Читать книгу Heart of Texas Volume 2: Caroline's Child - Debbie Macomber - Страница 12

4

SUNDAY MORNING WAS THE ONE DAY OF THE week Jane Dickinson—Dr. Jane Dickinson, she reminded herself—could sleep in. Yet it was barely six and she was wide awake. Tossing aside the sheet, she threw on her robe and wandered barefoot into the kitchen.

“Texas,” she muttered. Who would’ve believed when she signed up for this that she’d end up in the great state of Texas? The hill country was about as far as anyone could get from the bustling activity of Los Angeles.

Jane had tried to make a go of life in small-town America, but she was completely and utterly miserable. In three months she hadn’t managed to make a single friend. Sure, there were lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. Never in her life had she missed her friends and family more, and all because of money. She’d entered into this agreement with the federal government in order to reduce her debts—three years in Promise, Texas, and her medical-school loans would be paid off.

Maybe she should just admit she’d made a mistake, pack her bags and hightail it out of this godforsaken town. But even as the thought entered her mind, Jane realized that wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted was to find some way to connect with these people, to become part of this tight-knit community.

The residents of Promise seemed willing enough to acknowledge that she was a competent physician specializing in family practice. But they came to see her only when they absolutely had to—for prescription renewals, a bad cough or sprain that couldn’t be treated at home. Jane’s one major fault was that she wasn’t Dr. Cummings. The man had retired in his seventies after serving the community for nearly fifty years. The people of Promise knew and trusted him. She, on the other hand, was considered an outsider and, worse, some kind of Valley Girl or frivolous surfer type.

Despite her up-to-the-moment expertise, she had yet to gain the community’s confidence. Everything she’d done to prove herself to the people of Promise had been a miserable failure.

Rejection wasn’t something Jane was accustomed to dealing with. It left her feeling frustrated and helpless. In medical school, whenever she felt overwhelmed and emotionally confused, she’d gone jogging. It had always helped clear her thoughts, helped her gain perspective. But she hadn’t hit the streets even once since she’d come here. With a new sense of resolve, she began to search for her running shoes, reminding herself that she was the one who’d agreed to work in a small community. She was determined to stick it out, even if it killed her.

Dressed in bright yellow nylon running shorts and a matching tank top, she started out at an easy nine-minute-mile pace. She jogged from her living quarters next to the health clinic down the tree-lined streets of Promise. The community itself wasn’t so bad. Actually it was a pretty little town with traditional values and interesting people. Ranchers mostly. Down-to-earth folk, hardworking, family-oriented. That was what made her situation so difficult to understand. The people were friendly and welcoming, it seemed, to everyone but her.

Jane turned the corner onto Maple Street. At the post office she took another turn and headed up Main. A couple of cars were parked in front of the bowling alley, which kept the longest hours in town; it was open twenty-four hours on Saturdays and Sundays. It wasn’t the bowling that lured folks at all hours, but the café, which served good solid meals and great coffee at 1970s prices.

Jane’s feet pounded the pavement and sweat rolled down the sides of her face. She’d barely gone a mile and already her body was suggesting that she hadn’t been exercising enough. She knew she’d ache later but didn’t care; she was already feeling more optimistic.

She rounded the corner off Main and onto Baxter, running past the antique store owned and operated by Dovie Boyd. Dovie lived in a brick home just around the corner. Despite the early hour, she was standing in the middle of her huge vegetable garden with her watering can in hand.

Jane had often admired the older woman’s lush garden. The pole beans were six feet high, the tomatoes bursting with ripeness and the zucchini abundant. Jane marveled at how one woman could possibly coax this much produce from a few plants.

“Morning,” Jane called.

Dovie smiled and raised her hand in response.

Jane continued down the street, full steam ahead. She’d gone perhaps twenty yards when she realized it’d happened to her again. She’d never been a quitter in her life and she wasn’t going to start now. She did an abrupt about-face and headed back.

Dovie looked surprised to see her.

Jane stopped and, breathing heavily, leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “Hello again,” she said when she’d caught her breath.

Without a pause Dovie continued watering. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Jane agreed. Slowly she straightened and watched Dovie expertly weave her way through the garden, pausing now and again to finger a plant or pull a weed.

“Do you have a minute, Mrs. Boyd?” she asked, gathering her nerve. She rested her hands against the white picket fence.

Widening her eyes, Dovie turned. “What can I do for you, Dr. Dickinson?”

“First, I’d like it if you called me Jane.”

“Then Jane it is.”

The older woman’s tone was friendly, but Jane sensed the same reserve in her she’d felt in others.

“What am I doing wrong?” She hadn’t intended to blurt out the question like that, but couldn’t help herself.

“Wrong?” Dovie set the watering can aside.

“What’s wrong with me?” she amended.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.” The other woman was clearly puzzled by the question. “What makes you assume such a thing?”

Attitudes were so difficult to describe. How could she explain how she felt without sounding snobbish or self-pitying? But she had to try.

“Why am I standing on this side of the fence while you’re on that side?” Jane asked as she paced the cement walkway. “Why do I have to be the one to greet others first? People don’t like me, and I want to know why.”

Dovie lifted one finger to her lips and frowned, apparently deep in thought. “You did greet me first, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it isn’t only you. It’s everyone.” Jane paused, struggling with her composure. “I want to know why.”

“My goodness, I’m not sure. I never realized.” Dovie walked toward the short white gate and unlatched it, swinging it open. “Come inside, dear, and we’ll sit down and reason this out.”

Now that Jane had made her point, it would have been rude and unfair to refuse, but to her embarrassment she discovered she was close to tears.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Dovie said and gestured toward the white wrought-iron patio set. “I’ll get a pot of tea brewing. I don’t know about you, but I tend to think more clearly if I have something hot to drink.”

“I… Thank you,” Jane said, feeling humble and grateful at once. The few moments Dovie was in the kitchen gave her time to collect herself.

Soon Dovie reappeared carrying a tray with a pot of steaming tea and two delicate china cups, as well as a plate of scones. She set it down on the table and poured the tea, handing Jane the first cup.

Jane felt a bit conspicuous in her tank top, sipping tea from a Spode cup, but she was too thankful for Dovie’s kindness to worry about it.

“All right now,” Dovie said when she’d finished pouring. “Let’s talk.” She sat down and leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Tell me some other things that have bothered you about Promise.”

Jane wasn’t sure where to start. “I have this…this sense that people don’t like me.”

“Nonsense,” Dovie countered. “We don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you.”

“You’re right. No one knows me,” Jane murmured. “I need a friend,” she said with a shrug, offering the one solution that had come to her.

“We all need friends, but perhaps you need to make more of an effort to give people a chance to know you.”

“But I have tried to meet people,” she said in her own defense.

Dovie frowned. “Give me an example.”

Jane had a list of those. An inventory of failures cataloged from the day she’d first arrived. “The party for Richard Weston,” she said. It was the first social event she’d attended in the area. Richard had been warm and friendly, stopping her on the street and issuing a personal invitation. Jane had been excited about it, had even told her family she was attending the party. But when she got there, she’d ended up standing around by herself. The evening had been uncomfortable from the start.

As the new doctor in town Jane appeared to be a topic of speculation and curiosity. The short newspaper article published about her earlier in the week had added to the attention she’d garnered. People stared at her, a few had greeted her, asked her a question or two, then drifted away. Richard had been the star of his own party, and the one time he’d noticed her, she was sure he’d forgotten who she was. For a while she’d wandered around, feeling awkward and out of place. Mostly she’d felt like a party crasher and left soon after she’d arrived.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Dovie murmured with a thoughtful look.

“Yes.” Not that it’d done Jane any good.

“You came in a suit and high heels, as I recall,” Dovie added.

“I realized as soon as I arrived the suit was a mistake,” Jane said. At the time she’d felt it was important to maintain a professional image. She was new in town and attempting to make a good impression.

“And then jeans and a cotton top to the Grange dance.”

“I didn’t realize it was a more formal affair.” She hadn’t lasted long there, either. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Jane confessed. She’d come overdressed for one event and underdressed for the other. “But,” she said hopelessly, “I had no way of knowing.”

Dovie nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I showed up for the Willie Nelson Fourth of July picnic, too, but no one bothered to tell me Willie Nelson wouldn’t be there.” That had been a major disappointment, as well.

Dovie giggled and shook her head. “The town council’s invited him nine years running, and he’s politely declined every year, but we’ve never let a little thing like that stand in our way. This is Willie Nelson country!”

“Someone might have said something.” Jane didn’t take kindly to being the only one not in on the joke.

“That’s something you can only learn by living here. Next year, you’ll know.”

If I’m here that long, Jane thought.

“Another thing,” she said. “What’s all this about a ghost town?” Jane asked next.

Dovie’s expressive eyes narrowed. “Who told you there was a ghost town?”

Jane wondered at the swift change in her newfound friend. “I overheard two children talking. One of them mentioned it.”

“Don’t pay any attention to those rumors, understand?”

“Is there one?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Dovie said, but not unkindly. “We have other more important matters to discuss.”

“Such as?”

Dovie’s head came back. “You.” Her face was set, her voice firm. “You’re right, you do need a friend.”

“Are you volunteering to take me under your wing?” Jane asked and hoped Dovie understood how very grateful she’d be.

“I’m too old.” Dovie’s response was fast. “I’m thinking of someone more your age.” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “You and Ellie Frasier would get along like gangbusters. Unfortunately Ellie’s busy getting ready for her wedding just now, so you’ll need to be patient.”

“Oh.” Jane’s voice was small.

“Until then, you and I have our work cut out for us.”

Jane frowned, not sure she understood. “What work?”

Dovie’s expression told Jane she’d overlooked the obvious. “We need to find out what’s wrong with everyone in this town. I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with you, Dr. Jane. It’s everyone else, and I’m determined to find out what.”

* * *

“ALL THE COMFORTS of home,” Richard Weston said out loud. He stood in the middle of the dirt road that ran through the ghost town. “Bitter End, Texas,” he continued, “population one.” He laughed then, the sound echoing down the long dusty street littered with sagebrush and rock.

Hitching his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, he sauntered down the dirt road as if he owned it, and for all intents and purposes, he did.

For the time being Bitter End was his home. He was proud of the good job he’d done carving out a comfortable place for himself. He figured he’d be stuck here for a while. How long wasn’t clear yet. A man on the run didn’t have a lot of alternatives.

Everything was about to catch up with him. His brother already knew he hadn’t paid that old coot Max Jordan, and he wasn’t going to be able to hide all the other charges he’d made, either. Although Grady’s business account had sure come in handy. But he’d stretched his luck to the max in Promise.

Time to move on. Hide again, only no one would ever think to look for him here. He was as safe as a babe cuddled in his mother’s loving arms. Richard had a sixth sense about when to walk away. He’d come to trust his instincts; they were what had kept him out of prison this long.

Richard kicked the toe of his snakeskin boot into the hard dry ground. He’d arrived in Promise penniless, miserable and afraid to glance over his shoulder for fear the law—or worse—was hot on his tail. He’d decided to head back to Promise on the spur of the moment, when he awoke one morning and found himself outside El Paso without money or transportation. Hitchhiking, he made his way to the central part of the state.

Luck had blessed him all his life. He hadn’t been back long before he discovered Savannah had visited Bitter End. As soon as his older sister mentioned the ghost town, he’d known what to do.

Little by little Richard had managed to squirrel away supplies, making the trek so often he no longer lost his way. Each day he managed to take something from the ranch or buy supplies on ranch credit. In the beginning it was little things, items not easily missed. Seldom-used equipment no one would notice was gone. Gradually he’d worked in the larger pricier necessities. He’d been clever about it, too.

Still congratulating himself, Richard walked up the old wooden steps to the boardwalk. He sat down in the rocking chair he’d discovered in one of the buildings and surveyed the town. His domain.

He’d been born under a lucky star, Richard told himself, and its shine hadn’t faded. He marveled anew at the crafty way he’d charged much of what he needed. Grady didn’t have a clue, either. Richard would charge something nonsensical like tractor parts to Grady’s account, knowing no one would think to question that. Later, making sure it wasn’t the same salesclerk, he’d return the part and use the credit to purchase what he really needed. In the weeks since his return he’d accumulated all the comforts of home, and the best part was that it had been at his brother’s expense.

“Oh, yes, I’m going to be real comfortable now,” he said, grinning broadly. Tucking his hands behind his head, he leaned back. “Thanks, Grady,” he said with a snicker.

Slowly his smile faded. None of this hiding out would be necessary if the situation with Ellie Frasier had worked out differently. It would have been easy to let that sweet young thing soothe away his worries, but his hopes had died a humiliating death, thanks to Glen Patterson.

Why any woman would choose some cowboy over him was beyond Richard. Clearly Ellie had no taste. In the beginning he’d been drawn to the inheritance her daddy had left her, figuring he’d talk her into marrying him, get his hands on the money and then skip town.

As time progressed and he came to know Ellie, he’d actually found himself thinking about sticking around and making a go of life in Promise. Money in the right places would put an end to his current troubles. For a while he’d toyed with the idea of getting involved in local politics. Promise could use a mayor like him, not some hick but a man with an eye to the future. Then maybe for once he’d be able to stay out of trouble, make a new life for himself. Start over. But unfortunately it hadn’t panned out.

Standing, Richard glanced at his watch. He hadn’t moved here yet, so he had to be conscious of the time. Although his sister and brother hadn’t said much, they were aware of his absences, and he didn’t want to arouse their suspicions.

Richard headed to where he’d parked the pickup. After several failed attempts, he’d found a new way into the town, one that didn’t necessitate a long walk.

The wind whistled behind him, a low plaintive cry that sent shivers down his spine.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. Naturally there’d been talk about ghosts in Bitter End. The one time he’d brought Ellie with him, she’d been squirming out of her skin in her eagerness to leave. She claimed it was a feeling she had, a sense of oppression. His sister had said she, too, could feel something weird in the old town.

Yeah, right.

Not Richard, at least not until that very moment. The wind increased in velocity, whistling as he walked away, his back to the main street.

“I don’t hear anything, I don’t feel anything,” he said aloud, more in an effort to hear the words than to convince himself.

The sensation, or whatever the hell it was, didn’t dissipate until he was safe inside his brother’s dilapidated truck. With the doors locked Richard relaxed, suspecting he’d viewed one too many episodes of Tales from the Crypt.

As he drove off, another thought entered his mind.

Caroline Daniels.

He had no real interest in her himself, but he could have her and he knew it. His brother was sweet on Caroline; that was easy to guess, just from the way Grady looked at her. It might be rotten of him, Richard thought with a grin, but he sure did love to play the spoilsport.

His brother had as much charisma as an overripe tomato, yet Grady was the one sitting pretty on a prosperous ranch, living high, while Richard had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Some things in life just weren’t fair, and if he wanted to even them out a little, he could see no harm in it. Besides, he subscribed to the idea that, regardless of the star he was born under, a man made his own luck. Or, at least, enhanced it.

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it, big brother,” Richard said. It shouldn’t be hard to lure Caroline away from Grady—and it didn’t hurt any that her kid was crazy about him. Kids had always liked him, and Richard had encouraged them. For some reason a lot of people put stock in their kids’ opinions and preferences. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter a damn what some kid thought, although he didn’t mind using a child to manipulate the parent.

Maggie was a great example. She preferred him over Grady, which made him the leading man when it came to winning her mother’s affections. He found Caroline kind of irritating, though; he didn’t care for the way she looked at him.

What he enjoyed most of all was playing himself off against his brother. He loved it when he could frustrate Grady, but his older brother made it much too easy; he took all the fun out of it. Well, not all the fun. Poor old Grady—would he never learn? Richard smirked. When he was around, Grady didn’t stand a chance with the ladies.

* * *

GRADY FELT LIKE A KID waiting for prom night—a kid who had a date with the prom queen. The chance to see Caroline again was worth cutting short his sleep. It meant getting up earlier than usual to deal with morning chores. But he’d managed, surprising Wade as much as he did Savannah and Laredo when he slipped into the pew two minutes before services were due to start.

He hadn’t come to hear the sermon, but he figured God would forgive that. He’d come for Caroline. She sang with the choir, and the possibility of seeing her again so soon after the church dinner was irresistible.

Grady still walked on air after last night’s kisses. Even Maggie’s interruption hadn’t ruined the evening. He’d been at a loss for words when she’d stumbled upon Caroline and him with their arms locked around each other. Rather than try to explain, he’d left the matter in Caroline’s capable hands and departed soon afterward.

The last thing she’d said before he walked out the door was that she’d stop by the ranch Sunday afternoon.

Mere hours away.

The service was upbeat, and Wade’s message caused him to nod his head in agreement a number of times. The minister used humor and lots of anecdotes, which made for an interesting sermon. Before he realized it, the hour was over and the congregation dismissed with a benediction.

Pastor Wade McMillen stood in the doorway as people left. “Good to see you, Grady,” he said, giving Grady’s hand a hearty shake. “But somehow I don’t think it was my sermon that interested you.”

Grady grumbled some noncommittal reply. Damned little escaped Wade’s attention. As if to prove him right, Wade caught Jeremy Bishop by the shoulder, stopping him on his way out the door.

“That must have been an interesting book you were reading in church,” he said with an encouraging smile.

Jeremy squirmed uncomfortably before he reached inside his shirt. With obvious reluctance he withdrew a slim paperback novel.

“T. R. Grant?” Wade said and cocked one eyebrow at the title.

Jeremy’s eyes grew round. “You’ve never heard of T. R. Grant?”

“Can’t say I have,” Wade admitted.

“He’s great!”

Wade chuckled. “I’m sure he is. Maybe I should read him, too.”

“I’ve read everything he’s ever written. I can lend you one of his books if you want.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Wade ruffled the boy’s hair and returned his attention to Grady. “I see that things are developing nicely between you and Caroline Daniels.”

Grady tensed. He had no desire to discuss his private life.

As if he knew that, too, Wade slapped him lightly on the back. “It took you long enough,” he said with a laugh. Before Grady could respond, Wade had begun talking to someone else.

Grady met Caroline on the front lawn. He saw her speak to Wade, then glance at him, smiling shyly. The yard was crowded with people visiting and chatting, but everyone appeared to fade from sight as Caroline approached.

“Hello again,” he said, which was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever uttered. Not that he cared.

“Hello.” Her voice had a deep breathless quality.

“Were you able to reassure Maggie?” He’d felt bad about leaving her to make the explanations, but feared any effort on his part wouldn’t have come out right.

“She understands.”

“But does she approve?”

Caroline’s eyes avoided his, which was answer enough in itself. “It isn’t up to Maggie to approve or disapprove of whom I kiss.”

He exhaled slowly and would have said more except that he couldn’t stop looking at Caroline. She was so damn pretty, any coherent thought didn’t stand a chance of lasting more than a second or two. It was her eyes, he concluded, a deep rich shade of chocolate. No, he decided after a moment, it was her soft brown hair. He remembered the silky feel of it bunched in his hands when he’d kissed her. He remembered a whole lot more than the feel of her hair….

“So you’re coming to see Savannah this afternoon?” he asked, trying to redirect his thoughts. If he continued in this vein much longer, he’d end up kissing her right then and there just to prove how real last night had been.

“No.”

Grady’s disappointment was sharp. “You’re not? But I thought—”

“I’m coming to see you.”

His heart, which had gone sluggish with discouragement, sped up, and he could feel his pulse hammering in his neck.

“Hi, Grady,” Maggie said, joining her mother. She clung to her mother’s arm and looked up at him with a slight frown.

“Hi, Maggie. I hear you’re coming out to the ranch this afternoon.”

The child continued to stare at him, and although she made no comment, Grady saw the way she moved protectively close to her mother.

“Did Savannah tell you about the new colt we have?”

She nodded.

“He’s only a few days old, but he’s already handsome. I bet you’d like to see him.”

Again she nodded.

Grady glanced at Caroline. “Do you think Maggie’s old enough to visit the colt?”

“I can, can’t I, Mommy?” Maggie twisted around and gazed up at her mother with imploring eyes.

“I think it should be all right, as long as you stay with Grady.”

“I will, I will,” she promised.

“That new colt needs a name,” Grady added. “Maybe you could help us decide what to call him.”

Her eyes got huge. “Could I really?”

“If you can think of a decent name for such a handsome boy. We’ll let you take a gander at him first, pet him a few times and then give you the opportunity to think up a name.”

“That’s kind of you, Grady,” Caroline said.

They walked toward the parking lot, in no particular hurry. “What time will you be by, do you think?” he asked, restraining himself from saying she should come right that minute.

“Maggie needs something to eat and a nap first.”

“She can have Sunday dinner with us—you both could—and then Maggie could nap. Savannah’ll be more than happy to watch her.” After she finished wringing his neck for inviting company without consulting her first. “While Maggie’s resting, perhaps you and I could…” For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single respectable thing for the two of them to do.

“Go riding,” Caroline inserted. “I’ll borrow some jeans from Savannah.”

She could have suggested mud wrestling and he would’ve agreed.

“Well…I suppose we can alter our plans just a little,” Caroline said, smiling softly.

It took a moment for the words to sink into his consciousness. “You could? Great.”

“Are we going to Savannah’s?” Maggie asked, tugging at the sleeve of her mother’s dress. “Are we leaving now?”

“It looks that way,” Caroline answered.

Maggie clapped her hands, celebrating the good news.

“I’ll see you there, then,” she said to Grady, opening the passenger door for Maggie. Her daughter leaped inside, eager to be on their way.

Grady opened the driver’s side for Caroline. “Drive carefully.”

She got in and assured him she would.

Grady stepped away from the car when she started the engine; he watched her back out of the parking space and turn out of the driveway before he realized that he’d attracted a number of curious stares. In particular, he noticed Edwina and Lily Moorhouse studying him.

The two sisters were retired teachers, as prim and proper as the spinster schoolmarms of nineteenth-century Promise. They smiled approvingly in his direction before they leaned toward one another, heads close enough to touch, talking up a storm. He’d been in their classes as a boy and could well recall the speed with which those two could chatter. Two hundred words a minute, he guessed, with gusts up to four fifty.

Their tongues were wagging now, but frankly, Grady didn’t care. He was about to spend the afternoon with the woman who’d dominated his thoughts for months. The woman who dominated his dreams.

Grady arrived back at the Yellow Rose less than five minutes behind Caroline. He found her in the kitchen with Savannah, preparing Sunday dinner. She paused when he entered, then glanced around her.

“Did you see Maggie?”

“Maggie?” He shook his head.

“She wasn’t on the porch?”

“Not that I noticed.” He stuck his head out the door and couldn’t see her.

“I told her not to leave the porch.” Caroline sighed with impatience. She set aside the tomato she was slicing and reached for a towel.

“She came to me for a carrot not more than a minute ago,” Savannah said.

“She probably went into the barn to see the new colt.” Grady blamed himself for that.

“She knows better,” Caroline murmured. “It’s not safe there.”

“Don’t worry, she’s only been gone a minute,” Savannah said reassuringly.

“I’ll get her,” Grady offered, eager to prove to Maggie that he could be as charming and wonderful as Richard.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Caroline asked.

“Not in the least.” Grady headed toward the barn, whistling as he went. The interior was dark after the bright sunlight, and he squinted until his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting.

“Maggie,” he called out.

No answer.

“Maggie,” he called again.

A soft almost mewing sound followed. Grady whirled around. The noise came from Widowmaker’s stall. When he looked inside, Grady’s heart froze. Maggie was huddled against the wall, her face white with terror.

Just then, the ill-tempered stallion thrashed out with his hooves, narrowly missing the child.