He swallowed. “Suzy, what happened? Who—”
She pulled in a ragged breath and wailed a name. “Anna-Grace.”
Paul thought his heart stopped beating. Pain roared through his chest, and his legs wobbled. He released Suzy and sank onto the closest tractor tire. She covered her face with her hands and continued crying in harsh, hiccuping sobs. Pepper army-crawled into the space between Paul’s feet and the tire and hunkered there. He sat in stunned disbelief, hardly aware of the dog bumping his leg, and stared at Suzy’s convulsing form. Anna-Grace…Had there been an accident? Had she suddenly fallen ill? He’d seen her just yesterday in service, and she’d seemed fine. Quiet, the way she always was around him, but fine.
Unable to hold his questions inside, he caught her elbows and pulled her hands down. “When? How? Tell me.”
“This morning.” Suzy gasped the answer, her chest heaving. “Right before lunch. I—She—Oh, Paul…”
Still holding her elbows, he forced his quivering legs to support him and rose. Pepper whined and slunk to the corner, where she watched the two of them with sad eyes. He slid his hands to Suzy’s shoulders and massaged her collarbone with his thumbs. “Please tell me. How did she…” He couldn’t say the word die.
She grabbed his shirt again, her fists pulling the fabric taut, and peered up at him in agony. “I thought she’d see it, but she didn’t. I thought she would finally know. Mr. Mallory—he saw. He’s a stranger, but he saw. Why couldn’t she? I’m so tired of pretending, Paul. I can’t do it anymore. I want her to know.”
Paul shook his head. “Suzy, you’re not making any sense. Was Anna-Grace in an accident? What happened to her?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and held it, her eyes wide. “An accident? No.”
“She isn’t hurt?”
“No. She’s fine. She’s just…” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She lurched free of his grasp and staggered to the tractor. She collapsed onto the tire he’d vacated and hung her head low. “Every morning we eat breakfast across the table from each other. Then we bake together. At noon we sit down and eat together. In the afternoon I help her with wedding details. We’re together for hours every day. Every day she looks at me and doesn’t see. And every day I die a little more inside, wanting to call her ‘Daughter’ instead of ‘Cousin.’ I want to hear her call me ‘Mother,’ not ‘Cousin Suzy.’ ” Defeat laced her tone, but the deep grief seemed to have faded.
Still confused, Paul bent down on one knee and took her hands. “What happened this morning?”
She raised her head slightly to meet his gaze. “A guest—Mr. Mallory—arrived. He and I were talking, and Anna-Grace came into the room. He took one look at her and said…” Her voice quavered. “He said, ‘You must be Suzanne’s daughter.’ ” A sob broke. She crushed one fist to her mouth. “Do you know what she did?”
He shook his head slowly, careful not to turn away from her pain-filled eyes.
“She laughed, Paul. She laughed. And then she said, ‘No, Suzy is my dad’s cousin. She’s not my mother.’ ” Suzy lowered her fist to her chest and pressed it tight, as though she needed to hold her heart together. “Not her mother.” Tears welled again, turning her eyes into pools of misery. “I checked Mr. Mallory in. I showed him to his room. I sat at the table and ate lunch with Mother and m-my daughter. And when we were done, I came out here and threw up. And then I started crying.” Twin tears slipped down her pale cheeks, following the pathway of so many tears before. “She doesn’t see, Paul, because she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t w-want us.”
A band seemed to wrap around Paul’s chest and tighten. He groaned, “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. If she wanted to know, she’d see it. She couldn’t help but see. She could open her letters and confirm it for herself. People in town are starting to speculate. I see how they stare at Anna-Grace and me when we’re out together. She’s not a stupid girl, Paul. She looks in a mirror every day, and she looks at me every day. She’s choosing not to see because she doesn’t want—”
Paul couldn’t take the hurt squeezing his chest anymore. He needed comfort. He couldn’t take the pain in Suzy’s expression or voice anymore. He needed to comfort her. With a strangled moan, he lurched forward, swept her into his arms, and captured her moist lips in a salty kiss.
Arborville
Suzanne
Suzanne, her eyes closed, eased against Paul’s sturdy frame. The last time a man had kissed her, years ago before she’d given up dating entirely, she’d been repulsed by his groping hands and eager mouth. She’d wanted to escape. But this kiss—Paul’s kiss—stirred a wild flutter of pleasant emotion. His arms were her haven, his lips her joy, his cinnamon-scented breath her blessed consolation. Tears ran in warm rivulets down her cheeks, tears of sweet homecoming. She wanted the kiss never to end.
She slipped her hands along his ribs and up his back, then gripped his shoulders from behind and curved her spine to fit more snugly in his embrace. When she tipped her head, giving him better access to her lips, his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her close. But then he abruptly stepped away from her.
She staggered. The backs of her knees connected with the tractor tire, and she sat, grateful for the support. She gazed up at him in confusion. “Paul?”
He turned his back on her and ran his hand through his hair. A growl left his throat. He drew in several deep breaths, released each in audible heaves, then he angled his body to face her again. Regret pinched his features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Still reeling from the wave of unfamiliar yet oh-so-wondrous feelings his kiss had awakened, she couldn’t speak.
“It’s just that you were crying. And I didn’t know what else to do.”
The meaning behind his statement trampled her. Suzanne shrank low, abashed. She’d melted against him in complete surrender. The kiss had been her deliverance, but it was only impulse for him. How could she have behaved with such shamelessness?
He took a step toward her. “Suzy?”
Humiliation writhed through her. She leaped up and stumbled for the door. A black-and-white blur of fur raced into her pathway, and she had to stop or trip over the old dog. The moment she halted, Paul’s hand wrapped around her upper arm and held her in place. She wriggled. “Paul, let me go.” She needed to cry again, but she didn’t want to do it under his watchful gaze.
“Not yet.” “Please…” She whispered the entreaty, her aching throat resisting the release of words.
Paul turned a stern gaze on Pepper. “Pepper, go lie down.” He waited until the border collie moved a few feet away and plopped onto the straw-covered ground. Then he looked at her.
The remorse in his brown eyes stabbed her. She lowered her gaze and prayed for God to swoop in and give her the strength to flee. She should have uttered that prayer before Paul kissed her.
“Let me explain.”
She gritted her teeth, holding back moans of anguish. “It’s not necessary. I understand.” Hurt tangled her vocal cords into knots, and her voice came out tight and shrill. “You were just…comforting me.” And bringing me to life. “It wasn’t anything.” To you. To me it was everything. How could a simple kiss incite such a reaction?
Paul’s fingers tightened on her arm. “No, Suzy, it was more than your comfort. It was my comfort, too. But it was selfish of me. That’s why I’m sorry.” Still gripping her, he moved in front of her and curved his other hand along her jaw. “Please look at me.”
Her face was raised. She had no choice with his strong palm cupping her cheek, but she kept her eyes averted.
He sighed. “Can I tell you what I want?”
Her gaze still angled away from him, her face held captive by his large, warm, rough palm, she managed a tiny nod.
“I want Anna-Grace to know, too. I want Danny to know. I want everyone to know. I want us to be at peace with her. And with each other. I thought we were. At peace, I mean. But now…” He gulped, a loud,
anguished swallow.
Her traitorous eyes shifted and met his gaze. The sorrow glimmering in his brown eyes completely derailed her determination to remain aloof. She instinctively lifted her hand to cup his, pressing it more firmly against her cheek. “I’m not angry at you, Paul.” She was furious with herself for allowing her emotions to run rampant and take the simple gesture of comfort beyond its intention. “I can’t even honestly say I wish you hadn’t kissed me. I…I needed it.” For comfort, but also to bring dormant parts of her heart to life again. “I was selfish, too.” More than he knew.
A weak smile quavered on the lips that had ignited her senses so thoroughly only minutes ago. “Thank you. For not being mad. For understanding.” He released her, took a small step backward, and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. “I think maybe part of the reason I needed comfort from you is because Danny wouldn’t let me kiss him good-bye this morning. He wouldn’t let me hug him, either, and when I told him I loved him, he didn’t say it back, the way he always used to. I didn’t expect to be at odds with him until he was a teenager. I’m not ready for it.”
An unexpected chuckle formed in Suzanne’s chest and found its way up her throat.
He frowned, his eyebrows crunching together. “Is something funny?”
“No. Not at all. Just ironic.”
“What?”
She sought the best way to explain her thoughts. “Both of us have a child who’s at a distance right now—Alexa physically and Danny emotionally. And both of us have a child we can’t claim—Anna-Grace.”
Paul nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I see what you mean. Kind of gives us common ground, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so. Maybe we both needed that kiss for more reasons than either of us realized.”
“Maybe…”
They stood in silence for several seconds, the breeze whispering through the cracked barn door and stirring up the musky scents of hay and animals and old wood. Those same scents had filled her nose two decades ago when Paul had led her to the barn loft. Did the aromas carry him back to that night, too?
He pinned her with a serious expression. “Suzy, I’m glad you came back. Even though it’s hard, being so close to Anna-Grace and having to keep our secret from her, at least neither of us has to deal with it alone. We can support each other.” His cheeks turned ruddy. He toed the barn floor the way he had years ago when embarrassment took hold of him. “What I’m saying is, anytime you need to talk about Anna-Grace, you can come to me. You don’t have to hide in the barn and cry. Okay?”
She wanted to ask if he’d kiss her every time she cried. But she only nodded. “Okay.” She touched his arm. “And you can come to me, too. As you said, we can support each other.”
“Yeah. That’s what friends do, right?”
She smiled. “That’s what friends do.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with his warm smile. He stood motionless for a few more seconds, seemingly as uncertain how to proceed as she was. Then he yanked his fist from his pocket and jammed his thumb toward the door. “I came out to check that trough—make sure it’s working right. I’d better go do it before your mom or Anna-Grace sees the truck and comes hunting for me.”
She forced herself to speak with a casualness she didn’t feel. “It must be working. We haven’t had any more water in the basement.”
“That’s good.” He backed up, his heels scraping along the barn floor. “Now remember, if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
She nodded. “I know. Thank you, Paul.”
He snapped his fingers at Pepper. “C’mon, girl. You can keep me company while I dig.” With a final smile and nod to Suzanne, he strode outside with Pepper bouncing along at his heels.
Suzanne crossed to the slight opening and watched him move in sure strides across the yard. He paused, scooped up a shovel from the hard ground in a smooth motion, and continued on. That’s what friends do, she’d told him. Months ago Mother had said there was too much history between them for mere friendship to be possible. She’d inwardly argued at the time. But now she touched her lips with her trembling fingers and replayed her fluttering response to his kiss. She confessed to the empty yard, “Mother was right.”
Indianapolis
Cynthia
In the middle of supper, Cynthia’s cell phone rang. Her pulse leaped into overdrive, and she pressed her palms on the tabletop, ready to leave her chair. Glenn shot her a low-browed frown from across the table. She knew what the look meant—their family rule had always been no phone calls during mealtimes. She should let the call go to voice mail.
She stood, hoping he read the apology in her face. “Just let me see who it is.” She snatched the phone from the end of the counter. Owen Mallory’s name and number showed on the screen. She hit the Accept button and scuttled for the living room. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Allgood, I’m in Kansas. At the B and B I told you about.”
Her heart pounded so hard she could hardly breathe, let alone talk. “And?”
“It’s not much of a town. Doesn’t even have paved streets.” He snorted. “Can’t imagine why people want to live like this.”
Cynthia didn’t care about the town. “What about Suzanne Zimmerman?”
“I’ve met her.”
His gravelly voice sounded as unemotional as always. How could such a flat delivery raise such excitement in her? “Is she the one?”
“I’m not sure.”
The simple sentence deflated her. She sat on the sofa’s armrest, her legs refusing to hold her upright. “Why?”
“Well, for one thing she isn’t Amish. None of them are. Her family is Mennonite. She says she’s Mennonite, too, but she doesn’t wear a cap, and she dresses differently than the others. Also, she said she lives in Indiana and is only in Kansas to help her daughter for a little while.”
Cynthia gasped. “Her daughter?”
“That’s right. I haven’t met her because apparently she’s out of town. I haven’t found out where yet. And it may not matter because I might not have the right Suzanne Zimmerman. Zimmerman is a pretty common name, and Suzanne sounds old-fashioned enough to attach itself to lots of Old Order women.”
Cynthia forced herself to think. The woman she’d seen pick up her baby was young—maybe still a teenager. “How old is this Suzanne Zimmerman?” She held her breath while she waited for the answer.
He chuckled, a dry sound. “I’m not the best at judging a woman’s age, but I’d say early to midforties, only because she’s got a daughter old enough to run a B and B.”
Too old, then, to be the girl she’d seen so long ago. Cynthia’s shoulders sagged. “Oh.”
“I’m gonna stick around a couple of days, try to meet all the Zimmermans in town, see if I can dig up anything of use. I’ll give you a call if I find out something worthwhile.”
She disconnected the call, then sat with the phone cradled in her palms and stared unseeingly at the wall. She’d been so certain the investigator would find her baby girl living in the little Kansas town. The disappointment bowed her shoulders and put an ache in the center of her chest.
“Cyn?” Glenn stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “Your food’s getting cold.”
Apparently so was the trail. She blinked to hold back tears.
“Come eat.”
He didn’t ask about the telephone call. He didn’t ask why she was sad. He acted as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing of importance had happened. She lifted her chin in a stubborn gesture. “I’m not hungry.”
He gazed at her for several seconds, his lips in a grim line. Then he shook his head and sighed. “All right then. Suit yourself.” He turned.
She bounded upright and balled her fists on her hips. “Glenn!”
He paused, sighed, then crossed to her. “What?”
“Owen Mallory just called. Don’t you want to know what he said?”
“I assume he didn’t find anything or you wouldn’t have l
ost your appetite.”
She glared at him. “And don’t you care?”
He glanced over his shoulder as if making sure the kids weren’t peeking around the corner. Then he leaned close and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Of course I care, Cyn. If I didn’t want you to find your daughter, I wouldn’t have hired Mallory in the first place. But I also care about the two kids sitting in there at the supper table. They feel like they’re losing their mother to some girl they’ve never met.”
His statement stung, bringing a rise of fierce defensiveness. “That’s ridiculous.”
He raised one sandy eyebrow. “Is it?”
“Of course it is!”
Glenn aimed his gaze toward the ceiling and drew in a long breath and then slowly released it. She stood with her arms folded across her chest and her teeth clamped together so tightly her jaw ached. Seconds ticked by.
Finally he faced her again. “I’m not saying I’m sorry I contacted a PI. But I wish I’d known how it would change things around here. I wish I’d better prepared myself and the kids for those changes.” He paused. “Cyn?” One tiny, hope-filled word.
Mired in anger and disappointment and even guilt, she couldn’t look at him.
Glenn sighed. “I hope Mallory finds your daughter soon. Then maybe we can get back to normal.” He returned to the kitchen.
A flutter of voices carried from around the corner—Glenn, Darcy, and Barrett enjoying their time together. She wanted to join them. She wanted to laugh and talk and tease with them. She took a step toward the kitchen. Laughter blasted from the table, a burst more joyful than any she’d heard in days. Her chest exploded with hurt. A hurt she couldn’t even explain. She changed direction and hurried to her bedroom instead.
Arborville
Suzanne
Monday evening after supper Suzanne instructed Anna-Grace to gather her necessities and take them to Alexa’s cottage. Although Mr. Mallory struck her as more eccentric than dangerous, she decided Anna-Grace’s parents wouldn’t appreciate her sharing the upper floor with a strange man. She’d do the motherly thing and have the girl bunk with her for the duration of his stay.
When Love Returns Page 17
