The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (27 page)

“Oh, Tom.” She shook her head in regret.

“Nothing’s changed,” he went on. “I mean, aside from the obvious. What I mean is…this doesn’t affect how I feel.”

“Baby and all?” She arched a teasing brow.

“I missed the boat when it came to children.” He mustered a small smile. “Though it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.” Tom had been divorced as long as she’d known him. It never occurred to her that he and his wife had wanted a family.

“I appreciate the offer, Tom.” She spoke as gently as possibly. “More than you know.”

His face fell. “Is it the father? Are you marrying him?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “The only thing I’m sure of right now is that I have some major changes to make. Starting with knocking down a few walls of my own.”

Tom regarded her with what, amazingly, seemed to be renewed respect. “The offer is still open as far as my friendship is concerned,” he said. “I’ll help in any way I can. No strings attached.” He grinned, the grin of the anxious boy she’d seen a minute ago peeking out from behind the man’s sober face. “Now, about that contractor…”

Sam scarcely heard his next words. She was too busy turning over in her mind, like a precious found object, the rather amazing discovery that not everyone felt as her sister and Marguerite Moore did. There were those who accepted her, who would stand behind her. People like Gerry Fitzgerald and Reverend Grigsby…and yes, even Tom Kemp.

If only her daughters felt the same way.

T
HE FOLLOWING
S
ATURDAY
, Laura awoke, heart pounding, from a dream in which she’d gone to visit her mother, and Sam hadn’t known who she was. Her heartbeat slowed as familiar surroundings materialized in the morning light: her oak dresser with its clutter of framed photos; the clunky old wardrobe that’d been her grandmother’s, with its one door that wouldn’t stay shut; the padded rocker over which yesterday’s clothes had been thrown—dusty jeans sprung at the knees, a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, white cotton underwear as sexless and utilitarian as those worn, no doubt, by the nuns on the hill. Then she remembered her dream.

I don’t know my own mother anymore.

When she’d told Sam she was quitting, the only thing on her mind had been where she was going to find another job. In a million years she couldn’t have predicted what came next: that she’d be put in sole charge of Delarosa’s.

Her mother must have known this, for she’d said firmly, “This is my decision, so I don’t want you feeling responsible. I couldn’t bear it if I thought this was hurting you.”

“How can I not feel responsible?” Laura had wanted to know. Her mother clearly saw this as the solution to everything: a way to save money as well as resolve the problem of the two of them working together.

Sam had been quick to set her straight. “All right, you may have jump-started it, but the truth is both of us will benefit. I have my own future to think of, and for lots of reasons this makes sense.”

Incredibly, that wasn’t all. It seemed her mother was moving out of Isla Verde into a small run-down house in the Flats bought by Laura’s father as an investment—which Laura hadn’t even known about until now. And Isla Verde—where every nick and stain had a story, where generations of pets were buried, and the yard was shaded by trees grown from avocado seeds sprouted on the kitchen sill—was to be rented out to a perfect stranger.

Laura still hadn’t quite absorbed it all. Thoughts of last week’s startling turn of events tiptoed about in her head, not quite daring to give way to the inevitable worries beyond. For if her mother was capable of reinventing her life to this degree—moving into a house needing more work than this one—rotten floorboards and old wiring wouldn’t be the only things torn out. Alice and I could be next.

She waited a few more minutes before climbing out of bed. It was only barely light out, but further sleep would have been impossible. She knew because this wasn’t the first morning she’d woken with her heart in high gear and the ghost of a dream riding shotgun in her head. But it was Saturday, at least. Two whole days before the madness of Monday. Laura sighed at the thought. Last week, while her mother met with real estate agents and contractors, she’d been stuck doing the job of two. Between waiting on customers and tracking orders, marking new inventory and going over receipts, there’d been sorting through responses to the ad she’d placed and interviewing prospective employees. Which hadn’t left much time or energy for anything, or anyone, else.

Like Finch. Laura thought back to the girl’s recent revelations. No wonder she had nightmares! What amazed Laura was how she’d managed to keep it a secret for so long. Even now she could see in her mind Finch’s tortured face as she recounted the events of that night.

“They didn’t know I was in the apartment,” she’d said in an odd, halting voice. “There were two of them, two men talking to Lyle—I couldn’t see their faces from down the hall. All I know is they wanted their money.”

“Money for what?” Laura had asked.

“The coke.”

“Did your foster mom know he was dealing drugs?”

“Shirlee? Yeah, I think so. But she worked nights, so she wasn’t around much.” Beads of sweat had broken out on Finch’s brow; she looked ill. “I never said anything. Lyle would’ve gotten mad. And when he was mad—” She broke off, swallowing. “Anyway, I could hear them in the living room. Shouting at Lyle. Saying he was holding out on them. Lyle said something back. Then the next thing I knew, a gun went off. I ducked under the bed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing.” It was all Laura could do to keep from wrapping her arms around the poor, shivering girl.

“They didn’t stick around. I guess they were scared of getting caught.”

“Did you phone the police?”

“I thought he’d be dead,” Finch went on as if she hadn’t heard. “But when I got to him he…he was still breathing. He begged me to call an ambulance. But I just stood there. Watching him die. I could’ve saved him, but I…I didn’t.”

Laura pulled the girl into her arms, rocking her as she began to weep. She was staggered by the knowledge, not of what Finch had done—or thought she’d done—but of what she must have gone through. Where were the people who ought to have been looking out for her? County officials, social workers, teachers?

Now it was up to Laura to decide what was best. Finch remained adamant about not bringing in the police, and rather than betray her trust Laura had reluctantly agreed. At the same time, it was clear they couldn’t go on like this. Jumping at every car that pulled into the driveway, hesitating to pick up the phone. Something had to give.

Tugging on jeans and a sweatshirt, Laura crept through the living room and down the hall. In the kitchen, Pearl’s tail thumped against the side of her box while Rocky wandered over to see what was up. She sank onto her haunches to give his head a good scrub. “Don’t you go giving me any grief now, you hear?” The terrier licked her face in response. His curly black face, with its ragged ear that flopped like a rabbit’s, seemed to say, We know you’re doing your best even if it doesn’t always look that way.

She straightened with a sigh. The cats were making themselves known as well, winding in and out between her legs, mewing as if she hadn’t fed them in ages. She shook kibble into their bowls, and was at the sink filling their water dishes when she caught a movement outside: a woman stepping from the shadow of the barn. Laura saw a flash of blond hair and pale legs before she disappeared around the other side.

She felt a surge of jealousy, though it shouldn’t have surprised her. This wasn’t the first woman to stay the night. Besides, Hector didn’t owe her an explanation.

She thought of the kiss in the barn. Maybe he had felt something. Deep affection that had momentarily crossed over into another realm. But it clearly wasn’t leading anywhere. Ever since then it had been business as usual as far as Hector was concerned, while she walked around like a moonstruck idiot: terrified he would guess how she felt, equally terrified he wouldn’t.

Well, you can relax. She need look no further than out the window for proof that he wasn’t interested.

Suddenly she felt stupid for ever having imagined he could want her—a one-woman Noah’s ark who looked more like a page out of Practical Horseman than Vogue. Any sane man would run for the hills. Any true friend would let him go.

She heard a noise, and turned to find Finch in the kitchen doorway, dressed in navy shorts and a wrinkled Tour de France T-shirt, never mind the pretty flowered nighties Laura had bought her. “Isn’t today Saturday?” she asked, yawning.

“Yup.” Laura set out the cat’s bowls, and reached for the coffeepot by the stove. “Hungry?”

“I should feed the horses first.”

“Hector—” Laura broke off. “Come to think of it, I’m sure he’d appreciate the extra sleep. I heard him roll in pretty late last night.”

Finch started for the door. This past week she’d seemed easier somehow, her step lighter, as if the burden that’d been weighing on her had been lifted. Abruptly she turned. “Uh, Laura? I was just wondering—you haven’t changed your mind or anything, have you?”

“About what?” Laura scooped coffee from the canister.

“You know.” Finch dropped her voice.

“I gave my word.”

“You could get into trouble.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Laura tossed her a small crooked smile. “Look, one way or another we’ll get this sorted out, but I promise I won’t do anything without talking to you first. Okay?”

The girl was silent for a moment, and Laura caught a flicker of something in her eyes, something wanting desperately to believe that amid all those unkept promises and broken trusts there might, just might, be someone she could count on.

“My real name is Bethany,” she said softly. “Bethany Wells.”

Laura thought of an injured chipmunk she’d once nursed back to health. For weeks it had cowered in its cage, refusing to let her near it. But gradually it had grown to trust her, until one day she was able to hold it cupped in her palms—a warm silken ball quivering like the very essence of life itself.

She felt that same quickening now.

“Nice to meet you, Bethany.” She stepped away from the counter, hand extended, feeling the world shift a bit on its axis while the morning ticked on unaware: tap dripping, coffee burbling, dogs and cats rooting in their bowls.

Soft, shy fingers curled about hers. Brown eyes peered up at her hopefully. “Would it be okay if you still called me Finch?”

Laura nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Sure thing.”

“You won’t say anything to Maude, will you?” Finch didn’t need to spell it out. They both knew how absentminded Maude could be. She might spill the beans without meaning to.

“My lips are sealed.”

Finch hesitated, then said, “The other day she told me you got divorced because you couldn’t have kids. Is that true?”

Laura felt a twinge of familiar pain, but it was muted somehow. “Partly,” she said. “The truth is we probably would’ve broken up anyway.”

Finch nodded in understanding, saying with unexpected fervency, “Well, if you ask me, any guy who couldn’t see how great you are doesn’t deserve you.”

Laura grinned. “You know something? I’m starting to think so myself.”

Then Finch was outside, the screen door wheezing shut behind her. It was a moment before Laura was able to fall back into step with the morning. She was putting away the dishes from the night before when Maude appeared, bundled in her robe as if the weatherman had predicted eighteen instead of eighty degrees.

“Coffee. How lovely,” she exclaimed, as if Laura didn’t make it every morning. “With toast and cinnamon butter, I think.”

“I’ll whip the butter,” Laura said. “Do we have enough bread?”

“I should hope so. I took a loaf out of the freezer just last night.” Maude reached into the bread bin, her smile fading as she stared in dismay at the soggy package in her hand: the rump roast meant for tonight’s dinner. “Heavens.” She raised a pair of stricken eyes to Laura. “I must be getting forgetful in my old age.”

Laura knew what she was thinking. It was one thing to be living here when she, too, had been something of a runaway, but now that Elroy had made his intentions known, however crudely, Maude must be worried that she’d worn out her welcome.

Laura set her mug down. “Nonsense.” She gently pried the soggy packet from Maude’s hands. “We wouldn’t be able to manage without you. Do you think it makes one bit of difference whether we eat roast beef or…or leftover macaroni and cheese?”

“Better make that spaghetti and meatballs. I got hungry in the middle of the night.” Maude risked a tiny smile. With her frizzled braid draped over one shoulder, she resembled a fluffy white cat.

Laura hugged her, thinking of Elroy, which made her think of Sam and how complicated it all was with one’s parents. How much easier it was with someone whose history wasn’t all tangled up with yours. She didn’t love Maude in spite of their not being related. She loved her all the more because of it.

“Never mind,” she said. “We’ll go out.”

Maude drew back, frowning. “That’s generous of you, dear, but can you afford it?”

“I don’t see why not.” She wouldn’t think about the vet bill that was due, the ancient oil burner about to go, or the gutters in need of replacing. All that mattered was that her little makeshift family was all in one piece—if only for the moment.

She was setting the table when Maude asked cautiously, “Did you hear anything last night?”

“Like what?”

“I thought I heard someone scream.”

Laura hadn’t heard anything except Hector’s truck. “It might have been a bobcat.”

“No, it was definitely human. It sounded like a woman.”

“Mrs. Vincenzi?” Their nearest neighbor, who suffered from Alzheimer’s, was prone to occasional screaming fits. But the Vincenzi house was a quarter of a mile down the road, so it wasn’t likely to have come from there. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to check. “I’ll give Anna a call after breakfast to make sure everything’s okay.”

The sun was peeking over the roof of the barn by the time breakfast found its way onto the table. Maude had toasted the half loaf of bread that surfaced from the refrigerator, and Laura filled in with homemade granola and a bowl of sliced peaches from the orchard at Isla Verde.