Читать книгу A McKaslin Homecoming - Jillian Hart - Страница 10

“What are you doing carrying your own bags?” Caleb didn’t mean to startle her, but he could see by the look on her face that he had. There she was, teetering up the walkway toward the porch steps, a heavy, battered duffel in each hand. While the bags weren’t big, they were heavy. He remembered that. “Put ’em down. You’re in Montana now. I can’t let a woman do the heavy work while I watch.”

“Isn’t that a little chauvinist?”

“Maybe where you’re from, but I call it doing the right thing.” He crossed over Mary’s lawn. “Besides, you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Uh, how about into the house?”

“So you think.” What was a guy to do? “It’s one thing to have an independent streak, it’s another to let a man stand around gettin’ lazy.”

That made her smile and he liked this because her shyness faded away and her unique loveliness shone.

“One thing I don’t approve of is a lazy man.” Amusement warmed the violet of her eyes. “I suppose I should put you to work and keep you respectably useful.”

“Exactly. It’s for the greater good.”

She lowered the bags with a thud at his feet.

“Mary has the carriage house ready for you, out back.” He got a good grip on the crackled handles of the bags and heaved. “Are there rocks in here? Weights? Or really big shoes?”

“Books.”

That explained it. He’d noticed the backpack. “Are you a student?”

“Yep. Classes start in three weeks.”

She was a little old for a college girl, although she might be putting herself through. That could slow a student down, working full-time and juggling classes. He should have noticed the little details. Her car was twenty-years-old and if he’d described it as having had seen better days, he would have been kind. She was as neat as a pin, but her clothes were simple and not exactly designer. Her flip-flops were wearing thin. And then there was the backpack—typical student ware.

Curious, he led the way along the path curving around the house. “What’s your major?”

“I’m finishing up a master’s in business. Hey, don’t look so surprised.”

“You want to be a businesswoman?”

“A lot of people do. Why?”

How did he say it? “For some reason I figured, since you lived in L.A.—”

“That you thought I’d be like my mom and want to be an actress.” Hurt shadowed her eyes and dimmed her smile.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any insult.”

“I get that a lot.” She shrugged one slim shoulder, as if it were no big deal.

Caleb figured it was. There was something about her, something he still couldn’t put his finger on. But there was a lot to like about her.

“Oh, there are the horses.” She changed the subject as they circled around the side of the house. “I hope the gate is secure.”

“I roped it up good. It’s gotten to be a sort of game to Malia. She’s smart, I’ve got to give her credit for that. I’ll have to order a new latch and hope it’s the one she won’t be able to figure out. Thanks for your help back there. If you hadn’t driven the truck back, right now I’d be walking in the hot sun to fetch it. Would you like something to cool you off?”

Suddenly his voice sounded distant and tinny. What was happening? Lauren’s feet froze in place at the top of the walk. Emotion spun through her, unnamed and misty, like fog rolling in with the Pacific’s tides. Was it a memory of the past? Or the wish for one?

“Are you okay?” Caleb stopped, reversed and came to stand in front of her. His big shadow fell across her and it felt oddly intimate. “You’re pale all of a sudden.”

“I just…I think I remember this place.”

It was there, just beyond her reach, an image she couldn’t bring into focus. It remained fuzzy, hidden by the mist of twenty years, but it was there. A voice she couldn’t hear, a faint scent of apples and cinnamon. Leaves rustling through the trees and a feeling she couldn’t pin down that remained cloaked in fog.

The hint of memory disappeared, leaving her empty and alone. Her heart ached with loss and she didn’t know why.

“It doesn’t seem like a very good memory.”

Caleb’s voice surprised her. For a moment it was as if she were alone in the dappled sunlight. But he was there, towering so close he filled her field of vision.

“Why don’t you sit down,” he suggested, “right here out of the sun.”

There was something in his words, something kind and unexpected. Caleb Stone took her arm, his strong hand cupping her elbow, and guided her. She sank onto the bottom step on the porch, shaded by the house and the overhead trees.

Caleb’s hand moved to her shoulder. A comforting gesture. He clearly thought she was ill. “It’s over a hundred in the shade. This mountain air is so dry, you dehydrate before you know it. I kept you out in the sun too long.”

Her chest twisted so tight, she couldn’t answer. She didn’t think it was the heat and sun that was affecting her so much. It was the past and this reaction was something she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t come here to dredge up hurt. No, she’d come out of curiosity. She wanted to know where she’d come from. Who she was. Maybe that would help her figure out better where she was headed in life.

“You stay right here.” His big fingers squeezed once, gentle and soothing, sending a rush of peace through her troubled heart. “I’ll be right back.”

His boots knelled against the wood steps and the wraparound porch. A screen door squeaked open somewhere at the side of the house.

The pressure in her chest increased. Was she upset by this stranger’s kindness? Or from memories, unseen and without shape, remembered in her heart? And why? Why had it always remained a blank? Mom refused to talk about the past. Refused to say if there were any siblings, a father, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents left behind. People that might have mattered to her.

Caleb’s steps approached her from behind with an easygoing cadence. She heard ice tinkling in a glass. “Here.”

She stared at the tall glass of lemonade he offered. The scent was bright and sour-sweet as he lowered the glass into her hand.

“You’re still not looking too well. Did you drive straight through?”

She shook her head. Took the glass. Stared at the lemony goodness. Here was the edge of that memory. She tasted the lemonade and already knew the flavorful and sweet-tart taste before it hit her tongue. Frustrated, she wished there was more to her recollection.

“You rest here. Rehydrate.” Caleb rose. He remained behind her, out of her sight, but his presence was substantial all the same. “I’ll take your bags out to the carriage house.”

It had been a long time since anyone had helped her. “Thanks, Caleb.”

“Sure thing.” Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the glass of lemonade.

Maybe her lack of memory was a sign. Her mind had buried something so deep on purpose—to protect her or because it hadn’t mattered. She wanted answers, but what if she didn’t like what she found out?

I could get hurt.

Uncertainty and regret swirled into a black mass in the middle of her stomach. Her hands began to tremble, sloshing the lemonade around in the tall cool glass.

What would her grandmother think of her? Would there be disappointment on her face? Would she, like her daughter, Lauren’s mother, find so much to criticize?

So many worries. She would give them to the Lord. She took a shaky breath, trying to pull herself together. Hot wind breezed against her face like a touch, reminding her of where she was. The drum of a man’s sure and leisurely gait knelled on the porch boards behind her. She could feel the vibration of his steps roll through her.

Lauren couldn’t exactly say why she was so aware of Caleb’s Stone presence.

He sat next to her and shaded his eyes with one broad, sun-browned hand. He gazed down the long stretch of gravel driveway. “You feel a little nervous about all this?”

“Something like that.” Although nervous didn’t begin to describe it. As nice as Caleb seemed, he was a stranger to her, and she didn’t feel comfortable talking about something so private. Time to change the subject. “The horses are all right?”

“I’ve got to get back and give them a rub down and a little water, but I had to see to you first. It can’t be easy coming back after all these years.”

“Coming back? I don’t remember this place at all. Nothing.”

“You were pretty young when you left.”

“When my mother took me.” There was a difference. All she could remember was crying and then choking on her own sobs, bouncing around on the vinyl backseat of her mom’s 1962 Ford as they drove away forever. She’d been two. She could still hear her mom’s voice, trembling with that high, nervous tone she had when everything was going wrong. “We’re meant for better things, you and me. You’ll see, sweetness.”

Better things had been a long string of shabby apartments—and sometimes worse—until Lauren had struck out on her own. In a way, she’d always been alone. She didn’t mind it. She’d never known anything else.

He broke into her thoughts. “I’m a good friend with your brother. Spence. I know your sisters real well.”

“Then you’re not only a neighbor, but a family friend.”

“You could say that.”

But what wasn’t he saying, Lauren wondered. Was he starting to piece things together and beginning to wonder about her? If she was like her mother? She took a sip of lemonade. The flavor burst across her tongue more sweet than tart and that tugged at lost memories, too.

Although she didn’t say anything, Caleb kept talking. He steepled his hands. “Do you remember your brother at all? He’s the oldest. You know that, right?”

The lemonade caught halfway down, sticking like a heavy ball in her throat, turning sour. No longer sweet. “My grandmother had mentioned my brother and sisters. But I don’t remember them.”

“You don’t even remember your family?”

She couldn’t swallow. It was even more impossible to talk. She stared at her flip-flops, blue to match her summer top. It felt shameful, not to remember. Like she didn’t care enough to, but that wasn’t right. More like she was afraid to remember anything that happened before sitting on that backseat with her mother scolding her to shut up. Lauren remembered biting down on her lip to keep the sobs inside and staring hard at her little denim sneakers with the orange laces.

She’d only allowed herself to cry in private since.

Now she felt a hot burn behind her eyes and her vision blurred. “I was hoping to find out that my mother was wrong. That they hadn’t forgotten me. That they didn’t want me to go in the first place.”

Caleb didn’t get it. He knew mostly from rumor about the mother, of course. It had been a terrible shame for the family, how the young mother of five had run away, abandoning her home and husband and older children. “Why did you wait so long?”

“It’s complicated. And p-painful.” She shrugged a slender shoulder—too slender of a shoulder.

He believed her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

“Being here is painful. My mom wasn’t exactly honest. She said that I didn’t have any grandparents who were still alive. And that the family, well—” she paused. “They hadn’t w-wanted us. Me. That my father signed me away.”

“That wasn’t the case. It’s not my business and I’m only a friend, but I do know that much. Look. There’s your grandmother.”

A gleam at the far bend in the driveway caught her attention. A faint cloud of dust rose up behind an oncoming vehicle. Her grandmother? Lauren’s heart kicked hard against her sternum. Nerves roiled up again. And the worries. What if this didn’t go as well as she hoped? What if she was a disappointment to her grandmother? Or her grandmother to her?

You can do this, Lauren.

She took a steady breath, sat up straight and set the glass of lemonade down on the step, up against the newel so it would be out of the way. Sunlight reflected off the oncoming windshield. Eternity passed while she watched that vehicle in the distance take shape and form and color. A gray, perfectly shined luxury sedan rolled to a stop alongside her rattletrap car.

The hood ornament glinted like an unreachable promise and there was a woman, gray-haired and somber, staring at her over the hood. Hard to tell behind the dark designer sunglasses what her first impression of Lauren was, but her mouth was a straight, unsmiling line.

She is disappointed in me. Lauren’s heart fell to the floor. Emotion wedged so tight in her throat she couldn’t swallow. She tried to rise, but her knees were too weak. Had she come all this way for nothing?

Then she felt a rock-solid hand at her elbow. A man’s big hand cupped her elbow and steadied her in comfort and support. She fought the urge to step away; his touch calmed her and she didn’t mind leaning on him, just a little. When she turned to thank him his steady eyes were soft with kindness. Kindness.

“It’ll be fine.” He sounded so sure. As sure as his hold on her arm helping her to stand.

His words and his decency made all the difference. Her knees felt watery, but they held her weight as she stood in the dappled sunlight and felt her grandmother’s scrutiny. The car door whispered open and the woman emerged. She had sleek silver hair cut in a bob that curled thickly at her jawline. Porcelain skin. A dainty chin. The lines of her face were crisp and clean and familiar. Like her mother’s. Like her own.

But the elegance and grace of the woman, the power and dignity were different. Mary Whitman commanded attention. She took a regal step forward. Dressed in quality clothes, she looked casual and tasteful. She wore sleek tailored tan slacks and a coordinating cashmere cardigan and mock-turtle-neck shell. Accents of gold—fine gold, no fourteen karat stuff—glinted at her earlobes and throat, wrist and fingers. Her designer purse and shoes matched perfectly and looked pristine, unscuffed.

Lauren had never felt so small. She felt painfully aware of her wrinkled khaki shorts and her simple summer top—not exactly designer or the latest fashion. Her discount-store rubber flip-flops were nearly worn out.

Only now did it occur to her that maybe she should have stopped at a fast-food place and used the bathroom to change into nicer clothes. With a sinking feeling, she had to admit that nothing in her wardrobe would make a better impression on this woman. She’d assumed her mother had come from simple beginnings.

She smoothed the wrinkled cuff of her shorts and tasted her nervousness. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’m Lauren.”

Okay, that was obvious. But the woman—her grandmother—wasn’t saying anything. She just stood there, one hand resting on the side of her car door, not moving a muscle.

It was Caleb Stone who broke the silence. “Mary, are you all right?”

He dropped his grip on Lauren’s arm and moved forward. In that moment, Lauren saw the caring. The genuine concern. He had a good heart.

“No.” The older woman nearly choked on the word. She lifted her hand to her chest, pressing against her throat. “The sight of her simply knocks the breath from me. Lauren, you’re the spitting image. It’s just uncanny.”

“Of Katherine?” Caleb asked.

Lauren didn’t know who Katherine was. She was only aware of the pain beginning to fill her chest.

It’s my mom, she thought, knowing there had been a terrible rift between her grandmother and mother, something horrible enough for each to ignore the other for two decades. Without a doubt it was her mom’s fault.

“I—I look like L-Linda, I know.” Her voice caught on her mother’s name, or maybe it was the swirling emotions and fears that made her stutter. “But I’m n-nothing like her. I don’t want to upset you.”

“No, I’m not upset. Just surprised.” Mary Whitman took off her sunglasses, exposing gentle green eyes brimming with tears. “You look something like Linda, true, but heavens, look at you. You’re the very image of my sister, gone this last year. It’s like she’s come to life again. Goodness. Come closer, child.”

I don’t remember this woman, Lauren thought, taking a stumbling step forward. But she wanted to. With all of her heart. Surely there were some memories tucked away. She tried to resurrect them. Images of homemade cookies or hot chocolate—but there was only a blank. Nothing at all. No recollections of a younger-looking version of this woman before the silver hair and the gentle wrinkles.

Mary Whitman stood tall with a poise that came from a lifetime of rising above adversity. Lauren could sense it, see it in the dignity of the woman’s tear-filled eyes. Tears that did not fall. Her arms stretched out, eager for a hug.

Lauren came from a childhood without a lot of affection. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had hugged her. The thought was uncomfortable, but she stumbled forward anyway and into the circle of her grandmother’s embrace.

Lilacs. Mary smelled of lilacs. It was a scent Lauren remembered. Somewhere in the vast shadows of her early childhood, she saw the glimmer of memory just out of reach, bobbing closer to the surface.

It was a start.