by Judy Duarte
Chapter Eight
Under normal circumstances, Clay never would have intruded upon a private lunch, but he hadn’t been able to stay away from this one. Not when he’d been so damn curious about what his mother might be saying to Rickie.
Or what Rickie might tell his mom.
“Well, look who’s here!” Margie handed Clay a menu. “I’d heard you got out of the Army and came back to run the Bar M for your grandpa. How’s it feel to be home?”
Margie, bless her heart, had better radar than a fighter jet. Too bad her intel wasn’t very good. But she wouldn’t get squat out of him. Not if she spread it around town that he wasn’t happy to be home. Or to be looking at spending the rest of his life ranching.
“It feels good to be moving around without a cane,” Clay said, hoping to appease her. “But I won’t need that menu. I’ll have what the sheriff ate.”
“You got it.”
As Margie walked away, his mother sat back in her seat and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’ll be eating a hearty meal for a change.”
“I’m really not very hungry, but ordering the special was easier than taking time to read the menu.” He glanced across the table at Rickie, who looked especially pretty today with her soft brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. “How’s the job going?”
“Great. At least, so far. It’s nice being in a clinic again. Only this time I get to work with families instead of soldiers.”
“Speaking of clinics and families,” his mother said, “do you have an obstetrician?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh, good. Is the office around here?”
“No, it’s in Jeffersville.”
Clay wanted to put a halt to the rapid-fire questions, but he cleared his throat instead, reminding his mother of his presence and hoping she’d take the hint. But she didn’t.
“Do you have other family and friends living in Jeffersville?” his mother asked.
“No, not really. I only lived there when I was a teenager. After high school, I joined the Army. I’ve been away six years, and my friends have all moved for one reason or another.”
“That’s too bad,” Mom said, unable to just leave it at that. “Not even a neighbor?”
Clay stiffened. He was tempted to answer for Rickie, but he bit his tongue. If she wanted to have a relationship with Sandra Masters, she’d have to get used to being quizzed about subjects she might not want to talk about.
“No, I’m afraid not. I had a twin sister, but she died when we were nine.”
“Oh, no.” His mother reached out and placed her hand around Rickie’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Clay sympathized, too. But unlike his mom, he usually pulled away when things took an emotional turn.
“It was hard when Lainie died,” Rickie said, “but I’ve adjusted. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”
Yeah, right. Telling his mother not to worry was like telling a duck to stay out of a pond. But shouldn’t someone in his family be emotionally supportive? Someone who’d actually be good at it?
He’d thought so at first, but as he studied the way his mom reached out to Rickie, the way Rickie responded, her honey-brown eyes glistening with tears, he worried that the women might be bonding. And that wasn’t what he’d planned to happen today.
Of course, nothing about this situation had been a part of his life plan.
“How long is your temporary job going to last?” Mom asked.
“Two months.”
“Why don’t you stay with us while you work in Brighton Valley? Our ranch is only a fifteen-minute drive from here, and there’s usually no traffic.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” Rickie said. “But I don’t want to impose. Besides, I’m trying to fix up the nursery on the weekends. I need a place to bring the babies home to.”
Clay was about to mention that he’d promised to paint and to purchase the furniture, which would be his way of telling his mother to back off and not worry about it, but she suddenly brightened.
“I have an idea,” Mom said. “Why don’t you stay Monday through Thursday nights with us? We have a big house, with lots of room. And then you could drive back to Jeffersville after work on Fridays.”
Rickie shot a glance at Clay, her eyes locking in on his as if she was asking his permission. But hell, what was he supposed to say, no? Not when she was looking at him like that and he knew that she didn’t have a family.
“We have a guest room with a private bath,” he said.
Rickie bit down on her bottom lip, as if giving the invitation a lot of thought. But a beat later, she looked up and smiled. “Sure. Why not?”
Actually, Clay could come up with quite a few reasons why it might not be wise. With Rickie staying on the ranch, it would be difficult for him to maintain his privacy while being supportive from a distance. But then again, she’d only be staying there four nights a week. He could find plenty of things to keep him busy while she was there.
But that didn’t seem to be the answer. How busy did he really want to be when she was sleeping just down the hall?
* * *
Lunch at Caroline’s Diner had gone much better than Rickie had expected it to. She just hoped that she didn’t come to regret staying on the Bar M while she worked at the clinic.
“When can we expect you?” Sandra had asked.
Rickie hadn’t wanted to rush into anything. And she needed time to pack a few things, so she said, “After I get off work on Monday.”
The rest of her first week at the clinic went well, and now it was Saturday morning. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. No, make that early afternoon.
She’d planned to work on the nursery this weekend, which meant picking up everything Clay would need to paint. She wanted to have it here when he showed up, although he hadn’t mentioned a time or even which day.
In the meantime, she had another chore to do. Her parents’ accountant had called and requested some additional paperwork he needed to complete their last tax return. So she decided to get that out of the way first.
She wasn’t entirely sure where to look, but she knew that one of the boxes in the dining room contained their wills and other important papers. So she opened it and began sorting through it. Toward the bottom, she spotted a manila envelope stuffed full. She removed it, then took a moment to straighten and stretch out the crick in her back before carrying it to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down to go through the contents.
She found several bills that were due about the time of the accident: power, water, cable TV. How had she missed seeing them when she came home from the funeral and began to settle their estate? They’d all been paid, but only after she’d received the past-due notices. So she tossed them to the side, intending to throw them away.
Next she withdrew a white business-size envelope. She didn’t think much of it until the return address caught her eye. The Lone Star Adoption Agency had sent it to Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Campbell. It was postmarked six months ago and had already been opened. She flipped open the flap and removed the contents: a handwritten note and a smaller, pink envelope addressed to the agency.
“We received this correspondence addressed to you,” someone at the agency had written, “and we are forwarding it to you per our agreement.”
The pink envelope they’d included had also been opened. Inside was a handwritten letter on matching stationery. It was addressed to “The Couple Who Adopted Erica Montoya.”
My name is Katherine Donahue, although the many children I’ve fostered over the years, including the Montoya twins, call me Mama Kate. Rickie and Lainie were sweet girls, and I will always remember them fondly. Lainie was frail and in poor health, and Rickie used to look after her as if she were her own child. They had a special bond, and I became especially attached to them. In fact, I had begun the process to adopt them, but before I could do much of anything, I suffered a debilitating stroke. As a result, all the children I’d been fost
ering had to go to different homes.
It broke my heart to lose those kids, especially Lainie and Rickie. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them, and I continue to pray that they’re both doing well. From what I understand, Lainie’s surgery went better than expected. The surgeon didn’t think she would live through it, but she surprised him. I’d give anything to be able to visit both girls, but I’m not able to travel. In fact, one of the nurses’ aides is writing this letter for me.
Last week, a private investigator visited me here at the convalescent home and asked me if I had any information on Rickie’s adoption. It wasn’t until after he left that I recalled the name of the agency.
I realize you requested a closed adoption, and I respect that. Children often do better when they can make a fresh start. However, I would love to help these two young women reconnect, if you think Rickie would want to do so I would be delighted to hear from you. I have included my address and phone number. If you decide not to contact me, I understand.
Either way, please give my love to Rickie. I’ll never forget how loving she was to her sister. I’m so glad she found a forever home.
Most sincerely yours,
Katherine Donahue
Rickie was stunned. Her sister was alive?
According to Mama Kate’s letter, Lainie had faced a long road to recovery. So she hadn’t died in surgery. And apparently, she’d hired a private investigate to find Rickie.
Why hadn’t her parents mentioned anything about this to her?
Had they intended to? Had the accident happened before they’d gotten a chance to tell her?
Rickie had no idea how long she sat at the dining room table, holding the only connection she had to her sister. It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that she finally managed to wrap her mind around the news.
Her brain continued to spin, weaving all kinds of scenarios, as she carried the letter with her. When she opened the door, she found Clay on the stoop.
Apparently, he spotted her rattled expression and sensed something was off.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I just got some surprising—and startling—news about my sister.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “She didn’t die during heart surgery.”
“That’s good news,” he said.
“Yes, but I have no idea where she is. Or how to find her.” Rickie led him to the sofa, where they both took a seat.
“Is there any chance she might have moved in with someone in your birth family?” he asked.
“No, our mother passed away when we were babies, and it was all downhill after that. My dad was an alcoholic and couldn’t hold down a job. So money was scarce. I can remember nights when he came home late or not at all. Lainie and I had to fend for ourselves. Then, about the time we turned eight, he died in a seedy bar after a drunken brawl, and we were placed in foster care.”
Clay took her hand in his and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ seems so inadequate.”
“Thanks, but his death turned out to be a good thing. We were much better off in foster care. At least we got to eat regularly. And that’s when my sister’s health problems were finally addressed.” That was also when the two girls had become separated.
Rickie’s adoptive parents had told her that Lainie died during surgery. According to Mama Kate, the doctors hadn’t expected her to live. Had her parents lied to her? Or was that merely what they’d concluded had happened?
Now that they were both gone, she’d never know for sure. But they’d always been honest with her. She’d just have to believe they’d heard a rumor and made that assumption.
“Can you get in touch with the agency and see if they have any contact information for your sister?” Clay asked.
“I can try, but the letter doesn’t say anything about Lainie being adopted, too.” Rickie glanced at the letter she held, then brightened. “Maybe Mama Kate knows something.”
“Who’s that?”
“Our first foster mom. She’s living in a nursing home now, but I have her contact info. I could call her.” In fact, she wasn’t going to wait another minute.
Rickie carried the letter with her to the kitchen phone, then dialed the number Mama Kate had given.
A woman answered on the second ring. “Shady Oaks Nursing Home. How can I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to one of your patients—or residents. Her name is Katherine Donahue.”
The woman paused for a beat. “I’m sorry. Katherine passed away last week.”
Rickie’s soaring heart sputtered and dropped with a thud, reverberating in her ears. This couldn’t be happening. If she’d found that letter when she’d first come home...if her parents had mentioned something to her the last time they’d talked...if...
“Ma’am?” the woman on the line said. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. It’s just that...” Rickie blew out a sigh. “I’m so very sorry she’s gone.”
“I’m not sure if this helps, but she passed away peacefully. She told me many times that she was ready.”
Yes, but Rickie wasn’t ready. Still, she thanked the woman and said goodbye. After the call ended, she turned to find Clay standing behind her. He’d obviously heard her side of the conversation and had connected the dots.
Either that, or he’d seen the tears filling her eyes, because he eased close to her. He didn’t say anything, and she was glad that he didn’t. Emotion clogged her throat, and she didn’t think she would have been able to speak anyway.
As if sensing what she needed, he opened his arms, and she fell into his embrace.
* * *
Clay had never been any good when anyone, especially a woman, got weepy. But the minute he’d seen the stricken look on Rickie’s face and saw the tears roll down her cheeks, he’d been toast. So he offered the only thing he could think of—a shoulder to cry on.
He wasn’t sure how long he held her, her growing belly pressed against him, connecting them in a way, yet holding him at a distance. Still, she clung to him and cried, dampening his shirt. But he wasn’t going to complain. Instead, he stroked her back, providing what little support he could, and breathed in the soft scent of her floral shampoo.
She sniffled one last time and drew back, breaking their embrace. Her voice cracked as she said, “I’m sorry to be a crybaby. I’m actually pretty tough, but lately, my hormones do this to me.”
He wasn’t buying that. She was blaming her tears on her pregnancy, but he knew it was more than an increased level of estrogen at play. Moments earlier she’d believed that she might be able to reunite with the twin she’d thought had died. And that hope had been dashed.
“You don’t need to apologize. I understand.” And he’d do just about anything to make her feel better, to see her smile again. But at the moment, he didn’t have any bright ideas.
She placed her hand on her womb, stroking the swollen mound where her babies grew, and a thought struck. She’d blamed her tears on her pregnancy hormones. Maybe if he appealed to her maternal side, those same hormones might lighten her load and lift her mood.
“I came by to paint the nursery,” he reminded her. “Have you chosen the color yet?”
“Yes.” She sniffled and used her fingers to wipe the moisture that lingered under her eyes. “I decided on a light green to go with that animal theme. But I haven’t bought the paint yet.”
“Then let’s go get it now. And while we’re out, we can look at baby furniture.” Spending the entire afternoon with her hadn’t been his original plan. In fact, he hated to go shopping, unless it was for groceries, sporting goods or tools. But he’d make an exception today, especially if it made her feel better.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ve probably got red, puffy eyes and a splotchy face. I have no business leaving the house. Just look at me.”
He was looking at her, and in spite of her casual dress and obvious emotional distress, there was somethi
ng that appealed to him and caused his heart to swell and his pulse to go wonky. “You look cute. Besides, the redness will go down in a few minutes. And it’ll do you good to get out.”
“I...I don’t know.” She combed her fingers through her hair, the luscious locks glossy and soft. She seemed to be on the fence and waffling.
Before he could push a little harder, her eyes opened wide, her lips parted and she let out a silent gasp. Then she reached for his hand and placed it on her abdomen. One of the babies was moving, and he felt a little bump that might be a knee or maybe a butt. It was hard to say, but it was pretty cool.
A big grin stretched across his face. “I feel it.”
She held his hand firm. “Wait a minute.”
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. The moment was surreal. Special.
And then it happened. A quick jab to his palm that nearly took his breath away.
* * *
Rickie had no idea if it was their son or daughter who’d given Clay a solid kick, but the moment he felt it, his eyes widened and he broke into a full-on smile. “Wow. That’s cool. I’ve felt foals and calves rumble around in the womb, but never a baby.”
“They’ve been moving a lot lately.” She might have been crying just moments ago, but the babies made her laugh now. “It makes me wonder what they’re doing in there.”
“Does it hurt when they kick like that?”
“No, not at all. I love the way it feels. It makes them seem real.”
She lifted her hand off the top of his, but he continued to touch her baby bump as if mesmerized by the experience. She found it pretty amazing, too.
Finally he stepped back and said, “So what do you think? Are you up for a shopping trip?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good. Then we can go out to dinner to celebrate.”
Her head tilted slightly. “What are we celebrating?”
“Maternal hormones and the miracle of birth.” He nodded toward the front door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She really wasn’t in the mood to shop or to have fun. She’d much rather stay at home and brood about the fact that her sister was alive and that she had no idea how to find her. She’d lost an opportunity to visit Mama Kate, too. It would have been nice to thank the sweet lady for providing her and Lainie with a loving home, even if it had only been temporary.
