Lost and Found Family (16 page)

“Well, this
is
our home.” Taking his hand, Emma started toward the stairs.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
T
WAS
FINALLY
Reveal Day.

This morning, after she and Christian kissed goodbye (more than once), Emma met Frankie at the caterer's downtown office to finalize their menu for the combined foundation launch/anniversary party.

Emma actually began to feel excited. The event promised to come together smoothly—it wouldn't dare do otherwise with Frankie involved, even though she did tend to dominate. Emma was prepared for that. Today she was thankful for her mother-in-law's experience with lavish charity functions. That would be very different from reorganizing Melanie's twins' room.

Trying to seem oblivious to her mother-in-law's sharp gaze, Emma focused on sampling the dishes that were delivered for their tasting and comment. Finally, Frankie seemed unable to resist any longer.

“Where were you and Christian all night? You didn't come home and your dog whined for hours. I barely got any sleep.” Despite the harsh words, Frankie smiled.

“Bob's having a nervous breakdown,” Emma admitted. “But you'll be happy to learn our kitchen should be done soon.” That is, if they ever bought appliances.

After the tasting, she headed for Signal Mountain. Bypassing the small van parked in front of Melanie's house, Emma opened the front door.

She slipped through the hall, then up the stairs, chasing the familiar sounds of work being done. In the girls' room her crew was putting on the finishing touches and Emma could only stand and gape. She hoped Melanie liked what she'd done...

“Hey, boss.” Derek turned to her, a hammer in his hand. “How's it look?”

“Just as I hoped it would.” He and Stan had already hung pictures above the beds, and on the wall by the door was a colorful guide to measure the twins' heights as they grew.

If this met with Melanie's approval, Emma might begin to see more business. She might still find new office space—her latest trek with Nicole through several empty buildings on the south side hadn't worked out—but she was hopeful. She had some ideas for better marketing, too.

She heard Melanie coming up the stairs. Emma fought the urge to shield the room from view, as if she could. “You were supposed to call before you came back,” she said but with a smile. “We're not quite done.”

“I couldn't wait another minute.” In the doorway Melanie stood, arms folded, surveying the room. After a moment her whole face lit up. “This is so much more—so much better—than I even envisioned. This puts every redo I've seen on HGTV to shame.”

“I hope the girls will like it, too.”

She'd barely said the words before the twins pushed past Melanie and raced into the room, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to jump on their new beds, which today were complete with new linens. The girls bounced up and down on the lavender-and-pink duvets, arms flung wide, shrieking in delight.

“I think they do like it,” Melanie murmured. “Girls. Go back to your Dora the Explorer video in the guest room until Mrs. Mallory and I are finished here. After that, it's all yours.”

Their protests were brief. Each of the girls snatched a pillow from the beds and the new Barbie dolls in sparkly evening gowns that Emma had bought them before they left the room, chattering in their own special language. She gazed after them.

“They're beautiful,” Emma said.

“And at times overwhelming.” Melanie tilted her head. They waited until Derek and Stan had gathered up their tools. Melanie thanked them for the great job they'd done, and the crew clattered down the stairs, on to the next project. “Is something wrong, Emma?” she finally asked.

Emma didn't know what to say. For weeks she and Melanie had stepped around the subjects of her marriage to Christian and their loss. Maybe today, their last together, allowed for a more frank discussion.

“I can't help thinking. If your marriage to Christian had lasted, the girls might have been his and yours.”

“I doubt the judge would like that.” Melanie's quick smile faded. “I know it hasn't been easy for you living in Frankie's house. That would be difficult for me, too, and we get along very well most of the time.” She drew Emma down beside her onto one of the twin beds. “I don't know quite how to say this—but please don't envy me. I've been afraid you do, but that's the last thing I want.”

“Melanie, you don't have to—”

“Apologize for being close to Frankie? As I said before, that wasn't easy for me either...at first. Or should I say I'm sorry my second marriage is happy? I can't pretend I'm not over the moon about my four, yes, beautiful children.”

She looked thoughtful. “But Christian and I were never a pair, not in the way my husband and I are now. Christian knows that, too. We differed even in smaller ways,” she went on. “I wanted to buy our first house right here on Signal, but he wanted to stay in town. I've always wondered how you two ended up on Sequoia Mountain. Good work, Emma,” she said.

“We both wanted our house as soon as we saw it. I'd been happy until then in my condo in North Chattanooga, but when it came to the house and its location, we compromised.”

“That's what marriage, I've learned, is all about. As for the bigger issues, Christian and I tangled all the time. I chalk that up to both of us being way too young for marriage. In fact, I'm glad now we only had Grace together. I hope that doesn't sound harsh, but our divorce was hard enough on her.”

“Christian and I only had Owen,” Emma murmured, surprised at how easily the words came. “I thought if there weren't any more children, we'd always have him...and Grace,” she added, realizing how true this was.

“Grace is lucky.” Melanie squeezed her hand. “She has two mothers.”

“She does,” Emma agreed. “Lately, though, we don't seem to be in sync.”

Melanie sighed. “We've had our moments, too. But I agree that she and Rafe are a better match than Christian and I ever were, in part
because
he's a bit older, more settled than she is. I know that's been one of Christian's objections.”

For a few minutes longer, they talked about everyday things—how much the girls would love their new window seat with its bright cushions, the sleepovers they could have with their friends as they grew older, and for Melanie the blessed organization of all their toys. Then Emma remembered an appointment with the printer and stood to go.

“You'll come to the party, of course,” Emma said.

“We wouldn't miss it.” As they walked downstairs, Melanie linked arms with Emma. “The foundation will not only be a memorial for your little boy. It will be something you and Christian share, something through which you can both heal.” At the front door she hugged Emma close. “I can't thank you enough for the work you've done here. But more, and from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you for being...the woman Christian loves.”

Emma blinked. But did he, really? In the way she'd always wanted to be loved? If last night was any indication, things were getting better.

Still, she hesitated in the open doorway. The van with her crew had gone and her car sat alone on the drive. All at once it struck her that she wouldn't be coming here again. But Emma wanted more. “May I call you to have lunch some day? I think we can be friends.”

“We already are,” Melanie told her.

* * *

L
ATE
THAT
AFTERNOON
Christian wheeled around the corner onto the side road that led to Mountain View Farm. He'd just traded the semi for his pickup truck when Rafe texted him from the barn. Christian had made the drive—thank goodness it wasn't far—with his heart in his throat.

As soon as he ran through the open doors, blinking at the change of light, he saw Rafe walking the General up and down the aisle. The horse's head was hanging low and when he looked up at Christian, he didn't give his usual greeting.

Christian laid a hand on his neck. “What happened?”

“Hailey rode him earlier today. Gave him a pretty hard workout. Then she got a call, shoved the General into his stall, slammed the bolt home and rushed out to her car.” He added, “The kid who mucks stalls for me said she left a cloud of dust behind when she drove off. The boy's new—not experienced—and he didn't know to cool the horse down.”

“Not his fault, then,” Christian said, which didn't help.

“I should have been here. But I was off-site. Talking to a farmer down the road about getting a new load of hay.” He shook his head. “I wasn't gone more than an hour but that was long enough for the General to colic. I'm sure he went straight for his water bucket and a big bunch of feed while he was still hot.”

“Damn,” Christian murmured. He kept pace on one side of the horse with Rafe on the other, as if their very presence might comfort the General and be somehow bracing. Belly pain was no fun, and in horses it could prove fatal. “How bad is he?”

“I think the General will be all right,” Rafe said.

“What does the vet say?”

“He came right over. Said the symptoms were classic, which I already knew. The General was sweaty, anxious, his pulse was up a bit. Doc put a stethoscope to the stomach—and heard some promising gut sounds. He doubted anything would be needed except to keep doing what we're doing until things move around inside and the General begins to feel better.” Rafe hesitated. “I know there's some controversy about walking as a treatment. It can exhaust the horse, make it harder for him to fight the colic. But the General was pawing, and when he rolled in his stall I thought it would be better to keep him on his feet. Keep him from hurting himself.”

“Thanks, but I can take over now.”

“Nah, I'm caught up here. For a change.” Rafe patted the General's neck. “I've become pretty fond of this guy. And I do feel bad. This is partly my fault.”

Christian studied him. Rafe was a competent, even talented, trainer, and he ran this barn with a strong and steady hand. The well-being of every horse here, and there were almost two dozen, seemed uppermost in Rafe's mind, and if it hadn't been for him marrying Grace too soon for her own good, Christian might have liked him more than he did.

But he had another strike against him right now.

“You have Hailey's number?”

“Sure.” Rafe reached into his jeans pocket for his cell phone. He read off her contact information. “Go for it. Frankly, I don't care what her emergency was. She should have known a whole lot better. She's supposed to be a good and responsible rider. Now I wonder if I was wrong.”

“Me, too.” Christian hadn't liked her that much when they met—and he should have trusted his instincts. He drifted a short distance away, leaned against the wall and punched in Hailey's number.

“Hello,” she finally said in a wary tone. She must have read his name on her display.

“It's Christian,” he said. “I'm at the barn. Why did you run out this morning and leave the General on his own?”

“I had to. My mother called. My dad's in the hospital. That's where I am now. They think he may have suffered a stroke.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. But why didn't you tell Rafe's helper you were leaving—and ask him to cool down the horse for you?”

“I didn't stop to think, I guess.”

“Apparently not. When you signed the lease for the General, Hailey, you agreed to care for him as well I would do. I left him in your hands. You don't just run off—no matter what the emergency is.” He added, “It would have taken no more than a minute to find Rafe's stable boy. Instead, you caused the horse to colic.”

For a long moment he heard only silence.

“Will he be okay?”

“That's what the doc and Rafe tell me. But I have to tell you, I'm more than angry about this.”

The General and Rafe walked by, then turned around at the other end of the barn. The horse didn't even glance toward the next farm's pasture where his girlfriend lived.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you,” Hailey finally said. “But I have to go. I need to be with my parents.”

Christian blew out a breath. “I hope your dad does okay.”

When he hung up, Rafe looked over his shoulder.

“You get anywhere with her?”

“Not far,” he said. “I don't think she cares about the General much.”

* * *

E
MMA
'
S
LATE
-
AFTERNOON
trip to look at office space in Ringgold, just over the border into Georgia, had proved to be just another frustration.

“I don't know what else I can show you,” Nicole said. “If anything new comes on the market, I'll let you know.”

Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, a command performance at Frankie's—and today, when Emma had left the house, Frankie had already been cooking. In high gear, she would tie elaborate bows on the dining room's Parsons chairs and fuss over this season's spectacular centerpiece.

This would be the family's first Thanksgiving without Owen. Last year Emma had taught him where to put the spoons and forks. This year, instead of coming from her own house carrying bowls of steaming whipped sweet potatoes, green beans with butter and almonds, and homemade cranberry sauce, she'd just walk downstairs.

With Christian gone today, and her mood turning grim, she couldn't wait any longer. Emma left her shop, stopped at the hardware store, then the pharmacy, and drove up to the house again, her car crammed with more file boxes, office supplies and a ton of catalogs. Some were outdated so those could be tossed—after she made sure they weren't the only ones she had from certain suppliers. Others were new and Emma hadn't had a chance to look at them yet. She'd certainly need them. Wherever her new location might be.