Almost Home (16 page)
"A quilting is when we get together to work on a
quilt. It's a big tradition in
sense, every girl begins her quilt from the day she is born, when her mother's
friends provide the border squares. But from then on, the girl is responsible
for adding squares as she grows up. She'll often use pieces of material from
special dresses, first day of kindergarten, first birthday dress, prom dress,
all those special kinds of things. We think of them as memory quilts,
scrapbooks made out of fabric. I still have the one I made for myself over the
years. When I look at, I can see my entire life."
Katherine felt her heart flutter. Was her mother's
true life depicted on the quilt? Was everything else Katherine had been told a
lie? "What would the border normally be?" Katherine asked.
"Well, around here, we usually do a flower or
plant, roses, starburst, ivy, whatever that family is partial to. We also do a
wedding quilt when one of our girls gets married. The last few weeks we've been
working on a quilt we're going to auction off at one of the
"I didn't know women still worked on quilts,"
Katherine said, realizing once again how different this world was from the one
she'd left.
"Oh, heavens, yes. It's a tradition, and
traditions are very important here in the valley. Maybe we're a little
backwards. Maybe that's what drives some people away."
She looked sad again, making Katherine hesitate in her
questions.
"Will you be here for the
subject.
"I think so," Katherine said. "I've
heard so much about it. I'd like to stay and see it."
"Oh, you should. Zach's horse has a very good
chance of winning, you know."
"So he told me," Katherine said dryly.
Claire laughed again, a beautiful melodious sound that
reminded Katherine of the way her mother used to laugh. "I've never met a
horse owner yet who didn't think his horse could win the
know."
"Garden people, too,"
"Yes,
I
think Margaret dreamed here many a time. I thought it would make me feel better
to come here, but the garden is so wild, and the flowers look so sad. I think
they miss Margaret, too." Claire shook her head. "Don't mind me. I'm
an old woman with a lot of nonsense running through my head."
"Your daughter doesn't live here anymore?"
"She died some years ago," Claire replied,
her eyes moist with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I. Sometimes I go to the cemetery to visit
her, but I never feel like she's really there. Here in the garden, I can almost
hear her laugh. I can almost smell her scent. Margaret used to come here every
day," Claire continued. "She had names for all of her flowers. At
first the garden was her sanctuary, then it became her hideout." Claire
turned to Katherine with pain in her eyes. "Did you do that to your
mother? Did you tune her out, turn your back on her?"
Claire's question tore at Katherine's heart, at the
protective shield she'd put up years ago. In fact, she couldn't remember the
last time someone had asked her about her mother. She was surprised at how much
it still hurt.
"My mother died when I was a child,"
Katherine said slowly. "I didn't have a chance to rebel."
"Oh, dear. I've said the wrong thing."
"It's an old wound."
Claire got to her feet. "You sound like you've
come to terms. I wish I could do that. All I want is peace, and the older I
get, the harder it is to find. I just wish that I could have five more minutes
with Margaret."
"I know. I wish the same thing." Katherine
looked into Claire's compassionate eyes. "I want to tell my mother that I
loved her, that she was the greatest mom in the world." Katherine took in
a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know where that all came from. She's
been gone fifteen years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday."
"It came from your heart," Claire said
softly. "Mothers and daughters share a special bond."
"I never knew how special until it wasn't there
anymore. You know, I'm twenty-seven, and when something good or bad happens in
my life, I still wonder what my mom would think. I've lived more of my life
without her than with her, but it still matters."
"It's been more than twenty years since I saw
Margaret, but sometimes I hear a song, and I can see her dancing around the
living room. It's the little things, isn't it?"
"The little things," Katherine whispered,
Claire's words stirring her emotions into further turmoil.
"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"
Katherine stood up, realizing the shadows in the
garden had grown longer. The sun would be down soon, and she still had to find
her way back to town to return Maggie's car. "Thank you for sharing the
garden with me."
Claire walked over to the gate and opened it. "If
you have an urge to weed, you're welcome to stop by any time."
"Really?" Katherine felt an unexpected
energy soar through her soul. To take this wild garden and turn it into
something beautiful would be a daunting but exciting task.
"Feel free. I'd love to see the garden the way it
used to be. Not that you have to feel any pressure to do so. In fact, I should
offer to pay you."
Katherine held up a hand. "Absolutely not. And
thank you for the offer. I'd love to take on this garden."
"Good. Let me know if you need anything. In fact,
we have plenty of gardening tools in a shed at the back of our house. If I'm
not home when you come by, feel free to ask Zach. He knows where everything is."
And Zach would be the last person who would want to
help her find gardening tools so she could dig herself even deeper into the
community.
"I'm sure Zach would love to see you again,"
Claire said with a gleam in her eyes. "He's a good man."
"I'm not looking for a man—well, at least not one
of that age."
Claire raised an eyebrow, and Katherine wished she
could take back her last sentence.
"Whatever do you mean, dear?"
"Well…"
Katherine
hesitated, not sure how much she should tell. But since her visit to the bank,
it was probably all over town anyway. "I think my real father lived in
don't have much to go on, just the initial
J."
Claire's smile faded. "Your real father? That's a
difficult question to be asking of folks."
"I know, but it's important to me to find him. It's
like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and I can't see the whole picture
without it."
"Then my dear, I wish you luck. Good-bye."
Claire walked out of the garden and over to the horse
she had tethered by the tree. She vaulted into the saddle as gracefully as a
young girl, pulled the reins up, and waved to Katherine as she turned the horse
and went down the other side of the hill.
Katherine stared after her for a long time, wondering
why Claire had ended the conversation so abruptly. In fact, her eyes had gone
from warm and friendly to ice-cold. Did Claire know something? Or was she
simply uncomfortable with the idea that one of her friends or neighbors might
be Katherine's real father?
"I'm not trying to hurt anyone," she called
out helplessly, but her words came back on the wind.
* * *
Zach
opened the door to his one-bedroom cottage and winced at the blast of heat. The
afternoon sunshine had blazed through his windows for hours, and even though
the sun had finally gone down, the warmth remained. He hurried to open a few
windows, pleased that the early evening breeze began to cool things down.
The house was small, but it was all Zach needed. Best
of all, it had come with the job, so he didn't have to spend money on rent. Not
that he couldn't have afforded a much larger house. His salary as farm manager
was more than adequate for his needs, but he spent every extra cent on Rogue.
The horse was his investment in the future, and in the meantime, he had a roof
over his head and running water. It was more than he had had at other times in
his life.
Zach made his way into the kitchenette and pulled a
beer out of the loud, ailing refrigerator. He popped the cap, then drank
deeply, until it was almost gone.
Better, he thought. Marginally better.
It wasn't just the weather that was making him hot, it
was Katherine. He never should have kissed her. He could still taste her on his
lips, feel her body in his hands. He'd expected her to protest, to resist, not
to kiss him back as if she were starving and he was her next meal. She never
did what she was supposed to do.
He'd simply gone too long without a woman, he told
himself for the tenth time that day. If he had any sense, he'd drive into
beautiful stranger to spend a few hours with and take his mind off Katherine.
She was the perfect troublemaker, an innocent smile and a reckless naiveté. He
was not going to fall into her trap.
Katherine had wedding, marriage, and babies written
all over her face. That kind of life was not for him. He'd had a brief lapse in
judgment when he'd let
Zach finished the beer in one long swallow and tossed
the bottle into the trash. He needed a cold shower, time to get his head
together, to remind himself that he had a mission to follow, and it had nothing
to do with Katherine Whitfield, or her incredible blue eyes, or her seductive
lips. He had a farm to run and a horse to get to the
a rush of blood through his veins. If Katherine had been foolish enough to come
back, she wouldn't be leaving any time soon.
Zach flung open the door, prepared to tell her a few home
truths, then his jaw dropped open. The person standing on his step was not
Katherine. It was a man, tall and square, dark brown hair, cunning blue eyes, a
gentleman and a thief, a sinner and a saint, depending on his mood. It was the
last person Zach expected to see, the last person he wanted to see—Jackson
Tyler, his father.
"Aren't you going to invite me in, son?"
smile that had conned many a sucker into saying yes.
Zach's hands clenched into fists. He wanted to say no.
He wanted to slam the door in his face. But the man was his father. His blood.
"You
said
you weren't coming back," Zach re
minded him, unwilling to budge
just yet.
"I missed you, boy."
Zach's laugh was filled with cynicism. "I'm your
shill, not your mark, remember? You don't have to pretend with me."
"You're my son."
"When it's convenient."
"Well, it's convenient now. Invite me in, Zach. I
have some news for you."
"There's nothing you can tell me that I want to
hear."
about I tell you about your sister?"
"I don't have a sister," Zach said firmly,
but his nerve endings began to tingle the way they always did when his father
was about to cause trouble.
"Now, sometimes life throws a few surprises our
way, son. I don't suppose you've met Katherine Whitfield."
Zach's heart dropped to his feet. "You're crazy.
There is no way in hell Katherine is my sister."
little chat. Invite me in."
Zach stared at his father in disbelief. "You're
not coming in until you answer my question."
"Oh, you mean about your sister? You didn't
notice a resemblance between Miss Whitfield and myself?"
"No, I didn't." Although he had to admit
Katherine's eyes were the same blue as his father's. He shook the thought away.
A lot of people had blue eyes, it didn't mean a thing. "And how do you
know about Katherine Whitfield?"
"A little bird whispered in my ear."
"And where did that little bird find you? You've
been gone so long I thought you were dead."
"Hoping, weren't you?"
"I don't waste time hoping for anything where you're
concerned."
"Such harsh words from my son. I'm appalled.
Perhaps I've found my daughter just in time. Katherine Whitfield is looking for
her father, isn't she?"
"So she says."
"Perhaps it's time we met."
push past him into the house. "Is this all you've got, boy?" He waved
his hand at the small room. "I thought you'd be in the main house by now."
