Читать книгу The Girl with the Golden Spurs - Ann Major, Ann Major - Страница 9

Two

Six months later

Manhattan,

Upper West Side

The cell phone rang just as Lizzy made it up the concrete stairs outside her brownstone with baby Vanilla. Golden leaves fluttered on the trees that lined her street. Not that she paid much attention to the afternoon’s beauty.

She was too preoccupied at her front door as she buzzed Bryce, her present live-in, who didn’t answer. When he didn’t, it was panic time.

Bouncing her fidgety niece up and down instead of searching for the phone, Lizzy hit the buzzer again as waves of uneasiness washed over her. Her brother, Walker, was visiting them. Why wasn’t he home?

Lizzy hated the way she overreacted to everything, but when Bryce didn’t answer, butterflies whirled in her stomach. Not good butterflies, either.

Lizzy had been trying to make her mark in Manhattan for over five years. She’d started out as a cat-and dog-sitter and then a nanny. Next she’d read manuscripts for her landlord, who was a publisher. But when she’d passed on a couple of shallow novels that had turned out to be bestsellers, her landlord had suggested that she stick with cats and dogs and children. Lizzy was in television production at the moment, but like every other job she’d had here, she wasn’t as good at it as she was at dog-sitting. Her boss, Nell, had said, “You didn’t really acquire…an…er…broadening…education on the university level, now did you? Besides that, you don’t get New York or our audience.”

Lizzy’s love life hadn’t been a roaring success, either, at least not until Bryce. Yes, she had high hopes for Bryce—he was part of her fantasy. A successful woman, at least a woman with a drop of Texas blood in her, always had a man to share her success with. Okay, so for her, the right man had come before the right career.

Lizzy’s fantasy was also to be a beautifully groomed, kick-ass career girl, somebody with short, smooth, glossy black hair instead of long, platinum corkscrew curls. She wanted to be a real live heroine with a fantastic wardrobe; a fighter, who might get knocked down, but who could always joke about life’s little upsets with snappy, sexy one-liners.

Lizzy most certainly did not want to be somebody who didn’t even get jokes half the time, even dumb blond jokes, or somebody who was tongue-tied, shy, repressed and riddled with self-doubt. Most of all she did not want to be a crybaby.

Heck, maybe she should see a shrink again, but that would be admitting she was still a mess.

The phone in her purse stopped ringing.

Love means letting go of fear.

Why had that particular pearl from some dumb pop-psychology book she’d read on the sly sprung into her mind at this exact second? Was it true? If it was, had she ever really been in love?

She’d been crazy-lovesick over Cole, but there had been a darkness in him she couldn’t reach. And that had scared her. Maybe that’s why she’d finally let Daddy convince her to break up with him. No, the real reason was he was pure country, and since she was no good at any of that, she was determined to be a big-city career girl—not to mention the fact that all Cole’d ever really wanted was a piece of the Golden Spurs.

The phone in her purse rang again and each ring got louder. This time she managed to get the thing out and up to her ear—no easy accomplishment since she was juggling the baby on her hip, her briefcase on one shoulder, a diaper bag as well as her purse on the other, while holding her door keys and buzzing Bryce, too.

“Did I call at a bad time?” her mom asked in a faint, lifeless voice as Lizzy got the big doors unlocked.

“G-great time, Mom,” she lied, looking up at the staircase that vanished into the darkness long before it even reached the third floor where she lived.

“How’s Vanilla?” her mother asked softly.

Lizzy could hear her mother’s white fantailed pigeons cooing in the background, which meant her mother must be in their coop, tending to them. She knew her mom had more on her mind than the baby, but the baby was a safe topic. Hopefully Mom wasn’t going to rehash her dad’s betrayal and the impending divorce and settlement.

What had gotten into Daddy six months ago?

Sex. Pure raw sex. Bryce had said this in that definitive, annoying know-it-all, male tone that drove her crazy and made her doubt herself—and him—in the wee hours of the night.

Men want more sexual partners than women. Everybody knows that, honey. And more juice…

More sexual partners? Juice? I, for one, didn’t know that. Is that what you want, Bryce?

Lizzy hated being caught in the middle of her parents. In the past she’d never been close to her mother, who used to be stern and strict and so in control. Now her mother called her in the afternoons, and her father called her every morning, each wanting her to reassure them.

This morning her father had called before her alarm had even gone off, and he’d sounded anxious.

“You have to come home, damn it.”

And really be caught in the middle? No, thank you. “I was just there. I’m still playing catch-up. I do have a life here, you know.”

“If something happens, promise you’ll come home.”

He was anxious. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Just promise, damn it.”

Both her parents wanted her home. They were living on separate floors of the house and driving each other crazy. They didn’t understand about her impossible job at the television station or about Bryce, who wanted her all to himself.

“Bring him to the ranch,” her father had bellowed.

Not yet. Not yet. Guys changed when they realized who she was.

When they realized how rich she was.

“Bring him to the museum opening,” her father had insisted.

In less than a month the Golden Spurs would celebrate its birth with the opening of a ranch museum. Her parents along with Walker, who’d been the ranch archivist, had hired designers, artists and a sculptor. Before Daddy had quarreled with Walker and Walker had quit, her parents had worked on the project together. Since Cherry had entered the picture, her mother had done most of the work on the museum opening alone.

While the museum and the celebration weren’t generating the headlines the board would have liked, her daddy’s six-month affair with Cherry and her parents’ divorce were the talk of Texas. As soon as possible, her father, a high-profile rancher, who’d once seemed so sane and stolid and respectable—if overbearing—would be free to marry Cherry Lane, the stripper he’d met in a saloon in Houston where he’d gone with other cowboys for a night’s entertainment.

“You’ll love Cherry when you get to know her,” her father had actually had the gall to say once.

Right. A girl who’d tipsily showed a reporter her big diamond ring on her twentieth birthday and bragged she’d bleached her pubic hair silver in anticipation of her honeymoon, saying, “I want to be virginal for him,” couldn’t be all bad.

Lizzy hoped the only thing she and Cherry had in common was the pale color of their hair. If Cherry quit coloring hers, they wouldn’t even have that.

Lizzy wasn’t beautiful, or at least she didn’t think she was. Nor did she enhance her perfectly proportioned features with layers of heavy makeup and bright red lipstick the way Cherry did. People never said she was pretty. What they said was she had an open, friendly face.

Naturally slim, Lizzy would probably stay that way since she ate mostly vegetables—it broke her heart to think of killing animals for food. She also ran in the park every morning before work because she missed grass and trees more than she wanted to admit. Unlike Cherry, she had small breasts with no plans of enhancing them even if Bryce had made a comment or two.

She knew she should cut her long pale curly hair and attempt a more sophisticated style, but the shorter she cut it, the frizzier it got. So she still tied it back in her cowgirl ponytail.

Of course, she’d intended to learn about fashion when she came to the city. But because she loved roaming the streets of New York on Saturday, she shopped for her clothes at fairs and secondhand shops instead. Thus, with her wild hair and mismatched outfits, she looked more like a gypsy than the sleek career woman of her fantasy.

“How’s Vanilla?” her mother repeated in a louder voice, interrupting Lizzy’s thoughts.

“Sorry, Mom. My mind was somewhere else.” She patted Vanilla’s diaper. “Your granddaughter is as heavy as a sack of wriggling lead!” Lizzy hiked up her long blue skirt and started up the stairs.

“She made me laugh. I shouldn’t have let you take her—”

“You were too tired, what with everything that’s been going on… You needed the rest.”

“I just laze around and spend way too much time with the hatchlings. I’m always missing meetings that have to do with the museum.”

“It’s called depression, Mom.” Lizzy’s behavior had been similar to her mother’s when she’d first come to the city. “You should see someone…talk to someone.”

“My little birds are so darling. I can’t get packed or meet with the museum sculptor about doing a bust of your uncle Jack. I can’t do…” Her voice faltered.

“You need to talk to somebody.”

“This whole thing—I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I seem to do is spend time with my gentle birds. They’re so angelic and lovely.”

No use to tell her mother what to do. Her mother never listened any more than Lizzy listened when people told her what to do. Her mother hadn’t asked about Walker, so Lizzy didn’t mention him.

Lizzy paused on the first landing. Mia’s pregnancy and sudden, rather mysterious marriage to Cole, followed by her tragic death nine months ago that none of them had been able to handle, had been the beginning of a landslide of terrible events. Was it any wonder her mother couldn’t face moving out of the house where she’d raised her family to let someone like Cherry move in?

“How can a ten-month-old feel heavier than a brick?” Lizzy said aimlessly.

“Give my plump little pumpkin head a kiss—”

“Don’t you dare call her that. Besides I’m panting too hard to talk and climb and kiss her at the same time.”

“Where’s Bryce?”

Her heart thumped. She thought, Good question. She said, “He should be home any minute.”

By the time Lizzy reached the third floor of the brownstone with Vanilla, she was truly breathless. Something in her mother’s voice made Lizzy’s too-imaginative mind whirl with the sinking feeling that something really was wrong between Bryce and herself.

Fool that she was, Lizzy had told her mother having the baby here for a month would be fun. Too bad she hadn’t asked Bryce first. Vanilla had been here a week, and he was sick of her.

Vanilla clapped when she saw the tall oak door to their apartment. Her latest trick was to clap when she was pleased. Usually Lizzy clapped and laughed, too. It was one of their games. As Lizzy fumbled for her keys, Vanilla quit clapping and began to squirm.

“Mom, did you call me for a special reason?”

“No….”

“Everything’s okay?”

The pigeons cooed in the background. Her mom said, “It’s just the waiting—”

“You’ll be fine. The worst is over.”

“But I have to leave my home.”

“It’s hard, I know, but you’ll adjust. You have to. We all do. I love you, Mom.”

“I wish you’d come home.”

Guilt stabbed Lizzy. “I will, when I bring Vanilla back. Right now it’s pretty hectic at work. My boss, Nell, keeps the pressure on. I can’t seem to do anything right. She keeps pulling my stories.”

“Quit. You don’t have to work.”

And do what? Lizzy bit her lips and swallowed as she remembered Nell telling her nearly the same thing only this morning. Lizzy swallowed again. “Look, I’ll call you—”

“No, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to call.”

Feeling even guiltier, Lizzy said goodbye. When she pushed the door of her apartment open, Vanilla’s big blue eyes widened, and the baby clapped again. Lizzy kissed her forehead and dark curls. “Gran’s missing you. That big ol’ rambling ranch house is mighty lonely without you and Dad and Mia…and me, I bet.”

Lizzy nuzzled Vanilla’s soft hair. Even after a long day at day care, Vanilla smelled baby sweet.

Cole’s daughter.

Don’t think about him or how changed he is.

Inside the gloom, Lizzy’s gaze fixed on the card sitting on the table. On the cover was a leather-clad girl with black wings, standing in a doorway with the words Dark Entry above it. Lizzy frowned.

How had that thing gotten back into her house, anyway?

At the office earlier, when Nell had challenged her research—and chewed her out in front of everyone when she’d been unable to defend it to Nell’s satisfaction—Lizzy had wanted nothing more than to run home and lie down or play with Vanilla. Suddenly Lizzy felt worse to be here at home.

Dark Entry? Maybe she was overreacting. This was simply an invitation to a Halloween party. Probably something Bryce wanted to go to and she didn’t, a thing to be discarded like before. But just looking at it gave her that nagging feeling that she was caught in some strange force field and trouble was brewing.

Swimming in a pool of red light, the picture of the girl in the bondage costume with the black wings seemed to glow like an evil spirit. For no reason she remembered that Bryce had bought her a black teddy, boots, handcuffs, and a whip—gifts she’d stuffed into plastic containers with the rest of the suggestive lingerie he’d given her and stored at the very top of her closet.

Lizzy clutched Vanilla tighter. Don’t think about any of it. You’re too tired. Nine hours in the television station.

Only to have Nell humiliate her and cancel her story. Lizzy needed to work tonight. But how? The baby was turning out to be more effort than Lizzy had imagined when she’d offered to give her mother a break.

And Walker? Why was her brother in town anyway, acting like he was ashamed every time she asked him what exactly his quarrel with Daddy was about? All week she wondered why her brother had chosen this week, of all the confusing weeks in her life, to finally visit her.

Work had been tough lately, and she and Bryce had been at their worst. Bryce, who never watched television, had sullenly slumped in his chair every night, watching sitcoms he normally despised, ignoring everybody.

She dropped her briefcase, the diaper bag and her purse onto the oak floor in the entryway. Lizzy drew a breath, but the air in the apartment felt dense and stifling.

Lizzy didn’t like the new little fears tearing at her any more than she liked thinking about her mom. Lizzy blamed herself for what had happened to her parents. If she hadn’t abandoned them in her quest for a perfect life here, if she’d taken an interest in all Daddy had tried to teach her, maybe they wouldn’t be on the verge of divorce.

She frowned. Her life here was perfect. Or rather it was going to be—so she told herself every morning when she lay awake beside Bryce, their bodies apart on their separate sides of the big bed. She would lie there, doing her affirmations, listening to the city sounds outside her window. After the Texas quiet, even noises like sirens and the clatter of garbage trucks were delightful to Lizzy because they reminded her she was really here—in New York.

She’d escaped. She had a glamorous exciting life and the perfect man to share it with.

Why couldn’t she forget about the invitation? Because she didn’t understand what it could be doing there—again—on top of a week’s worth of mail on her small doorside table.

The same identical invitation had come last week. It was for a Halloween party tomorrow night. She hadn’t known the person who’d sent it, so she’d torn it up without showing it to Bryce. And what was wrong with that?

Okay, so the thing had been addressed to Bryce, too. But she was the one who did her mail promptly while he left his for months. People had to call him, to demand money or ask him if he was coming to some event, before he would fly at his stack, agitated and accusatory that he had to deal with it. Someone had obviously called him about the invitation and re-sent the thing.

No way was she going to a party like that!

Lizzy felt a fresh stab of guilt as she considered Bryce. The party-giver must be a friend of his. Was Bryce now sulking as he had after she’d told him about the baby?

“Your family,” he’d said in a tone of complaint when she’d called from Texas to tell him she was bringing Vanilla back with her.

“Yes, my family,” she’d agreed. “There’s nothing I can do about them.”

“You were down there for two months after Mia died.”

“When you meet them you’ll understand.”

But would he? She’d been attracted to Bryce because he was so different than they were. He didn’t have to dominate everybody in a room. Average in both height and build, he was quiet, reserved and contained. He didn’t make demands on her all the time.

Except about the lingerie.

Lizzy drew more quick breaths as Vanilla began to clap excitedly. The invitation, like the lingerie stacked in containers in her closet, threatened Lizzy in some strange way.

She grabbed it, intending to wad it up, only to have Vanilla reach for it, too, squealing delightedly as she began to nibble on it and bat her long lashes up at her aunt. Tug-of-war was a favorite game of hers and Cole’s.

Cole… Lizzy’s heart thumped in her throat again as she remembered how changed he seemed when she’d last been home. Surprisingly, he and Daddy were actually working together without much of their former friction. Cole had even ridden along with her and her father when her dad had shown her the new state-of-the-art hunting camps and bragged about their corporate clients. Her dad had credited Cole with obtaining the leases.

“No, darling,” Lizzy admonished gently, prying the card from her tiny fingers. “Nasty. Garbage.” She chucked the wet invitation into the trash can even as she was swept with a guilty feeling for doing so.

Again, she told herself that she and Bryce were perfect together. Bryce was from the country. She was from the country, but they’d both craved more excitement, so they’d escaped to the city.

He was from Indiana, a dull farm where nothing ever happened. She was from a huge ranch in south Texas with a fabled history that was like a kingdom unto itself where too much happened. Like all kingdoms, its challenges ruled its owners more than the owners ran the kingdom.

People like her father and mother and Cole were obsessed with land, with its being more than land; obsessed with duties and loyalties to the land and to each other. Lizzy knew that somehow the land had ruined her parents’ lives and maybe her sister’s. She was terrified it would consume her, too.

She hoped New York was far enough away for her to be safe from its pull. She loved being able to lose herself in crowds. Here, she could be a nobody or a somebody. Here, nobody was jealous of her. She could be whatever she wanted to be. She wasn’t destined to be anything. Here, the name, Kemble, meant nothing.

Holding the baby, who was watching her face expectantly, Lizzy sagged still a moment longer against the wall in her entryway. Her weary gaze took in the cardboard books, stuffed rattles and bottles scattered about the floor of the living room and second bedroom, as well as her own closed bedroom door.

Vanilla smiled at Lizzy and clapped her hands together again to divert her.

“You’re glad to be home, aren’t you, precious? You want to get down and crawl.”

Lizzy cuddled her closer and brought her cheek against the baby’s. How was it that Vanilla, her precious little niece, was already such a true little soul mate? Why couldn’t Bryce just enjoy her, too?

“But why didn’t you ask me?” Bryce had said during that phone call she’d made from Texas to tell him her baby-sitting plans.

“Because I knew you’d understand. Mother can’t face the divorce. She needs to pack. It’s only for a month.”

“A baby—for a whole damn month! Why can’t her father… What the hell’s his name?”

“Cole… Knight…”

“Right. Why can’t Knight do his part for once?”

“I told you…he was hurt in the plane crash. He’s not himself—He doesn’t remember…her.” She’d hated the way her throat had closed when she tried to talk about Cole. “This is something I have to do.”

“Well, maybe I don’t!” Bryce had banged the phone down.

She’d been terrified until he’d called back and apologized. “It’s just that I wanted you all to myself—like before. Like the first night.”

Like the first night. She was embarrassed by that memory. Until that night she hadn’t known how lonely she’d been away from home, nor how desperate she’d felt to connect with someone…anyone. She’d been like a cat in heat, wanting Bryce. Not that she’d given into her need that first night.

But he’d known. “You want it bad, baby. As bad as I do,” he’d said as they reached the front door to her apartment building. “Let me come up.”

Later, several weeks later, when she’d finally let him, she’d wanted him with the same ferocity as that first night. She’d let him make love to her again and again, seeking something from his male body, warmth, love, a sense of belonging… something to make her feel she belonged here…and yet…

She remembered getting up alone afterward, going to the window, staring out into the night for hours, listening to the city that never slept, still wanting…something…as she’d listened to him snore. When he’d awakened that morning, he’d wanted her again, and she’d given herself too enthusiastically, wanting to prove—what? That it had all meant something? That he really was as perfect as she wanted to believe?

Suddenly something heavy crashed in her bedroom.

Bryce? Had he ignored the buzzer when she’d rung from the street? Hadn’t he heard her come into the apartment? Why hadn’t he come out?

Frowning, she walked to her bedroom door and pushed it open.

His eyes wide and startled looking, Bryce gaped at her from the middle of her bedroom. Behind him two big black suitcases lay open on top of her new glittery, orange Indian bedspread. Empty plastic containers that had previously held Bryce’s ties and cuff links, along with all that lingerie that she’d stored on her highest shelves, littered her Oriental carpet.

She gasped. When her gaze flew to a black garter belt lying by the bed, Bryce, who was usually calm, tensed. Hostile, bright gray eyes flicked over the baby. Then he flushed and sighed heavily, clamping his lips shut determined to say nothing. She drew in a breath.

So, it was up to her, she who could never speak up at meetings. Her throat went dry, and the first words seemed to stick there. “Y—you’re not leaving—”

“Don’t start in on me— Look, I’m sorry— I hoped to avoid this—”

So, it was over. Just like that.

The realization slammed through her before she stopped all thought. Vaguely she was aware of Vanilla clinging even as the baby’s bottom lip swelled in infantile disdain for this tense, cruel giant.

If only she, Lizzy, could feel such instinctive disdain at Bryce’s betrayal, but she felt—if you could call it feeling—only paralyzing numbness and inadequacy. He was abandoning her just as her father had abandoned her mother.

Lizzy was bleeding to death, only the blood was invisible. Their perfect life together was over. She had tried so hard. Too hard maybe.

“Where are you going?” she finally whispered, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the baby.

Bryce was dragging his designer Italian suits out of her closet. For no reason at all she saw Cole, his face white, beneath a brilliant azure sky on that awful long-ago afternoon when she’d broken up with him.

Cole didn’t matter.

Bryce stared at her and the baby and then hurled his suits on the floor with such violence Vanilla hid her face against Lizzy’s throat. When the baby peeped at him again, her bottom lip was huge and her big blue eyes suspicious.

“Is it the baby?” Lizzy whispered.

Bryce slammed the lid of his suitcase down.

“It’s only half-full,” she said when he made no answer.

Suitcase latches clicked. “Do you think I can pack—now? With you here?”

She kept her voice low so as not to frighten Vanilla. “Is it because I don’t want to go to the party? Because I don’t dress sexy…because I don’t wear that…that lingerie?”

When Vanilla began to whimper, Lizzy soothed her. “It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.” She swayed back and forth with the baby resting on her hip.

“Hell, yes, it’s the party. You tore up the first invitation. It’s a lot of things.” He glared. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Like the beginning of all relationships, theirs had been mysterious and wonderful, so wonderful they hadn’t asked questions. They’d met in a bar. She’d been out with girlfriends one Thursday night. Everybody had been talking to everybody, but the place had been loud and crowded, and Lizzy, who wasn’t any better in crowds than she was at business meetings at work, hadn’t felt like talking to anybody.

Until she’d noticed Bryce watching her.

He’d joined their table. He’d been as cool and confident as she’d been riddled with self-doubt. Her friend Amanda had known one of his friends from Princeton. Then somebody had said something funny. Bryce and she had both laughed when nobody else had—as if it were their own private joke. And she didn’t get jokes usually.

He’d bought her a drink. Their hands had touched accidentally. She’d felt a spark. He’d gone still at the exact moment she’d yanked her hand from his.

When relationships end, women no longer want the mystery. They want answers. Why is that?

Nothing was ending. This was a mistake. If they could only talk or have sex, they would sort it all out. But they hadn’t had sex. Not for a while.

She stared at the red tie dripping from his closed suitcase. “I—I want to know what’s wrong.”

“When we met, you were so exciting. You even dressed differently.”

“And now I’m boring?”

His gray eyes drilled Vanilla. “I’m going to that party—alone.”

“Because I’m boring?”

“You never wanted to talk about it before. Why now?”

“When the baby leaves— When Walker leaves—”

“I thought you were wild…free…exciting. But you have this whole family thing.”

“They’re in Texas.”

“They call all the time. Not to mention half your tribe is living with us.”

“So—you think I’m boring—in bed and out of it.” Careful to keep her voice low, she stroked the baby’s hair.

“Don’t make me say things I don’t want to say.” He looked past her. “I’ll come back for my things later—when you’re calmer.”

“I am calm.” She measured out the words very carefully, her eyes glued to the point of the red tie sticking out of his suitcase.

“But your eyes are wild.”

You said you wanted wild.

From the bed he picked up a dark rectangular object about the size of a book. Carrying his black suitcase with the red tie flapping, he strode toward her only to stop and place the rectangular object on the dresser next to where she was standing. “I found this in your brother’s things.”

“You went through Walker’s things?”

“I was packing, looking for my stuff stored in his bedroom.” He stopped. “Oh…” His eyes changed, and he let the word hang ominously. “Nell called, too.” His smug expression filled her with dread.

She froze. “Nell?”

“I told her I wouldn’t be here to give you her message, so she called back and left a voice mail for you.” He swallowed.

“You listened to it, didn’t you? You’re leaving me, and you listened to my—”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to listen to her message.”

“What does that mean?”

“Wait until you’ve had a good night’s sleep. That’s all. Don’t watch that video, either…not until you’re feeling stronger.”

“Video?” Too much was being thrown at her. Vaguely Lizzy realized the black rectangular object he’d placed on the dresser was a VCR tape.

“I’m strong!”

Bryce stalked past her with his bags, his long legs carrying him through the apartment to the entryway, out the door. When his footsteps thudded down the stairs, Vanilla looked at her, a tentative smile beginning at the edges of her cherubic mouth. Then the doors three floors below boomed shut behind him, and Vanilla clapped.

“Oh, Vanilla, you are a little rascal,” she said numbly.

Vanilla smiled, and Lizzy tried to smile, too, but her lips were quivering too much.

“I’m not a weak, softhearted wimp.” Lizzy reached for the cordless phone on the dresser, intending to listen to her voice mail tonight. She could take anything this city and Nell could dish out. She could. Gently she set Vanilla down and got her a container and a lid for her to play with.

Lizzy had six messages. Nell’s was the last. It was short and sweet; well, not sweet.

“I’m sorry to do this over the phone—Liz. I should have told you today. I meant to.” A drumbeat pounded in Lizzy’s throat. “I should have told you before you went to Texas. It just isn’t working out… You’re too young. Your viewpoint is too softhearted and naive for this city. You don’t do the kinds of stories we do. Your research is sloppy.”

“What? What?”

Nell’s voice hadn’t stopped, but Lizzy’s mind went blank. When she could think again Nell’s brisk voice was saying, “…budgets cuts. I have to let you go. Your severance check will be ready first thing tomorrow. My assistant put your things in boxes. You need to turn in your security badge.”

“What? Boxes! No! No…”

Lizzy listened to the message a second time, but that only made the horrible words cut deeper.

Slowly she hung up the phone and picked up the videotape and turned it over in her hands. Vanilla had abandoned the container and lid and had crawled into the living room, over to her green couch. Pulling herself up and patting the cushions, she looked over at Aunt Lizzy, waiting to be congratulated on her accomplishment.

Aunt Lizzy was probably white as a sheet. “Darling, that’s wonderfu—” Her voice broke. Babies were so self-confident when they faced their challenges. They didn’t quit.

Lizzy was shaking too hard to speak. Still holding the videotape, she gulped in a breath. Then she went to the couch and sank down beside Vanilla, hoping to draw strength from her.

“Darling, darling, what would I do if I didn’t have you?”

Blue eyes sparkling, Vanilla grinned at her impishly.

Lizzy fought back hot wet tears. She wasn’t going to cry, and she wasn’t going to call home, either, no matter how much she suddenly wanted to talk to her mother—even though Mother had never understood her.

Nobody could know the terrible turn her life had taken. Nobody.

Lizzy wasn’t going home to Texas in defeat. Maybe her perfect life was unraveling, but she wasn’t going home. She’d get her job back and she’d get Bryce back, too. It was all a mistake. A terrible mistake. All she needed was a plan. Affirmations. She’d do some affirmations.

Downstairs the big doors banged, and she heard the fa miliar tread of boots on the stairs.

Walker! She’d forgotten about him.

The video!

Her brother was loping up the stairs two at a time as she shoved the tape underneath the cushions of her couch.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she pulled Vanilla into her lap and fought to look calm and composed.

By the time Walker entered the apartment and called to her, she and the baby were playing an innocent game of patty-cake.

“How’s it going, Little Lizzy?”

“F-fine.” She swallowed.

Their eyes met, and she knew he knew something was wrong.

Walker could read souls.

He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he reached for the baby, who started clapping.

Then all he said to Lizzy was, “What’s for supper?”