Authors: Cait London
“Your instincts were right. One’s heart always knows where home is. All one has to do is listen to the call. For you, it was that baby delivered in the back of the taxi. It signaled to you that you had to work through your life and make sense of it. One—”
“Shut up, you,” Mitchell whispered gently. “And come here…”
T
he morning sun was blinding as Roman climbed the old windmill, fighting the pain in his knee. He’d dozed on the front porch and had refused Shelly’s invitation to come into the house for breakfast. Behind her stood the woman he’d detested for years, the woman who’d run out on the tough times, her husband, and her sons.
Morning was still cool, the trees slanting fingers of shade over the windmill as he sat and scanned the land he’d hated.
Shelly’s small pickup pulled next to his motorcycle, and she spotted him immediately. In that long-legged stride, she moved toward the windmill and started upward on the boards serving as a ladder, and Roman’s skin went cold. “Don’t come up here.”
She climbed steadily, the sunlight catching the burnished sheen of her hair, her body agile in its ascent. She stood on the platform and scanned the land. “Nice view.”
“Sit down.” Roman held her hands as she sat by him, legs dangling side by side.
“Nice view. What are you doing up here?”
“Trying to figure it out.” Mitchell had told him of the un
read letters Grace had written, and of Fred’s dying words.
You’re all I’ve got left of her, you and Roman. I loved that woman with all my heart…tell Grace I’ve always loved her
, his father had whispered amid his pain.
Everything was my fault. Take Roman and go to her—
Shelly scanned the burned, overgrown house place and barn, the old garage where Pete Jones had been found. The sun caught the fluttering tendrils beside her cheeks, fiery silk that had escaped her ponytail. She pushed them back with her hand. “I don’t want you cleaning houses with me. It’s therapy of a sort, and I like it. It’s my special time when I do my thinking.”
Images swam by Roman—Shelly managing hard physical work and then caring for his baby—and he hadn’t been there to help. “It’s hard work. You deserve better.”
“I worked out a lot of frustration cleaning those houses. They’re mine—sort of…I want to thank you for what you’ve done with Dani. That hard makeup is gone. She looks—”
“Sweet, like you. Fresh and sweet and new.”
Shelly swung her jeanned legs and a blush rose up her cheeks as she followed a bird’s cutting flight across the sky.
“Hawk,” Roman noted. “Looking for chickens, or mice.”
Shelly took his hand and brought it to her lap, stroking it. “Tell me about that night, when the house burned. Tell me why you tighten up and close off when that’s mentioned. The other day, Dani said something and you got that look, and your forehead beaded with sweat, though we were inside, in air conditioning.”
The sun blinded him now, searing through the years to that night. On the ground below, he saw the flames devouring the barn, the house…
Yet in the distance, Lonny’s buffalo were slowly moving toward the house. The past and the present, caught in time as the old windmill’s blades began moving slowly.
“Mitchell has the scars. I’ve got the guilt.”
“Tell me.”
He heard Fred’s screams again, horrible sounds of a man who had always been so strong, so—so hard, impenetrable, unmoving, stubborn…“Children are supposed to love their parents, right? I didn’t love either one. Grace deserted us and nothing was ever good enough for Fred. He rode Mitchell one way and me another. Mitchell took the brunt. I’ve been sitting up here thinking how hard Dad struggled to hold this—this place. I wouldn’t have. I’d have taken the easy road and just managed the garage—he could have done that, but not both things.”
Yet Fred’s dying words were for his love and for Roman’s safety. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d demanded rawly of Mitchell, who just shook his head.
“He loved her,” Roman said slowly. “His dying words were his love of Grace. He wanted Mitchell to take me to her. My brother didn’t want to. Maybe I resent that, or maybe I don’t. But he should have told me.”
“Talking is difficult for both of you. It hurt him and he didn’t want you to hurt. Go on…”
Roman closed his eyes, fighting off the sounds of Fred’s cries. “Dad was a drunk, and he kept this godforsaken piece of earth’s crust out of spite. He could have made a go of the garage, but not both. We were ragtag kids, working too hard, without the right food or clothes—or a mother, or pictures of one. He destroyed everything of Grace. I remember his digging out her rose bushes, ones she loved and babied in drought.”
He eased his hand away from Shelly’s; he didn’t want her to be touched by the darkness in him. “I didn’t help Mitchell pull Dad from the fire. All I could think of was the hard work, the yelling, the shame of having a drunk for a father. I didn’t do what I could have…instead, I watched Mitchell trying to save him.”
“You’ve been carrying this all these years. You were only a boy, Roman. Grace loved him, too. Talk with her—”
“No, I won’t.”
Shelly eased to her feet and stood looking down at him, her hands on her hips. Then the flat of her hand swept against the back of his head, knocking him gently. “She’s Dani’s grandmother, and they are already attached to each other. Fred loved her, and she loved him. Maybe you’d better unlock your mind, mister.”
She began down the wooden ladder. On the ground, she looked up at him. “I always thought this was a beautiful place. If Mitchell isn’t going to do anything with it, maybe you might think about giving Dani something special, all her own, a family heritance. But you can’t do that with bitterness wrapped around you, can you?”
“Lay off,” he yelled at her.
“When I’m ready.” Shelly turned and marched toward her pickup. Then she looked up at him and called, “It’s never too late to change.”
Moments later, Roman was still stunned. Instead of her pickup, Shelly had chosen to drive his bike back to town.
Grace smiled when Shelly passed her on the road, riding Roman’s Harley. Shelly waved, but she was scowling and Grace knew that look—she’d worn it enough with Fred.
“Mom is in a snit,” Dani noted as she drove expertly toward the old ranch. “He’s done it again. She’s hard to rile, but he sure knows how to push her buttons.”
“Dani, pull over to this old motel.”
“It’s deserted. Dates back to Bonnie-and-Clyde days. Walter bought it, and people thought he was going to make a museum out of it, but there’s not enough traffic on this road now since a main road has gone through.”
“We spent our wedding night there,” Grace whispered softly, and remembered how carefully Fred had touched her.
The European roses were still there, lush and pink, heavy blooms draping over the unpruned bush. She’d taken clippings for their home, loving them into life. “That’s enough, Dani. When my things arrive, I’ll show you how it was, the old place and your grandfather—my sons look so much like Fred, and just as stubborn, too. Let’s go to the ranch.”
“Just a minute. You deserve a bouquet, Grandma.” Dani leaped out of the car and hurried to cut the roses with her small pocketknife. Holding the roses in front of her, she looked down and scraped the dirt with her biker boot, frowning. Then she grinned when she entered the car with the fragrance of roses, the lush pink blooms still touched by dew.
Grandma
. Grace wallowed in the title, loving it, as Dani beamed at her. “I wish I could have held you as a baby and helped your mother.”
“Well, we’re here now, and together, Grams. All we have to do is to get Pops and Unc to see the light.”
“They’re like their father. That might not be easy.”
“You came back, didn’t you?” Dani asked, shifting expertly.
“Yes. They refused to see me and Fred—” Grace brushed away her tears, fighting the past.
The morning sunlight shone through the windshield as Grace thought of Uma and her softness, and how Mitchell had carried her so protectively into his home last night. She prayed that Mitchell could learn to bend, to give that wounded part of him into Uma’s care.
Pain shot through Grace once more as she saw the old home place, the rubble that had once been her dream house.
“That’s Pops, brooding up on the windmill,” Dani said as they stepped from the car.
Fred, I loved you so. How could all of this have happened?
For a moment she was frozen, the happy and the horrible memories swirling around her. Then pain bore Grace down to the ground, her hands covering her face.
Dani didn’t waste time. She hurried to the boards leading
up to the windmill, and swiftly climbed up to stand over Roman. “Do something. She’s hurting.”
“Let her hurt.”
Dani nudged his bottom with her boot. “Listen, Pops. It’s a package deal. Little sweet me, my mom, and Grams.”
“Lay off, kid.”
“Boy, no wonder I’m stubborn, coming down through you. I’ve decided I’m going to buy this place when I can. I haven’t had a heritage, and now that I do, I want what’s mine. All of it, Grams and the land my grandfather tried to save for me.”
Roman looked up at her. “You’re hard, kid. But not tough enough to pull that one off.”
“I’ve always wanted a horse. I like bikes, sure. But they’re hard to hug. I’m going to work really hard, and get some money, and buy this place and live on it and hug my horse. My land, Pops, part of my heritage.”
“Kid, you probably can’t even ride a horse.”
“Well, you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you, Pops?” The flat of her hand buffed the back of his head, just as Shelly had.
Roman watched his daughter briskly, agilely descend the ladder. “Women. Both up here on the same day, telling me what to do, whopping me on the head as if I were a wet-behind-the-ears kid stealing candy.”
He saw Grace crouched on the ground and a part of his heart softened and turned. Then he looked out at the clear blue Oklahoma sky and shut his mother away.
There was no ignoring the rev of his bike as Shelly pulled to a stop. She swung off his bike and came to stand beside Dani, hands on hips, glaring up at him.
Roman scowled down at her. Those green eyes cut through the distance up to him, burning furiously, her mouth tightly pressed with anger. Her condemning stare never left him as she and Dani helped Grace to her feet.
The engagement sweetheart plan was not going well at all.
Mitchell slapped the unopened letters from his mother onto the kitchen counter. He was sweaty from an early morning job and the need to see Uma curled around him, memories of last night haunting him. He tipped up the fruit jar of iced tea and drank deeply.
The second week of August heat would be intolerable in the afternoon, and then he would come to Uma—if she wasn’t with Grace.
The cat nudged his leg and Mitchell swiped a hand across his bare chest, dusting away the fine cuttings caught in the hair. He glanced at the scratches on his hands and ran water, soaping them, and wishing he could deal with the problem of his mother—and Uma’s attachment to her—as easily.
The cat hopped onto the counter and settled next to the letters, and Mitchell had that odd sense of a woman’s softness curling around him. He could sense Lauren’s presence in the home she loved so much. Maybe she was a part of Uma, and by way of his love for Uma, Lauren was a part of him, too.
He instinctively knew her pain when she was shot, that last fleeting thought before the world went black—“I love you all so much. I’ll always be with you.”
He wiped his hands and face roughly with the towel. He wanted to hold Uma and know she was safe. He’d already called her twice, missing her as if she were a part of himself.
The cat’s unblinking yellow eyes locked on him and inside him a chilling voice quietly said, “But she isn’t safe.”
Mitchell frowned and pushed away that sense that Uma was in danger—in the daylight hours, when the prowler never struck.
She was in her house, working desperately to meet a client’s ad layout for a magazine.
Then later, she was showing Everett’s house to Grace.
She was safe
.
If the threads and scraps he’d given Lonny for examina
tion held any leads at all, maybe there would be an end to Madrid’s danger.
Mitchell breathed deeply and hurled the towel away. His mother was another problem.
The women were united—Uma, Shelly, and Dani—all determined that he and Roman talk to Grace.
The cat leaped down and trotted into the room with Lauren’s things, and as if drawn by the animal, Mitchell followed, the unopened letters in his hand. Whatever Grace had written, he was going to throw it back in his mother’s face.
“Hello, Virginia,” Grace said gently to the stone-faced woman staring out at the retirement home’s garden.
Virginia Craig had always been a raw-boned, healthy woman, but now she sat slumped in a chair, a lap quilt over her legs. Her hair had once been auburn and sleek and neatly pinned, and she had moved with an elegance that Shelly now bore. She’d given birth to Shelly at midlife, and she and her husband had doted on their only child.
Dani’s rundown on the situation was heartbreaking, and Grace felt she had to try to help. She took Mrs. Craig’s thin, cold hand. “Virginia, I’m Grace Warren. Do you remember me?”
Virginia’s head turned slowly on her thin neck, her green eyes shadowed at first; then they brightened and warmed. “Gracie? Gracie Warren?”
“I brought you a present, Virginia,” Grace said, placing a ribboned box on the other woman’s lap. She ached for the years of heartache between mother and child, daughter and granddaughter. “Would you like me to open it for you?”
Virginia’s blue-veined fragile hands trembled over the box. “Yes, please.”
Grace opened the box slowly. “You know we’re two old ladies now, Virginia, and we have to do our best.”
Those bright eyes stared at her. “Is this about my Shelly?”
“It’s about our granddaughter.” Grace took out the sweater she had carefully chosen for Virginia. It was green as Oklahoma’s rolling spring hills. “Let me help you put it on. It’s fairly cool in here. You like the gardens outside, don’t you? I remember the lovely garden you grew, how big those tomatoes were, and how many quarts you canned. Goodness. What you know and can teach a young person.”
“Dani…Danielle,” Virginia whispered as she smoothed the soft knit of the sweater over her chest. “Your boy came to see me with Dani. He’s got a sharp mouth, telling me off about how I treated Shelly and Dani.”