Montana Hearts (8 page)

Interesting question. “Maybe she thought you had other things you'd rather do. But now you want to learn. Using your grandmother's recipes is a good way to begin.”

“I guess.” She studied the recipe again. “It says we need to melt a bunch of butter and lard in a big skillet. Ugh. Lard is gross.”

Too true. Sarah could feel her arteries hardening already. “Let's follow the recipe as best we can this time. Then, if you want to, next time you can make some changes.”

Agreeing that would work, Beth proceeded to roll
the chicken in flour, followed by eggs and crushed corn flakes. The messy process resulted in gobs of the mixture blobbing onto the counter and the floor.

The chicken sizzled and spattered when Beth dropped chicken pieces into the hot fat. As she added more pieces, she had to crowd them into the frying pan.

“Careful, don't burn yourself,” Sarah warned, too late.

“Ouch!” Beth sucked on her wrist where a splatter had caught her.

“Better turn down the fire a little.”

Taking a step back from the stove so she wouldn't get burned, Sarah eyed the overly full pan. How would the chicken fry up right with so many pieces not in the hot fat? Maybe she'd bought too much chicken. But Kurt had such a big appetite. So did Toby.

“Hello! Anybody home?” The screen door on the back porch slammed shut. A moment later, Grace Livingston swept into the kitchen. Her gray hair had been recently trimmed and she wore a summery housedress in a flower print. “I thought I'd come by to show Beth—oh, you've already started.”

“Hi, Nana.”

Sarah gave Beth's grandmother a welcoming smile. “Beth's doing a really good job. She's going to be an excellent cook like you and her mother.”

Grace sniffed and eyed the chicken. “She won't have anything but soggy, uncooked chicken using that pan. It's too small. You should have told her to use the big cast-iron skillet Zoe kept in the pantry.”

“Cast-iron? I didn't know—”

Ignoring Sarah, Grace marched back to the pantry.

Deflated, Beth's shoulders slumped. “I guess I should've remembered which pan Mom used.”

“It's the first time we've tried to fry chicken. Everyone makes mistakes.” Grace's autocratic attitude wasn't likely to motivate Beth to try a second time.

Huge black frying pan in hand, Grace stormed back into the kitchen. She gave Sarah a look that was anything but friendly, then edged Beth aside.

“Let me take care of this,” Grace said.

Beth stepped out of the way. Her gaze met Sarah's and the girl shrugged, disappointment written all over her young face.

It was all Sarah could do not to throw Grace Livingston out of the kitchen on her keister, she was so angry at the woman for bullying Beth and not giving her a chance to learn. Instead Sarah bit her tongue. It was not her place to come between Beth and her grandmother.

Grace managed to transfer the chicken and the hot fat into the larger pan without burning herself. She fussed with it, turning the chicken pieces and then placed a lid on the pan.

She faced Sarah and placed her fist on her hip. “Young lady, you need to explain yourself. The door was open to the guest room. I wasn't prying, mind you, but I saw all those pill bottles on your bed table and I want to know what kind of a druggie you are.”

“Na…na,” Beth wailed.

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. Just before starting dinner, she'd been sorting her meds into her daily portions so she wouldn't miss any doses. A prospect that could lead to disaster, including organ rejection.

She steadied herself. “I don't believe I have to answer to you.”

Kurt chose that moment to saunter into the kitchen. He looked hot and sweaty, the knees of his jeans covered with mud. “Hey, Grace. I thought I saw your car drive up.”

He glanced around at the three females in the room, finally focusing on Sarah. “What don't you have to answer?”

“It's personal.”

His brows shot up. He turned to Grace for an answer.

“This woman—” Her hand shaking, she pointed a finger at Sarah. “This woman you hired to replace me, to replace your wife—”

“I'm not here to replace anyone,” Sarah interjected.

“—is a druggie. I've seen it with my own eyes.”

“That's not true. I'm not a druggie or anything of the sort.” She felt trapped. She didn't want to reveal her real reason for coming to Sweet Grass Valley. The real reason she had to take so many pills. She'd vowed to remain anonymous. To do no harm.

“Go take a look for yourself, Kurt Ryder.” Her voice rising, Grace shook her finger toward the guest room.

“You'll see what I mean. There must be a dozen pill bottles on the table beside that woman's bed. You'll see.”

“Daddy?” Beth's eyes were round and frightened as she tracked the conversation among the adults.

Kurt held up his hand. “Sarah, are you taking a lot of pills?”

“They are prescription medications. Grace would
know that if she'd looked more closely.” Although Sarah wouldn't have appreciated the woman nosing around in her room. “I need them to maintain my health.”

“She's probably addicted to pain pills,” Grace decided. “I've heard about people like that. All those famous movie stars and the like. You shouldn't allow a woman like that around your children. She could be dangerous.”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. Grace Livingston obviously watched too much television. Although Sarah suspected Grace's underlying motivation continued to be her fear that she—and her late daughter—would be replaced in the eyes of Kurt and his children.

“I'm not a danger to anyone. I am not addicted to anything and I do not take pain medications.” She'd hated that mentally foggy, out-of-control feeling when she took pain meds after her surgery. She'd weaned herself off of them as soon as she could. Now she rarely took an aspirin and only then when she absolutely had to.

Folding her arms across her chest, Grace glared at her from across the room.

The chicken on the stove continued to sizzle, little puffs of steam escaping from under the lid.

“Why do you take so many meds?” Kurt asked, his voice subdued but with a hint of steely resolve.

Sarah's heart sank. He didn't trust her. She'd been here, living in the same house with him for almost two weeks, laughing with him, caring for him and his family. She'd started to have feelings for him. Yet he hadn't come to believe in her.

Tears of disappointment and regret pressed at the back of her eyes. Her chin quivered.

“I didn't want to tell you.”

“Tell me what, Sarah?”

She swallowed hard and licked her dry lips. She could simply pack her bags and leave. They wouldn't know who she was. Or why she'd come to Sweet Grass Valley. They wouldn't be any the wiser.

But her heart—or maybe it was Zoe's heart—wouldn't let her do that. In ways she couldn't yet quite understand, Sarah felt she belonged here.

She cleared the lump from her throat. “I'm a heart-transplant recipient. I take the pills so my body doesn't reject my new heart.”

E
xcept for the chicken cooking on the stove, the only sound Kurt heard was the hammering of his heart. His breath locked in his lungs. Spots appeared before his eyes and a wave of dizziness swept over him.

Neither Grace nor Beth had spoken. The shock written on their faces reflected the same stunned sensation he'd felt in his gut.

Sarah Barkley. Heart-transplant recipient. From Seattle. His housekeeper.

He'd donated Zoe's organs in Seattle. That couldn't be a coincidence. Could it?

He forced himself to exhale and draw in a lungful of air to clear his head.

“Why did you come to Sweet Grass Valley? Why agree to be my housekeeper?”

A flush colored Sarah's cheeks. Unable to look at him, her gaze darted around the room. “I was taking time off from work. I was just passing through—”

“No. Don't lie to me.” She was hiding something. He could tell. He fisted his hands, not to throw a punch but to keep himself under control. His thoughts, his
emotions, were jumping around like a horse that had gotten into some locoweed. And like a loco horse, he jumped to one crazy yet obvious conclusion. “Did you come here because you got Zoe's heart?”

“There's no way to know that for sure.” Her words were barely above a whisper, her expression distraught.

Grace gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Half staggering, she collapsed onto a kitchen chair. “My baby girl…”

“Please, Mrs. Livingston—”

“Have you really got mom's heart in your chest?” Beth asked, near tears, her voice quaking.

“Please. I didn't want you to know.” Sarah raised a hand toward Kurt in what appeared to be supplication. “I only wanted to help you, the whole family, to thank you in some small way for the sacrifice you've all made.”

As she spoke, Kurt studied the woman he'd known for less than two weeks. Except for having blonde hair, she looked nothing like Zoe. She didn't act like Zoe either. The two women couldn't have had more different personalities. And yet—

“You do think you have Zoe's heart or you wouldn't have come here,” he said.

“It's a possibility,” she admitted.

“How did you— What made you think—” His thoughts stumbled as though he was on uneven ground and couldn't keep his balance.

“The timing was right. Your car accident. The length of her coma before you…let her go.”

Still covering her mouth, Grace sobbed a great, soul
ful sound filled with pain. Tears edged down Beth's cheeks.

Remembering that terrible day, the painful decision he'd had to make, Kurt thought he might throw up. His throat ached with the despair he still felt at the memory.

“How did you find out?” he asked. “Did the doctor tell you?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Then how?”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. Obviously, I've upset you. Upset you all.” With remorse in her eyes, she looked at his daughter and his mother-in-law before returning her focus to Kurt. “I'm so very sorry. I shouldn't have come.”

“Tell me. Tell me how you found out about Zoe,” he insisted.

She stepped to the stove and turned off the chicken, the smell of burned meat suddenly sharp and acrid in the room.

“Research,” she said. “The internet. Old newspaper stories. Organ transplants are generally done within a specific geographic region. I knew whoever's heart I had, had to have died somewhere in the northwest, probably the result of an accident and very near the time of my transplant.”

He plowed his fingers through his hair and paced to the window before turning around. “There had to be other fatal accidents, other possibilities. Zoe can't have been the only organ donor in the whole state of Washington.”

“No, I'm sure she wasn't.”

“Then you can't know—”

“No, I can't. That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

“Does it
feel
like it's mom's heart?” Beth asked in a small, unsure voice.

“Oh, honey, it beats like any other heart. Better than my old one, of course. But it's a muscle. It does its job, for which I'll be eternally grateful.”

Grace stood, her hand on the table to help keep her balance. “Zoe's heart is why you wanted to learn to fry chicken just like she did.”

Sarah shook her head. “No, I wanted Beth to—”

“And why you've worked so hard restoring the flower beds out front that she loved so much,” Grace continued. “It's because Zoe's a part of you now. It's almost as if she's still alive inside you.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “It's a miracle.”

Sarah blanched, and Kurt stepped across the room and put his arm around the older woman.

“Grace, don't carry on so. Sarah isn't Zoe. She's nothing like Zoe.”

“She has my daughter's heart,” Grace cried. “A part of Zoe is still alive because of her. Thank the good Lord. Zoe's still alive.”

“No, Grace,” Kurt said. “That's not how it works.”

The back door slammed shut and Toby tromped into the room. “Howdy, partners. Looks like it's chow time,” he said without moving his lips.

Kurt frowned at his son. The kid's crazy ventriloquist business was going too far.

The boy looked around, finally sensing something
was going on. “What's up? Is Nana having a spell or something?”

Beth spoke up. “Sarah's got Mom's heart in her chest. She had a transplant.”

Toby swiveled his head to look at Sarah. “Really? Hey, that's cool.”

“I don't know for sure whose heart—”

“If you had a transplant,” Toby said, grinning, “you've probably got an awesome scar. Pete Wilson had his appendix out and he's got—”

Kurt hushed the boy. “Toby, that's enough.”

“I was just saying…” He lifted his shoulders in an I-don't-know-what-I-did-wrong shrug. “Is supper ready yet? I'm starved.” Unconcerned with the emotional tension in the room, he opened a cupboard, got out a bag of chips and ripped it open.

Toby's arrival and his request for dinner animated the room.

Sarah removed the lid on the chicken and frowned. Devastated that she'd been forced to reveal her secret, a storm of regret and hopelessness churned in her chest.

“It looks like the chicken is ruined.” She stabbed a fork into a blackened drumstick, lifting it above the frying pan.

“Here, let me see if I can rescue dinner.” Grace moved to the stove. “Not the first time someone's burned a bit of chicken, dear. Don't you worry yourself. You'll get it right next time.”

Grace's cordial, forgiving tone was so in contrast with her usual treatment of Sarah, she had the impression Grace had morphed into a different person.

Or, more likely, in her grief she had imagined her beloved daughter Zoe was in Sarah's body.

Stepping back from the stove, Sarah tried to think what she should do. She'd never been anyone but herself, whatever talents and weaknesses she had. She certainly didn't intend to become Zoe simply to feed Grace's heartbreaking fantasy that Zoe had in some way returned to her.

Toby had gotten a cola from the refrigerator and plopped down at the table munching on the bag of chips, oblivious to what was happening. Sarah considered warning the boy not to spoil his dinner, but that seemed useless.

Standing in the farthest corner of the room, her arms crossed, Beth continued to stare at Sarah. Mentally x-raying her in the hope of finding her mother inside,

Sarah suspected.
Poor child!

Kurt had turned his back on the room. Standing ramrod straight, he stared out the window. Sarah couldn't fathom what he might be thinking. But even though he stood tall and strong, she knew he was vulnerable. Her revelation had rocked his foundation, the life he'd tried to rebuild for himself and his children.

Dear Lord, please help him. Help his family.

“We'll just scrape off this burned part,” Grace said, fussing with the chicken. “At least the chicken is cooked through. It will be fine. Did you start the potatoes, dear?”

Sarah blinked, returning to the more practical problem. “Uh, no. I was going to serve brown rice with the chicken and a salad.”

“Zoe used to love serving mashed potatoes and gravy
with her fried chicken. A thick, white gravy. Of course, since everything burned, the fat and leavings in the pan wouldn't make a very good gravy. We'll do that next time.” Without looking in Sarah's direction, Grace continued her scraping effort, placing the slightly charred chicken pieces on a serving plate. “This will be fine for now.”

Still bewildered about how to deal with Grace and the rest of the family, Sarah got down a box of brown rice and set a pan of water on the stove to heat. She desperately wished she could talk to Kurt alone. Ask him what he was thinking. What he wanted her to do, stay or leave.

But she couldn't do that in front of Grace, who seemed determined to take over dinner preparations.

She'd have to wait until she could get Kurt alone.

 

During dinner, Sarah noticed Beth ate very little and spoke even less.

In contrast, Grace talked almost nonstop, recalling stories about Zoe. How she'd won a barrel-racing contest at age fifteen and had been the high school homecoming queen her senior year. She'd won a chili cook-off at the county fair and took second place with her cinnamon-apple-peach crisp in the dessert division. Based on Grace's account, Zoe had been the epitome of a perfect daughter.

No one could live up to that high standard. Certainly not Sarah.

Kurt spoke only when he was forced to. When Toby managed to get a word in, he reported on his buddy's latest video game.

With supper finished, Grace was on her feet first to start the cleanup. Toby headed upstairs to his room. Kurt ducked out, claiming he had some paperwork to do. Beth's help in the kitchen was lackluster at best, and she escaped out the back door at the earliest possible moment.

Grace dried her hands and brushed her gray hair back from her flushed face. “I should be going now.” She tilted her head and smiled at Sarah. “I am so pleased Zoe brought you here. I feel as though a terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“Mrs. Livingston, please. You shouldn't—”

“Would you mind if I hugged you, dear? It's been so long.” She held out her arms.

Sarah couldn't refuse the pleading look in the woman's eyes. “Of course. Hugs are always welcome.”

The awkward hug wasn't quite right. They didn't quite fit together, their heads searching for a comfortable match, their arms akimbo and graceless.

When Grace stepped back, tears glistened in her eyes. “Good night, dear.”

As Grace left, Sarah sighed and looked around the sparkling-clean kitchen. The damage she'd done today remained unseen. Even so, the brittle shards of pain and unresolved grief were as palpable as the electricity in the air after a summer storm.

Her soul flayed by guilt, she lowered her head and closed her eyes.
“Please, Lord, tell me what to do. I didn't mean to hurt these good people. Show me how I can repair the damage I've done.”

No answer came to her. Her instinct, however, told
her the person most at risk of emotional trauma was Beth. Sarah went out the back door to search for her.

The sun was still above the range of the distant mountains, casting long shadows across the ground. The air had cooled considerably since midday, and a soft breeze blew off the prairie to caress Sarah's overheated cheeks.

She spotted Beth grooming her horse in the corral. Tentatively, she strolled in that direction. The horse was larger than Peaches. Reddish-brown in color, the horse's white stockings on all four feet made it look like he was dressed for prancing in a parade.

Sarah stepped up on the lower rung of the fence and hooked her arms over the top. “He's a pretty horse.”

Beth ran the brush over the horse's rump. “It's a she. Her name's Princess.”

“In that case, she's beautiful.”

Remaining silent, Beth continued to brush her horse.

“I never meant to upset you or your family,” Sarah said.

For a moment, Beth continued grooming her horse then stopped, her hand resting on Princess's mane.

“It feels weird, you know, thinking you've got Mom's heart inside you.”

“It could be someone's else's heart. I can't be sure, and the doctors never tell the patient who the donor was.”

“But you came here because you thought it was.”

“True.” Against her doctor's recommendation, which she should have listened to more closely. “I could be wrong.”

Brushing the horse's mane smooth, Beth seemed thoughtful. “Did it hurt a lot? When got your new heart?”

“I was heavily sedated during surgery and didn't feel a thing. After I woke up, yes. It hurt like crazy. But it doesn't anymore.” Sarah wasn't entirely sure how much Beth wanted to know or should be told. She wanted to tread gently.

“Did it start working right away?”

“The doctors told me I'd gotten a strong, healthy heart, so I assume so.”

“Mom was healthy—until the accident. Then she—” Her voice broke.

“I'm so sorry, Beth. If I could change what happened to your mother, I would.”

“But then you wouldn't have gotten a new heart and you'd be dead.”

“Possibly,” Sarah agreed. Somewhere along the way, another suitable donor might have appeared. In any case, for her to get a new heart someone had had to die. She would always live with that knowledge and the sense of guilt that went with it. A sense of awe and gratitude for the sacrifice the family had made, as well.

In the fading light, Sarah saw tears form in Beth's eyes. She ached for the youngster, her pain and grief.

“If Mom had to die like that, I'm glad you got to live.”