Finding Home (30 page)

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Authors: Lois Greiman

BOOK: Finding Home
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“What?” Casie said. They were inches apart, but worlds separated them.
“Em!” Ty rasped.
“Emily.” Casie turned fully toward her. “What are you talking about?”
“I'm sorry.” The girl's voice was very small, her eyes glassy.
“Are you sure?” Casie asked.
Emily swallowed. “Positive.”
“Well, are you—” Confusion rumbled through Casie's brain. “Are you feeling—Here . . .” She hurried forward, gait a little hobbled, to pull out a kitchen chair. “Sit down. Are you feeling okay right—”
“No!” Brad snarled, then stopped himself and started again. “Don't tell me you'd give up what we have for that little . . .” He took a deep breath. “Listen, Cass, this has nothing to do with you. With
us
. . . We don't even know if she's telling the truth.”
Casie turned toward him in silent awe. “What? Why would she lie?”
“I don't know!” He flung a hand sideways as if unable to explain the intricacies of the universe. “Why would you get in a fistfight, like some low-class—” He stopped himself again. “Think about it, Cass. This is just one more reason for you to come back to Saint Paul with me. You have a job there. A steady income. You can send some money back here if you like. Help support the kid. Get—”
“The baby's his,” Emily added and nodded toward Bradley.
C
HAPTER
32
“W
hat?” Casie breathed, but Brad was already turning toward Emily. His brows had drawn down tight.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he snarled, but Emily remained exactly as she was.
“The baby's yours,” she whispered, then turned toward Casie, eyes swimming with tears. “I'm sorry.”
Casie stood absolutely still. It was the world that kept revolving, the world that was spinning out of the control she'd tried so hard to maintain. She shook her head, trying to think, trying to find her way through the minefield. She laughed a little. The noise sounded maniacal in the silent room. “It couldn't be Brad's,” she said. “You just met him a few days ago. And . . . and . . . even if you
are
pregnant, you couldn't possibly know yet. Not—”
“We met in Minneapolis,” Emily said. A fat tear bulged over the edge of her lower lid, caught on her lashes for an instant, then slid down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. “There was a . . . a convention there.”
“She's lying.” Brad hissed the denial.
Casie shook her head. A thousand uncertainties swarmed in, jostling for space. “No . . . you couldn't have . . .”
“A pharmaceutical convention,” Emily said. “Downtown at the Hyatt.”
“Are you going to listen to this pack of lies?” Brad rasped. There was outrage in his voice, pride in his stance, but there was something in his eyes that looked like guilt, something starkly reminiscent of other times.
“When?” Casie asked and turned numbly back toward Emily.
The girl's eyes were unblinking, her gaze as steady as a falcon's. “Two months ago.” Her lips twitched. “In March.”
Casie nodded once. She felt strangely out of body, out of sync, but she turned back toward her fiancé. “When did you go to that convention?” she asked.
“This is insane!” Brad shook his head as if unable to believe his ears. “Are you going to—”
“The one you told me about,” she said. “The one you hurried back from Dad's funeral for.”
He snorted, speared Emily with his gaze. “I never met her before in my life.”
“I had only been working at the hotel for a couple weeks,” she said.
“Two months ago,” Casie said, trying to think, to reason, to make sense of a world gone mad.
Emily winced. “He was having drinks with his friends.”
“See what this place has done to you, Cass?” Bradley asked, red face twisted. “You don't even know what to believe anymore.”
“What friends?” Casie asked. She kept her attention riveted on Emily, lest she break down completely.
The girl shook her head. “One was short. Dark. Curly hair.”
“Ray,” Casie said. The name sounded as if it came from someone else.
“The other one was taller. He wore one of those . . .” Her voice broke for a second. “One of those ID bracelets.”
“Bruce has asthma.”
“I didn't get their names. I was just . . . I was so . . . I'm not a slut. Really, I'm not. But he was a doctor. Mature, you know?” She shot her gaze to Brad, kept it there for a fraction of an instant before dragging it away. “And a good tipper, and I didn't know you then, Case. I didn't know you were such a great person. I didn't know I was going to—”
Casie laughed. “This is crazy. You're not making any sense. You're a friend of Ty's. That's why you came here. You couldn't have—”
“I met Ty at an Al-Anon meeting. We clicked right off cuz his family's psycho and mine . . .” She inhaled heavily. “I came here to meet the fiancée of my kid's dad. I came here to meet
you
. Maybe I hoped to break you up. I don't know. I . . . I just know I'm sorry.” Her face cracked. “I'm so sorry,” she said, and turning, escaped up the stairs.
The room was as silent as death.
Casie shifted her bewildered gaze to Bradley.
“She's lying,” he said.
His voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. “So you never cheated on me?”
He shook his head. “No. I swear, Cass. I never—”
She raised a brow at him. It cracked the crusting blood on her face, but the pain was almost welcome, almost a relief. At least she understood that kind of agony.
“Except for once with . . . well, that once you know about,” he said.
The memories sifted back in. The betrayal, the uncertainty, the final conclusion that it had been her fault. That if she'd just been better, tried harder, he wouldn't have strayed. She drew a deep breath, calmed herself. The world seemed oddly shifted, strangely out of whack. “Just that once, then?”
Color infused his face. “Do you really want to drag this all out in the open again? Is that what you want? To air your dirty laundry here in front of everyone?”
She should be embarrassed, of course. But instead, she felt strangely peaceful suddenly. Her mind was surprisingly clear. “I think I do,” she said.
“Fine! Fine then,” he snapped. “Let's talk about what a limp rag you are in the sack.”
Embarrassment should turn to mortification anytime now. She waited a beat. Nothing. “Okay,” she said.
“You think I want that? You think any man wants that?”
She smiled, amused despite herself. Hell,
thrilled
despite herself. “I'm not sure.”
“Well, I don't. That's why I turned to other women.”
“Women?”
she asked.
“I—”
“Get out, Brad,” she said. Her voice was perfectly calm, perfectly modulated.
“Listen, we're engaged to be married. You made a verbal agreement to marry me. That means I'm entitled to—” he began, but Colt interrupted him.
“Walk away, Hooper,” he said. “Walk away while you still can.”
Bradley turned on him with a snarl, fists clenched. “Listen, you goddamned cow kicker. You don't have anything to say about this. If you know what's good for you—”
But in that second Colt struck him square in the face. Brad staggered backward, hand covering his nose. Blood spurted from between his fingers like water from a spigot. He fell against the kitchen wall and righted himself with difficulty.
“That's really all I
wanted
to say,” Colt said, flexing his hand. “But if you'd like to discuss it further, we can talk outside.”
Brad stared at him, eyes flaming, but finally he straightened. Blood as red as bell peppers was streaming from his nose. “You'll hear from my attorneys,” he snarled and staggered out the door.
C
HAPTER
33
“O
h, for heaven's sake,” Casie said as Colt opened the passenger door for her. He'd parked his truck next to Ol' Puke beside the barn. She felt silly and conspicuous sitting there like a bruised peach. True, every muscle in her body ached, her face looked like it had had a run-in with a bad-tempered bull, and she was distinctly embarrassed by her behavior of the last few days. But it had made good sense to file a report at the sheriff's office, after which Colt had insisted that she have a checkup at the clinic.
They
had insisted on keeping her overnight for observation. “I can make it to the house under my own steam. I'm just a little sore.”
X-rays had shown that nothing was broken, but Colt shook his head. Slipping his hands beneath her legs and behind her back, he lifted her against his chest.
“You think I
want
to carry you? My arm's barely healed. I think I broke my knuckles on your fiancé's fat nose. And do you know the kind of damage a bucking horse can do to your back?”
“Why did you park so far from the house then? Put me down,” she said. Jack's silver eyes danced as he reared up to touch his wet nose to her arm.
“God knows I'd like to,” Colt said and sighed dramatically as he shifted her more firmly against the heat of his chest. “But what if you faint or something?”
“Faint?” Her face felt warm, her head dizzy. Maybe fainting wasn't a completely ridiculous notion.
“It'd just get the kids all riled up again.”
“What are you talking—” she began, but at that moment the barn door opened and Ty stepped into the sunlight. His split lip had turned a shocking shade of eggplant that matched her left cheek.
The boy gazed at them with solemn eyes, focusing on her face with painful intensity and no small amount of guilt.
Casie searched her brain for some way to ease his mind, but the pain in his expression left her speechless. Not so with Colt.
“Oh, don't look so hangdog,” he said. “She's fine. I'm just carrying her cuz she's too lazy to walk.”
“I'm not . . .” Casie began, but Colt ignored her as he turned, muscles shifting easily against her body.
“Come on up to the house,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the boy, who followed behind. “You get them ewes fed?”
“Sure.” Ty caught up in a second, shifting his eyes from her to him. Casie tried a smile. It increased the pain in her face exponentially and only made Ty's expression more worried.
“Mom fix up Sissy's room for you?” Colt asked.
Ty's brows shifted low over storm-cloud eyes. “It's pink.”
Colt laughed. “Yeah. Sissy always was a girlie girl. Not like Head Case here, who eats barbwire for breakfast.
“Holy hell!” he said, shifting her weight slightly. “You're damn heavy for such a scrawny little thing.”
Casie ignored him as well as she could, which wasn't all that well since he was cradling her against his chest like a bouquet of roses. “What room?” she asked.
“Good thing you didn't stay more than one night eating that irresistible hospital food. You would have been too heavy to carry.”
“What room?” she repeated.
“Guess I'm going to be staying with the Dickensons for a while,” Ty said.
Casie shifted her gaze to Colt. He shrugged.
“The old man don't pay much, but he's not as ornery as some bosses,” he said and shifted his eyes toward her.
Casie ignored his implication and turned her attention back to Ty. “What about your parents?” she asked.
The boy ducked his head. Colt shrugged again. “They agreed to share him for a while,” he said, but there was something in his expression that suggested they hadn't agreed to anything, something in his eyes that said, “Bring it the hell on.”
She cleared her throat. It felt oddly tight. “But he'll be able to come here, too, right?”
“I think Dad'll be able to spare him now and then,” he said and stepped onto the porch. “Get that, will you, son?”
Ty rushed ahead to open the door. For a moment the boy's eyes met hers. His looked unusually bright, and for a second she couldn't resist reaching out to touch his face. He permitted it for one brief instant before Colt carried her inside.
Sophie Jaegar stood beside the kitchen table. There was a bandage above her left eye.
“Sophie!” Casie said, still draped in Colt's arms like an invalid. “I didn't know . . .” She drew a deep breath, gratitude slipping slowly into her battered soul. “It's good to have you home.”
The girl shrugged, almost smiled. “Looks like you have enough to do without tackling the weanlings alone.”
Casie winced at the bruising that showed around the other's bandage. “You don't have to stay if you don't want to, Soph. I'm sure I can—” she began, but Colt squeezed her against his tight chest, effectively silencing her before letting her feet slip to the floor.
“Well, I'm . . .” She felt like crying, but she wasn't quite sure why. Probably just the pain meds they'd given her. “I'm just . . .” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming back.”
Sophie shrugged. Her expression was unreadable, but it almost looked like relief . . . maybe even looked a little like gratitude. “Amber moved in with Dad.”
“Oh.” Casie nodded, exhaled carefully, and almost wished for a moment that she could take the younger woman into her arms. Someone should be hugged. “I'm sorry.”
She shrugged again. “No biggie,” she said. “I don't even care. I just didn't want people to think . . .” She pursed her lips and motioned toward her bandage. “This wasn't Ty's fault.” She sent him a baleful glance. “I mean, he's a—” She lifted her shoulders again, an economical movement that suggested they weren't about to become BFFs. “Of course, he
did
throw the curry that made Blue wheel around and kick me. But maybe I shouldn't have—” she began. But just then Emily stepped into the room.
Her gaze met Casie's in a clash of regret so potent it was almost tangible. But in a moment she ducked her gaze away. “There's a tuna hotdish in the oven.” She shuffled her feet a little, army boots neatly laced. “There's real tuna in it this time.” No one spoke. The silence was deafening. “I just stayed so I could fix your dinner. I didn't want you to . . . Well . . .” She raised her chin. “I'll be taking off,” she said and bent to lift her backpack from the floor.
“Emily . . .” Casie said.
The girl froze but didn't speak. Her full lips were pursed, her brows crunched low over bottle-brown eyes.
“Listen . . .” Casie began again. “I don't know . . .” She shook her head. Facts tumbled around in her brain like loose dice. “I don't even know who you are.”
“It doesn't matter,” she said and straightened, hefting her pack. “Not anymore.”
“I think it might.”
Em shook her head.
The room went silent again. A thousand old habits whispered for Casie to let it go . . . let
her
go, but the new ways refused to allow her to take the easy path.
“You've been lying to me from the start,” she said.
A muscle jumped in the girl's cheek, but she nodded.
“Was any of it true?”
Silence stretched into eternity before she spoke. “I really did need a place to stay.”
A dozen warm memories slipped into the room. Memories of shared laughter and work and worries. Memories of a friendship that had been repeatedly tested by fire in just a few short weeks of time.
Casie drew a steadying breath. “Did you sleep with my fiancé?”
Emily glanced out the kitchen window, seeming to look past the frayed tire swing to the world beyond. “I never met him before I came here.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “It's just that . . .” She narrowed her eyes a little. “I didn't want you to leave. I mean . . . it wasn't
all
selfish. He didn't deserve you.” She cleared her throat and shifted her gaze back to Casie. “He didn't make you happy. And when I Googled him, I found a picture of him at that convention. He was drunk. He
looked
drunk,” she corrected. “He was there with his friends, and I thought . . .” She shrugged.
Casie let the silence lie undisturbed, let her own soul mend, let herself realize that for reasons she might never be able to fully comprehend, she was relieved. Happy even.
“How did you and Ty meet?”
“I was in a foster home for a spell.” The boy's voice was quiet with shame. He shifted his feet. “Em was there for a while, too.”
Casie nodded and turned back to the girl. “Is your mother really in Wisconsin?”
Emily shrugged and glanced toward the door. Her eyes looked tired. “I think I
have
a mother . . . somewhere.”
A hundred questions jostled to be asked. Casie drew a deep breath, weeded through them. “Are you pregnant?” she asked.
Not a soul breathed.
“Yeah,” she said. “That part's true, too.”
Casie nodded and drew a careful breath. Colt stood a few inches away, solid and steady beside her.
“Well, we'd better eat then. Build up our strength. Looks like we're going to have to set up a nursery,” Casie said, but Emily shook her head.
“You don't need to do that. I've got places to go anyhow. I've always wanted to see the ocean and—”
“Em,” Tyler interrupted, tone solemn. “I don't know much. But it seems to me that if you don't know where you're going, it might be a good idea to quit using your spurs.”
She opened her mouth to object, but he spoke again.
“And don't never miss a good chance to shut up.”
The kitchen went silent. The scent of strong coffee and fresh starts permeated the air. Outside a pheasant called to its mate.
Emily cleared her throat. “Can I at least say thank you?”
Ty shrugged, uncomfortable being the center of attention. “Far as I know, a little gratitude never killed nobody,” he said.
“Then . . .” A lone tear welled up and spilled slowly over the girl's spiky lashes. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Sophie added.
“All right. Enough of that. Let's eat,” Colt said, and setting a warm hand against Casie's back, steered her toward a chair.
She settled into it, and as the others slipped into place around the table, she smiled in her soul, because her face still hurt too much to try any crazy expressions. But damn, it had been worth it, she thought, and against her better judgment, she cracked a careful grin.

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