Lois Greiman - [Hope Springs 02] (27 page)

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.

A nurse sucked the fluid from her nose and mouth, then wrapped her in a blanket and handed the little bundle to Casie.

She caught her breath and stared into the disgruntled little face. It was wizened and ruddy, with slits for eyes and tiny fists clenched angrily beside its goopy head. “Oh, Emily . . .” Her words were barely audible even to herself. “She’s amazing. Just look—”

“Take her away,” Emily said.

Casie glanced up. Emily was facing the wall, expression stony, eyes dead.

The room went silent. Even the infant was quiet.

“Emily—”

“Get rid of her,” she said and squeezed her eyes closed.

T
he next few hours seemed interminable. But at last the baby was in the hospital nursery, asleep in her glass bassinet like a tiny soldier lined up with her fellow cadets behind the plate-glass windows. Colt stood a few feet and a couple lifetimes away, expression somber as he watched the tiny bundle.

“She’s so . . .” Casie shook her head.

“Helpless?” he said.

She glanced toward him. Their gazes met. Apologies trembled on her lips, but Dr. Deacon appeared before they could escape her mouth.

“Ms. Hartman is out of surgery,” he said.

“How is she?” Colt asked.

“Better than we had any right to hope,” he said. “She was lucky you found her right away. She’ll be in a wheelchair for a while. Chemotherapy weakens the system for some time even after the treatments stop, but she seems like a fighter.”

“Chemo!” Casie said.

The doctor raised his silvery brows. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I . . . No,” she said.

His expression was grave. “I’d better let her tell you about it. You can see her now if you like.”

They walked together to her hospital room, but they seemed worlds apart.

Linette looked small and narrow beneath the nubby white blanket.

“Hey,” Casie said, easing into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Linette shifted her gaze sideways. “I’ve been better. I just can’t remember when.”

Casie forced a smile. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Am I?” she asked. She sounded worn and defeated.

Casie refrained from glancing across the mattress toward Colt. She didn’t need him, didn’t need anyone, but sometimes that was hard to remember.

“The doctor said you’re lucky. Everything went well.”

“Lucky,” she said. “I guess that’s a relative term.” She glanced out the window again. There was a dynamite view of the pediatrics wing. “Did he say anything else?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about the cancer?” Casie asked.

“What ever happened to patient-doctor confidentiality?” Linette groused. “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get charged with a lawsuit.”

“If we had known—”

“What?” Linette asked, facing her again. “You could have wrapped me in cotton batting and put me up on a shelf?”

“We could have been more careful. We could have—”

“You did everything right,” Linette said. “You’re legally and morally exempt from blame. Listen . . .” She cleared her throat. “I hope I didn’t say something too asinine earlier?”

Colt shook his head. “You were a little disoriented. That’s all.”

“Disoriented as in I forgot the current secretary of state or like I forgot my own name?”

He smiled at her. “Once I came off a bull headfirst in Reno. Made everyone call me Garth for a week and a half.”

“And here I had you pegged for a George Strait fan,” she said and took a deep breath. “How’s Madeline?”

“She’s fine.”

“You sure?”

He squeezed her hand. “Would I lie to you?”

“Probably,” she said, and he smiled, showing that irresistible light at the end of the tunnel.

She sighed, seeming to relax a little as she glanced from one to the other. “And what about you two? You okay?”

“You’re the one we’re worried about,” Casie said.

“Maybe you should worry about yourselves for a while,” Linette suggested.

“Well, we don’t have any broken bones,” Colt said.

Linette scowled a little. “That’s not exactly what I meant. You know . . .” She drew a deep breath and winced a little. Maybe the painkillers were already wearing off. “It might not seem like it to you, but life’s short. I think you two should—”

“Emily had her baby,” Casie burst in.

Linette lowered her brows, but allowed herself to be distracted. “When?”

“A few hours ago. While you were in surgery.”

She nodded slowly, working out the lost hours in silence. “She probably just didn’t want to make a separate trip to the hospital,” she said finally. “Carbon footprint, and all.”

They smiled. She looked exhausted.

“So everything went okay?”

“Yes. It’s a girl.”

“How long was she in labor?”

“Five hours. Maybe six.”

“Not bad. When I had Heidi . . .” She stopped herself, glanced toward the window. It had started to rain, pellet-like drops against the window. “So she’s keeping her, right?”

Casie scowled, confused about the older woman’s family, but Linette was speaking again.

“You’ve talked sense into her, haven’t you?”

“It’s not my decision,” Casie said and felt her toes curl at her readiness to cop out at a moment’s notice.

Linette stared at her for several seconds, then shifted her gaze to Colt. “How about you?” she asked.

He remained silent for a moment. His eyes spoke of regrets so deep they burned his soul, but he said nothing of the daughter he had lost before ever seeing. “I guess she’s already signed the legal documents.”

“Documents can be amended,” she said, eyes sharp.

Colt shook his head. “I’m in no position to try to change her mind.”

Linette drew a deep breath, and for a moment Casie thought she would disagree, but the phone rang beside her bed. Her hand looked bruised and fragile as she reached for it.

“Yes.” Her voice was hard. She waited in silence. “She’s right here. Tell her yourself,” she said and handed the phone to Casie.

She took it with a scowl. “Hello?”

“Ms. Carmichael?”

“Yes?”

“This is Stephanie Pritchard from Pritchard and Pritchard.” The attorney’s voice was low and flat.

Casie winced at the sound of it. Too many crises were coming too fast. She felt it like a blow to her psyche. “Yes?”

“Mr. Pritchard and I have given this case a good deal of deliberation.”

“Listen . . .” She felt panicked and beaten. “I’m not saying Ty was justified in his actions, but—”

“We’ve decided to drop the charges.”

“He was just trying to . . .” Casie paused. “What?” The word was barely audible.

“Just don’t expect our son to be coming around in the future.”

“Oh . . .” She nodded numbly. “Okay,” she said.

In a second, the phone went dead. She stared at it for a prolonged instant, then handed it back to Linette.

“What was that?” Colt asked.

“I just . . .” Casie shook her head, trying to make sense of things. “I don’t know.”

“Who was it?”

“It was Mrs. Pritchard.”

“The attorney? David’s mother?” His back was suddenly straight, his expression confrontational. “What the hell is she doing calling here?”

Casie shifted her gaze to Linette. “I don’t have any idea. Why did she call you?”

She shrugged. The effort looked exhausting. “They must have gotten my phone number by mistake.”

“But how—”

“I’m tired,” Linette said, and turning toward the wall, closed her eyes to the world.

 

“So she’s okay, right?” Sophie asked. Her face was drawn. Casie hadn’t seen her smile since her father’s visit. They were on their way up to Emily’s hospital room. Two days had passed since the baby’s birth.

“I think she’s fine. Physically, at least.”

“Physically?” She could feel Sophie’s scowl.

Casie shrugged. It wasn’t as if
she
had any experience with this sort of thing. “I’m sure it’s not easy giving up a baby,” she said, and wondered if she’d ever know what it felt like to produce another human being. Wondered if she’d ever have the nerve.

“It’s not easy giving anybody up,” Sophie said.

Casie glanced at her, but they had already reached their destination. The door to Emily’s room was open. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized cargo pants, she was sitting with her back propped against the pillows, bare feet flat on the bed. Her eyes looked flat and dull as she stared out the window.

“How you doing?” Casie asked.

The girl turned quickly toward them.

“Hey, you’re finally here,” she said and shifted to the edge of the mattress. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“You okay?” Sophie asked.

“Couldn’t be better.” She was brusque and businesslike, as if she were leaving a long shift at the Chill and Grill. “How ’bout you?”

“I’m fine.” Sophie seemed atypically uncertain of her footing.

“How about Ty? How’s he doing? He seemed a little down when I talked to him on the phone.”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “How would I know?”

Emily gave her an odd look, then shifted her gaze to Casie while shoving a box of confiscated tissues into her backpack. “I figure these are already paid for, right? I might as well take them home with me. Colt didn’t come along, huh?”

“No. He—” Casie said and shuffled her feet, struggling not to say any more than necessary. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” someone said.

They turned toward the voice. Linette sat in a wheelchair in the doorway.

“Hey,” Emily said. “How are you?”

“You forgot this,” said the older woman, and wheeling into the room, nodded to someone behind her.

A nurse entered the room. She smiled at the pink bundle she carried in her arms, then glanced wistfully at Emily. “She’s just beautiful,” she said and handed the baby to her mother. “Congratulations.”

“No!” Emily rasped. She stepped back a pace, but the nurse followed, settling the infant into her unwelcoming arms. “The adoption agency is taking care of everything.”

“Guess they backed out,” Linette said. “Said the contract is null and void.”

“What?” Emily tore her eyes from the serious little face that gazed up from its tight swaddling.

Linette shrugged. “Something about needing the birth father’s signature.”

“That’s not true.” Emily looked pale and young and so panicked it made Casie’s heart ache. “They said that wasn’t necessary.”

“All I know is what they told me.”

Emily’s lips twisted. Her eyes were bright. Tears spilled from the corners. A muscle jerked beside her lips. “I can’t be a mom. I’m not—”

“What’s wrong with you?” Sophie blurted. “You already
are
a mom. Like Mother Earth or something. Holy crap! Half the people on this planet would give their souls to have a mother like you.”

“What, are you, nuts?” Emily hissed. “I can’t do this. I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” Sophie said. Her voice was soft suddenly. The room was as quiet as a prayer. “You’re going to be great at this.”

Emily shook her head.

“You are,” Sophie said. “You know I wouldn’t say something nice if it wasn’t true.”

“I can’t—” she whispered again, but in that flicker of time the child made a noise, a small inarticulate sound that drew her gaze like a fire in the darkness. Their eyes met, brown to blue in an exchange of emotions as raw as a wound. Not a soul spoke. Not a breath was whispered. “Baby Bliss,” Emily murmured. The world stood still, waiting, and then she cried. Settling back onto the mattress, she hugged the infant to her chest, tipped her dreadlocks over her tiny face, and sobbed.

L
ife settled slowly back to normal, or at least back to its previous state of abnormal. Sophie treated the scratch on Maddy’s knee, cared for Freedom, and gave riding lessons to seemingly every girl in the state of South Dakota. Ty dutifully tended Angel and pretended not to care about Sophie.

As for Emily, she returned to the orchard with Bliss nestled inside a basket beneath the dormant apple trees. And cooking . . . with Bliss on the kitchen table. And goat milking, with Bliss swinging gently from a bough of the ancient cottonwood. But mostly she sat and stared into her baby’s eyes and smiled until she cried.

Evening was settling in with comfortable quiet. The western horizon was a scalloped palette of violet and periwinkle that backlit Sophie and Tangles as they cleared a series of low jumps. Emily was picking apples with Baby Bliss snuggled fast and warm in a sling against her chest.

Watching them from across the yard made something deep inside Casie ache.

“There’s nothing quite like it, is there?” Linette asked. Casie swallowed the lump in her throat and turned toward the woman who hobbled carefully into the barn on underarm crutches. The doctors had recommended that she remain in a wheelchair, but it was hard to slow her down. She would be flying out in the morning, but had finally relented when Casie insisted that she call her family. They would be arriving within the hour. She drew a deep breath. “So what’s on the docket for Cassandra Carmichael?” she asked.

Casie exhaled, careful not to unload too much onto Linette’s exhausted shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know. Keep chugging along like we’re doing, I suppose. Try to put the Lazy back in the black. Make a place for Emily and Baby Bliss and—” Her words stopped as she caught sight of Ty striding down her driveway.

His frayed cap was pulled low over his face, hiding his eyes, but there was an easy rhythm to his steps, making him look almost carefree. What she wouldn’t give to make that true, Casie thought, and felt love tangle messily within her heart as he headed toward the apple orchard.

“He’s a good kid,” Linette said.

“Yeah,” Casie agreed and cleared her throat. “Yeah, he’s all right.”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she said.

Ty tilted his battered cap down and said something inaudible. Emily laughed and hit him on the shoulder. He bounced back a step and gazed down at the baby. Lifting little Bliss out of her snug carrier, Emily gazed at the infant for several prolonged moments, then settled her carefully into the boy’s arms.

The poignancy of the moment brought tears stinging to Casie’s eyes.

“Casie . . .”

“I’m sorry.” She zipped her attention back to her paying guest . . . her paying guest who could, conceivably, sue her for any number of missteps. “What did you say?”

“I said everything’s going to be okay.”

Casie cleared her throat. “As someone quite intelligent once told me, ‘Okay might be a relative term,’ ” she said.

Linette chuckled, but the sound faded as her attention was diverted to the driveway. “Who’s that?”

Casie turned. Her body stiffened. She shifted her eyes toward the arena where Sophie rode, then hurried toward the approaching pickup truck just as Pete Whitesel stepped out of his vehicle. His gaze was honed in on the girl just dismounting from the dun gelding.

Casie’s chest felt tight, her legs stiff, but she kept walking.

“Mr. Whitesel,” she said. Her voice sounded weak to her own ears “Still haven’t found your mare?”

He kept his gaze on Sophie’s approaching form for several more seconds before shifting it down to Casie. His lips curled into what might be misconstrued as a smile. “Looks like I have.”

“Really? Where was she?”

“Don’t know, but I’m betting
she
does,” he said, and jerked his chin toward the arena.

“What do you mean?”

“What’d you do with her?” he asked, addressing Sophie who had just arrived from behind.

“You can’t have her.” The girl’s voice was as steady as a rock, but when Casie turned toward her, her face was pale.

“She’s my property, honey buns,” he said. “It’s me or the cops.”

No one spoke.

He snorted as he jerked toward the barn, but Casie blocked his path again. “You heard her,” she said. Her heart was beating overtime, her hands sweaty, but she held her ground. “You can’t have her back,” she said. “You’ve lost your rights to her.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with your merry little band of sluts. But nobody steals from me,” he growled and stepped to the side again. Casie moved with him.

“It’s your word against mine. You can’t prove—” she began, but in that instant he grabbed her by the shirtfront and hauled her up against him.

“And it’s my
fist
against your—”

“Whitesel!” Linette’s voice cracked like a whip through the evening air.

He snapped his attention to her.

Linette hopped toward them, balancing carefully on her crutches. “Or should I call you Warren?”

Whitesel’s eyes darted to her, then off to the right where Emily and Ty approached from the orchard. Ty’s expression was grim. Emily hugged Bliss close to her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Don’t you?” Linette asked. “Well, maybe the sheriff will. The way I heard it, Pat Warren is a pretty famous name in some parts.”

The world went absolutely silent, and then Whitesel shoved Casie away. She stumbled backward but Ty caught her, helped her find her balance.

“Fine. That’s just fine,” Whitesel snarled. “Keep the worthless nag. I hope she tears this whole place apart,” he said, and backing away, climbed into his truck and roared away.

Casie blinked after him. Sophie exhaled noisily. The world settled gratefully into silence.

“What just happened?” Emily asked.

Casie shook her head. “I don’t have any idea. Linette . . .” She turned toward the older woman. “How did you—Who’s Pat Warren?”

Linette shrugged. “Em said there was something wrong with him, and she seems to be a pretty good judge of human nature, so I just checked into his past a little. It wasn’t pretty.

“Hey, Ty, could you help me back to the house?”

“Checked into his past? What do you mean? How could you check his past if he had another name?”

Linette shrugged. “Turns out fingerprints show up pretty well on leather.”

“What—”

“Listen, I’d love to chat, but it looks like my ride’s here,” Linette said, glancing toward the dark vehicle just turning into their drive.

“Oh . . .” The world felt shaky beneath Casie’s feet. “I suppose your daughter’s worried sick about you.”

“Probably. Say, I’m not one for long good-byes so don’t feel like you have to wait around. I’m sure you have things to do,” Linette said, but no one moved as the black SUV came to a halt. Jack barked once as dust settled slowly on the gravel road behind it. A woman in a sensible gray suit stepped out of the car. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She wore low pumps and dark-rimmed glasses.

Casie shook herself free of her trance and tried for conviviality as she stepped forward. “You must be Elizabeth.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“I can’t tell you how much we’ve enjoyed having your mother with us.”

The woman scowled. “She’s not—”

“Well . . .” Linette said, voice brusque. “I don’t have much time. We’d better get going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Casie shifted her gaze from one woman to the other, confused by the dynamics, but Linette spoke again before she could work things out. The kids stood huddled together some twenty feet behind her, trying to take it all in.

“You’re doing good work here, Casie,” Linette said. Her voice was soft, her expression sincere.

Casie scowled, trying to keep up. “I don’t—”

“But you’ve won now.”

“What?”

“They’re doing well.” From the cottonwood, a mourning dove spoke to the approaching darkness.

Casie shook her head.

“The kids,” Linette explained. “They’re going to be okay . . . because of you.”

“No, it’s—”

“Do you need anything else before we leave?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Linette said, not turning toward the woman near the SUV.

Elizabeth nodded briskly and opened the passenger door.

“It’s because of you,” Linette repeated. “You can do it all. Work a ranch, save a life, keep your family together.”

“They’re not really my family.”

“Not all family’s blood kin, Casie,” she said. “Sometimes it’s your pastor, or your next-door neighbor, or your administrative assistant.” She smiled fondly at Elizabeth. “And sometimes kin lets you down. Or you let them down.” She glanced out over the endless hills. There was an eternity of sadness in her eyes, but she drew her attention back to Casie in a matter of moments. “You’ve proven you can make it on your own,” she said, and handing her crutches to Elizabeth, climbed gingerly into the SUV under her own power. “But you’d better make damn sure that’s really what you want before it’s too late.”

“What?”

Linette smiled a little, then sighed and looked out the windshield. “Let’s go,” She said.

“Yes, your honor,” Elizabeth agreed and, stowing the crutches in the backseat, slammed the passenger door shut.

“Your—” Casie began, but the SUV was rolling quietly away.

“Holy Hannah,” she said.

“Judge Heartless?” Emily breathed.

They silently watched the vehicle turn onto the gravel road. Quiet settled back in. The evening air felt heavy with the promise of upcoming storms. Bliss began to cry. Emily soothed her. A horse snorted. A lamb bleated. But Casie’s mind was still in turmoil. Had the Pritchards dropped the lawsuit because of Linette? And what about Whitesel? The memory of a discarded leather lead line galloped through her mind, but the thought was interrupted by the sound of a diesel engine. Casie brought her attention back to earth as Colt’s pickup truck pulled into the yard. He stepped out of the vehicle, all rugged strength and dark regrets. He glanced at her, nodded, then strode off toward the barn.

The kids, she noticed, had miraculously disappeared, leaving her alone with Linny’s words reverberating in her brain.

Something curled up tight in her stomach. Uncertainty tangled with hope, and hope was the winner.

“Dickenson,” she called.

He turned toward her, eyes shadowed by the brim of his Stetson.

She paused, her nerve skittering into a dark corner. “Nothing,” she said, and glanced away, but the black SUV was still in sight, dredging up quiet words of wisdom.

“I need help.” She said the words more to herself than to him.

Colt tilted his head a little, face barely visible against the dark clouds behind him. “What?”

She cleared her throat, desperately marshaling courage she doubted she possessed. “I’m having trouble . . .” She glanced to her left, thinking hard. “Hanging that new gate.”

He paused a second. The world waited in silence. “The one you built yourself?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“For the fence you put up?”

“Yes.” She scowled at him, trying not to fidget.

“Well . . .” His lips tilted into a slanted grin filled with promise and anticipation and endless possibilities. “Let’s get at it,” he said, and the sun slipped from behind a bank of lavender clouds.