Читать книгу: «A McKaslin Homecoming»

It wasn’t every day a girl got to round up runaway horses with a handsome—and kind—cowboy.

“He’s cheeky. You taught him that, didn’t you?” Lauren asked.

“Sure did. I suppose there weren’t horses where you grew up,” Caleb said.

“The merry-go-round kind. As a little girl, I always wanted a horse. It was just a phase, I guess.”

“It’s a phase I never grew out of.”

“It must be nice.” In the mellow evening sunshine, he looked like everything good in the world. Her heart ached a little, and she couldn’t say why.

“Well,” she said as she took a step back. “I’d best get going.”

She kept backing away, because it was safer. Maybe it was better to escape while she could. Even a man as decent as Caleb had shortcomings, as everyone did. And that was the exact reason why she couldn’t let herself start to think that he was as great as he seemed, as she seemed to want him to be.

JILLIAN HART

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

A McKaslin Homecoming
Jillian Hart

MILLS & BOON

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Perfect love drives out fear.

—1 John 4:18

To Patience Smith, with my deepest thanks

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Lauren McKaslin climbed out of her little compact sedan and into the heat of the central Montana afternoon. She looked around at the sprawling two-story house on the rise above her—her grandmother’s house.

Nothing about it seemed familiar. She’d hoped to remember some part of her early childhood, jog some memory of visiting her grandmother here, but she had no memory at all. As always, the past remained as void as a black hole hovering in space, its gravity so powerful that no light or substance could escape.

She studied the surrounding countryside and tried to breathe in some of the peaceful calm, but it was impossible. She’d come to meet the grandmother she couldn’t remember. The one her mother had told her had passed away.

Well, wasn’t this the ultimate moment of truth? She’d driven a long way and she’d worried every mile of her trip from Southern California. Her heart beat a panicky staccato against her ribs and her hands were cold despite the ninety-six-degree shade. Since she’d started college, she’d been alone. Her mother didn’t approve.

Please, Lord, let this turn out like I hope. I really want a family. It wasn’t only her grandmother she’d come to meet. That was a scary thought, too.

The gravel crunched beneath the soles of her worn-out rubber flip-flops. Her throat was dry as she closed her car door. It sounded like a slam in the far-reaching stillness. The only other sound was the whisper of the hot breeze in the maples overhead.

It’s going to be okay, Lauren. Remember how nice Gran was on the phone? But that didn’t stop the anxiety washing through her. Shyness rolled over her in a wave. But something worse, something as heavy as lead, was sitting in the middle of her stomach. Fear. Maybe it was because of her mother’s response when, as a teenager, she’d wanted to contact her long-lost family. She won’t want you any more than she wanted me. Go ahead. You’ll see. As for the rest of ’em, they didn’t want you then, they won’t want you now.

Her life had been so bleak at the time, those words had seemed reasonable. And for the last few years she’d been afraid to find out. What if she learned her mother was right?

Don’t think about that, Lauren. Her mom had rarely been right about anything. She was probably wrong about this, too. Still, the doubt had taken hold and, like a vicious dog, had sunk in its teeth and would not let go. She felt very small standing in the shade of the enormous, upscale house. Even while she smoothed at the wrinkles in her walking shorts, she imagined she was very rumpled.

“Hello there.”

She startled at the rumble of a man’s voice—vibrant and resonant and deep. Then she saw him. He was nothing more than a part of the shadows in the shade of the porch. The shadow became a tall, wide-shouldered man. As he ambled toward her with an easygoing stride, he came into the touch of the dappled sunlight and she could see him clearly. He had a rugged, granite look to him. Dark brown hair tumbled over a high forehead. A confident sloping nose, a hard line of mouth, dark eyes and a chiseled jaw all complemented his square, handsome face. His big hands gripped the polished porch rail as he focused on her.

Shyness rolled over her in a bigger wave. Who was he? Before she could get up the courage to ask, he walked down the steps in her direction.

“Are you looking for Mary?”

She nodded, realizing that with every step he took, he became bigger. Not that he was scary looking, it was just that she didn’t trust men that much. Also, as far as she could tell, they were absolutely alone, aside from the half-dozen horses in the field beyond the impressive house and the acres of grass and white rail fencing and fruit trees. She liked to keep her distance from strange men.

But then he smiled and that simple change softened his strong features. He was near enough that she could see the warmth of his eyes, which had initially seemed so dark. There was friendliness in those depths.

Nothing to be worried about. She’d grown up in the inner city and old habits die hard. “Y-yes, I’m looking for Mary. She’s expecting me.”

“All I know is that she gave me a call about thirty minutes back, said she was running late and asked me to be here to meet her houseguest. I suppose that would be you?” He arched one brow and this, along with his grin, made him look like a stalwart, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy.

Not that she was one to believe in that kind of thing, but he was clearly a trusted neighbor of her grandmother’s. Her uncertainty ebbed a bit. “She’s running late? I can just sit here and wait for her.”

“In this heat? Come in and I’ll get you settled. She said she wouldn’t be long.” He kept coming—all six-plus feet of him—moving like a muscled tiger, sleek and confident and powerful. “I’m Caleb Stone. I live next door.”

“Next door? I only see horses next door.”

His grin widened, revealing a double set of dimples. “That means down the road. You’re a long way from home. I noticed your California license plate.”

“Uh, I’m just here for a quick visit. This part of the country is beautiful. Secluded, but beautiful.”

And so was she, Caleb Stone thought. When Mary had called him up, interrupting him in the middle of fixing his after-work supper, he’d wanted to know the who and what of her request. She’d been tight-lipped about it. He’d been curious about her keeping quiet, but now he understood. The family resemblance was pretty strong and that meant that this woman could only be the lost granddaughter come home.

“You’re Lauren, aren’t you?” He said it in a friendly way because she seemed like a worrier. She glanced uncertainly around her with wide eyes; her hands, holding on to her keys and backpack strap, were white-knuckled. She stood perfectly still next to her decades-old sedan, looking wholesome in a simple summer shirt and modest shorts.

“How do you know who I am?”

“There’s a strong family resemblance. I didn’t know that Mary had kept in touch with you.”

“She hadn’t. This was all sort of a last-minute thing.”

Interesting. “It’s a long way to come at the drop of a hat.”

“Yes. Do you know how long Mary plans to be?”

He came closer until he could see the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the uncertainty on her heart-shaped face. “She said I ought to get you settled.”

“I don’t feel right going into her house without her. If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait in the shade for her. And you can go home. It’s dinnertime. You must have plans.”

“I’ve got lots of time.” He wondered about her, this granddaughter and sister no one had talked about in, what, twenty years? It was as if she’d died, right along with the mother who’d taken her and fled all those years ago, destroying the family. Yep, call him curious. “I’ve got no place else to be, so I’d be happy to get your things. Want to unlock your trunk for me? I’ll get your bags.”

“Oh, I don’t mind doing it. Really.” She whirled around and with a snap of her flip-flops was heading toward the back of her little old sedan.

He’d been reading people for a lot of years—it came with being a cop—and there was something about her, something essentially lonely about her. He couldn’t pinpoint it. Maybe it was the hesitant way she’d greeted him or her reserved manner. As he followed her to the back of her car, where she was unlocking the trunk with the twist of a key, he kept back his questions. He had a lot of them. Mary had buried her husband more than two years ago and she’d never come back from the blow of his sudden loss. He wondered why Lauren hadn’t stayed in contact with the family. What had she been doing all this time? And, the toughest question of all—was she anything like that mother of hers? He didn’t think so, but sometimes people hid the most crucial information.

There were two medium-sized duffel bags in the tidy trunk and he’d beat her to them. “Don’t worry, I’ve got them.”

“But—”

“You’re in Montana now. You’ll have to get used to men being men.” He flashed her his most disarming grin and shut the trunk. “Hey, don’t worry. Most of the time I’m perfectly harmless.”

“And what about the rest of the time?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.”

That’s when it happened. Her reserve melted away and she smiled. Just a little, but the effect was dazzling. She sure looked like goodness. That was one image he wanted to believe.

Then he saw something else beyond Lauren’s shoulder—a streak of white against the amber-tipped grasses of the horse pasture. The swinging gate was wide open. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, Malia was up to her old tricks. That troublesome mare!

He set the bags on the walkway’s top stone step. “How good are you at herding horses?”

Lauren missed a step. Had she heard him right? Had he said—“herding horses”?

“We have an escapee.”

“What?” Then she turned to follow his gaze and saw the open gate and the horses racing away down the gravel driveway, tails flying.

“C’mon.” He flashed her that dimpled grin in a way that made him seem like the perfect Western man. He gestured toward the detached garage set so far back she could only see the front doors.

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“You’ll do fine, city girl.” He said those words warmly, but there was a hint of something else underneath.

Lauren wasn’t sure she ought to step into a vehicle with a stranger, but he was already running. She watched as he disappeared around the side of the house’s raised flower beds. Should she accept his request? How could she help? He might be a stranger to her, but it was clear her grandmother relied on him. Okay, so she had trust issues. It was simply an old habit—and a hard-learned lesson in her life—that you were better off keeping to yourself. Strangers were people who hadn’t taken advantage of you yet. Or, in most cases when she was growing up, people who hadn’t taken advantage of her mother yet.

The best defense was a solid independent streak and a look that sent people scurrying. This time she was having difficulty summoning up that look or the belief that Caleb Stone wasn’t just how he seemed—an all right guy. He drove into sight in a blue medium-sized pickup with the window rolled down. Leaning out, he met her gaze. His truck ground to a halt in the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Get in. Your grandmother’s horses are getting away.” His grin broadened and the big rugged man became someone else with that smile. His dark eyes crinkled pleasantly in the corners. The hard angles of his face softened. Everything about him screamed capable. Trustworthy. Honest.

“I should help with my grandmother’s horses.”

His eyes twinkled. “Exactly. It’s the least you could do.”

Maybe part of it was that she really wanted to see those horses. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned owning horses! She reached for the door but it was already swinging open. There Caleb was, straightening back to the wheel.

Okay, so he was a gentleman, too. She hopped onto the seat and the truck was already in motion as she reached for the seat belt. The air conditioner was blowing against the sun-warmed passenger compartment and the windows were down, the fresh dust-scented air blowing against her face.

“Glad you came along. I could use the company.” He reached around to grab his Stetson from above the back window. “Besides, it’s always less exasperating when you share the load with someone.”

“Exasperating? That’s making me regret that I came along.”

“Then forget that I said exasperating. Pretend I said interesting instead.”

“That’s not giving me a lot of confidence.”

“Don’t you worry. There’s no reason you shouldn’t trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this since I was a little guy.”

It was hard to imagine this big man as a “little guy.” But before she could think about it too much, his rugged baritone stopped the direction of her thoughts.

“There they are. Look at ’em go.”

As the truck curved around the bend in the road, the escaped horses came into sight. Four horses, their rich velvet colors glistening in the sunshine, their manes and tails flying in the wind, their dainty legs reaching out powerfully and their hooves churning up the ground.

Thrills shivered through her, and she leaned forward. She’d never been this close to horses before.

“Malia’s the lead mare, the white Arabian,” Caleb explained. “She must be real proud of herself, figuring out that new lock I installed. Took her long enough, the rascal.”

“They’re beautiful, all color and grace and motion.” She itched for her sketch pad so she could put the image of them on the page. She tried to memorize the way the sunlight glossed their flanks of black, brown and white.

“They know they’re in trouble. Look at ’em.”

Lauren watched in amazement as the horses fell into a single line at the shoulder of the road, as if to make room for the truck to catch up with them. A warm breeze skittered over her face, tangling her hair, as they raced closer and closer to the horses.

“They’re havin’ fun.” Caleb shouted to be heard over the pounding hoof beats and rush of wind through the cab. “Watch, now, how Malia stretches out. She likes to stay in the lead. She’s getting a kick out of this.”

Surely this couldn’t be safe. She knew the driveway ended around the next turn in the road, which she could see up ahead. They were neck and neck with the last horse of the small herd, giving Lauren a closer look. Foam flecked those sleek glossy coats, but she felt their happiness as they ran free and safe, penned in between the truck and the long, endless row of fencing.

“You think this is fun?” she asked. “What happens when you hit the main road?”

“You’ll see. This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”

“Isn’t this a little dangerous?”

“It’s a private road.” He didn’t seem concerned, but she wasn’t fooled. He kept a careful watch on the driveway up ahead and on the horses to make sure there was plenty of space between his truck’s fender and the wide grassy shoulder the horses were running on.

When the road curved to the left, the horses kept following the fence line, wheeling right like a flock of close-knit birds. The truck swung wider, keeping up with them, bouncing over wild grasses and wildflowers. Up ahead, an intersecting fence line cut off the horse’s charge. As if the horses knew just what would happen, all but the leader began to slow. Their run for freedom was over. Caleb skidded the pickup to a fast sliding stop, nosing up close to the fence, corralling the horses safely. Lauren watched in amazement as the white mare sailed over the six-foot rail.

“She’s mad at me today. She’s probably jealous of you.” He swung out of the truck and went to the horses.

“Of me?” she called out to him.

“Sure. She’s the only female in my life.”

When she twisted around in her seat, she caught a view of him in the side mirror. He was reaching into the back of the truck for a handful of colored nylon ropes, all the while talking low to the horses.

The dust was settling and she could see the friendliness between the man and the horses, who seemed to know him well. If she opened the door, would it startle them? She was way out of her element here, but Caleb had said he needed help. She leaned out the open window, studying the enormous horses from the safety of her seat. They were much larger and more powerful up close. One of them snorted and stomped its front foot like a bull getting ready to charge. Definitely not safe just yet.

“Leopold, stop showin’ off for the lady.” Caleb shook his head, tossing a look to her. “Lauren, he’s such a show-off. It’s okay to come on out. I could use a little help.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“It’s always good to share the load.” He snapped a rope onto the stomping horse. “You, buddy, calm down. Yes, we’re all impressed with you.”

Lauren opened the door, watching as the other horses sidestepped in response. They watched her with what she hoped was interest—and not dislike. She felt very small next to the animals and she was in awe. Caleb snapped a rope onto another horse’s halter and the remaining two animals looked mischievously at the opening, beyond Caleb.

“No, you don’t.” He’d noticed, too. “Lauren, would you mind standing behind me. These two still have a few ideas.”

She was already moving through the sunbaked grass that tickled her ankles. “And exactly how do you think I’m going to stop them if they act on their ideas?”

“Well, I’m banking on the hope that they’ll believe your bluff.”

“I don’t bluff.”

“We might be in trouble, then.” He didn’t look troubled by it as he went after horse number three.

It was hard not to like Caleb, Lauren decided. The sunlight chose that moment to find him, highlighting his stony quiet strength. Like some Western hero of old, he approached the last free horse with a low word, brushed his big hand over the animal’s velvety nose. He made an image of rugged masculinity that made even her want to believe.

“Lauren, would you mind driving the truck back for me? I’ve got my hands full.”

“What about Malia?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got her number.” He reached into the back of the truck and held out brown squares. It had to be some kind of horse treat. Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. “Watch.”

He offered a cube to each horse and, sure enough, the breathtaking white mare hung her head over the board-rail fencing, nickering for her share of the treats.

“Sorry, Malia. You’ve got to come to me if you want some.” Caleb didn’t seem too troubled. As he gave attention to the other horses, Malia sailed back over the fence and pranced up to him, expecting her treat.

Wow. Lauren held down a sigh. The wind blew against her face, tangling her hair and breezing over her like a reassuring touch. It wasn’t a sign from above, really, although the warm peace of the afternoon did feel like a rare blessing. The struggle of her life seemed far away.

She was glad that she’d come all this way.

Chapter Two

“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.

Chapter Three

Over her grandmother’s shoulder, Lauren caught sight of Caleb’s slow, silent retreat. He held her lemonade glass in one hand as he backed away. Their gazes met. For one instant, the breeze stopped blowing. Her heart stilled and the tightness in her chest faded.

“I told you.” He mouthed the words, lifted a hand in farewell and headed silently out of sight, leaving behind the impression of his kindness. A kindness she appreciated.

Mary released her from the hug, but held tight to her hand, as if she were determined not to let go.

Strange, Lauren had come here feeling vulnerable, but this woman’s arm was so frail, nothing but fragile bones and a silk sleeve. Lauren took a more guiding hold on her to make sure she was all right. “You look like you need to sit down.”

“No, dear. Just taken back. You wouldn’t remember my dear sister. Cancer took her. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her sorely.”

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine what that must be like, to miss someone so much. To love them so much.

Judging by the pain stark on her grandmother’s face and how it seemed to drain her of strength, Lauren decided that she might live a lonely life, but maybe she was lucky, in a way. She would never know her grandmother’s sorrow and loss and heartbreak.

Maybe that was better, to be safe from that kind of pain.

“I’m so glad you’ve come. Now, let me get a good look at you. My, how you’ve grown. A little underfed, but that’s an easy remedy. I can’t get over it. All this time.” Tears silvered Mary’s eyes. “Twenty-two years just flew by and it’s an eternity all the same. It’s been enough for the sweet little toddler you were to grow up. You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“No, but I wish I did.”

“Well, here I’m going on and on and you must be tired from such a long drive. You must have come up through Utah.”

“I did. It was a gorgeous drive. It’s lovely here, too.”

“I think so, too. It’s home.” Mary slipped her arm through Lauren’s. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve put you out here.”

Sadness seemed to stick with the older woman and her voice was brittle sounding. Lauren didn’t know what to say or how to make it better. She looked up to realize there was an in-ground pool to her left, glittering around an enormous brick patio. Ahead, there was a garden gate that led to a small cottage, hidden behind climbing roses and flowering shrubs.

It was sweet, like something out of a gardener’s dream.

“This used to be my studio, and then a guest house. Your sister Katherine lived here for a long while, until she got her own place in town. Caleb stayed here when he went to college. He lives next door now, and takes care of the place for me when I’m gone. These days I spend most of my time in Arizona.” Mary led the way along the cozy porch to the front door. “Speaking of Caleb, where did he get off to?”

“To see to the horses, I think.”

“He’s a fine man. I don’t know what I would do without him. I’ve known him since he was a wee thing. He’s a man a woman can count on.”

How could she tell her grandmother that she hadn’t thought that a man like that existed on this entire planet? Mary obviously held Caleb in high regard and for good reason. The image of him in his cowboy hat, calming the horses seemed implanted in Lauren’s brain. There was goodness in him and a lot of dependability. Even she could see that. But a lot of men were that way—except when it really counted.

“I thought you might be more comfortable out here,” Mary was saying as they ambled along the flagstone path to the little cottage. “You’ll have your privacy. I know this is going to be a lot for you to adjust to, meeting your family. There are a lot of us.”

“It’s already overwhelming. But nice.”

Mary’s beaming smile was reward enough. Lauren was deeply glad that she’d come. No matter what. A flicker of joy filled her right up. She, who’d always felt so alone, had a grandmother—a real one, a caring one. It was hard not to care right back. And didn’t that mean she was completely out of her element?

Yes.

The little house had a fan-shaped window in the rounded top of the door. It was like a storybook cottage.

Another clue that she was out of her comfort zone. Inside, the cottage was as sweet as promised from the outside, with sheer white curtains swinging in the breeze from the open windows, gleaming honey-wood floors and a cabbage rose covered couch. There was a matching chair and ottoman, which looked good for reading, and scarred end tables topped with colorful pottery lamps. Lauren spotted a tiny kitchen in the corner, with an avocado-green stove and refrigerator. The place was so homey, she was afraid to believe it was real.

Just like with Mary.

“You go ahead and freshen up, dear. I know it was a long, hot and dusty drive. I had Caleb stock the little kitchen with a few necessities, so poke around if you like. When you’re ready, come up to the main house. I should have supper on the table in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

During the whole trip Lauren had wondered what she would say to her grandmother. She’d made a mental list of the questions to ask and of the things she needed to know. Now those questions flitted away like dry leaves in the wind, rolling out of sight.

She felt lost. Nothing was as she expected it to be.

Mary reached out and squeezed her hand. The contact wasn’t something she was used to, but for that one microsecond, the vast canyon she always kept between her and everyone else was bridged. She was no longer painfully alone.

Then Mary let go and stepped away. The canyon around her returned and she didn’t know what to say next. She wrapped her arms around her middle, but that was no comfort from the loneliness.

She was trailing her grandmother to the open door, to close it after her, when she spotted a framed picture hung on the wall. It was one among many with unfamiliar smiling faces, but this photograph called to her.

“Oh, that’s you right there.” Mary brushed a manicured fingertip toward the family portrait. “Do you remember?”

“Not really.” She stared at herself, the little girl in the photograph, chubby with the look of a tot who was more infant than toddler, dressed in a poufy white-and-blue sailor dress and bonnet. She sat on her mother’s lap. She recognized her mom, of course. Perhaps that was what had made her stop in the first place.

She studied the face of the tall, capable-looking man standing behind Mom. She didn’t recognize her father’s face, which was more lean than round, with a hawk-like nose and square jaw. He had a friendly look to him.

Her dad. The dad who’d never wanted to see her. She swallowed hard against the pain. Maybe what her mother had told her about her father was not true, either. Why didn’t she remember him? Or her brother and sisters? Her brother was a tall, teenage boy who closely resembled their father. There were three other girls—a slim preteen, who had wide eyes and a pretty smile even with braces, and two grade school girls who were shockingly identical.

Twins? Lauren didn’t even know there were twins in the family. Her family. People she was connected to by blood, but nothing else. They were simply strangers.

Strangers.

She studied the smiling family. The clothes were dated, fashionable twenty years ago and of modest department-store quality. The kids had the same blond hair and violet-blue eyes that she had.

An eerie feeling of recognition crawled through her, but it was nothing she could grasp. No tangible memory came to the surface through the void.

“That’s your father, of course. He’s remarried. Spence runs the family bookstore these days, along with Katherine. You won’t be meeting her on this visit, since she’s off on her honeymoon. The twins are Aubrey and Ava. Of course, they’re all grown up now. Don’t think, because you didn’t grow up here, that you were out of my thoughts or my heart, because that wouldn’t be true. You’re my granddaughter, regardless of what your mother did.”

How could that be said so simply, as if Linda hadn’t done everything she could to upset and bribe and wheedle money out of Mary? Lauren swallowed hard against the memories that settled like a boulder in her throat. She may have been very young, but she remembered many of mom’s phone calls and how she’d behaved. It all made sense now. Is that the kind of person she seemed like to Mary, someone like her mother?

She looked again at her mother’s face, young and unlined, sun browned, even back then, to a shocking shade. The striking woman in the pretty blue dress that matched the light shade of her eyes and her hair in a sleek bob resembled her mom. But Lauren didn’t know this woman. The mother she knew never would have been anything like the calm, cheerful-looking woman in the photograph.

Lauren felt even more alone, a stranger to herself.

Her grandmother broke the silence. “I’m terribly glad you’re home now. I’d best go put the potatoes on. You must be hungry.”

Lauren’s heart stood still. She saw the older woman to the door and waited a moment to close it so she could memorize her grandmother’s figure—her natural poise, straight spine, her slenderness and elegance. Mary walked through the little picket gate, where an arbor thick with red roses arched overhead, and then disappeared from view.

This was not what she’d been expecting. Boy, talk about being out of her comfort zone. Lauren closed the door and leaned against it. She was just tired, that’s why she felt so fragile. She blinked back the rising tears in her eyes. She’d come to find the truth. She had a feeling the truth was something she wasn’t going to like.

Still, it was hard not to adore her grandmother. She seemed like the nicest person. She’d come thinking, at best, she would meet this lady. And now she had to wonder if there was a chance finally to have a real family tie. Or was this welcome simply to satisfy curiosity? A meeting and then that was all. Her grandmother would see her granddaughter all grown up, and she would have answers.

Tucking away her hopes, Lauren went in search of her bags, which she found on a little cedar chest at the foot of the quilt-covered bed. The bedroom was sweet with tiny rosebud wallpaper softening the walls. White ruffled curtains framing a large bay window seat rippled in the wind.

The view was stunning. Jagging mountains dominated the horizon, and the sky was the bluest she’d ever seen. Deep greens of trees and the neat rows of a garden gave way to white fencing beyond. And, she realized, as she eased onto the window seat’s plump cushion, to Caleb.

Tucked in the shade of the stable, he was brushing the white horse. He hadn’t noticed her and she didn’t seem able to look away. There was something about him that felt as calming to her as the gentle breeze through the open window. It wasn’t every day a girl got to round up runaway horses with a handsome—and kind—cowboy. It was a new experience for her. She couldn’t help wondering about her brother and sisters in the family photograph. This was probably the way they’d grown up, with visits here and adventures on those horses and family meals made with vegetables grown in the garden.

Her grandmother’s words replayed in her mind. Don’t think because you didn’t grow up here, that you were out of my thoughts or my heart, because that wouldn’t be true.

Those words had meant a lot. For the first time in her life, the haze of unhappiness from her childhood felt far away and she could see clearly. The meeting with her grandmother had gone well—her initial worries were over. Now, there was the rest of the family to meet—tomorrow. For now, she was grateful to have the time to get to know Mary.

She checked the time on the way out the door. She wanted to make sure she helped her grandmother in the kitchen. Rose-scented air greeted her as she skipped down the steps. Caleb’s baritone carried on the hot wind. He was calling her name. Still brushing the white horse’s sleek coat, he flashed his dimpled grin. He raised a hand, gesturing her over.

He was a kind man and hard not to like. So she headed his way through the fragrant flower garden ripe with full blooms of colorful roses then along the edge of the vegetable garden.

He came up to the fence, his Stetson shading his granite features. “Things look like they’re goin’ pretty well.”

“Better than I’d let myself hope.”

“You must have awful low hopes as a general rule. You said you talked to Mary on the phone. You had to suspect she’d be as nice in person.”

“Yes, but you just never know how things are going to turn out.”