Ryan's Return (24 page)

"Apparently it means a lot to him."

"Andrew wasn't the right man for you anyway," Josephine said. "Especially when you're in love with his brother."

Kara stiffened. "That's absurd. I barely know the man. Besides, Ryan has probably left town by now. Speaking of men, I noticed you didn't come back to the Gatehouse last night."

Josephine flushed like a teenager in love. "I couldn't leave Ike -- not after what he did at the picnic."

"He was pretty magnificent," Kara agreed.

Josephine looked ashamed. "Ike was right. I was being an old fool. He doesn't have to like tea or believe in my fortune-telling. He just has to love me as much as I love him. For a while I thought that if he didn't love tea, he didn't love me."

"It's not the same thing."

"No. I got scared, Kara. My other husbands didn't talk back to me the way Ike does. They didn't challenge my ideas. They didn't question me. I called the shots. I made the decisions. With Ike it's different."

"Maybe it's different in a good way."

"I know it is. But when Ike started taking me for granted, I began to think that he'd lost interest in me. I'm not a pretty young filly anymore, you know."

"You're a beautiful mare," Kara said with a warm smile. "And Ike adores you. That's obvious to everyone."

"It is?" Aunt Josephine looked as giddy as a schoolgirl.

"Yes, it is. Especially after yesterday. I'm glad you two made up."

"So am I. I'll tell you something, Kara. Ike may not be my richest husband or the most good-looking, but he is definitely the best at making up -- if you know what I mean."

This time Kara blushed. "Aunt Josephine."

"So, if you don't mind, I'll be moving my things back home later tonight."

Kara gave her a hug. "I don't mind at all. I was beginning to think that life was black-and-white, that arguments couldn't be resolved, that marriage couldn't work. But it can, can't it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry if I gave you doubts. I never had any real intention of divorcing Ike. I just wanted to get his attention. I'm madly in love with him. And if anyone believes in marriage, it's me. There are lots of happy marriages, Kara. It's just the failed ones that make the headlines. Look around this town. You'll see plenty of good examples."

"I'm trying, Aunt Josephine. But after today I'm not sure I can trust my own eyes."

"Then trust your heart."

Whatever that means, Kara thought wearily. "I better check on our sandbagging operation and find out what my daughter has been up to the last few hours."

"Wait." Josephine reached for Kara's empty teacup and swirled the leaves around in a familiar circular motion.

"Oh, Aunt Josephine, I'm not in the mood."

"Your aura is so strong today, Kara. I must see what the leaves say."

"You can tell me later."

"You can wait."

Kara sighed, deciding it was simply easier to hear the reading than be scolded about leaving. "All right. What does it say?"

Josephine lifted her head, her expression serious. "I see a snake, which indicates misfortune."

"Probably the river."

"And a bridge."

"Back to the river again."

"No, a bridge means there's a decision to be made." Josephine paused. "And a bird's claw, which means danger."

Kara cleared her throat, trying to dispel the heaviness of Josephine's words. "We're all in danger from the river flooding. Your cup probably says the same thing."

"We can read it, but the leaf patterns are created by the force of your energy, Kara. They apply only to you."

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Aunt Josephine. I don't believe in this stuff either."

"Maybe you should. Maybe it's time to believe in what you don't understand, what you can't see. Look beyond the surface, Kara. Take a chance. Open yourself up. You might be surprised at what suddenly becomes crystal clear."

The door jangled with a new arrival, and Kara looked up warily, expecting to see an evil man in a black hat and cape in keeping with her aunt's fortune-telling. But it wasn't a man. It was Angel.

"I saw her again, Mom," Angel declared with excitement. "The ghost lady. She came back, and she told me the river is going to flood by Thursday. We have to warn everyone, especially Mr. Hunter, Jonas Hunter."

Oh, great, another fortune-teller. Kara threw up her hands in disgust. "What am I going to do with you two? I can't run down to the rec center, get my bullhorn, and announce that my aunt has seen danger coming in the bottom of a teacup and my daughter is talking to a ghost about when the river is going to flood."

"She's real, Mom. She's not a story. And she's looking for something -- a necklace. I think it might be a locket. Because she said something once about there being a picture inside."

Josephine's expression turned thoughtful. "What does this ghost look like?"

"She has long dark hair. She doesn't really seem to have a whole body. She sort of floats. But sometimes when she turns a certain way, I can see her eyes, and they're green. Kind of like Ryan's."

Kara straightened, a sudden shiver running down her spine. She told herself not to be silly, that Angel was just telling another story.

"Oh, dear," Josephine said.

"What?" Angel asked.

"It's just that Ryan's mother used to wear a locket."

"Aunt Josephine," Kara said imploringly. "Don't encourage her."

Josephine ignored Kara's protest. "Jonas gave it to Isabelle when Andrew was born, and on the inside she kept baby pictures of both boys. She wore it all the time. In fact, she told me once that she would never take it off. But it couldn't be the same locket. She left town years ago -- unless ..."

"Unless what?" Angel asked, her eyes round with anticipation.

"Unless she never left town."

"Of course she left. It's in the letter," Kara said.

"The letter just says she's thinking about leaving."

Angel grabbed Kara's arm. "The watch, Mom. Remember the watch? It said, To Ryan. Love, Mom. It was hers. She gave it to him. That's why she cried when I found it. That's why she asked me what he said when I gave it to him. It's her, Mom. The ghost is Ryan's mother."

Jonas backed a dump truck up the driveway and stopped it as close to the house as he could. Lifting the lever, he released the bed of the truck, dumping a pile of sand onto the ground. This was his third load. He just hoped he had enough sand to protect the basement and first floor of the house. The water had already risen ten feet. By tomorrow it would be up another ten. At this rate, by Tuesday or Wednesday the river would be licking at the driveway.

With a weary groan, he stumbled out of the truck, suddenly feeling light-headed. He bent over, his hands on his knees, hoping the dizziness would pass. After a moment it did. He walked around to the back of the truck and pulled on a pair of beat-up leather gloves. Then he grabbed his shovel and began to fill a burlap bag with sand.

By the time he had filled three bags, he was sweating like a pig and breathing fast. The task ahead of him seemed insurmountable. But he couldn't quit now. The house was all he had left. He had to save it.

A honking horn made him pause. Ryan turned into the driveway too fast, spitting up loose gravel and dirt. His youngest son was out of the car and up the drive before Jonas could gather the energy to move.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ryan demanded. "Trying to kill yourself?"

Jonas didn't answer him. He simply bent over and proceeded to fill the next sandbag. Ryan ripped the shovel out of his hand.

"You can't do this. You're sick," Ryan said.

Jonas stiffened with anger. "I'm not sick, and I can do whatever I want."

"You are so stubborn."

"That's right. Give me back the shovel."

"No."

Jonas stared at Ryan, saw the determination in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw, the cockiness of his stance. Ryan was no longer a kid, but a man, and it seemed almost impossible to intimidate him. Jonas tried his sternest glare, the one that made Andrew shake. Ryan just smiled and held on to the shovel.

"I can still kick your butt," Jonas grumbled, knowing deep down that he couldn't kick anyone's butt anymore. The years were catching up to him. He couldn't stay ahead of the pace anymore, and he wasn't sure he wanted to try.

"Sure you can," Ryan agreed. "I could never beat you. We both know that. You're the best at everything. Even at shoveling shit."

Jonas had to fight back a smile. That had always been the problem. Ryan had the ability to make Jonas laugh. He had talked himself out of many a spanking that way. "You're pretty good at shoveling shit yourself."

"I learned from the master."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Maybe this place means something to me, too."

Jonas couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And maybe the Pope is Jewish."

"He's definitely not Jewish. I took his picture last year, and he's as Catholic as they come."

Jonas couldn't stop the inexplicable sense of pride that came with Ryan's words. "You took the Pope's picture?"

"Yeah."

"You were in the Vatican?"

"Not bad for a worthless, two-bit kid, huh?"

Jonas knew he had called Ryan that many times over the years. He also knew he had never meant it. It had been his way of keeping Ryan in check, keeping him at home where he belonged. Although that strategy had worked with Andrew, it had never worked with Ryan. Telling Ryan he couldn't do something had only made him work harder. Trying to keep Ryan at home had only made him want to leave.

When Jonas didn't reply, Ryan grabbed the next bag and began to fill it with sand. Jonas watched him for a good ten minutes, not saying a word, not moving a muscle. It wasn't until Ryan rolled up his sleeves and rubbed the back of his arm across his forehead that Jonas moved. He walked into the house and slammed the door.

For a long time Jonas stared at the living room, at the worn couch, his comfortable armchair, the bud vase he had given Isabelle on their wedding day. He remembered Ryan asking why he had kept her things. The answer was simple. Deep down he had always hoped that someday she would come back for her things -- if not for him. He had kept Ryan's stuff for the same reason.

And Ryan had come back.

Jonas peeked out the curtain, wondering if Ryan was still working now that he didn't have an audience. If anything, he seemed to be working harder.

This was not the same angry boy who had left town all those years ago, trashing the house on his way out the door, stealing the letter from Isabelle, calling his father and brother names, and leaving them to clean up his mess.

No, the boy who had run away from home had returned a man. One Jonas could be proud of, if he let himself. But Jonas was afraid to show Ryan love, afraid it would be tossed back in his face. He had raised Ryan, fed him and clothed him and shoved chicken soup down his throat when he was sick. He had been there for Ryan every day of his life. But who had Ryan wanted all those years? His mother. His damned mother.

Jonas closed his eyes, feeling his blood pressure rise again. He shouldn't have sent Isabelle away. Her departure had torn a hole in his heart that could never be repaired. She had taken everything that was good in him right out the door with her. Once she left he had been unable to find simple joy in anything. Only the river had brought him moments of peace. Now even those moments were fleeting.

He was old. And as Ryan said, he was sick. The doctor had told him that unless he had surgery, he probably wouldn't last out the year. There was a tiny part of him that was almost relieved at the thought. It would be easier to die than to watch everything he loved change before his eyes. It was already happening at the paper. Andrew was doing things that he would never do. And the river was changing as well as the town. His time was passing.

With a heavy heart and heavy steps, he walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He saw Isabelle's sweet face, her lovely smile. He heard her laugh and reached for her outstretched hand. Yes, he wanted to go with her to a place where dreams came true. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Ryan's arms were aching when Andrew's truck pulled up next to his Ferrari. He stopped for a moment, resting one arm on top of the shovel.

Andrew didn't say anything, just shook his head and disappeared into the house.

Ryan stared after him. He had been thinking about Andrew since yesterday, remembering again how close they had once been, how Andrew had saved his life that day. Somehow he had forgotten that. After years of brotherly bickering and constant competition, Ryan had forgotten that there had been a time when his older brother was also his hero.

Ryan shook his head and went back to filling bags with sand. The sky overhead turned dark. The clouds began to toss and turn in preparation for an angry, restless night. Ryan was supposed to be on his way back to L.A. The centennial was over.

But he couldn't leave. The town and the people had gotten under his skin, welcoming him back like a long-lost family. Not his family, of course, but the rest of them. He'd missed that sense of belonging, of community.

Ryan lifted his head as Andrew came out of the house with another shovel. They worked together in silence for almost an hour, piling the bags around the garage and the foundation of the house.

It was almost five o'clock when Jonas stepped onto the porch with two beers. He tossed one can to Ryan and the other to Andrew. Then he disappeared back inside.

Ryan smiled to himself as he popped the tab and took a long drink. Even Andrew seemed somewhat amused. But the amusement faded when Andrew spoke.

"I gave Kara the letter," Andrew said. "I can't be with her, knowing that her father and our mother -- " He shuddered. "I can't handle that."

"You broke up with her? Are you crazy? She's one of the finest women you'll ever meet. She's strong and independent, beautiful and passionate and -- God, have you lost your brains?"

Andrew looked at him in surprise, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You're in love with her."

"Don't be stupid. I've known her for four days. No one falls in love in four days. You've known her for what, six months? How can you let her go?"

Andrew shook his head somewhat shamefully. "I know you'll laugh, but the truth is Kara makes me nervous. She has the craziest ideas, and her family -- Angel and Josephine -- are practically certifiable."

"Angel and Josephine are great."

"They're exhausting. I have trouble enough dealing with Billy. I can't handle Angel, too."

Ryan squeezed the empty beer can between his fingers. He didn't know why he was arguing for Kara. The last thing he wanted was for Andrew and Kara to get together. On the other hand, it would be much harder to leave knowing they weren't together, that he couldn't use their relationship as an excuse to stay away.

But there was no future for him in this town, not even with the most wonderful woman on earth. He would suffocate here. He would go back to being that two-bit worthless kid. And speaking of kids -- his thoughts turned to Angel and to Billy, to a boy who looked a lot like him.

Were there still more secrets to be uncovered? He wasn't sure he could handle any more.

"Ryan." Andrew suddenly looked disturbed. His gaze went to the river, then back to Ryan again. "Forget it."

"Forget what?" Ryan asked sharply.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

"We better get finished then."

Andrew started to shovel sand, but Ryan didn't move, knowing that he couldn't leave Serenity Springs without the answer to at least one of his questions. "Andrew, is Billy my son?"

"No," Andrew said abruptly, but there was doubt in his voice, in the way he avoided Ryan's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Andrew stopped shoveling. "All right, I'm not sure. I might be Billy's father or you might be, or some other schmuck that neither one of us knew about."

There was a gasp from behind them. Ryan whirled around. Angel and Billy stood at the corner of Andrew's truck.

"Billy." Andrew stepped toward his son, but Billy put up his hand.

"St-stay a-away from me," Billy stuttered, looking horror-struck.

"It's not true, is it?" Angel asked.

"Let me explain," Andrew said.

"Explain what?" Billy demanded. "That you're not my father? That you don't know who my father is? I hate you. I hate both of you." Billy took off running. Angel followed on his heels.

"Go after him," Ryan said.

Andrew hesitated. "I think he's your son, Ryan. I've thought that for a long time. Maybe you should go."

"Me?" Ryan asked in shock. "But -- no, he's your kid. You raised him. He doesn't want me to go after him. He wants you."

"I think that's why Becky Lee was leaving me," Andrew said, taking one last second to explain. "She wanted to tell you about Billy. She had a long talk with Jonas, and the next morning she packed up her things and left."

"Jonas? She talked to Jonas?"

"He never said what about."

"Good God. Jonas could have told her anything." Ryan looked toward the house. "That old man has a lot to answer for. Come on, we'll find Billy together, and we'll deal with this together."

"We will?" Andrew looked doubtful.

"We're brothers. Isn't it about time we remembered that?" Ryan saw the look of surprise on Andrew's face, but he didn't comment. He simply headed down the driveway, hoping they could find Billy and somehow make everything right for this innocent kid who was caught in the middle.

Angel put a hand on Billy's arm as he huddled on the ground by the river. Angel was surprised to find Billy close to the water, but he was so upset, he didn't seem to notice.

She wanted to ask him if he was okay, but she was afraid to say the words. She knew what it was like to find out your father wasn't who you thought he was.

"I can't believe he lied to me all this time, pretending to be my father," Billy said finally. He looked at Angel with a face wet from tears. "I hate him."

"I know."

"I don't have anybody now. No mother. No father."

"You can stay with us," Angel suggested. "My mom always has room for one more. And she's a pretty good mom."

"She won't want me. Nobody wants me."

"I want you." Andrew's voice rang out between them. Billy stiffened. Angel stepped aside so Andrew could talk to Billy.

Andrew sat down on the ground next to his son. He didn't say anything for a long moment; then he tipped Billy's chin up with his hand. "I loved you from the first minute you were born, with your red face and your dark hair and your long, scrawny legs." Andrew's voice caught. "I loved your mother, too. When I drove you and your mother home from the hospital, I was so proud. I didn't think I could be any happier. I had wanted a family so bad. And I finally had one. But things didn't work out between your mother and me. And when she died, I was devastated. The only thing, the only person who kept me going was you."

"But you're not my real dad. He is." Billy pointed a shaky finger at Ryan.

"No, I'm your father, now and always."

Andrew looked over at Ryan, daring him to argue.

But Ryan didn't have any intention of arguing, especially not after seeing the depth of his brother's love for this child. He stepped forward.

"Andrew is right, Billy. You didn't hear our whole conversation. If you had, you would have known that you're Andrew's son. You also would have learned that I loved your mother, too, and that I'd like to be friends with you, if you'll let me."

Billy wrestled with those words, his adolescent mind trying to grasp each and every fact. "You're not going to take me away? Make me have blood tests or something?"

The thought had occurred to him, but Ryan knew that it would serve no purpose. Being a father was about much more than biology. Besides that fact, there was a part of him that couldn't believe Becky Lee would have kept such a secret from him. She would have used it to her advantage, to go with him or make him stay.

Ryan realized Billy was waiting for an answer. "No blood tests. We don't need them. You belong with your father, with Andrew. But I would like to be your uncle. What do you think about that?"