Читать книгу The Ties That Bind - Ginna Gray - Страница 8

Welcome to Clear Water, Montana—Population 1,474

Scanning the sign at the edge of town, Zach Mahoney grimaced. “What the devil are you doing, Mahoney? You should be halfway to Sedona by now, not wasting time on a fool’s errand,” he muttered to himself.

At the time he’d agreed to this crazy plan he’d been reeling from shock. If he’d been thinking straight he would have told J.T. and Matt to count him out. Hell, he had a good mind to turn his rig around and head for Sedona, and the devil take it.

Zach ground his teeth, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t break his word.

Besides, Kate would give him a tongue-lashing that would blister his eardrums if he didn’t see this thing through. His sister, like most women, got emotional when it came to family.

The two-lane highway ran through the center of town, and past the Mountain Shadows Motel on the northern edge. Zach parked his motor home in front of the motel and climbed out.

Inside, he learned from the desk clerk that J.T. and Matt were having lunch across the street at a place called Hodie’s. They’d left a message for him to join them there.

Back out on the sidewalk Zach paused to replace his hat and look around. Clear Water nestled in a north/south valley with rolling foothills to the east and the towering peaks of the Rocky Mountains to the west. Other than the spectacular setting, the place was typical of hundreds of other western towns he’d seen while traveling the rodeo circuit—small, sleepy and rugged, a dot of what passed for civilization in a land of incomparable wild beauty.

Though it was April, snow still covered the mountains. They glittered a blinding white in the bright sunshine, and the breeze that swept down their rugged slopes held a bite. Tugging the rolled brim of his Stetson lower over his eyes, Zach huddled deeper into his coat and headed across the street toward Hodie’s Bar and Grill.

Like many western “watering holes,” Hodie’s was a combination restaurant, pool hall and bar. It took a few seconds for Zach’s eyes to adjust to the dimness inside, but when they did he homed in on the two men in a corner booth and headed in that direction.

J.T. was the first to spot him.

“Hey, Zach, you made it. Good to see you, bro. Have a seat,” he offered, sliding over to make room.

The appellation jarred Zach, but his expression remained carefully impassive. He hung his hat and coat on the brass hook attached to the end of the booth and slid onto the bench seat.

Across the table he met Matt’s penetrating gaze. More reserved than J.T., he merely nodded and said simply, “Zach.”

“You’re just in time to join us for lunch.”

“No thanks. I’ve already eaten. I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” Righting the upside-down crockery mug in front of him, Zach signaled to the waitress.

“You sure you don’t want something to eat? This place doesn’t look like much, I know, but the food is great. I had dinner here last night after I got in.”

“No, I’m good.”

“How about—”

“He said he didn’t want anything,” Matt growled. “Let him be.”

“Hey, I was just being friendly. Something you should try once in a while, bro.”

Matt gave him a laser look. Unfazed, J.T. grinned back.

Zach took a sip of coffee. The brew scalded his tongue, but drinking it gave him an excuse to remain silent and observe.

No matter how hard he tried, he still had difficulty accepting that he and these two men were brothers. It just didn’t seem possible.

Which, he supposed, was normal, given the circumstances. Hell, until six weeks ago, when J.T. and Matt had tracked him down and broken the news to him, he’d had no idea he even had brothers. Learning at age thirty-five that he was one of a set of triplets had been a shocker.

At first he’d been certain they were trying to pull some sort of con, and he’d flatly refused to believe them. To be honest, he hadn’t wanted to believe them. Kate was his family—all the family he needed.

However, there was proof. Most conclusive of which was the odd irregular-cut wedge of flat silver that each wore on a chain around his neck—a token from a birth mother none of them could remember. Unconsciously, Zach raised his hand and rubbed his through his shirt.

The three jagged, pie-shaped wedges fit together perfectly to form a silver medallion. When whole, etched on one side was an R with a curved line under it, on the other side, in block print were the words, Rocking R Ranch and a post office box in Clear Water, Montana. Beneath the address were the words, “Your Heritage.”

Whoever she was, for whatever reason, the woman who had given each of them life had left this fragile link to one another and to their past.

Even so…it was still difficult to believe that they were related. They seemed to be as different in every way as any three men could be.

Other than all being six feet two inches tall and having the same general build, they looked nothing alike. Well…maybe, if you looked hard enough, you could see a slight resemblance between J.T. and Matt. They both had vivid blue eyes and dark hair, but Matt’s was black, whereas J.T.’s was a mahogany-brown. Zach’s own hair was the color of pale wheat, and if he spent too much time in the sunshine without a hat it bleached almost white, and his eyes were green.

The differences between the three of them went deeper than looks, though. Their personalities were nothing at all alike.

A former detective with the Houston police, Matt was tough and taciturn. To Zach’s eye, he had the look of a man who had seen too much of life’s seamy side to have any illusions left.

On the surface, J.T. appeared to be a lightweight. Movie-star handsome, charming to the ladies and amiable, he seemed to take little seriously. Before quitting his job to try his hand at novel writing, he’d been an investigative reporter for a Houston newspaper—an occupation that had often put him at odds with Matt. It did, however, require intelligence, talent and tenacity, and that made Zach wonder just how much of J.T.’s affability was a clever ploy he used to put people at ease to gain their trust.

He’d read J.T.’s first manuscript, and it was gut-wrenching, insightful and hard-hitting, hardly the work of a shallow playboy.

“By the way, Kate sends her love.”

Zach turned his head and fixed J.T. with an unwavering look. “How is she?”

“Terrific. And happy. Did you think she wouldn’t be?”

Zach let the question hang between them for several seconds, his eyes narrowing, searching J.T.’s face for the truth.

To his credit, J.T. met the stare without flinching.

At last Zach shrugged, which was as close to an apology as he intended to get. “I just can’t get used to you being married to my sister, is all.”

“Jeez, man, you make it sound like incest. Kate’s your adoptive sister. You’re not related by blood.”

“Yeah, well, we grew up together. She seems a damn sight more like kin than you do.”

Matt snorted. “I can sympathize with you there. My last eleven years as a cop, back when J.T. was a reporter, he was a constant thorn in my side. Imagine what a kick in the head it was for me when I found out that he was my brother. The two of us made the connection seven months ago and I still haven’t gotten used to the idea.”

“Hey, it was no thrill for me, either,” J.T. fired back, his perpetual good humor for once slipping. “But it’s a fact, so we’re all just going to have to deal with it.”

“True. Maybe it’ll be easier once we know more. Soon as we eat, we’ll get directions to the Rocking R Ranch.”

Zach frowned. “Are you two sure you want to do this?”

Matt gave him a sharp look, his coffee mug poised halfway to his mouth. “Why? Don’t you?”

“I just don’t see the point.”

“The point is to get some answers. Maybe meet our mother. Find out why she gave us up.”

“Why bother? Look, I’ve always known I was adopted, and it’s never bothered me. Why should it? No kid could’ve asked for better parents than the Mahoneys. I’ve sure as hell never felt deprived or been haunted by nightmares, or even felt any curiosity about my biological parents. Maybe you two have some unresolved issues, but I don’t. The way I figured it, our mother gave us away, so why should we go searching for her? As far as I’m concerned, the past is past. I say let it go.”

Matt looked at J.T. “He has a point.”

J.T. snapped, “Look, we’re entitled to some answers. At the very least, we should find out our family’s medical history in case any of us ever has kids of our own.”

“I guess you’re right,” Matt conceded. “Anyway, Maude Ann and Kate would kill us all if we didn’t see this through.”

“Okay, fine. As soon as you two finish eating we’ll go out to the ranch and get this over with. I wanta be outta here by morning. I got two days to get to my next rodeo.”

The waitress, a plump, fiftyish woman, bustled up to the table. “Here you go, fellas. Anything else I can ge—”

Her breezy chatter ended abruptly when she glanced at Zach. Her jaw dropped almost to her chest. “Oh, my stars! You’re Colleen Rafferty’s boy, aren’t you?”

Zach exchanged a quick look with Matt and J.T. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? You mean you don’t know?”

“No, ma’am. I was adopted when I was two. All three of us were.”

“All three of you?” Her gaze bounced from one man to the other. “You mean…you’re triplets?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, my stars.”

“Actually, we came here looking for our birth mother. We have information that she might be from around here,” J.T. said. “Maybe you could help us.”

“Well, boys, there’s not a doubt in my mind that your mother is Colleen Rafferty. She had a very distinctive face.” She smiled at Zach. “You, young man, are the spitting image of her. And I oughta know. Colleen and I were best friends. By the way, my name is Jan Prescott.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Prescott. I’m Zach Mahoney, and these are my brothers, Matt Dolan and J.T. Conway.”

“Three different names. Oh, that’s just so sad.”

“So her name was Rafferty,” Matt said. “Can we assume that has something to do with the Rocking R Ranch? And that she’s connected to the owners?”

“I should say so. That ranch has been in Colleen’s family for four generations. Her great-great-grandfather, Ransom Patrick Rafferty, was one of the first settlers around these parts. For the last fifty years or so the ranch has belonged to her daddy, Seamus Rafferty.” Jan Prescott sniffed. “A meaner old coot you’ll never meet, I’m sorry to tell you.”

“Does Colleen still live at the ranch?”

“Oh, dear, I’m afraid not. Colleen lit out of here close to thirty-six years ago, as I recall. Just boarded a bus one day without a word to anyone, not even me. No one around these parts has seen hide nor hair of her since.

“The rumor going around at the time was that she was pregnant. Back in those days that was a disgrace. I didn’t believe it. Gave a few folks a good dressing-down for even suggesting it. But, seeing as how you boys are here, looks like it was true.”

“Could you give us directions to the Rocking R?” Matt asked.

“Sure. Just follow the highway north about ten miles and you’ll see the sign.”

She hesitated, gnawing at her bottom lip, looking from one to the other. “Look, fellas, I feel it’s only fair to warn you, Seamus Rafferty is meaner than a snake. He’s not gonna take kindly to you showing up on his doorstep. Fact is, you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t run you off at gun-point.”

“We still have to give it a shot,” J.T. said.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Matt added. “All we want is some information.”

“Yeah, well, good luck getting it. Regardless of how it turns out, though, I want you to know that I’m just pleased as punch that I got to meet Colleen’s boys. An’ I sure hope you get the answers you want,” she added, but her expression said she didn’t think much of their chances.

After turning in at the ranch entrance they drove several more miles without seeing anything but rich, rolling grassland on either side of the SUV.

The land rose and dipped in undulating waves, stretching out as far as the eye could see to the east, north and south and to the base of the mountains to the west. Patches of snow still dotted the winter-brown pastures, but in protected spots green shoots poked up to brave the chill. Here and there stands of pine and spruce broke up the rolling landscape. Placid cattle grazed on either side of the narrow dirt road.

Now this was prime ranch land, Zach thought. Exactly the kind of spread he’d always dreamed of owning.

His mouth twisted. Yeah, right. In your dreams, Mahoney. If he saved his money until he was ninety, he’d never have enough to purchase a place even a fraction the size of this one.

The road went down a long incline into a wide, gently rolling valley. At its center sat the ranch house, a sturdy, sprawling, two story structure made of logs and stone. The logs were stained dark brown, the shutters and trim painted cream. A wide porch spanned the considerable width of the house, front and back. It had the look of permanence, as though it had been sitting there for a hundred years or more.

A couple hundred yards or so behind the house, cowboys worked in and around a maze of corrals and the gargantuan barn. Beyond that a bunkhouse, several open-sided hay barns and other outbuildings, which Zach knew probably housed tractors and cattle trailers and other ranch equipment, were scattered around. It was as fine a setup as he’d ever seen…and he’d darn near sell his soul to own it.

A Border collie lay sleeping in a patch of sunshine on the porch. When Matt drove up to the front of the house the animal sprang to her feet and streaked down the steps, barking furiously.

Zach, Matt and J.T. climbed out of the SUV, and the dog continued to growl. Following Zach’s lead, they let her sniff their hands. When she was satisfied, the men went up the walk and climbed the steps, the Collie trotting along beside them, tail wagging.

Their knock was answered by an elderly Hispanic woman.

“¿Sí, señors?” Her face went slack with shock and she clasped her face between her palms. “¡Aiee! ¡Madre de Dios! It is you! Señorita Colleen’s muchachos!”

Before any of them could respond the woman surged forward, hugging first one, then the other, weeping and babbling in an incoherent mix of English and Spanish.

“Dammit to hell, Maria! What in tarnation are you caterwauling about!” a male voice inside the house bellowed.

Boot heels hammered across the foyer an instant before a gray-haired man appeared in the doorway. Backing up a step, Maria wrung her hands, her worried gaze bouncing back and forth between the four males.

The old man’s weathered skin resembled aged leather. He was shorter than Zach and his brothers by about two inches and lean to the point of boniness, but he looked as tough as a pine knot.

“Whoever you are and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested, so get the hell off my property.”

As he spoke the old man’s gaze skimmed over them, then did a double take, flashing back to Zach. His faded blue eyes narrowed and sharpened as recognition dawned. He stared for the space of three heartbeats before switching to the other two men.

Zach would not have thought it possible, but the old man’s expression grew even harder, and his eyes narrowed with pure hatred when his gaze settled on J.T.

“So…she whelped three of you, did she?”

Maria made a distressed sound, which drew the old man’s attention. “Get back to your duties, woman. This is no business of yours.”

“Are you Seamus Rafferty?”

“That I am.” His flinty stare returned to J.T.

“My name is Zach Mahoney. These are my brother’s, Matt Dolan and J.T. Conway. We’re here because—”

“I know who you are,” the old man snapped. “No matter what you call yourselves, you’re still Colleen’s bastards.” He jabbed a bony forefinger at the end of J.T.’s nose. “This one is a dead ringer for Mike Reardon, the sorry, no-good saddle tramp who seduced my daughter. And you.” He turned his head and looked at Zach. “You’re the image of her.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Seamus turned his attention on Matt. “Now, you—you don’t favor either of them. You’re just a mutt mixture of both.” He looked down at Matt’s cane, and his mouth curled with contempt. “Got a gimp leg, I see. Not much use to anyone, are you?”

Matt’s jaw tightened and his piercing blue eyes flamed.

Zach made a subtle shift, placing himself between Matt and the old man. “We’re looking for some information. We’re hoping you can help us.”

Seamus Rafferty’s hard stare swung to Zach and held for an interminable time. Finally he snapped, “Come in. I don’t conduct business on the porch.” He stomped back inside, leaving them no choice but to follow.

As they walked through the entry hall a young woman dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a Western-style shirt and boots descended the stairs. She was small and wand slim. At first glance Zach took her for a teenager, but drawing nearer he realized she was in her mid-twenties. Her skin was ivory, her eyes blue, her hair black. The thick mane hung down her back almost to her waist, arrow straight and as shiny as polished ebony. Though she appeared to wear no makeup she had the kind of delicate beauty that took your breath away.

Zach wondered who she was. Another of Seamus’s grandchildren, perhaps? Or a late-in-life child? Or perhaps his wife?

The last thought was so distasteful Zach dismissed it immediately.

The woman came to a halt on the bottom stair as they walked by, but even so she was still not eye-level with Zach. He realized that she could be no more than five feet two or three—and that her eyes were not blue at all, but a startling violet.

He thought surely Seamus would stop and introduce them, but the old man stomped past the stairs without so much as a glance in her direction.

“Seamus?” she called after him. “What’s going on?”

The husky contralto coming from such a small, delicate woman surprised Zach, but he was given no opportunity to contemplate its sexy quality.

“This has nothing to do with you, Willie. Go on about your own business girl, and keep your nose out of mine.”

He led them into a walnut-paneled office, took a seat behind a massive desk, then motioned impatiently to the leather sofa and chairs by the fire.

When they were seated he glared at them. “Well?”

“We came here hoping we’d find our mother, but we learned in town that she left here years ago,” J.T. said. “We’re hoping that you can tell us how we can get in touch with her.”

Seamus snorted. “You expect me to believe that’s all you want? Do you take me for a fool?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Matt’s quiet comment gleaned a dagger stare from Seamus, but J.T. hurried on. “I don’t know what you think we’re after, but I assure you, we did come here to look for our mother.”

“You can’t assure me of anything. I don’t trust you any more than I trusted that no-good daddy of yours.”

A muscle in J.T.’s cheek began to tic and his smiled slipped a bit. “Nevertheless, it’s true. We were adopted by different families, and until late last summer, none of us knew the other existed. Matt and I made the initial connection by accident.”

“With these,” Matt said, pulling his medallion piece out from beneath his shirt and whipping it off over his head.

Zach and J.T. quickly followed suit. Gathering the three pie-shaped wedges, Zach rose and laid them on the desk in front of Seamus. With one finger, he slid the pieces of silver together into a perfect fit. The old man leaned over, scowling as he read the inscription.

“J.T. located Zach a few months ago,” Matt continued. “Now we’re trying to find our mother. Or, failing that, to at least learn what we can about her. We were hoping you could help us.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. I got nothing to say. That ungrateful girl has been dead to me since the day she confessed that she’d gotten herself knocked up. I threw her out and told her to never come back.”

“For getting pregnant?” J.T. looked dumbfounded. “Women have babies out of wedlock all the time. Some are even planned.”

“Not thirty-six years ago they didn’t,” the old man snapped. “And I wouldn’t stand for it today, either. I’ll have no harlots or bastards in my family.”

“How about her belongings?” Matt inquired. “She must have left something here. Could we take a look at those?”

“Burned it all years ago.”

Seamus put his hands flat on the desktop and levered himself to his feet. “Let’s cut the crap. I know damned well you didn’t come here looking for your tramp of a mother. You came hoping to get your hands on this ranch. Well, I’m telling you that just ain’t gonna happen. The Rocking R isn’t going to fall into the hands of Mike Reardon’s by-blows.” He thumped the desktop with the side of his fist. “By heaven, I’ll give the place away before I’ll let that happen.”

“That’s it. I’m outta here. I told you two this was a bad idea.” Zach headed toward the door.

“He’s right. C’mon. We don’t have to take this.” Using his cane, Matt levered himself to his feet and followed.

Zach snatched open the door and strode out—and barreled into the young woman they had seen a few moments before. She hit his chest with an “Oof!” and bounced off.

“Damn.” Zach grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling, set her aside with a terse, “Excuse me, miss,” and continued on toward the entrance.

He had a fleeting impression of startled violet eyes and skin like ivory silk, but beyond that he paid her no mind. He was too intent on getting the hell away from Seamus Rafferty before he lost his temper and planted his fist right in the old coot’s sneering face—grandfather or no.

“Seamus, is something wrong?” the woman asked as Matt and J.T. trooped past in Zach’s wake. “Who are those men?”

Neither Zach nor his brothers waited around to hear the old man’s answer.

“Of all the foul-tempered, suspicious, spiteful old bastards!” Matt snarled the instant they gained the front porch.

“Yeah, Gramps is a bit of a disappointment.”

“If that’s supposed to be funny—”

“Knock it off, both of you.” Zach fixed his brothers with a hard look. “We gave it our best shot and got nowhere. Now can we just drop this whole thing and forget about the past?”

“Suits me.”

“I don’t think we ought to give up,” J.T. argued.

Matt spat out an expletive and rolled his eyes.

“Look, you do what you want, but I’m out of here,” Zach said. “As soon as we get back to town, I’m heading for Sedona.”

“¡Pssst! ¡Señors! ¡Señors!”

As one, they turned to see the woman Seamus had called Maria peeking nervously from around a forsythia at the corner of the house.

“I must speak with you, por favor. Es muy importante.”

The brothers exchanged a brief look and moved down the porch to the woman’s hiding place.

“Yes?”

Clutching a flat cardboard box to her breasts, Maria glanced around nervously. “You wish to know about Señorita Colleen, sí? Sus madre?”

“Yes,” J.T. replied. “Do you know where she is?”

A stricken expression flashed over the woman’s face. “I…” She shook her head, then cast a quick look over her shoulder and thrust the shirt-size box into Zach’s hands. “You take this, señor. La señorita sent it to me over thirty years ago.”

“What is it?”

“Her diario. How you say…journal. Also a photograph that I hid from Señor Rafferty so he would not burn it. Señorita Colleen, she beg me not to tell her padre I have the journal.”

Matt snorted. “She probably knew he’d destroy it, like he did the rest of her stuff.”

Maria nodded. “Sí, it is so. La señorita, she want me to keep the diario safe and give it to her muchachos if you ever come here. I am an old woman. I begin to think you will not come while I still live.”

A door slammed at the back of the house and Seamus bellowed, “Dammit, Maria! Where the hell are you?”

She jumped guiltily. “I must go.” Grasping Zach’s arm, she urged, “Por favor. Read the diario. All your questions, they will be answered.”

“To save time, I think we should read it out loud,” Zach suggested when he and his brothers entered Matt’s motel room a short while later.

“Good idea.” J.T. stretched out on one of the double beds and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Why don’t you start?”

Matt sat on the edge of the other bed, and Zach settled into one of the room’s two chairs. Almost reverently, he lifted the cover off the box and found himself staring at a photograph of a young girl of about eighteen.

She was more striking than beautiful—a female version of the face he saw in the mirror each day—the same blond hair and green eyes, the same thin, straight nose, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. Her mouth was a bit fuller and softer than his own, but the shape was identical.

It was eerie, looking at that face. The short hairs on Zach’s nape and forearms stood on end. No wonder the waitress at Hodie’s had been so shocked. And why Seamus had known instantly who they were.

While his brothers studied the photograph, Zach lifted the diary out of the box. The cheap vinyl cover was cracked and split and the pages felt brittle, the edges brown with age.

He looked at Matt and J.T. and cocked one eyebrow. “You ready?” An edgy awareness that they were about to uncover their past pulsed in the air.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” J.T. said, and Matt nodded agreement.

Zach cleared his throat and turned to the first entry.

“‘September 21st. I’m so scared. I’m on my way to Houston, but I don’t know what I’ll do if my mother’s aunt Clara won’t take me in. She’s elderly, and I barely know her, but other than Daddy she’s my only living relative. She never had children of her own, and when she came to the ranch for a visit a few years ago she was kind to me and urged me to come stay with her for as long as I liked. I just pray the invitation will still be open after I tell her about my condition.

“‘September 22nd. Heaven help me, I’m too late. I arrived at Aunt Clara’s this afternoon and found her house full of people. They had just come from her funeral.

“‘I got hysterical, and I must have fainted. A while ago I woke up and found myself lying on a bed in my aunt’s guest room. A lady was here with me. She introduced herself as Dr. Chloe Nesbitt and said she had been my aunt’s doctor and friend. Then she asked if I was pregnant.

“‘When I finally bawled out my story, Dr. Nesbitt was very kind. She said she would talk to Aunt Clara’s pastor about my situation. In the meantime, she was sure that I could stay here, at least until the estate is settled. She told me to get some rest and not to worry.

“‘How can I not worry? My darling Mike is dead, Daddy has tossed me out, I’m alone in a strange town where I know no one, I have no job, no money, no training other than ranch work and I’m expecting a child in five months! What am I going to do?

“‘September 23rd. I can’t believe it! Just when things look hopeless, a miracle has happened. Dr. Nesbitt returned this morning with Reverend Clayton and my aunt’s attorney, Mr. Lloyd Thomas. Mr. Thomas said that as my aunt’s only kin, I will inherit her entire estate! It isn’t a great fortune—a modest savings and this small house, is all—but it’s a roof over my head, and if I’m careful, the money will see me through until the baby is born and I can get a job. Bless you, Aunt Clara.’”

For the next hour Zach read from the diary. It told of Colleen’s struggle to make the money last, her fear of living alone for the first time in her life, of being in a strange place, her shock and joy when she found out she was expecting triplets, and her worries over how she could support herself and three babies. Underlying it all was a desperate loneliness that colored every word and wrung Zach’s heart.

Reverend Clayton and Dr. Nesbitt figured prominently in the entries over the next few months. The doctor saw Colleen through her pregnancy, and the reverend and others in his congregation took a special interest in her, offering spiritual guidance and practical assistance and advice.

“‘January 24th. Reverend Clayton is urging me to put my babies up for adoption as soon as they’re born. He thinks that would be best—for them, and for me. Perhaps he’s right. I don’t know. But, God help me, I can’t. I just can’t. I love them so much already. Every time I feel them move, my heart overflows. I cannot bear to give them up, to have them whisked away from me the second they are born and never get to see their sweet faces, never get to hold them. No. No, I can’t give them up. I love them. And they are all I have left of Mike.’”

Zach’s throat grew so tight he had difficulty forming the words. He thrust the diary into Matt’s hands. “Here. It’s your turn,” he said in a gruff voice.

Matt swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against a mound of pillows and continued.

“‘February 7th. I’m the mother of three beautiful, healthy boys! They arrived yesterday, two weeks early, but Dr. Nesbitt says they are all doing fine. I have named them Matthew Ryan, Zachariah Aiden and Jedediah Tiernan.’”

“Jedediah Tiernan!” Matt hooted. “No wonder you go by J.T.”

“Stuff it, Dolan.”

“Do you two mind? Could we just get on with this?”

“Okay, okay.” Picking up where he left off, Matt continued.

“‘February 9th. Reverend Clayton came by during visiting hours. He offered me a job working in the church’s day care center. The pay isn’t much, but Reverend Clayton says I can bring the babies to the center. That means I won’t have to be separated from them or have the expense of child care. The reverend is such a good man. I don’t know what I would do without his help and support.

“‘February 10th. The first day home with the boys. I had no idea babies were so much work. I’ll write more later when I’m not so exhausted.’”

The entry was typical of the ones during the following year. A picture began to emerge of a young girl struggling to support and nurture three babies alone. To make ends meet she took in ironing in the evenings and on weekends, often working late into the night.

A few weeks before their first birthday Colleen began to mention that she wasn’t feeling well. By the end of February her boss at the day care center insisted that she see a doctor, in case she had something contagious. Then came the entry that stunned Zach and his brothers.

“‘March 5th. I have advanced ovarian cancer.’”

“Ah, hell,” Zach swore and raked a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” J.T. agreed in a subdued tone. “After all she’d already been through, she sure didn’t deserve that.”

Swinging his legs over the side, Matt sat on the edge of the bed. “Funny. That possibility never occurred to me. I always assumed she gave me away because she didn’t want me.”

“Deep down, I think we all did,” Zach said quietly. “We were too young to understand anything else.”

Matt thought that over, then nodded and resumed reading.

“‘Dear Lord, what am I going to do? I can’t afford to be sick. My babies need me. On top of that, I have no idea how I’ll pay for the treatment, but without it I’ll surely die. What will become of the boys if that happens? Daddy won’t have them. Even if he would, I don’t want my boys to grow up under his iron-fisted rule or to bear the brunt of his hatred for their father. God help me. And them.

“‘March 6th. I started treatment today. Feel even worse. Nausea is awful.’”

For the next eight months the entries were about the treatment and the ghastly side effects. And her growing financial worries. Within weeks she could no longer work. It was all she could manage to take care of her three toddlers. Left with no alternative, she was forced to go on welfare.

Despite aggressive treatment, her condition continued to worsen, and in December, after nine months of struggle, Colleen accepted the inevitable and wrote of her decision to ask Reverend Clayton help her find homes for her sons.

“‘November 23rd. Reverend Clayton and Mr. Thomas, Aunt Clara’s attorney, are handling the adoptions. I would like to interview the prospective couples myself, but the family court judge will not allow it. Even though these are private adoptions he demands complete anonymity on both sides, and afterward the adoption records will be sealed.

“‘The reverend and Mr. Thomas have tried but they couldn’t find a family willing to take three two-year-olds so it appears the boys will have to go to different couples. Oh, how I hate to think of them being separated. They are not only losing me, but each other, as well. But what choice do I have?

“‘January 10th. Reverend Clayton has selected three couples. I trust his judgment and I’m sure they will all be wonderful parents, but I can’t quite bring myself to commit to them. It shreds my heart just to think about handing my babies over to strangers and never seeing them again. For the boys’ sake, though, I have to stop being selfish. They are typical rambunctious toddlers, and I’m so weak now and in so much pain that I can barely get out of bed some days. I worry that I’m not giving them proper care.

“‘January 15th. Well, I’ve done it. I’ve agreed to the adoptions and signed all the papers. Reverend Clayton had the medallion made and cut, like I asked him, and all the couples have agreed to give them to the boys when they are older. I just hope that someday it will help them find one another again.’”

Matt turned the page, scanned it, then flipped over several more before turning back. “Looks like there’s just one more entry. After that there are just blank pages.”

“Go ahead. Let’s hear it,” J.T. said.

“‘February 24th. Today was the worst day of my life. I gave my babies away. Two social workers came and took them. I cuddled and kissed them for the last time, and I think they knew something was wrong. As they were being carried out they screamed and cried and held their arms out to me, calling ‘Mommie! Mommie!’ It broke my heart. Dear Lord, it hurts. It hurts so much I don’t think I can bear it. I want to die. Without my babies I have nothing to live for. Please, God. Please. Let me die now. Please.’”

Matt exhaled a long sigh and slowly closed the journal. A heavy silence hung in the room.

Colleen Rafferty was dead. The rush of disappointment and grief took Zach by surprise. For Pete’s sake. He had no memories of her. Until he’d seen that photograph he hadn’t even known what she looked like. Why did it bother him so much to learn that she was dead?

“Well, that’s it. Now we know,” J.T. said finally.

Zach gave a little snort. “Yeah. Now we know. For all the good it did us.”