His Texas Wildflower (13 page)

Rebecca was trying to push that tormenting little voice out of her head when the phone rang again.

With a skeptical frown, she glanced over at the black instrument she'd left lying on the corner of a small wooden desk. “Beau, if that's Jake,” she told the dog who was lying at her feet, “I'm going to shout hallelujah. If it's someone else I'm going to throw the thing out the window.”

Only vaguely interested, Beau lifted his head and watched her walk over to retrieve the ringing phone, then decided to dismiss her threat and rest his chin back on his front paws.

Unfortunately, the number illuminated on the front wasn't Jake's. It belonged to her mother and for a moment Rebecca considered ignoring the call. There wasn't really anything she wanted to say to Gwyn. Unless the woman had finally decided to call and do some much-needed explaining.

It was that last hopeful thought that had Rebecca flipping open the phone and pressing it to her ear. “Hello, Mother.”

“Rebecca! Thank God you answered! Do you realize how many times I've tried to reach you? Why haven't you returned my calls?”

“Because I really don't have anything new to say. Two can play your game, Mother.”

Gwyn let out an indignant huff. “That's not any way to talk to me, Rebecca. And I don't understand. You were always such a respectful daughter. Now you're like a stranger to me.”

At one time, Rebecca would have agreed with her. She would have been ashamed to use any sort of sarcastic tone with her mother. But since she'd learned that Gwyn had been so deliberately deceptive, she'd lost all respect. Rebecca hated feeling that way. She desperately wished that Gwyn could give her a good explanation for her behavior. But so far she'd given her nothing but more frustration.

“It's funny that you should say that, Mother. Because you certainly seem like a stranger to me. I find myself questioning everything you say and wondering what else you're keeping from me.”

There was a long silence and then Gwyn countered in a husky voice, “When are you coming home, Rebecca?”

Rebecca groaned inwardly. How many times was that question going to be thrown at her today? “We went over this the last time we talked. And I'll tell you the same thing as I told you then. I don't know.” She stared across the cluttered room at Beau and then another thought struck her. “Have you been talking to my friends?”

“Why would you ask that question?”

She didn't sound indignant, Rebecca decided. More like cautious. “Because I've gotten several calls today and all of them were pressing me for a time when I'd be returning to Houston. You put them up to it, didn't you?”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Rebecca, that your friends are asking that question because they're concerned about you?”

Rebecca grimaced. “My friends normally don't pry into my private affairs. They show their concern by offering their ear, and that's it.”

“All right.” Gwyn suddenly spat out the admission. “I did talk to a few of your coworkers. Only because I love you.”

“If you loved me—really loved me—you'd want to answer my questions about Aunt Gertrude. You'd want to explain and help me understand why you didn't want her in my life. Don't you understand this is all very hurtful and confusing to me?”

Awkward silence stretched between them.

“I didn't call to talk about Gertrude,” Gwyn said brusquely. “I want to know if you're all right and what you've been doing. I want to hear your intentions about your job and—”

How could she begin to describe how she'd been spending her time here in New Mexico? Gwyn wouldn't understand any of it. Especially not Jake. She'd think he was far too rough around the edges for her daughter. Funny how it was those very rough edges that drew Rebecca to him even more, she thought. “I'm fine, Mother, just keeping busy with chores around the place and taking care of the animals. As for my intentions I've not made any plans yet.”

“Rebecca! Arlene has been calling me every day to see if I've gotten any news from you. Sooner or later she's going to have to fill the void you've left behind. And from the frustration I'm getting from her it's going to be a lot sooner than you think.”

Rebecca was amazed at how unaffected she was by this news. Her job at Bordeaux's had once meant everything to her. It had been her whole life. Now she couldn't
imagine herself jumping back into that frantic pace, the stressful demands. Or most of all, leaving Jake.

“If Arlene feels she needs to replace me, then that's her prerogative.”

To Rebecca's surprise her mother released several curse words. Gwyn had always striven to present herself to everyone as a first-class lady, especially to her daughter. She could only remember one other time she'd heard her mother cuss and that had been when Rebecca had announced she was traveling out here to New Mexico for Gertrude's funeral.

“Don't you even care?” Gwyn blasted at her. “All those years of college? All the long hours you've spent traveling, working to prove yourself? I'm not getting any of this, Rebecca. This thing with Gertrude is ruining you! And for what? You didn't even know the woman!”

“Thanks to you,” Rebecca countered sharply, then forcing herself to breathe deeply and calm herself, she added, “This is not all about Gertrude, Mother. And right now I have to go.”

“Rebecca, don't hang up! You're going to listen to me and get home—”

Rebecca dropped the phone from her ear and clicked the instrument together. Her hands were shaking as she placed the phone back on the desktop. She should have never confronted her mother, she thought with disgust. The only thing it achieved was making the both of them upset.

With a heavy sigh she walked back over to Beau and the box of correspondence she'd been sifting through. “Guess you could tell it wasn't Jake,” she mumbled to the dog, then picked up a handful of papers and envelopes.

Thirty minutes later, Rebecca stopped the sorting long enough to make herself coffee. She carried the cup back to the spare bedroom and worked between sips. Eventually she finished one whole box and, after marking it, stacked it to one side. As she picked up a plastic container filled with more correspondence and placed it on the bed, a flash of midnight-blue velvet caught her eye.

On second glance, Rebecca noticed a jewelry box sitting on a cluttered nightstand. Expecting it to be full of costume pieces, she ignored the correspondence, and reached curiously for the rectangular box covered in blue velvet. The jewelry would certainly give her an insight into the fashion taste of her aunt, she thought.

At first she thought the tiny lock on the front was locked tight, but on second glance she could see the latch wasn't completely together. Easing onto the edge of the bed, she gathered the dusty box onto her lap and opened the lid.

Rebecca was instantly deflated. There were no pieces of jewelry, only more correspondence. The only other thing in the box was a newspaper clipping with Rebecca opening a fashion show at Bordeaux's—that must have been how Gertie knew where she worked.

Letters bundled with faded blue ribbon. She started to shut the lid, but then paused in midtask as she noticed the return address on the top envelope.

The letter was from Vance Hardaway, a post office box number, then Houston, Texas.

Her father had written to Gertrude? But why?

Her thoughts suddenly spinning, Rebecca untied the ribbon and quickly shuffled through the different shaped envelopes. Each one had come from Vance Hardaway and from the same post office box in Houston. Until she
reached the last five. Those had been sent from Dubai City, the area where he'd been working before he'd lost his life.

Carefully sitting the box to one side, she picked out the envelope with the earliest posted date and opened it.

When she unfolded the two handwritten pages, a photo fluttered facedown onto her lap. Deciding to look at it before she began to read, she turned it upright, and gasped with shock.

The last thing she'd expected to see was an image of herself. Pulling the dog-eared pic closer, she scanned it closely and, as she did, faded memories rushed to life. Even though she'd only been seven or eight at the time, she remembered the day her father had taken the photo. They'd gone to the zoo. Just the two of them. When they'd stopped in front of the monkey enclosure he'd had her pose for the camera, saying he wanted a picture of his own little monkey. They'd had a fun-filled day; one of the most memorable occasions she'd had with her father.

But why had he mailed the photo to Gertrude?

Laying the faded image aside, she opened the letter and began to read:

Our daughter!
Did her father's words mean what she thought they meant? Rebecca wondered wildly.

Her heart suddenly pounding with a strange mixture of fear and excitement, she scanned the last paragraph of the letter.

Dazed, Rebecca quickly read the last few lines of the letter and then as she lifted her head and stared unseeingly at the bedroom wall, the aged slips of paper fell to her lap.

Dear God, had Gertrude O'Dell been her mother? Everything about her father's words had said so! And
there was no doubt in her mind that the letter was from Vance Hardaway. Rebecca had recognized his handwriting instantly. She still had letters that, as a child, she'd received from him.

What did it all mean? That a few weeks ago she'd watched her real mother being lowered into the earth? And never had the chance to know her? Love her?

Pain and confusion cut into her so suddenly and deeply that she clutched a hand to her stomach and choked out a sob.

Her life, as she knew it, had been one big deception! Lies on top of lies!

With tears sliding down her cheeks, she reached for the telephone and punched her mother's—no, she couldn't even use that title for the woman anymore, she thought bitterly. Now she was simply Gwyn Hardaway, a woman who owed her answers. Answers that had been twenty-eight years overdue.

L
ater that afternoon, Jake pulled his truck and horse trailer to a stop in front of his mother's modest house, which was located on the eastern edge of Ruidoso. He found Clara sitting on the front porch and as he climbed the steps, she rose to her feet to greet him.

Today she looked somewhat perkier and Jake was relieved that he'd not found her lying on the couch, bemoaning the state of her health.

“This is a nice surprise,” she said, turning her cheek up for his kiss. “What brings you to town? On your way to Apache Wells?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. “I'm going to see…a woman. Gertie O'Dell's niece.”

Clara peeped around his shoulder at the rig he'd parked in the driveway. “And you're taking a horse?”

She returned to the wicker seat she'd been sitting in and gestured for him to take the one nearest to her.
Jake eased his long frame into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“That's right. I thought Rebecca might enjoy taking a ride. She has a horse that I need to check out.”

The skeptical look on Clara's face disappeared. “Oh. For shoes, you mean.”

“No. I need to make sure the mare is broke to ride.”

“I didn't know you were hiring out as a horse trainer anymore, Jake. You're so busy now you hardly have time to draw a good breath.”

It was true that on a good day his time was limited, but the past few days had been worse than hectic. A sick bull had been discovered in a back pasture and it had taken him and his two hired hands several hours just to get him loaded and back to the ranch. Added to that, a broken pump had left the barns and feed lots without a drop of water for the livestock, then one of his best horses had cut his foot and required surgery at the vet's clinic in Ruidoso. And to make matters worse, he had no land telephone line at his house, so when he'd lost his cell phone signal it had been impossible to call Rebecca. He'd never planned for three days to go by without contacting her and now it felt like weeks since she'd been at his ranch.

“I know, Mom, but Rebecca is—well, I'm not hiring out as a horse trainer for her. I'm doing this as a favor.”

Rolling her eyes, Clara groaned with misgivings. “Oh, son, don't tell me you've gone and gotten yourself involved with this girl from Texas. Don't you have enough women around here without adding her to your string?”

Jake didn't bother to stop the grimace on his face.
Linking Rebecca to the other women he'd known over the years seemed downright disrespectful. She wasn't like those women and neither was their relationship.

Who are you kidding, Jake? You've already taken her to your bed. And you can't wait to get her back in it. What makes this thing with Rebecca any different than the last woman you bedded?

Dammit, now was hardly the time for his conscience to start talking to him. His mother's voiced opinion was bad enough.

“I'm not—this is not what you're thinking, Mom.”

She shot him a look of disgust. One that Jake had seen a hundred times before. “The woman doesn't even belong around here. Sooner or later, she'll be going back to wherever she came from. That tells me you're not serious about her. But then you're never serious about any of them, are you?” Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze to the roof of the porch and sighed. “You'll be like your father until the day you die.”

Over the years Clara had said some demeaning things to Jake, all of them pointing back to Lee's failings as a father and a husband, and how Jake had inherited the man's shortcomings. But she'd never spoken to him in such a sarcastic tone before and Jake didn't know whether he was angry or hurt or simply weary of being linked to Lee's mistakes.

Leaning forward in his chair, he studied her sad face. “Why are you doing this to me? I'm not Lee Rollins. I've not left a wife and child behind.”

She flinched, then turned her gaze away from him. “No,” she said bitterly. “That's one thing I won't have to worry about. You'll make damned sure you don't have either one of those.”

Disgusted now, Jake muttered a few choice words
under his breath. “I don't know what in hell you want or expect from me, Mom. You say I'm just like Lee and not fit to be a husband or father. And then in the next breath, you ridicule me for not having a family. I guess it would be too much of a strain for you to find anything worthwhile in your son, yourself or your life.”

Her head whipped around and she gaped at him in shock. “That's a horrible thing to say to me!”

“Is it? I'm thinking I should have said it a long time ago.”

“Jake—”

“Look, Mom, just because you want to be alone and miserable doesn't mean I want to be.”

She looked at him in stunned disbelief and Jake suddenly realized that he was partly to blame for his mother's cynical attitude toward life. All these years of coddling had only fed into her self-pity.

“What are you talking about? You are alone, Jake,” she shot back at him. “And that's the way the both of us are always gonna be. Your father ruined us.”

His jaw tight, Jake rose to his feet. “Only because we've let him.”

He started off the porch and Clara called after him. “Come back here, Jake. I'm not finished.”

Stepping onto the ground, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “But I am finished, Mom. Finished with the whole rotten mess of Lee Rollins.”

Minutes later, as Jake drove north of Ruidoso to Rebecca's place, he tried to forget the exchange he'd had with his mother. It wasn't like him to lose his temper with her. She was basically the only family he had and after his father had left, she'd worked hard and sacrificed to raise Jake. He respected her for that and he loved her.
But that didn't mean he had to abide her attitude toward him or herself.

You are alone, Jake.

Of all the things Clara had said to him that had cut the worst. Although, he didn't understand exactly why. A few weeks ago, he probably would have agreed with his mother's observation. He'd always been a man alone. Until Rebecca had come into his life. Now he felt different. Now he felt a connection.

Was it love?

Hell, how could he know the answer to that? He'd never been in love. And maybe this thing with Rebecca was just lust, he mentally argued. God only knew how much he'd wanted her the other night. He'd not been satisfied to make love to her once and then take her home. No, he'd had to make love to her a second time and then a third. And to make the matter even more worrisome, he'd wanted to keep her with him all night. He'd wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her until morning filled the sky. Something he'd never done with any woman.

But somehow, in the wee hours of the morning, he'd found the strength, or maybe it had been fear that had finally pushed him, to drive her home and kiss her good-night. Since that night his thoughts had been besieged with the woman and now he was beginning to wonder what tomorrow was going to bring to him. Once she returned to Texas, how would he go back to being the old Jake, the man who flitted from one woman to the next, the man who never thought about a wife, children or the future?

A half hour later, he rolled to a stop behind Rebecca's old truck. The sight of the vehicle assured him that she
was home, so he climbed to the ground and went to work unloading his horse.

By the time he'd taken Banjo to the barn and turned him loose in a small catch pen, Rebecca still hadn't appeared, so he quickly returned to the house and knocked on the front door.

There was no sound coming from inside and he was beginning to think that maybe Abe or Maura might have picked her up and taken her to Apache Wells for a neighborly visit, when he finally heard footsteps rushing through the house.

After a moment, she appeared behind the screen door and he smiled with relief. “Rebecca, for a minute I thought you were gone.”

She pushed the door wide and without a word fell sobbing into his arms.

“Rebecca! Honey, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?”

Lifting her head from his chest, she tried to speak, but only more sobs passed her parted lips. Jake urgently wrapped an arm around her waist and ushered her into the house.

Once he had her sitting on the couch, he sank down beside her and pressed both her hands tightly between his. “Take a deep breath, Becca. Calm down and tell me what has you so upset.”

Nodding jerkily, she drew in several bracing breaths. “I—I'm so sorry, Jake. I didn't mean to—to break down like this. But when I saw you—oh, Jake—I don't know where to begin.”

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and he quickly pulled a bandanna from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped them away. Once he was finished, her trembling lips tried to form a grateful smile.

“Are you ill, Becca?”

She shook her head. “No. I guess you could call it…shock.” She pulled her hands from his and swiped at the tumble of blond hair hanging near her eyes. “This afternoon I was going through Gertrude's correspondence and I found out—quite by accident that—she was…my mother.”

Stunned, Jake stared at her. “Did I hear you right? Did you say mother?”

Rebecca nodded, then released a long, shuddering sigh. “That's right. I said that Gertrude was my mother.”

“But how? Are you sure?”

Jumping to her feet, she began to pace around the tiny living room. “I found letters from my father written to Gertrude. He called her Gerta and talked about how much he regretted the fact that they couldn't be together.” Her woeful gaze lifted from the floor and over to him. “Oh, Jake, the things he wrote—he clearly loved her. And—”

His heart aching for her, he watched her cover her face with both hands. “Are you sure about this, Rebecca? Just because he loved Gertrude, that doesn't make the woman your mother. And even if she was actually your mother, why didn't she raise you?”

Dropping her hands from her face, she stared helplessly at him. “I'm going crazy trying to figure that out, Jake. None of it makes sense.”

“Does your mother—the mother who raised you—know that you've uncovered these letters?”

She nodded stiffly. “Right after I found the letters I called my—I called Gwyn and confronted her with the contents. She didn't try to deny any of it. She simply said she'd catch a plane to Ruidoso tomorrow and I'm
to meet her there so that we can talk. Apparently she's decided she can't hide the truth any longer. But what that truth is—well, I can't imagine what I'll hear from her. All I know is that my real mother is dead. And I never had the chance to see her, touch her or hear her voice. It's killing me, Jake.”

The agony in her voice pushed Jake to his feet and he quickly pulled her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest. “I don't know what to say. To say I'm sorry wouldn't be right. Because this might be a good thing, Becca. You've been confused and wanting answers about Gertrude. Now you have them.”

Her hands gripped the front of his denim shirt as though he was her lifeline. The idea that she needed to be close to him, that she was even sharing this most private part of her life with him, left Jake overwhelmed with emotions.

“Yes. But I've lost so much,” she said in a tear-ravaged voice. “And why?”

“Oh, Becca, I can't give you the answers. But please don't cry anymore.” Gently, he stroked a hand down the back of her head. “No matter what the truth is, it's not going to change the wonderful person that you are. And trust me, this will all get better with time.”

Tilting her head back, she focused her watery gaze upon his face. “Oh, Jake, I'm so glad you're here,” she whispered hoarsely. “I need you. You can't imagine how much.”

Need. Not want. Need. The notion that this woman needed him, in any capacity, amazed Jake, filled his heart with a kind of warmth he'd never experienced before. And as he watched the dark agony in her eyes turn to something soft and sweet, he couldn't stop his head from bending or his lips from finding hers.

A faint groan sounded deep in her throat. Or was it a whimper of surrender? Either way, the sound stirred him, made him forget that he was supposed to be consoling her. Heat flashed through him as he tightened his arms and crushed her closer against him.

The taste of her mouth was like sipping a favorite wine, one that he could never get enough of. As his lips plundered hers, his tongue slipped between her teeth and rubbed a bumpy track along the roof of her mouth. At the same time he could feel her hips arching toward his, her fingers crawling up his chest and linking at the back of his neck.

His body had forgotten none of the pleasures she'd given him the other night and the memories melded with the erotic sensations zipping hot and wild along his veins. The search of his lips turned rough and urgent and she matched each desperate movement with a frantic need that left his whole body aching to be inside her once again.

Eventually the need for air and the desire to take the embrace to a deeper level forced their mouths apart. His breathing heavy, he gripped her shoulders and looked ruefully down at her.

“I must be a bastard, Becca, for wanting you like this—now. You need—”

“I need you. Only you,” she interrupted in a desperate whisper. “Make love to me, Jake. Make me forget everything. Everything but you.”

He kissed her again. More gently this time and once their lips parted, she took him by the hand and led him down the short hallway to her bedroom.

The small space was equipped with only one window facing the backyard. It was bare of curtains and opened to the cool breeze. Now as she pulled Jake down on the
bed beside her, the sage-scented air wafted across their heated skin and ruffled the blond tendrils of hair lying upon her shoulders.

For long moments as they lay with their faces mere inches apart, Jake could only wonder how much longer he would have her to himself like this. She was at a crossroads in her life. That much was obvious to Jake. And the road she eventually chose to take would more than likely be away from Lincoln County, away from him. The notion chilled him and he fought to push it away at the same time he reached to draw her close to his heart.