Finding Home (23 page)

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Authors: Lois Greiman

BOOK: Finding Home
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“Do you?”
“Of course I do.” She shifted her eyes away again. “But selling out's not that easy.”
“I know it's hard. But think of what we'll have someday.”
“What?” she asked and found his gaze. “What will we have?”
He shook his head and glanced at the ceiling as if the sky was the limit. There was a stain just over the sink. She wondered if he noticed that, but he was in his own world now.
“Cars. Country-club memberships. All-expenses-paid vacations.”
“I just want . . .” She shrugged, at a loss. “Peace.”
“Peace. Well, you can have that, too. How much does it cost?”
She snorted and he laughed.
“Come on, honey,” he said. “Let's go to bed.”
“To bed?” She reared back. “We have to finish the dishes.”
“They'll wait till morning, won't they?” he asked, and dropping one hand, tugged on the other.
But she resisted. “I thought we agreed to wait. I mean . . .” She lowered her voice. “The girls . . .”
“What about them?”
“I don't want to set a bad example.”
He laughed out loud. “I'm sure they've done more than you have, Cass.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well . . .” He chuffed a disparaging sound. “Let's face it, honey, you're not exactly a wildcat in the sack.”
“I'm sorry I . . .” she began, then caught herself. “What?”
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No.
I'm
sorry. Let's just . . .” He exhaled carefully. “Let's just go upstairs and talk then.”
“Upstairs. In my bedroom?”
“I just want to lie down. I'm exhausted. I drove four hundred miles to see you and now you're being a—” He waved his hand.
“What?” she asked. “What am I being?”
“Difficult,” he said. “I don't know why you're being so difficult. This isn't like you.” His tone had gone to wheedling again. “Where's my sweet Cassie May?”
“Bradley—”
“Come to bed,” he crooned, and tugging at her collar, peeked down her shirt. “We'll see if we can find her.”
“No,” she said and stepped back a pace.
He drew back a little, too. “What?”
She cleared her throat, glanced away. “These girls . . . they're impressionable.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I think I saw the one with the dreads on Hennepin Avenue.” He was referring to the most disreputable section of the Twin Cities.
“Well, we can't all be doctors, can we, Brad?”
“That doesn't mean she has to be a hooker.”
Casie shook her head, stunned by his cruelty. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Why are
you
being so naïve? You don't know the first thing about those girls.”
“I'm not saying they're absolutely innocent. No one is. I mean Sophie acts all hard-edged and Emily . . . why is she here if she and her mom are so close?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“They just . . .” She shrugged. “They need an example.”
He chuckled and glanced away for a second. “So now you're a mother figure?”
She tightened her jaw. “Maybe.”
He softened abruptly, grinned. “Come to bed, I'll make you a real mother.”
She weakened. They'd had sex a hundred times. What difference would once more make? But then she heard a sound from upstairs. “No,” she said. “Not tonight. I'm sorry.”
“Fine!” he snapped, and dropping her fingers, raised his hands, palms out, as if surrendering. “Fine. Be Mother Earth,” he said, and turning abruptly away, strode toward the door.
“Bradley!” He didn't stop. “Bradley,” she said, but he was already gone. In a moment she heard his car start and drive away.
She wanted to stop him, to smooth things over, to make him understand, but the truth was . . .
she
didn't understand. So she turned back to the sink and washed the dishes.
By the time she'd dried them and placed them in the white-painted cupboards, he still hadn't returned. She stepped onto the porch and gazed out into the night. The yard was empty except for Ol' Puke and the Farmall tractor.
His car must have been parked out there when she came into the house. Funny she hadn't noticed it, but the girls had been ribbing each other and she'd been laughing, momentarily distracted by a lull in their animosity, enjoying the moment.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she glanced toward the barn. It was dark. Maybe she should go see if Sophie was all right, but the girl had probably heard the car leave and Casie didn't really want to explain.
Hell, she didn't know
how
to explain.
C
HAPTER
23
M
orning couldn't come soon enough. The sun seemed to drag itself over the horizon as if reluctant to be seen. Casie had called Brad's cell a half dozen times, but he hadn't answered. She stood in the bathroom now, staring out the window at the cow pasture below. What was wrong with her that she couldn't keep a man's interest for a single night? Of course, she
had
refused to sleep with him, but shouldn't he have been able to understand that?
The sky was layered in soft tendrils of salmon and lavender. The sight soothed her a little, calmed her. There was nothing quite like a Dakota morning where you could see forever, could imagine anything. As a child, she'd thought she would be a world champion equestrian or an internationally renowned veterinarian. But now—
Something clattered downstairs, jerking her attention from the pastoral scene before her. Maybe Brad had returned. She hurried down the stairs, breath held as she stepped into the kitchen.
But only Emily turned from the sink. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said. “It's after dawn.” She grinned. “The cows are all in the yard. I counted them first thing. One hundred and fifteen cows, sixty-two calves. But you probably wouldn't care if Scotty had beamed up half the herd, huh? Bet you had a great night.”
Casie felt herself blush, but Emily didn't seem to notice. She was oiling a cast-iron pan and humming yet another unrecognizable tune. “Mom always said there was nothing like sex to put a smile on your lips and a song in your heart.” She paused for a second and stared out the window. “Mom was corny as hell.”
“Bradley left.”
“What?” Emily turned toward her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “When?”
Casie eyed her cautiously. When had Emily been surprised by anything?
“I mean . . . I just assumed . . . I didn't notice his car was gone. Where did he go?”
Casie poured herself a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and let the earthy scent ease into her tattered system.
“I don't know.”
“But he'll be back, right?” For a moment her expression was a confusing blend of worry and hope, but then she smiled. “The girls outdid themselves this morning,” she said and held up a trio of green-speckled eggs. “I was going to make omelets. Brad's probably never tasted farm fresh. And the girls—”
The door slammed open. Emily jumped, then jerked her attention to the entry just as Sophie came striding into the kitchen. Her face looked flushed and bright, her movements brisk.
“What's wrong?” They asked the breathless question in unison.
“Nothing,” Sophie said, but the odd expression never left her face.
“What happened?” Casie said.
“I told you . . . nothing.” She shifted her gaze fretfully from Casie's. “Why?”
“Your face,” Emily said and scowled. “It looks funny.”
Sophie lifted a hand to her cheek. “What's wrong with my face?”
“I don't know. It almost looks . . .” Emily narrowed her eyes, stepped forward a pace. “For a minute it kind of looked as if you were . . .” She turned her head a little. “Was she smiling, Casie?”
A dozen ugly scenarios raced through Casie's brain. Every one of them involved Bradley and his absence. “You look like you slept okay.” She said the words cautiously.
“Well . . . yeah,” Sophie said and grinned a little, as if unable to fight the feeling. “It was kind of fun.” She was more beautiful than ever when she smiled. Irresistible, maybe.
“Fun,” Emily said. “Sleeping in the barn.”
“Yeah.” Sophie grabbed an apple from a wooden bowl on the counter, almost hiding her grin as she bit into it.
“In the cold,” Emily said. Her eyes were narrowed.
Casie felt sick.
Sophie shrugged.
“And the manure.”
“The manure wasn't so great,” Sophie admitted. “But . . .” She paused, letting the tension build. “He's so great.”
“What?”
They said the word in unison.
“Blue.” She was grinning even though it kind of seemed like she was trying not to. “He ate out of the bucket I was holding. And he let me pet his face. I mean . . . just for a second. But I can get right up next to him now. Sometimes.”
“So you . . .” Casie cleared her internal thoughts. What was wrong with her? Bradley was a good man. “So you spent the night with the weanlings.”
“I told you I was going to.”
“Yeah.” She forced a laugh. “I know, but I just thought . . .” The girls were looking at her with varying degrees of confusion. “I thought you'd get cold and come inside.”
“Well, yeah, it was kind of nippy. But I've never . . .” She drew a deep breath as if trying to assess her true feelings. “Mom would have never approved . . . .” She shrugged. “Anyway, I think Blue's really improving. And maybe . . . you know . . . maybe I can take some of the credit for that. He even bit the pinto.”
“Really?” Casie asked. Guilt was already storming in on the heels of her doubt. Brad was her fiancé and Sophie was just a kid, little more than a child. A child she was being paid to care for. A child who currently seemed touchingly vulnerable. “He bit her?”
“So bad manners are good news now?” Emily asked.
“He's got to learn to fight for his food,” Sophie said. “And . . .” She paused, almost looked teary eyed. “I think he did it so he could have all my attention to himself.”
“After one night?” Casie shook her head, and found to her surprise that she felt a tiny bubble of pride well up past the worry inside her. “That's amazing.”
“I know . . . well . . .” Sophie paused, trying to quell her unusual show of enthusiasm. “I mean, he's weak and everything. Malnutritioned, so he can't hightail it out of there like he would if he were healthy. You know . . . it's no big deal. Not like he's going to be winning the grand prix or anything. Right?”
Casie watched Sophie wind down to her old jaded self and remembered life as a teenager. Her parents may have fought like tigers, but she had always had Chip to confide in, and when they had reached some sort of new pinnacle in his training, her mother had, without fail, found the time to watch her ride, to oooh over her achievements. She could do that much, she thought, and pushed her own worries aside. “I want to see,” she said.
“What?” Sophie looked nervous now and atypically self-conscious. “There's nothing to see.”
Casie shrugged. “Come on, Em. Turn the burner off for a second. Let's go greet the morning.”
They put on rubber boots, sweatshirts, and stocking caps and wandered outside together.
“There's nothing to see,” Sophie repeated as they sloshed through the puddles to the barn. But she was wrong. There was everything to see. The hills were unfolding in vibrant greens, bursting with life as a winter-weary world welcomed the spring. The leaves of the cottonwood near the corncrib seemed to have burst overnight and haloed the tree's craggy trunk. The translucent leaves echoed the sunlight, dappling the lush earth beneath. Down by the creek a mallard tucked its wings and skidded onto the water. Jack barked, raced halfway there, and came running back, prancing in gleeful indecision. So many things to herd. “I don't want you to think I'm jumping trebles with him or something,” Sophie continued, but Casie only smiled as they headed toward the barn.
When she switched on the light, Angel nickered and bobbed impatiently. “Good morning,” Casie said, and pulling a pockmarked apple from her pocket, stroked Angel's face as she held it up to the mare's mouth. The gray munched and nodded approvingly as they continued toward the back of the barn, where they hooked their elbows over the top rail and gazed into the weanlings' pen.
The duo stood against the back wall of the enclosure, watching them with wary eyes, shaggy ears pricked forward and almost buried in their bushy forelocks.
“See,” Sophie said, subdued now. “He's just the same.”
“You're wrong,” Casie said and smiled at the uncertain colt. “His eyes are different.”
“What?”
“See how he looks at us? He's curious but not terrified. He's starting to trust,” she said and wondered if just maybe she could say the same for the girl. “You're halfway to a champion,” she added.
Sophie snorted. “It's not as if he's blood stock.”
Casie looked at her. “It's not as if he has to be,” she said and, before the other could argue, added, “Sometimes the best of them are animals nobody wants. They're more grateful. More giving.”
Sophie stared at her.
“Come on. Let's go down to the creek,” Casie said, and slipping her arms through the girls', turned toward the door just as Tyler stepped into the barn.
Emily and Casie greeted him in unison.
“What's going on?” His voice was low, a boy stepping cautiously into manhood. His eyes darted from one to the other as they moved toward him.
“Nothing's going on,” Em said. “We're gonna go down to the creek. Wanna come?”
“Naw, I'll just—”
“Come on,” Emily said and pushed her arm through his. He stiffened and scowled, but didn't object as the four of them stepped into the beauty of the world.
The morning was perfect, cool but still, glowing with life, with possibilities. Casie forced herself to forget her troubles and enjoy the moment. A female mallard, dressed in camouflage browns, groused and swam out of the reeds as they drew near. A baker's dozen of babies followed her like fuzzy windup toys, little striped backs barely moving as their tiny legs pumped them through the water.
“Wow,” Sophie said, expression awed. “That's beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Casie agreed. The sun felt like heaven on her face. “Amazing, isn't it, Em?” she asked, but the girl didn't answer, didn't turn away. Her expression was somber, her eyes unblinking.
“You okay?” Ty asked. He'd slipped out of Emily's grip but stood close by.
“Yeah, sure,” Em said, gaze not leaving the little clutch of ducklings. “I was just thinking maybe . . . maybe we should bring them up to the house?”
Casie raised her brows. “Bring what to the house?”
“The ducks,” Emily said, still mesmerized by the little family in the creek.
“Are you nuts?” Sophie asked. Apparently, the breathtaking beauty of the morning was losing its ability to transfix her.
“Why?” Casie said, sparing the younger girl a warning glance.
“So they'll be safe.”
“From what?” Sophie asked, eyeing the creek bed as if scanning for lions. All they saw was Jack dancing alongside the winding water, bounding with irrepressible energy.
“Well, there's . . .” Emily waved toward the border collie. “Jack. What if he goes after them?”
“He's a herding dog,” Ty said. “More likely to prevent trouble than cause it.”
“What about the coyotes?”
“We can't keep them in the bathroom, Em,” Casie said, worried about the girl's feelings. Sometimes she seemed as tough as boot leather, and then sometimes . . .
“Yeah,” Sophie said, “Casie's saving the bathtub for the next batch of lambs.”
Casie snorted, and after a second Emily turned away and chuckled, though her expression was still strained. Across the creek, a worried cow trotted toward them, bellowing low in her throat. A white-faced calf rose from its hiding place in a little gulch and stretched, bending then arching its back before hurrying to its mother to nurse.
It was a sight that made them all go silent, but in a minute the sound of an engine could be heard from behind.
Remembering Bradley, Casie turned, breath held, nerves already tightening, but instead of Brad's Pontiac, a pickup truck rattled into the yard a hundred feet away. A cowboy stepped out of the cab. His Stetson was pulled low over his forehead, hiding his face, but there was no mistaking Colt's loose-limbed saunter or the sharp spike of adrenaline that rushed Casie's system at the sight of him. Anger, of course, always affected her like that.
His gaze swept the area, then settled on them. In a matter of moments he was only a few yards away.
“What's wrong?” he asked, glancing from one face to the next.
“Nothing,” Emily said. “Turns out Sophie can smile anytime she wants.”
Colton gave her a quizzical glance.
“Hilarious,” Sophie said, but Casie just shook her head, ignoring the butterflies that flittered in her gut.
“What's going on?” she asked.

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