking. But then he glanced back at Penny’s kitchen door. She stood there, wrapped in a blanket, her new haircut mussed and spiky.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just getting some fresh air.”

  She blinked, then reached up with one blanket-covered fist and rubbed at her eyes. “It’s just that—you called out. You sounded...upset.”

  Hell.

  He moved toward the railing that separated their two decks. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You heard me all the way over there? I can be a pretty noisy sleeper, but I had no idea I was that bad.”