Читать книгу Western Christmas Wishes - Brenda Minton - Страница 15

“How long are you staying?” the girl in the passenger seat asked without looking at Laurel.

“A week or two.”

“Figures.”

Laurel kept driving, looking for the turn before the bridge that Cameron Hunt had mentioned. “What does that mean?”

“Aunt Gladys said you wouldn’t stay long because the past hurts too much. Or something like that. But I think the past shouldn’t be as important as your grandmother. Or maybe you should deal with the past and move on.”

Laurel spotted her turn and hit her turn signal. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.” A mew from inside her pocket punctuated the sentence.

“Thirteen and you’re a self-designated life coach?”

“Nope, I just know stuff. I’ve lived a lot of life in thirteen years.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you don’t know as much as you think you do. I’m not sure what your problem is, but you can’t sit there and diagnose my life.” Laurel sighed. She was arguing with a kid.

From the passenger seat, Rose whispered something to the kitten in her pocket.

“What?” Laurel asked, softening her tone.

“You asked what my problem is. A lot of things. I’m difficult, dysfunctional, dyslexic and a lot of other D words. Some of them I can’t repeat because my mother had a colorful way with words that Aunt Gladys doesn’t appreciate.” Her tone was dry but there was a brief flicker of pain that Laurel couldn’t miss.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel said. “Is this the right way?”

It definitely didn’t look like the right way and her phone didn’t have a signal, so there was no GPS.

“I don’t think so.”

“Rose, maybe you could give me directions?” she said as she pulled over, just as a red truck drove by. “I’m sure you’ve visited Gladys and know how to get there. And why do you have a kitten in your pocket?”

Rose grinned and pulled the kitten from her coat. “I’ve never had a pet.”

“You can’t just take a kitten. It might need to be with its mother.”

“It’s six weeks old. They’re ready to be weaned. That’s what Cameron said last week. If Gladys won’t let me keep it, I’ll take it back to the mama cat. But I’m going to tell Gladys I got it for her. She won’t turn away a gift.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Rose shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

“Good luck with that. Now, how do I get to the nursing home?”

“You’re on the right road. It looks like a driveway but it really is a road.”

“Thank you.”

She put the car in Drive and continued on down the road. As they rounded a bend, she saw the red truck ahead of them.

“That’s Cam’s truck,” Rose informed her.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, he must have worried that I would get you lost. He acts all grouchy and tough but he’s really okay.”

“Good to know.”

“Pretty cute, too. If you just look at the side without the scars.”

“I’m not interested,” Laurel informed the teen.

“Right, because you’re getting over a bad breakup and you resent men because you never knew your father. I didn’t know mine, either, but I don’t plan on being single my whole life. I want a husband and kids, a good job, the whole package.”

Laurel blinked. “You’re a bit of a mess.”

“Yeah, well, my mom is your second cousin, Tarin. She’s not exactly a role model.”

“Where is she these days?” Laurel asked as the brick facility came into view.

“Tarin? Who knows? We were living with a friend of hers in Grove and she took off one night, left me sleeping on their couch. After a few days they called Family Services because I’m not their responsibility. DFS found Gladys and she took me in. My grandmother was Gladys’s sister. She passed away years ago.”

Laurel had to give it to the girl—she was an optimist. Laurel thought about romance in terms of the father she’d never known because he’d failed to tell her mother he was engaged to someone else. He’d dated her mother on summer break, but his fiancée was the woman he’d met in college.

“You don’t know why your mom left?” Laurel asked as she parked.

“Who knows? She’s an addict. Aunt Gladys says everyone’s an addict these days and who knows what society is coming to. Anyway, Tarin’s a rotten mom and a horrible person.”

“She’s an addict, Rose. She probably didn’t plan for that to happen. Sometimes it happens to really good people.”

“Yeah, I guess. She told me one time that she was a straight-A student until her junior year, when she fell in with the wrong crowd. One time, one wrong friend, and her whole life changed. I guess I kind of wonder why she doesn’t just change it back.”

Easier said than done, Laurel thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. She’d lost friends to addictions. Knew the devastation it could do to a family. She cleared her throat and moved on, because Rose had a shimmer of moisture in her eyes.

“Hey, there’s Cam.” Rose opened her door to get out.

Laurel let her go. She knew about deflecting, about changing subjects and trying hard not to let things hurt.

Cameron Hunt waited on the sidewalk in front of the nursing home. Laurel took her time getting out of her car. She wasn’t quite ready for this visit. It had been too long since she’d seen her grandmother. Gladys had visited Chicago but her last visit had been for Laurel’s college graduation, just over eight years ago. Laurel’s mom had visited Hope but Laurel had avoided the town that held too many bad memories.

She’d been a small-town girl whose mom had made a mistake. She knew all about gossip, whispers and dirty looks. Her mom had never told anyone the name of the father of her child. She’d said it didn’t matter. But it must have mattered to her, because she’d never married.

“You made it,” Cameron said as she got out, joining him on the sidewalk.

Rose was ahead of them, nearly to the front door of the facility. Laurel let the girl go because she obviously knew her way and hopefully couldn’t get into trouble between here and there.

The man walking next to her switched sides, giving her the unscarred side of his face. She started to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but she didn’t know him well enough to tell him what was or wasn’t necessary.

“We made it. I was afraid she would purposely get me lost.”

“Your fears were well-grounded,” he agreed with a grim look. “I headed this way shortly after you left with Rose, to make sure you found the place. And yet, I beat you here. That must have been you pulled over on the side of the road.”

The gesture of kindness surprised her. From the look on his face, it surprised him, as well. He obviously hadn’t meant to get involved. After knowing Rose for less than two hours, she could see how the girl would drag someone in, not giving them the opportunity to decide if they wanted to be involved or not.

They were close to the entrance when the door opened and a man exited. Laurel glanced his way, but then she took a longer look as he stopped to talk to Rose. He was tall with dark auburn hair and hazel eyes. Laurel hesitated as the world seemed to spin a little too fast.

“You okay?” Cameron Hunt asked.

She watched as the man, a stranger, turned toward her. He saw her and his smile faltered. He drew in a breath and seemed to hold it.

“I’m good,” she lied. “Please go inside with Rose.”

She could be wrong, she told herself. He was a stranger with hair a darker shade of red than her own. It meant nothing. The way he looked at her meant nothing.

“I think I should stay here with you.” Cameron’s hand was on her arm, steadying her. She thought she didn’t need to be steadied but realized that her legs were weak and the world had faded a little. She shook her head to clear the strange fuzziness.

“Laurel?” Cameron’s voice seemed to come from far away. And then Rose was next to her, staring at her, looking concerned.

“I’m okay,” she assured them.

But she wasn’t. The man who had left her mom to be a single mother, the man she’d spent her life resenting, was standing in front of her.

After all of these years of wondering, it had been this simple. The two of them on a sidewalk, instantly recognizing one another. That he was here brought up questions, but those questions weren’t for him. They were for her grandmother.

Cameron and Rose disappeared into the building. She stared at the man who had given her red hair and fair skin that burned too easily in the sun. She didn’t even know his name.

Her own father and she couldn’t call him by name. She didn’t know his age, where he lived, what he did for a living. A small voice inside her told her that her mother shared some of the blame for her lack of information regarding her father.

“What are you doing here?” She asked the first question that came to her mind.

He seemed surprised by it.

“I was visiting my mother,” he said simply, gently. “I guess I should introduce myself.”

“You’re about thirty years too late for that.” She shifted her gaze away from him, from the sympathy in his expression. A wreath hung on the door of the nursing home, a sign of the coming holidays. Thirty Christmases. Missed.

“Yes, I know.” He reached out to her but let his hand drop before touching her. “Your grandmother called me to let me know you’d be in town. She thought that perhaps this would be a good time for us to meet.”

“I doubt she meant like this, on the sidewalk, with no one to introduce us.”

“No, I’m sure this isn’t what she intended.” He looked around, as if trying to think of a better plan. It was too late. “We could sit down and talk.”

“I don’t think so.” For years she’d rehearsed what she would say and do if she ever met him. When she’d been younger, she’d dreamed of him walking through the front door and being everything a little girl wanted a daddy to be.

As a teenager those dreams had turned to anger and resentment.

Anger was easier to deal with than disappointment. Anger worked as a shield to keep her heart safe.

He studied her, as if he knew the direction her thoughts had taken.

“Maybe you could think about it and if you change your mind, you can call me. Gladys has my number.”

She shook her head. “I have to go inside. My grandmother is expecting me.”

He seemed to want to say more, but when she shook her head, he didn’t. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be waiting. I’m praying for you, Laurel.”

The words stopped her. Her hand was on the door and she needed to go inside. Rather than saying something she couldn’t take back later, she hit the buzzer and waited for the door to unlock. She walked inside, aware that he was still there, watching her walk away.

Ten steps into the building, Cameron Hunt appeared in front of her. She looked up, focusing on the ceiling because she didn’t want to cry, not in front of this man, a virtual stranger. She didn’t want to cry period.

“You okay?”

She lowered her gaze from the ceiling to the man standing just feet away from her. His expression remained impassive. He didn’t want to be involved. And yet here he was.

“I’m good,” she assured him, although it didn’t feel like the truth. “Did we lose Rose?”

“She’s with Gladys.” He surprised her by grabbing a box of tissues from a nearby table. “Take a minute. They’ll be fine on their own. Hopefully.”

She started to object—to the tissues, to taking a moment—but she knew he was right. She took his offering and leaned against the wall as she pulled herself together.

He stood next to her, his back against the paneled wall. His nearness provided an odd sense of comfort, as if he was an ally. It didn’t make sense but she wasn’t questioning it, not right now when she desperately needed a calming influence.

His presence was the furthest thing from calming. He smelled like mountains and Oklahoma. His boots were dusty and worn. He’d placed himself so that the eye patch and scarred side of his face weren’t what she saw when she looked up at him.

The moment was cut short by raised voices and some sort of ruckus.

“Uh-oh,” she said as she pushed away from the wall. “That can’t be good.”

“Doesn’t sound that way,” he agreed. “Time to intervene. I should have known that the two of them couldn’t stay out of trouble.”

“It might be someone else.”

He turned his head to peer at her with that one startling blue eye. A flash of humor flickered for an instant. “That is wishful thinking.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She tossed the tissue in a wastebasket. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For insisting I take a minute to get it together.” She hesitated. “Do you know him?”

He pushed back his cowboy hat and gave her a thoughtful look. “You don’t know him?”

“I think I know who he is, but I don’t know his name.”

“Curt Jackson. Local rancher. He just moved back to the area six months ago. His father passed away and his mother couldn’t handle the ranch on her own.”

Curt Jackson. Thirty years of wondering had come down to this. Suddenly, the ruckus from down the hall grew louder.

“This way.” Cameron motioned her forward, his hand just barely skimming her back as he moved her in the right direction.

Seconds later they entered a large room where a variety of people had gathered: staff in scrubs, residents, some standing, some sitting, and a woman at the center who seemed to be in charge of the chaos. She was tall, dressed in a skirt and jacket, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

The man facing her wore a jogging suit of light gray, the same color as his thinning hair. He was pointing at her with a gnarled finger.

“Are you telling me we can’t have a Christmas tree?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clyburn, but the new owner said there will be no Christmas tree in the common area. It isn’t my rule, it’s the rule of the management.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks, Dora, you’ve been here long enough. You could fight for us.”

“I can’t fight this. No Christmas tree. Jeremy will take it back to storage.” She looked around at the group that had gathered. “I am sorry.”

The gentleman in the jogging suit shook his head. “Oh, Dora, what in the world are you thinking? There are folks here who have next to nothing and no family to bring them gifts.”

“My hands are tied.” She nodded at a man in gray coveralls who had a perplexed look on his face. “Jeremy, please take the tree and decorations back to storage.”

The gentleman in the gray jogging suit sat down at a nearby table. “It’s a tree. You put lights on it and shiny things.”

“Mr. Clyburn, you have to understand, this is not my rule. There will be no religious celebrations anymore, per the new owner.”

“There’s little enough cheer in this place without you taking it all away.” An older woman with curly gray hair and a determined look stepped forward, Rose at her side.

Laurel’s grandmother. Gladys Adams hadn’t seemed to age. Other than her arm in a sling, she was as spry as ever and obviously as willing to take on the administrator as she was the horse that had thrown her.

“You will still have Christmas dinner.” Dora made the announcement, turning right and left so that the dozen people gathered in the room heard her.

“A dinner made of government commodities that they spend almost nothing to purchase,” Gladys protested with a grim look of determination.

“Gladys,” Dora responded, “it appears you have company.”

Laurel smiled and waved at her grandmother.

“That I do,” Gladys replied. “And since I’m just here for physical therapy, I’ll be going home soon. The rest of these poor souls have to suffer through your tight budget.”

Gladys hurried over to Laurel, hugged her tightly and then allowed herself to be led from the room.

“That didn’t sound good, Gran,” Laurel observed.

“They’re stealing Christmas,” Rose chimed in.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Cameron asked as he came up behind them.

Rose shot him a look. “Of course it is, but I’m all about the D’s.”

He looked perplexed and Laurel found herself smiling, because she knew about the D’s. Her grandmother’s hand on her arm made her feel better than she’d felt in weeks. Since her bakery had failed, then she’d learned the man she’d been dating was also dating another woman, upheaval seemed to be too calm a word to describe how her life had felt.

For a moment she forgot that a man named Curt Jackson existed and he was more than likely her father. Somehow her quick trip to Hope, a needed visit with her grandmother, had turned more than a little bit complicated.

Cameron Hunt stepped around her, pushing open the door to her grandmother’s room. He made quick eye contact with her and she smiled. She would leave in a couple weeks but he would always fill a space in her memories. He’d been the person with her when she met her father for the first time.

Not her mother. Not her grandmother.

This man.