A Mother at Heart (3 page)

A night-light shed a soft glow over Taryn's room. Jake lay Taryn down on her bed, careful not to disturb the row of stuffed animals that sat along the side, next to the wall. He tucked her in and sat beside her, his arms on either side of her shoulders.

Taryn smiled up at her father, and a wave of pure, sweet love washed over Jake. He bent over and gave her another quick kiss. “Time for your prayers.”

“We have to pray for Grandpa, don't we?” Taryn said, her soft hazel eyes shining up at him in the muted light.

“Yes, we want him to stay healthy, don't we?”

“Should we pray for Miriam?”

Jake felt his heart skip at her name. He took a quick breath, frowning down at his daughter. “What did you say?”

“I
asked,
” Taryn began, putting emphasis on the last word as if to show Jake that he was being particularly obtuse, “if I should pray for Miriam.”

“You barely know her. Which reminds me, what about this book you were talking about?”

Taryn sat up like a shot and, shifting around, pulled a worn scrapbook from under her pillow. She handed it to him.

“It has pictures of you in it.” Taryn smiled, eager for the reprieve from sleep. “And pictures of my Mommy and pictures of the pretty lady. Miriam. I'll show you.” Taryn reached for the book, and, reluctantly, Jake gave it back. He didn't like the idea of Taryn living in the past, creating fantasies about Paula. But he also knew that it wasn't fair to take what little she had away.

Taryn flipped quickly through the pages of pictures from high school—a few of them of Jake—then she stopped and tilted the book in his direction. Jake felt his heart stop as he looked directly at a picture of Miriam.

In the picture she wore a mauve silk dress held up with narrow, jeweled straps. Diamonds sparkled at her neck, her ears, her fingers, all discreetly proclaiming money. Her mouth was quirked in what he knew was her cynical smile, her head tilted back as if she were laughing at some private joke. Her dark hair framed her face, short tendrils accenting her high cheekbones, the exotic tilt of her eyes. A slickly
dressed man wearing a tuxedo stood beside her, his arm resting in a proprietary manner on her shoulder.

“Why did Mommy have pictures of Miriam in her book?”

Jake blinked, pulling himself back to the present. “She used to be your mommy's best friend,” Jake murmured, turning the page to find yet another color picture of Miriam. It was a makeup advertisement. Miriam's face took up the whole page, her head angled slightly downward, her eyes glancing up, her shining mouth holding the hint of a smile. Jake swallowed as he stared at the picture. It was Miriam, and yet not. How many times had he seen that look on her face—across a classroom, in the hallways of school; whenever she would tease him, flirt with him?

“I want to show Miriam the pictures, okay?” Taryn gathered up the book and made to jump out of bed, but Jake stopped her.

“No,” he said firmly, taking the book away from her and setting it on the bedside table. “I'm sure Miriam has seen these pictures herself. And you need to sleep.” He pulled the blankets up around her and tucked her in. She said her prayers, and Jake said them with her.

Each evening he thanked God for the precious gift entrusted to him. And as he did most evenings, he promised he would do everything he could to make sure she would have a home as secure and loving as the one he had received through Fred and Tilly.

“…and be with Miriam, my mommy's friend.” Jake felt a start at the sound of Taryn speaking Mir
iam's name, but he said nothing, not wanting to draw any more attention to Miriam.

He waited until she was done, then bent over and kissed her gently. He paused at the door to look once more, closed it behind her and went downstairs to face Miriam.

He heard them laughing, and stopped just behind the door, listening, remembering other times.

Like the first time he had seen Miriam.

He had been sitting on Fred and Tilly's picnic table, staring out at the view below—a young boy of fourteen, a foster child being brought to his third foster home in as many years and recently separated from his brother Simon. The social worker had been inside the house, talking to Fred and Tilly. He hadn't wanted to hear what she had to say.

So he had stayed outside, appreciating the flow of the land that stretched out below him, yet wondering how he was going to survive in a house with only two old people for company.

Then a skinny girl had ridden up on her horse and jumped off. She'd tied it to a post by the back gate and boldly walked up to him, retying the shoelace that held her ponytail in place. She'd asked who he was and what he was doing sitting at Uncle Fred and Aunt Tilly's picnic table.

When he ignored her, she just shrugged and waltzed on into the house, like she lived there. She came out a few minutes later and sat beside him on the table. She said nothing, this time. Just sat there.

Together they watched the sun going down, felt the soft chill that accompanied the fall evenings drifting onto the yard.

The social worker came out later, accompanied by Fred and Tilly. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Miriam, and spun around, asking Fred and Tilly who she was.

“Just the neighbor girl,” they said. “She comes over a lot.”

The social worker nodded and then stopped by Jake. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she bent down to his height—an older woman talking to an angry, young man. “This is a good place, Jake. Don't wreck things for yourself.”

Jake had ignored her, staring past her at the setting sun. Social workers were always full of advice and, as far as he was concerned, misconceptions. The fact that he had been in so many homes had more to do with Simon's constant running away than with his behavior. But he didn't want to get into that. It hurt to think of Simon. It was the first time they had been separated. So he only nodded and said nothing, wondering where his brother had ended up and when he would see him again. He knew it was a waste of time to ask the social worker. She would give him some vague answer about waiting to see if they settled in. Then she left.

Fred and Tilly went back to the house.

To his surprise and dismay, Miriam stayed beside him. He had wanted to be alone, but she wouldn't leave. After a while, though, it didn't matter as much. She had been pretty quiet.

Tilly brought them a glass of orange juice and then walked back into the house.

Miriam turned to him and started talking. He had known her silence was too good to be true. She asked
questions, the basic ones—What's your name? How old are you? Where did you live before?

His replies were terse. He had answered enough questions before this placement to add twenty more pages to his already thick file. Everyone knew everything about him, so the trick was to hold back as much as he could for as long as he could.

Miriam chatted about the school, the town, Tilly and Fred. She said nothing about her own mother. In fact, at first he thought she didn't even have a mother.

Miriam came to Fred and Tilly's often. She sought him out at school, introduced him to her many friends. They spent a lot of time together. She had an easy way with people, a self-deprecating wit and a love of life that he found compelling and infectious.

He ended up falling desperately in love with her. And she with him.

Miriam had filled the empty spaces that life had carved out of him. Her unconditional love had shown him that there were things worth making sacrifices for. For the first time in years he had opened himself up to another person, had made himself vulnerable. He had trusted her.

She talked easily about her faith, and shared that with Jake. They spent hours just talking, being together, sharing dreams and plans. Jake often felt unworthy of her.

Miriam often spoke of her mother and how important it was that they keep their relationship a secret. And they did. Jake knew what he was: a foster child with an uncertain future.

But they had plans. When they turned eighteen,
they would be adults, independent. They would declare their love to the world, and then leave Waylen.

The longer Jake stayed at Fred and Tilly's, however, the less he wanted to do that. While Miriam showed him that pure love can exist between two people, Fred and Tilly showed him the love of parents. They gave him a home. Jake didn't want to leave anymore. He talked of staying in Waylen, of getting a job in town.

Miriam grew frightened. Jake
had
to come with her. She was counting on him to help her get away from her mother.

It hurt to think of what they had once had. To realize that the elegant woman who was chatting in his kitchen was even further removed from him now than she was then. So much had changed in each of their lives.

He stepped into the kitchen. Fred was describing an incident he had had with a bull, many years ago.

“…And Tilly thinks I'm waving to her to come closer, and she comes roaring up with the truck and scares the bull. He takes off past me down the road and with him went all the plans for the day. We finally got him corralled at midnight.” Miriam had her hand over her mouth; her eyes sparkled and her shoulders shook in time to her chuckles.

Jake stopped, unable to look away.

This
was the Miriam he had fallen in love with.
This
was the Miriam he had promised he would stay with forever. Not that overly made-up woman with the fake smile whom he had just seen in the photo. Not the defensive woman who had sat with him in the truck all the way here.

Then she glanced sidelong, her hand slowly dropped and her gaze skittered away.

He felt as if he had broken the moment.

“Taryn safely in bed?” Tilly asked, smiling up at him.

Jake nodded and sat at the table, suddenly feeling like the odd man out. He tried not to look at the clock, but couldn't help it.

Miriam caught him looking; she carefully put her spoon back in her coffee cup and folded the napkin Tilly had given her. Preparations for leaving.

“What's the rush, girl?” Fred asked, as Miriam eased herself from behind the table.

“I should go. It's been a long day of driving,” she said quietly, picking up her mug. She brought it to the kitchen sink and set it down with a muted
clink.

“Are we going to see you again?” Tilly asked as she got up herself.

Miriam turned to face Tilly and nodded. “Of course. Once I get my car fixed, that is.”

“Oh, nonsense. I can come over.” Tilly stopped, glancing at Jake, then back to Miriam. “What about your house? Is there any food there?”

“I bought some groceries, but unfortunately they're still in my car—”

“Don't be silly, girl, I'll give you some,” Tilly interjected.

Miriam hesitated, and Jake sensed she was in a dilemma. Either she accepted charity from Tilly, or she put him out by asking him to return to her car.

“Did you have a suitcase?” he asked her, feeling foolish that he had never thought of that when he picked her up.

“It's in my car,” she said, lifting her head.

“Well, it's not far down the road. I'll drive you back and you can get your other stuff.”

“Thank you,” she said with a gracious tilt of her head. She turned back to Tilly. “Thanks for tea.” She stopped as if she couldn't say anything more.

Tilly walked over and gave Miriam another hug. “It's such a treat to see you again,” she said, pulling back, cupping Miriam's young face with her old, lined hands. “I'm so glad you decided to come back.”

Fred, too, walked over and gave her a hug. But Jake could see that even that small movement tired him out.

Miriam had noticed it, too. Her eyes were full of concern. “You make sure you get enough rest,” she said to Fred, holding his hand between hers.

“You sound just like Tilly,” he said with a shake of his head. “I'll be fine.” He reached up and stroked her cheek, much the way Tilly had done to Jake.

In that moment Jake realized that, in spite of a ten-year absence, Miriam shared something special with Fred and Tilly. And for a moment he was envious.

“S
o,” Jake said vaguely as he spun the steering wheel. “What really brings you back here?”

His truck was halfway down the driveway before he asked the question Miriam knew had been burning inside of him. Miriam waited a beat, as if to establish some sort of conversational control. “I came back to sell my farm.”

Jake's head snapped around and he stared at her, then looked quickly away. “This is a surprise.”

Miriam didn't doubt it. Fred and Jake had rented it all these years. But all their dealings had been at arm's length through a lawyer Miriam hired to take care of her and her mother's business.

“I don't know if you're interested in buying it. I'm willing to offer you and Fred right of first refusal.”

Jake blew out his breath and laughed shortly. “I would be. In a few years. Unfortunately, I can't af
ford to buy it now. Financially I'm stretched as far as I can go.”

Miriam felt a stab of dismay. She had hoped he would buy it, had hoped he could keep farming it, that somehow something that had once belonged to her would now belong to him, creating a vague kind of connection. Though she wasn't sure why. “That's too bad,” she said, threading her fingers together in her lap.

“At least we agree on that.” His words were clipped, and once again Miriam sensed his anger.

But she was too tired to say anything back.

“What happens once you sell the farm?” Jake continued.

Miriam took a slow breath, willing away her fatigue. She had walked down catwalks in Milan, had modeled famous designers' fashions with aplomb and self-confidence. Surely she could handle a farmer who needed a shave. “I go back east and put Waylen behind me.”

Gravel rattled against the undercarriage as they drove down the road, the oppressive silence of two people unwilling to talk to each other filling the cab.

She was thankful that it was a short trip to the car. As Jake pulled up beside it, Miriam got the keys out of her purse. She climbed out of the truck and unlocked the car's trunk.

Jake was beside her, and reached in and wordlessly pulled out her suitcase. Miriam took out a small cosmetics bag and closed the trunk.

“This is it?”

Miriam nodded and walked around the car.

“You travel pretty light.”

“I've made enough airline connections with my clothes headed off to Istanbul while I was going to New York. I've learned to take everything I need with me.” Miriam juggled the grocery bags in one hand while she locked the door with the other.

“I don't think this car is going anywhere,” Jake said suddenly.

Miriam frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

“This is a dead-end road. You hardly need to lock the car.”

Miriam tried not to smile, but couldn't help it. It did look silly to lock up a crippled car on a deserted road. “City habits, I guess,” she said, chancing a glance up at him.

Mistake. He was smiling now, his features relaxed. He looked devastating.

She forced herself to look away. “Well, that should do it.” Miriam straightened her shoulders and dropped her groceries in the back of Jake's pickup, frustrated at how quickly the old feelings she had had for him returned. It was as if she had never been gone. As if she had never spent time with any man other than this tall farmer of few words.

“You might want to put your suitcase in the front. I hauled feed with this truck the other day.”

“A little extra oats and soy never hurt a girl,” she said quickly.

Jake dropped the suitcase in the box. When he glanced up at her, he smiled again, and Miriam's heart tripped.

Silly girl,
she castigated herself.
You're wasting your time on this one.
She got in the truck, slammed
the door and buckled up. The trip back to her house was as quiet as the trip to her car had been.

Dusk was gathering by the time they drove down the driveway. Miriam had so hoped to see the place in the light. But as they pulled into the yard, she caught darkened glimpses of overgrown grass, tangled shrubs and flower gardens full of weeds.

“My mother and I paid someone to keep this place up. What happened?”

“Velma Rogers? She only took care of the inside of the house. Said she wasn't paid for more. We tried to keep the outside fixed up, but we didn't have time,” Jake said, his voice brusque. “We did check on the house every few months, just to make sure everything was still working. Your mother must have had the lawyer we paid to rent the land taking care of the power and gas bills.”

Miriam nodded, then slowly got out of the truck, looked around. It was unkept enough in the half-light; she didn't know if she wanted to see it in the sunshine.

“Thanks for driving me here,” she said, turning. Waves of exhaustion made her legs wobble. She clung to the open truck door. “Don't worry about the car. I can call a tow truck.”

“That's okay,” he said, turning and getting out of the truck. He pulled her suitcases out of the back. “I'll come by tomorrow, and you can help me bring it into town.”

“No, really, I know how busy this time of the year is. I know the last thing you need to do is cart me around. Please.” She felt a moment's warmth kindle in her heart at his thoughtfulness.

“And how are you going to call a tow truck?” Jake asked as he walked around the front of the truck. “The telephone doesn't work.”

“I have a cell phone.”

Jake nodded. “Of course.” He strode ahead of her to the back door and stood aside so she could open it.

The sound of the door opening echoed hollowly through the house, and Miriam felt a wave of nostalgia. It was so familiar, so much a part of her youth. How many times had she opened this very door and come running in to throw her books down on the porch floor, asking if there was anything to eat?

Miriam flicked the switch by the back door, and light flooded the porch. There was a faint musty smell.

Miriam walked up the three steps into the kitchen, stifling a cry of dismay. All the furniture was draped with white sheets; pictures had been taken off the wall and stacked in corners of the room. It all looked desolate and distinctly un-homey.

Jake walked over to the taps and turned them. “Water's still okay, although you might want to drain the hot water out of the tank. I'm sure it's pretty stale. We did it at Eastertime, but that's the last time I went through this place. Velma had asked me to go over everything this fall again.”

“Thanks, Jake. I'll do that.” Her head was starting to buzz, and she wanted nothing more than to have a nice warm shower and crawl into bed. One look around the house, though, told her she had other things to do first.

“Do you want some help…” Jake let the sentence trail off.

“No, thanks. I'll be fine.” She yearned for some time to herself, some time to gather her scattered thoughts. She wanted him gone. She wanted this cold formality between them to end, and it would only happen when he left.

Jake nodded, his one hand caught in the back pocket of his blue jeans. “I'll just walk through the house once, just to make sure everything's okay. Where do you want your suitcase?”

“Just leave it here, please.”

The sound of his boots thumping through the house was muffled by the cloths draping all the furniture. Shivering, Miriam walked through the kitchen into the darkened living room, hugging herself against the chill of the house. The room here had a feeling of waiting.

With a muted rumble, the furnace started up.

Jake returned and paused in the arched doorway between the kitchen and the living room, looking around. “Well, I'll be going. Are you sure you're going to be all right?”

Miriam turned to him, nodding. “Thanks for everything. I'm sorry to be such a pain…” She let the sentence drift off as their eyes met.

The backlight from the kitchen silhouetted him, and she couldn't help but acknowledge his appeal. He was taller, broader. Not the young man she had left behind, but a man who had had his own experiences. He had buried a wife, and now had a child, ran a farm and took care of parents that looked so much older to Miriam than they had when she left.
He was a stranger to her. A stranger with his own heartaches and his own responsibilities.

“I'll be by sometime tomorrow to bring your car into town.” Jake scratched his head as if he wanted to say more. Then with a shrug, he turned and left.

Miriam walked to the window of the darkened room and watched through the large picture window as Jake started his truck, the headlights stabbing the darkness.

She lay her head against the cold glass, letting the emotions of the day flow over her. Then, against her will, she felt tears gather. She didn't know precisely what she cried for; she only knew that she had felt a deep sadness closing in on her since she'd first seen Jake, then Fred and Tilly. All the memories of her mother's death returned, hard and fast. Telling the Prins had been like reliving that stark moment when she'd felt her mother's hand go limp in her own.

Once again she replayed those moments after the funeral, when all the temporary supports—the nursing home staff, the undertaker, the minister who performed the service—had slowly fallen away, and she'd realized she was all alone.

She had no one who cared. No one who mattered. The men she had met treated her like a trophy to be won and shown. Other men treated her like a commodity—a model, a face to sell their product.

There had been only one man in her life. Ever.

She felt another wave of sorrow thinking about Jake and his daughter. A daughter borne by her best friend.

She cried for the loss of the dreams that both she
and Jake had spun during those innocent long-ago evenings, and for the lives that reality had changed.

The window was cool and soothing against her hot forehead, and slowly the tears subsided. They always did. And as always, reality returned. She had much to do if she wanted to sleep here tonight.

Jake turned into Miriam's driveway, the entrance of which was barely visible in the driving rain, unable to stop a gentle lift of his heart at the thought of seeing her again.

Yesterday, the surprise of her sudden reappearance after ten years had put him on the defensive.

And no wonder. She had kept herself away from people who cared about her, himself included, he reminded himself as his truck bounced through a puddle. She had told no one what was going on in her life.

But even as Jake mentally considered a litany of her shortcomings, he couldn't help but wonder how she had fared last night, her first night all alone in her childhood home.

He had thought about her in this empty house during the drive back home, then again as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in his room. Surprising, how easily the memories had returned. The fun times they had had. The excitement of the first moment of discovering their feelings for each other. Yet Miriam had been more than a girlfriend. She had been his closest friend. There had been nothing going on in his life, past or present, that she hadn't known about.

Jake sighed lightly as he came to a halt in front of Miriam's house. Too much had happened between
them, and the only way to get past it was to talk about it.

But why bother, when she was going to sell the farm and leave again?

Jake jumped out of the truck and ran up the walk to the house, rain slicing down on his head. He huddled deeper into his jean jacket and rapped on the door. The rain was really coming down now, a typical prairie rainstorm swishing and beating against the peeling woodwork of the house.

He rapped on the door again and then pushed it open, stepping quickly inside. As he closed the door behind him, he looked up to see Miriam come to the door. She was wiping her hands on a cloth, wearing an apron over a pair of loose cargo pants that hung low on her hips and a T-shirt that barely ended above the waistband.

“Hi, there,” she said, her expression neutral. “Did you want to leave right away?”

“If you don't mind.” Jake slicked his damp hair back from his face, wiping the moisture from his cheeks with the shoulder of his jacket, unable to take his eyes off her. Her hair looked tousled, her feet were bare and, unlike yesterday, today she wore no makeup.

The effect was captivating. She looked younger, fresher and more approachable. More like the Miriam he had once known.

He felt his heart stir in response, felt his pulse quicken. Then she lifted her soft brown eyes to his, and in that moment they seemed connected, pulled together by an invisible cord, by memories and old feelings that had never been resolved.

He blinked and forced his gaze away, breaking the tie. “I'll be waiting in the truck for you,” he said, looking past her at the wall behind her. “You might want to wear some boots if you have them.”

He saw Miriam nod and take a step back. “I'll be right out,” she said quietly. When she turned and walked back, he couldn't help but watch her go, noting the graceful sway of her hips.

Pull yourself together, Jake, he berated himself. She's not for you and she's not sticking around. With a shake of his head, he left the house. I need to get out more.

Trouble was, he had no desire to date again.

He had a father who wasn't feeling well, an older mother who couldn't do as much as she used to, a small daughter he never felt he spent enough time with, and a large farm to run on his own. His love life had been luckless, to put it mildly. Women were a complication he could do without. He had Taryn. She was his first responsibility. Tilly and Fred were his second, and together that was more than enough for him.

He was glad he had decided at the last minute to leave Taryn behind. The almost reverential tone she used when talking about Miriam made him uneasy. Besides, Taryn had lately taken to talking about getting a mommy, like this was an item Jake could take care of for her in a minute.

He knew Taryn, and he was afraid that her fascination would translate into simple math. Miriam was single, Jake was single. One plus one equals a mommy for Taryn. And in spite of the fancies of his
own foolish heart, he couldn't imagine a more unsuitable candidate for the job than Miriam.