Beneath the Patchwork Moon (Hope Springs, #2) (15 page)

Though Luna wore boots, Merrilee’s pumps saw to her three-inch height advantage. But Luna would not be intimidated. “I wasn’t aware my visiting required your permission.”

“Common courtesy would dictate you ask us.”

Merrilee wasn’t worried about common courtesy. She was worried about controlling everything—and everyone—Oscar was exposed to. It was her nature. And Luna didn’t meet whatever criteria Merrilee used. “I told him what I wanted to say. I don’t imagine having any need to come back,” she said, though it killed her to do so.

“See that you don’t. I’ve been careful to keep him calm, to avoid any unnecessary stress.”

And Luna had always been unnecessary to Oscar’s life. Still, Merrilee was Oscar’s mother, and no doubt still grieving; how could she not be? This wasn’t the time or the place for bickering. “I came to tell him about the arts center—”

The other woman tossed up her hands in an expansive, exasperated gesture. “Why in the world do you think he would care about that? Even if he could hear you, he would have no interest in your little nonprofit.”

Luna thought about keeping quiet, but…
oh why not
? “Our
little
nonprofit has decided to call the center the Caffey-Gatlin Academy—”

“Oh no. Oh no. You will not put my family’s name on that, that… whatever it is.”

“It’s an education center. It will offer the sort of instruction Sierra Caffey needed a scholarship to St. Thomas to have. Not everyone has a tutor like Mr. Miyazawa in their corner pulling strings to see they can get into the right school.”

“And not everyone should. It’s a private school for a reason. To keep the public where it belongs.”

Luna’s hackles rose. “You know Sierra had Oscar’s talent beat, and he knew it, too.”

“He knew no such thing. And she certainly did not. She certainly did not,” she repeated, as if the emphasis would negate Luna’s words.

What was she doing here, trying to convince the mother of a very sick young man that he’d been less of a musician than she believed? And she’d thought Oliver Gatlin’s antics cruel. She was no better. And she might very well be worse. At least Oliver only attacked those capable of standing up for themselves.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. Not today.”

“See that you never do again.”

Luna said nothing. It wasn’t a promise she was willing to make. But it would be a long time before she returned.

Seeing Merrilee Gatlin left Luna rattled. The other woman had a reputation for often being rude, always being imposing, never being anything less than right. Luna hadn’t found her impressive, or particularly elegant, and definitely not dignified. But then, Luna hadn’t grown up in the societal circles where the Gatlins reigned.

She knew Dolly Breeze’s elegance of spirit and loved that the older woman now worked for both Ten and Kaylie. She knew the impressive genius of Mo Dexter, whom everyone in Hope Springs turned to for technical help. Her definition of dignity was the way Mitch Pepper had dealt with what fate had handed him.

Then again, her mood could be tied directly into seeing Oscar, and the shame of not visiting him regularly. She should have; he’d been such a good friend. No, he wouldn’t have known she was there. He certainly hadn’t today. And yes, seeing him in his condition left her incredibly sad… for his family’s loss, for her loss, for the loss of Sierra—something Oscar would never know. And oh, but she hoped he didn’t know. That he wasn’t trapped in an unresponsive body, but somehow still aware of that horror.

Whatever it was, she could not face Angelo until she had a better handle on her emotions. So why she’d driven back to the Caffey house instead of going home, she couldn’t explain, except they did have a deal, and several hours still remained in day two, and she was going to see this
hashing out
thing through to the end. It had nothing to do with feeling vulnerable and wanting to see him.

She pulled her car past the house and parked between the woodshop and the barn. Then, before Angelo could realize she was here, she got out of her car to walk. She headed toward the far side of the two structures, wanting to do nothing but breathe in the fresh air, watch the treetops sway in the breeze, listen to the birds chirp and the squirrels chatter. She wanted to do nothing but be alive. To remember her friends alive and here with her. She didn’t ever want to forget.

That, she knew, was why she’d never gone before now to see Oscar. She wanted to think of him thriving, the same way she always pictured Sierra. She’d seen her best friend’s casket lowered into the ground, but she hadn’t attended the wake, and had only viewed the graveside service from a distance, so she’d never seen Sierra’s body. She didn’t know what Sierra had been dressed in for her burial. She didn’t know who had fixed her hair, or if they’d done it the way
she
liked, not the way her mother wished she would wear it.

Had anyone besides Luna known these things about Sierra? Had her face been left bare, or carefully made up with the cosmetics the two of them had pooled their allowances to buy? Would someone have taken the time to find out Sierra liked deep purple eye shadow with soft moss green highlights, the colors used sparingly to bring out her eyes? Would someone have cared to get her blush right? Her lip gloss?

The idea that Sierra had been put in the ground wearing the dress she’d made their sophomore year in home economics, the dress she’d hated with a passion, with its Peter Pan collar and cap sleeves and hideous paisley print fabric, the dress her mother was so proud of… Her chest aching, Luna caught back a sob, leaning against the barn near the door,
then giving in and sliding down to a squat, burying her face in her hands to cry.

She cried for her friends, not for her own loss but for what had been taken away from the two of them, their future, their family, their dreams. Their daughter. Oh, their daughter. She had no doubt their Lily had been well cared for all this time, but it broke her heart to realize a piece of Sierra still existed. How much more hurt must Angelo have felt at learning the truth. And yet all she’d done was tell him to leave his sister’s daughter alone. She hadn’t once thought about what he must be feeling. She should go to him, apologize, ask if he wanted to talk.

The sound of a whimper kept her from doing anything. She stopped crying and swiped her fingers beneath her eyes and her nose. Having lived her whole life on a sheep farm, she knew more than she cared to about predators. They stalked and killed their prey as far away as they could from humans and their scents. If a coyote or wild dog had come this close to a barn, had come
inside
, it was most likely sick or injured. That made it a danger, and she didn’t think her car keys would work as a weapon this time.

But the noise didn’t sound like a big animal. It sounded small, and hurt, and afraid.

It wasn’t a puppy she found peering at her from between the slats of a stall, but a full-grown dog. He just hadn’t grown very big. His coarse, curly fur was short, except around his face, where it stood up like strands of crooked straw. His eyes were huge and black, and his ears flopped forward as he cocked his head and listened to her approach. She knelt in front of him, talking to him in a soft, calming voice, her words mostly
nonsensical, but doing their job as the dog wagged its tail and started on a slow, forward army crawl toward her.

And then a shadow fell over him and he scurried away. Luna wanted to turn around and come out swinging.

“What are you doing in here?” Angelo asked.

“I heard a noise.”

His boots scraped over the floor as he moved closer. “So you came inside without knowing what was here?”

“I knew it was an animal. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t hurt.”

“I repeat. So you came inside without knowing—”

“Shut up, would you?” she yelled, then more quietly, “Just shut up. I’m not stupid. I grew up on a farm, you know.” But she was sad and angry and hurting about Oscar, and she was unable to keep the mixture from bubbling up into her voice. And the dog wouldn’t think she was a horrible person, or tell her what to do, or berate her for the lies she’d told when all she’d been doing was keeping her promise to her friend.

“Okay, farm girl. Now what?”

She looked back at the dog. He’d cocked his head to the side, as if listening to the two of them argue. He didn’t seem scared, but she still feared he might be hurt. If she had a snare… but she didn’t. She could probably find a length of rope that would work. There were plenty of tools with handles she could use. But she needed food for bait.

“Go back to the house. In the fridge. Bring me the rest of my hamburger from the other night.” When a guilty look pulled at the corners of his mouth, she sighed. “Is there anything there you haven’t eaten that a dog might like?”

“If he’s hungry, I doubt he’ll be picky.”

“Just go. Find me something to feed him. I’m going to see if I can rig up a snare pole. Just in case he’s injured.” But before she could do that, the dog dropped to his belly again and began crawling toward her, scooting through the dirt on the floor, his wagging tail sweeping through layers of detritus.

She patted a hand to her thigh and said, “Come.”

The dog moved closer, stopping once he’d reached her feet and resting his chin on the toes of her boot. “Well, what a sweetie
you
are,” she said, leaning down to scratch the top of his head.

“Be careful,” Angelo said behind her, and she shooed him out the door, gaining her feet and walking out behind him, the dog following her, trusting her, and giving her the first reason she’d had to smile all day.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

N
ow what?” Angelo asked an hour later, as the dog, still damp from his bath but smelling a whole lot better, settled onto the same couch cushion as Luna, as close as he could get without being in her lap.

“Francisco.”

“What?”

“That’s his name. Every school needs a mascot.”

He nearly hurt himself rolling his eyes. “And the Caffey-Gatlin Academy needs a fleabag named Francisco?”

But Luna ignored him. “I’ll take him to see the vet tomorrow. See if he’s chipped. Get him tested for the obvious things. Put up flyers.”

Angelo didn’t even want to know how much time and money she was going to spend on the mutt. “And tonight?”

“He can stay here.”

“No, he can’t.”

“In the barn then.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Angelo!”

“Neither one of us has time to dog-sit. You can take him to the farm.”

“My parents are about to have a new baby in the house. I’m not going to bring a dog home until he’s been treated for fleas and tested for heartworms—”

“Your call where he goes, but I’m not watching your dog.”

“He’s not my—” She stopped herself. And then she laughed. “He’s not my dog yet. But he
is
my responsibility. I rescued him. I can’t foist him off on someone else. Mitch Pepper taught me that when he convinced my father to let me keep Maya.”

“Who’s Mitch again?”

“Kaylie’s father. Ten mentioned him this afternoon.”

“And Maya… She was your dog, right?”

She nodded, smiling as if pleased he remembered. “A Chinese crested–Jack Russell mix. I found her in the ditch in front of the farm. We had two border collies and two Great Pyrs already, so Daddy made sure I understood she was my responsibility. Just like Francisco.”

“Wait a minute. Are you calling me irresponsible?”

“Are you feeling irresponsible?”

“Have I ever told you that I don’t like dogs?”

“Who doesn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t like dogs.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

She shook her head. “That’s just crazy talk. Dogs are man’s best friend.”

“Not this man.”

“As grumpy as you are, I’m surprised you have any friends at all,” she said, leaving him to wonder what she’d think if she knew how few he had, how hard it had been to care about friendships when his family had cut him off. Hard enough
to live with having failed as a brother and a son. No sense tempting fate and failing elsewhere.

Then he wondered whether his boss counted, his boss’s wife, their two sons who were in and out of the shop as they handled the business side of the business. And… that was about it. He rented a small house in the town where he lived, and he supposed he was friends, or at least friendly, with the waitress at the diner where he ate breakfast every day. With the short-order cook whose biscuits were the best he’d ever had, and that included those at Malina’s.

He worked long hours, never setting an alarm because he was an early riser, heading into the shop when it was still dark. And he stayed late because there was always work to keep him busy, and he had nowhere else to be. No one to go home to. No family to drop by on and catch up with his life.

“Angelo?”

“Sorry. Was trying to come up with a list of names I could count as friends.” And wondering what it said that he was sitting with and drawn to the woman who’d caused his family to disown him.

“I don’t have many either. Kaylie, Ten Keller’s fiancée, is my best. She’s actually the closest one I’ve had since Sierra. Seems I’m only capable of having one at a time,” she said, grimacing.