A Family Affair: Summer: Truth in Lies, Book 3 Page 8

  He might need four binders stacked with play-by-plays of chance encounters to get this couple past eight years of hurt and—

  “Hey.”

  She turned and spotted Nate standing on the deck, jacket open, dressed in his usual jeans and flannel. “I told you I’d take care of the yard this weekend.”

  Christine smiled as he bounded down the steps and made his way toward her and Anna. “We needed the fresh air. And look,” she held up both hands, “I even wore the gloves you got me.”

  “So you did.” He grinned and pulled her into his arms, planting a kiss on her lips. “I have my very own little gardener.”

  “Yes, you do.” She brushed her lips over his, breathed in his scent. If they were married sixty years, it would not be enough. “And besides, Anna loves to watch the birds.”

  Nate released her and walked to the carriage. He leaned down, kissed his daughter’s forehead, and said in a gentle voice, “Did you tell Mommy that? Or did you tell her you were watching the big hawk that keeps the backyard nice and clean?” He leaned closer. “What? Oh, I think she’s pretty, too.”

  Christine shook her head and laughed. The first time she met Nate Desantro she would have bet her retirement fund he didn’t know how to smile, and certainly not make a joke. But she’d been so very wrong. “Lily called a little while ago. She said you promised to cook hot dogs and burgers on the grill tonight.”

  He lifted Anna from the carriage and straightened. “That little conniver. I did not say that. She asked if I would make hot dogs and burgers on the grill sometime, not today.”

  “You know she’s looking for any reason to visit Anna.”

  Nate sighed. “Oh, I know. Like how she offered to come and dust the house for us and vacuum?” He laughed and slung an arm over her shoulder as they headed toward the house. “Next time I’m going to take her up on it and make her do it.”

  “She’s just excited to be an aunt.” How could they fault her for loving Anna?

  “I know, but if she wants to visit, she has to clear it with Mom and not make up a bunch of excuses about how we need her to do work.”

  “She is getting pretty creative.”

  “And she was coming to cook dinner because you were too tired?” He looked at her and shook his head. “That’s wrong on so many levels, but the main one is her assumption that you do the cooking.”

  “Nate Desantro.” She smacked his arm. “I do too cook.” Her voice dipped. “Just not as well or as often as you do.”

  His lips twitched but he tried for a serious expression when he said, “But you have so many other qualities that far surpass a simple meal. Trust me on that.”

  The intensity of his gaze heated her insides, swirled to her gut. “And don’t forget it either.”

  “Oh, I won’t, don’t worry about that.”

  He opened the door and she stepped inside. “So, Lily and your mom will be here at six. Burgers and hot dogs are in the fridge and Miriam is bringing antipasto salad and a pineapple upside-down cake. Lily is making lemonade.”

  “Lemonade?”

  “Fresh-squeezed. Miriam said not to ask.”

  Nate shrugged out of his jacket and eased into the rocker with Anna, who had begun to coo. He stroked her dark hair and nuzzled his face against hers, whispering into her ear. Christine watched them and thought about Cash and Tess. Would they get a second chance together, maybe eventually share a child?

  “The mail’s on the table,” Nate said, eyes closed, rocking back and forth with Anna resting on his chest, her tiny fists balled against the flannel of his shirt.

  “Thanks.” She made her way to the kitchen table and rifled through the stack. The mail service didn’t deliver to rural locations in Magdalena, so once every day or two, Nate or Christine stopped by the post office to collect their mail. Quite a bit different from Chicago, where the mail arrived in the box at the end of the driveway every morning by 10:00 A.M. and special delivery trucks dropped off packages several times a week. She set aside the catalogues and flyers and put the bills in another stack. The only remaining item was a half-inch padded manila envelope with a Chicago delivery stamp on it.

  “Looks like my mother sent Anna another book.” Gloria had sent five fairytale books and Aesop’s Fables—how appropriate— at Christmas. Nate hadn’t been pleased and Uncle Harry claimed she was merely trying to weasel her way back in, using Anna. Christine had listened to her gut and also to Miriam, who believed Gloria was truly sorry for what she’d done and sent a brief, impersonal thank-you note. When January arrived, so did more books. Nate kept quiet this time, but his scowl said more than any words could. She didn’t tell Uncle Harry, but apparently Nate had, because he’d called with a long list of reasons not to trust her mother, beginning and ending with Natalie Servetti.

  She hadn’t forgotten how her mother orchestrated a set-up that almost destroyed their marriage. But she’d moved past that; she and Nate were solid and happy. Gloria couldn’t touch them now, and while Christine accepted a random book here and there for Anna, she did not plan to let Gloria back into her life. The absence of books in February and March made Christine think her mother’s goodwill and kindness toward her granddaughter had dried up. But now it was April and another package had arrived.

  “Maybe Gloria forgot to pay her Book Club bill and they refused to send more books.”

  “Nate. Please.”

  “Just saying, you never know the truth or the motives of that woman.”

  She carried the package into the living room and sat on the couch, working a finger under the tape. “The other books came in a box, and there were more of them.”

  “Money could be tight. One too many salon visits and poof, the fortune’s gone.”

  Obviously, her husband had not forgiven Gloria for her plot against him. It’s not that Christine had quite let go of the hurt or sadness that her own mother had plotted against her, but years of living with Gloria Blacksworth had taught her that some things and some people didn’t change and it was easier and much healthier to move on. That didn’t mean you let them hurt you again; it just meant you didn’t waste energy on an impossible cause. She lifted the tape and opened the envelope, wishing for a second that things could have been different with her mother.

  “Whatever’s in here is for Anna. Thinking of it that way makes everything much easier.”

  Nate’s voice turned cold, his words harsh. “I’m not that generous with my forgiveness.”

  That was certainly true. Nate Desantro protected what was his. Period. “Well.” She stared at the green cover of the slim book. It was Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. How interesting that her mother would send a book about the circle of life where child becomes caretaker to parent. Was there a hidden message here, a code between the pages?

  She eased open the cover and there on the whiteness of the page, she found her answer, though it was not an answer at all. Gloria’s scrawl read, To Christine, my darling and most beloved daughter. Love, Mother.

  Chapter 7

  Will Carrick was not the kind of man a person said no to. He’d done two tours of duty in the marines, been awarded a Medal of Honor, and come back to Magdalena to protect the town as police chief until he retired three years ago. He knew the ins and outs of everyone’s backstory, on both sides of the law, and pretty much got along with all of them, using reason and common sense and sometimes a night in jail.

  He stood in Ramona Casherdon’s living room, arms crossed over his chest, telling—not asking—Cash to get his butt out of the chair and come for a ride.

  “I’m really not in the mood right now, Will.” Once he set foot out of the house, half of Magdalena would pounce on him with questions, well-wishes, and enough food to feed six families. He couldn’t handle that right now. And he sure as hell couldn’t run the risk of seeing Tess again. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d sat in this very room, and he needed time to get his head straight.

  “In the mood?” Will’s l
ong, lean body towered over Cash. He might be a civilian now but he still had that battle aura about him. “Would you like a tampon, too?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You plan on rotting in this house? Because the way I see it, you need to get out. Look at something other than a TV and these four walls. Now, I’ve given you your space, didn’t make a fuss when you refused to see me, but enough is enough. Let’s get in the truck so I can take you to the house and show you what I’ve been working on.” He grinned. “Mighty impressive if I say so myself.”

  What the hell, he couldn’t hide in this house forever while his aunt doted on him and Gina Servetti forced “range of motion” exercises on him. She’d told him in that no-nonsense way of hers that he didn’t need a physical therapist; what he needed was to do his exercises, eat right, lay off the pills, and stop feeling sorry for himself. Yeah, she was a real bleeding heart.

  “What do you say?” Will asked. “Ready for a little fresh air?”

  “Your niece isn’t going to be there, is she?”

  Will threw him a look as if he wasn’t quite sure what Cash meant. Bull. The man was already seven steps ahead of Cash in the plotting department. “Tess? Not that I know of.” His blue eyes sparkled and he added, “But I can ask her up if you’d like.”

  Cash’s lips twitched and his gaze narrowed on the man who had been mentor, boss, and friend. “Like I said, go to hell.”

  Will laughed and headed toward the front door and the pickup in the driveway. “Take your time. I’ll see you outside.”

  Cash eased out of the chair and grabbed his sunglasses. The doctors said it would take time to regain his strength, but they couldn’t say how much. Time was always that elusive factor—too much or never enough. The afternoon sun and the scent of Ramona’s hyacinths hit him square in the face, reminding him of the lazy spring days he and Tess used to enjoy when they were too young to realize nothing lasted forever—especially them. She’d monopolized his thoughts since her visit, a fact that royally annoyed him. It was one thing to imagine what she looked like all these years later, imagine conversations and gestures…but to actually see her, hear her? Well, that was like standing empty-handed in front of a guy who had a gun pointed at you.

  “You okay?” Will eyed him as Cash settled in the truck. “You’re looking kind of squeamish.”

  Squeamish? Cash would bet a hundred bucks that any man who had to face his ex-fiancée after an eight-year absence would get squeamish when he recalled the meeting. And he might actually puke if he thought about the inevitability of seeing her again. He opened the window, sucked in a deep breath. “I’m good.” And then, because he sensed Will was watching him a bit too closely, he said, “Do you use this truck for hauling?” He casually glanced down the street in the direction of the Carrick house. They lived four streets away and thankfully, there were no cars or people coming from that direction.

  Her eyes were even greener than he remembered, and her hair, though shorter, had the same shininess to it…and her skin…

  “I have been, as a matter of fact.” Will flipped on the radio and one of those honky-tonk country songs he loved twanged over the air. “Building a house uses a lot of material.” He hummed a few bars of the tune and headed toward the outskirts of town and the road leading to his house.

  That got Cash’s attention. “You’re building a house?” Will had always tinkered in his workshop and even converted the old barn to a grand-scale shop with heat, a bathroom, even an old recliner. But a house? That required a bit more attention than constructing a bookcase.

  Will laughed. “You sound surprised. Just because I don’t walk around town with a résumé of qualifications doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of things I can’t do.”

  “But a house?”

  He shrugged. “I did most of it myself except for the drywall and plumbing. Nate’s been a big help with the plans and bouncing ideas back and forth.” He shot a quick glance at Cash and said, “It helps to have someone listen when you’re trying to work out a problem.”

  What did he mean by that? Was he talking about Tess? What problem? They didn’t have a problem. Did they? She was in town to visit her mother and he was here recuperating. End of story. The tragic tale that had consumed their lives was over, and neither one of them had a desire to rework the past.

  Did they?

  When Cash didn’t respond to the “trying to work out a problem” comment, Will went on, “This house has been occupying most of my life for the past several months. After I lost Julia, I had to find a way to fill my days.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife. She was a nice lady.”

  “Yes.” Will’s voice dipped. “She was.”

  Cash scratched his jaw and decided to do a little information scavenging of his own. “Ramona said you’ve been spending a lot of time at Olivia Carrick’s.” When his aunt mentioned that, she’d given him the raised eyebrow that said there was a whole lot more to that story, if a person were so inclined to do a little digging.

  “Your aunt should have been a judge or a spy, not sure which she’s more suited to, but I’m thinking she’d like the judge part better.”

  Cash slid a glance in Will’s direction, kept his voice even. “She was merely commenting.”

  Will laughed. “Your aunt doesn’t comment on anything for the sake of commenting.”

  “Okay, so what’s up with you and Olivia?”

  “We’re friends. I did some painting for her, oiled a few doors, fixed an electrical outlet. Basic stuff.” He paused. “My brother never was much of a handyman.”

  They turned off the main road and headed down the long driveway of Will’s homestead. He’d named it Blue Moon, and Cash had loved it from the first time he saw it. Will’s family had owned the place and when Will returned from the war, he’d married Julia Artemis and together they fixed up the place and got ready for the kids that never came. Two days before their second wedding anniversary, Julia learned she had multiple sclerosis. That’s when she’d formed The Bleeding Hearts Society, and while the main requirement for this invitation-only club was a love of perennials, most people shared something else: heartache.

  “Would you like to see the house?”

  Cash nodded. “Absolutely.”

  It almost felt like the old days when they rode in the squad car together. But this wasn’t the old days and they weren’t cops anymore—at least, not officially. That was another story, one that Cash wasn’t ready or able to deal with right now. Will eased the truck past the sprawling house and barn and drove a half-mile further back to an opening that held a two-story log cabin with a front porch.

  Cash stared at the log cabin, thinking it sure looked a helluva lot like the one he and Tess designed for their dream house, the one he’d pictured in his head for the last eight years. And now, here it was, a living, breathing reminder of what he’d lost.

  “Your aunt found the plans,” Will said in a soft, knowing voice. “She gave them to me a while back, but I just kind of hung onto them. When Julia died, I needed a way to fill my days, so I started working on them, but it wasn’t until we heard about your accident that I became hell-bent on it.”

  The pitched roof. The front porch. The skylights. It was exactly as they’d envisioned it. Cash cleared his throat and asked, “What are you going to do with it?” It was almost too painful to look at. He’d dreamed of the memories they would make in this house, the children they would have, the love they would share…

  “Give it to you.”

  Cash tore his gaze from the house and stared at Will. “Me? Why?”

  “You’re the son I never had. I always planned to offer you the land when you and—” he caught himself, corrected, “—when the time came to build. And I would have helped you build it, so I just gave you a jump start. There’ll be plenty more to add: a barn, a garage, a workshop. Why don’t you take a look inside? There are a couple of cold ones in the fridge.” He paused. “Take your time.”

  His drea
m home. The thought was bittersweet. He’d designed it with Tess in mind. And the children they’d have. And the dog. Shit, the whole damn enchilada. And now it was just him, a beaten-up ex-cop with a hole in his heart. He turned to Will and asked, “You coming?”

  “You go on alone. You should be by yourself the first time. I’ll swing by in an hour and pick you up.”

  Will knew what it was like to lose your dream. For the first time since he’d been shot, Cash felt like somebody understood him. “Make it two hours,” he said and turned toward the house.

  For too many years, Cash had refused to think about Tess. That in itself was a flashing beacon that kept her right below his subconscious. When he saw a woman with long blond hair and green eyes the color of a dew-coated lawn, he thought of Tess. When he kissed a woman with full lips that tasted like honey and berries, he thought of Tess. And when he touched a woman with golden skin and small breasts, again, he thought of Tess. It was a curse, one he detested yet refused to give up.

  The only time he permitted himself to think of the real Tess Carrick was when his defenses slipped in the early stages of sleep or exhaustion. Then, he let his mind wander through the dangerous field of “what if” scenarios. What if Tess were waiting for him in Magdalena? What if she wanted another chance? What would he do? He knew the answer before his brain did. He’d move back, marry her as soon as possible, and they’d get pregnant—as soon as possible. They’d get a dog, build their dream home somewhere in Magdalena. Maybe Will would sell them a lot. They’d have three children, maybe four, and they’d lie in each other’s arms every night and wake up together every morning. And Tess’s smile would warm his heart, make it beat for her alone…

  Those pre-sleep scenarios worked until they started to seep into his waking hours, demanding to be analyzed and acknowledged, maybe even acted upon. It was the last that put him over the edge. A life with Tess Carrick was never going to happen. That realization made him fearless in his job, and why wouldn’t it? What does a man have left when he’s lost everything?