Linda Castle (9 page)

But what about Rachel?

That was the nut and kernel of his problem. Rachel was hungry for a woman’s affection.

Her mother’s affection.
Marydyth’s strident voice intruded upon his thoughts like a rock hitting an empty bucket.

Hell, it didn’t matter what he thought about Marydyth. If she’d tough it out and live in Hollenbeck House with him and Rachel, then he could damn well do the same.

“Damn her, she had better show up,” he swore under his breath. If she didn’t show up he’d go and drag her down here. She had no right to turn her back on Rachel because she didn’t want to deal with him.

What kind of a mother is she?
the angry voice in his head asked. He shoved himself away from the side of the building and started to pace. With each metallic ching of his spurs he glared down the dusk-shrouded street.

Rachel had done without so much—too much. It would make him the happiest man in the Arizona Territory if he could introduce Rachel to her mother and see her little face light up with happiness.

He pulled his timepiece from the small pocket in his Levi’s and peered at it.

If she isn’t out here in two minutes, I am going to that hotel and bodily drag her back to Hollenbeck Corners.

He shoved the watch back in his pocket and looked up. Light footfalls drew his gaze. Her golden hair was pulled back from her face and caught with the combs. She looked pale and lost beneath that crown of yellow curls. When she reached him she stopped and tilted her chin upward defiantly.

“I am willing to abide by your terms, Mr. O’Bannion—just see that you stick to them yourself.”

“I always keep my word.
Always.”
There was a threat in that soft-spoken voice. “You would do well to remember that fact.”

The stage appeared from out of nowhere. The horses were snorting and pawing the ground, stirring up so much dust that Marydyth could taste it on the back of her tongue.

Her stomach suddenly twisted. Just a few more hours and she would see her baby again.

“Let me have that.” Flynn lifted the carpetbag from her hand. She blinked and tried to rein in her thoughts. There was such a storm of emotion going on inside her she was afraid to speak, afraid to move for fear it would all come pouring out. Marydyth closed her hands into fists, fighting to control herself.

When Flynn touched her elbow she jumped, then felt her face flame bright red. She wished she would quit reacting to him, but it wasn’t easy. She was so aware of his presence—and it was more than just his tall, lanky body and intimidating size. Each time he fastened that cold, agate gaze on her face she felt herself cringe. It was maddening that he had that effect on her. She knew what
it was, of course; it was still her guilt over what she had done all those years ago.

But she had paid her dues and done her hard time in Yuma. The slate was clean now—the governor had evidently thought so too, because she was free. Yet as she looked at Flynn’s face when he helped her inside, she realized that she had not forgiven herself for what she had done and Flynn affected her because his eyes reflected her own guilt.

He closed the door and stood there with his wide fingers curled over the edge of the stage door.

“Aren’t you getting in?” she heard herself ask. It had taken twenty minutes of argument with herself before she’d been sure that she could bear to sit with him for the length of the journey.

“We’ll be seeing more’n enough of each other very soon,” he said with a narrowing of his eyes. “I’ll ride up top with the driver.”

She caught herself before she expelled a sigh of relief. His hard straight mouth curled up on one side but he never quite smiled.

“I thought that would make you happy,” he said with a snort, and then he was gone.

Marydyth collapsed back against the squabs. Living with him in the same house was going to be like having a jailer again.

She pressed her palms into her lap and tried to calm herself. An excitement such as she had never known threatened to squeeze the life out of her. She closed her eyes and tried to count to twenty, but it was useless. She didn’t want to miss out on seeing anything. The only other passenger—thankfully—was a taciturn old man who squinted at her once, then pulled his hat low over his eyes and fell asleep. She was left alone, not required
to make conversation or withstand the scrutiny of somebody who recognized her.

She sat back in the seat and stared out the window, watching as the familiar and yet somehow forgotten landscape of the Arizona desert rolled by.

The day-long ride in the stagecoach passed pleasantly enough for Marydyth. At sundown they pulled into Hollenbeck Corners. Again she was relieved to find the depot almost deserted. The people that were there had business of their own and never even blinked an eye at her.

She stood nervously looking around the town, trying to reconcile memory with reality while Flynn retrieved her carpetbag and got a buggy.

“I thought I would take the luggage to the house.” Flynn’s voice jarred her. She turned with a start to see him sitting in a buggy. He studied her from under the concealing shadow of his pale-colored Stetson hat.

“Of course,” she said. He started to get down and help her into the seat but she scrambled up, not wishing to give him any excuse to touch her. He must have realized her motive because he stood with one boot on the ground and one in the buggy and watched her with an amused grin tickling his lips.

“If you don’t want to do this, Marydyth, all you have to do is say so. I’d be happy to get you a room at the hotel.”

“Not on your life,” she grumbled, and pulled her skirt in so it would not snag on the buggy wheel.

“Suit yourself.” He flicked the reins, and she lurched backward and bumped her head on the bar around the seat. It had been so long since she rode in a buggy it all felt strange and awkward. The horse seemed to be going incredibly fast and Flynn seemed to be taking corners
with reckless abandon, but she clung to the seat and bit her tongue, determined not to say anything to him.

Marydyth tightly gripped the side of the buggy seat. She wanted to look at every inch of Hollenbeck Corners, but she didn’t want Flynn to see her excitement, so she sat there, still as a statue while her eyes roamed over the town.

It was bigger. A new dressmaker had opened near the Grand Hotel. And a butcher shop was on the corner near Mullin’s Hardware. There was a new livery and several saloons, one named the Flying Nymph. But overall the town had a shop-worn appearance. None of the buildings was wearing fresh paint and it all looked a little sad and run-down. Bigger, but not brighter. Flynn clicked his tongue and urged more speed from the horse.

Was he anxious to get home or was he simply trying to frighten her? She opened her mouth to ask the brute that very question, but then the house J.C. had built for her came into view. It loomed up on the hill, as if by magic, and she was stunned to speechlessness.

Her throat tightened so much she thought she might gag. Marydyth had a terrifying moment when she actually thought she could not live with so much happiness.

But while her eyes were taking in every inch of the house, she managed to compose herself at least a little.

It was just as she remembered. The ground floor was solid and square, built of adobe, with only a narrow porch and balcony above to soften the line. But the top…that was where J.C. had allowed Marydyth’s imagination to run free.

He had denied her nothing when it came to the house. No request was too outlandish, he had said. Her misty eyes followed the line of the steep pitched roof upward to the point where it was trimmed with fanciful woodwork
and a turret room like the one that sat atop the Tombstone Courthouse.

Marydyth’s eyes filled with hot tears. The tall windows winked at her like long, half-open eyes. J.C. had paid extra to have the window glass shipped in and a hand pump put in the kitchen along with the most modern cookstove he could find.
All for her—because he had loved her.

It was a great house—a house built to last.

Her home.

J.C. had understood her need from the first. He had seemed to instinctively understand her craving for a home that was solid and lasting. She had yearned for a place to put down roots so she could finally take root herself. Marydyth had grown up like a stunted vine, unable to grow and mature because she had no roots to grip the soil and keep her anchored.

J.C. had done his best to remedy that lack.

Flynn felt her stiffen beside him. He slanted a look at her from under the brim of his hat. The expression on her face was made from equal parts of happiness and pain. A ragged, halting breath escaped her lips, and she shuddered. He felt as if he were intruding on private thoughts just sitting beside her.

“Do you want to get down?” Flynn asked in a voice so rough and dry it would have taken the paint off wood.

“Is—is Rachel here?” Marydyth asked while her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

“No.”

“Then I don’t want to stay. I want to see Rachel as soon as possible.” She. never looked at Flynn, just kept her eyes on her house. Knowing that it was here, that it had weathered and survived as she had, gave her a renewed sense of strength.

She had to remain strong for herself and for her child. Besides, after she spoke to Victoria she was certain that Flynn O’Bannion would be packing his bags and leaving Hollenbeck Corners forever. For even a woman as cold as Victoria would yield now that Marydyth had been vindicated and freed. After all, Marydyth had given Victoria a granddaughter…J.C.’s daughter.

“A
fter I take these bags inside we can go pick Rachel up at Victoria’s.” Flynn never looked at her when he spoke.

Marydyth wrung her gloveless hands together and forced herself to look at Flynn. His face was wreathed in shadow and it made him look even harder. “Maybe you should take the time to pack all your things.” Marydyth found the courage to smile at him. “Because I am certain once I speak to Victoria she will see reason and change the guardianship papers.”

Flynn tilted his head and stared at her in silence. She wished she could read his thoughts, but his impassive face betrayed nothing.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he said as he took his bag and hers and marched up the steps to the front door. Marydyth thought he opened it with the ease of someone who felt at home—something she was going to change.

That thought sent an arrow of anger flashing through Marydyth. Then to her surprise he turned and speared her with a penetrating gaze before he stepped inside.

“I hate you,” she mumbled under her breath. “I really hate you, Flynn O’Bannion.”

* * *

All the way to Victoria’s house on the other side of Hollenbeck Corners Flynn carried on a running argument with himself. One part of him wanted to stop the buggy and take Marydyth by the shoulders and tell her some hard truths. The other part of him didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news again. She really believed Victoria would welcome her home. It was foolish, he knew, but he wanted to avoid seeing that pained look in Marydyth’s blue eyes for a while. Something about the way she bit her bottom lip and held her body straight as a post made him feel worse than when she cussed him and called him a bastard.

But there was a part of him that knew he should tell her about Victoria’s strokes. And that Victoria had no knowledge of what was in the letter that persuaded the judge to free Marydyth. He and Marydyth were bound together now and nothing was going to change that.

If only she didn’t believe there was some easy way out. Then at least she wouldn’t feel it so hard when she saw for herself the way things were and would remain.

No, even if he told her right now, she probably wouldn’t believe him. She didn’t trust him, and that wariness made it necessary for her to see with her own eyes. No matter what he said she would think it a lie.

The prospect didn’t make him happy.

And what would she do when she realized that their situation was permanent? Would she stay or would her hatred of him drive her away from Hollenbeck Corners and Rachel?

A million questions ran through his head. He couldn’t find a good answer to even one of them. This was turning out to be much more complicated than he had imagined. He vowed he’d see it through—for Rachel—so he set his
jaw and concentrated on guiding the horse down the nearly deserted streets.

Marydyth’s stomach dropped to her feet when Flynn drove through the big arched gate and up the long, winding drive toward Victoria’s house. Every turn of the buggy wheels made her heart ache with sorrow and impotent rage.

Three years of her life had been wasted.

No matter. The past was past. She intended to collect her daughter and try to reason with Victoria. And if that didn’t work she would fight them both in court She would petition the territorial governor if need be, do whatever was necessary to reclaim her child and her shattered life.

A horse nickered, and Flynn saw that Moses Pritikin’s buggy was outside Victoria’s house. His presence might make things a little easier.

“You’ll find Victoria somewhat changed,” Flynn heard himself say.

“I doubt anything less than Armageddon would change my mother-in-law,” Marydyth replied. The memory of Victoria’s words on the day she was sent to Yuma had burned deep scars in her soul.

“Maybe on the inside,” Flynn muttered. There was no point in trying to soften the shock. Marydyth was hellbent to do all this her way.

Flynn tightened his jaw. He jumped down and wrapped the lines around the hand brake. He was headed to the other side but Marydyth didn’t wait for him. She hit the ground hard and he heard a little whimper of pain.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a frown. Why did she have to be so damned hard? Why couldn’t she give just a little?

“I am fine.” Her words were full of ice.

Marydyth drew herself up but she still felt small in the dusky shadows in front of Victoria’s house. She had a feeling of foreboding.

How would she face Victoria if she couldn’t even look at her house?

Marydyth forced herself to look it over. It was after all nothing more than brick and wood, a shelter from the elements. It was not a living thing. Yet as she stared at the house a hundred memories came flooding back. She remembered the day J.C. had brought her home, and Victoria’s tight—lipped disapproval of such a young wife. The house held all those memories, and so for Marydyth it was almost a living thing-almost another enemy that she had to face.

She inhaled a deep breath and tasted the desert on her tongue. It was time. She had waited for this moment for three long years.

Marydyth walked up the dozen wide sandstone steps toward the front door, with Flynn following close behind her. Victoria Hollenbeck’s house was one of the first true mansions built in the Territory, paid for by one of the richest copper strikes Arizona miners had ever seen. The Hollenbeck mines were still producing, making a tidy profit, Marydyth supposed, although she did wonder why the town seemed so shabby and run-down if that was the case.

“Have you changed your mind about coming inside?” Flynn’s brusque question jarred her back to the present. Marydyth looked up the steps to see that he had walked past her and was standing by the front door.

“No. I haven’t changed my mind.” She gathered her skirts in her hand and hurried up beside him.

He put his work-hardened knuckles to the door and knocked. It opened almost immediately. A tall woman
with a quick smile and winking blue eyes opened the door.

“Mr. Flynn, how nice it is to see you. Little Rachel is in the kitchen with Gertie—I think they are making pudding. The madam likes pudding, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Flynn answered as he took one step inside the house. “How is she today?”

“Same as usual. Nothing much changes around here, but I tell you it has been a pure pleasure having Miss Rachel. You are doing a fine job of bringing up that child, Mr. Flynn.”

Flynn’s eyes flicked to Marydyth’s. They locked gazes for a moment, and she could feel the hot current flowing between them. Did he know how much she hated him? Could he feel the contempt?

“If you’ll come right in here.”

Flynn followed the woman but Marydyth was rooted to the spot she was standing on. She looked down at the threshold of the house she was certain she’d never see again when she left for Yuma.

“Are you coming?” Flynn turned and asked, but before Marydyth could answer a bundle of energy, wearing a gingham dress, came flying through the long hallway.

Rachel.

Her heart constricted painfully and a hot lump lodged itself in her chest. She couldn’t breathe-couldn’t think. This was more joy than she could stand. Marydyth tried to swallow and couldn’t. She tried to move and couldn’t. She thought she’d die of happiness. The child had bluegreen eyes and a riot of coppery ringlets.

Then, Rachel flung herself into Flynn’s waiting arms.

Marydyth died a little inside to see such trust and devotion shining in her daughter’s face, and all of it directed toward Flynn.

“Unca Flynn—you’re back.”

Uncle Flynn?

Her baby—her little girl—called him
uncle?

“I missed you but I had a good time with Grandma and Gertie.”

“Is that a fact?” Flynn asked. He slid a quick look at Marydyth and saw that she had gone pale as chalk. Was she about to turn tail and run. Was that fear he saw in her eyes?

“Uh-huh, we cooked and I got to play with the barn cat’s new kittens.”

“Sounds like you had a gay old time.” He set her on her feet and stood up. His eyes fixed on Marydyth’s face. “Darling, I brought somebody back from Tombstone with me.” Flynn’s eyes seemed to be burning with an unspoken question.

Marydyth had the most overwhelming desire to turn and run through the open door. She couldn’t do this. Now that she saw how beautiful Rachel was and how much she had grown up—and how attached she was to Flynn.her courage deserted her. She felt cheap and old and incapable of meeting her child.

“Rachel, honey, this is your mama.” Flynn’s voice sluiced over Marydyth like ice water.

Rachel turned and her curious eyes bored into Marydyth like hot branding irons. Marydyth had been certain that she long ago stopped feeling such things as regret or shame, but as her child scanned her face she felt a thousand new degrees of those torments.

“You’re my mama?” Rachel whispered in awe.

The woman who had answered the door made a little O with her mouth. Then she fumbled with her apron and bustled away.

Marydyth looked from Flynn to Rachel and back
again. She swallowed hard and found her voice. “Yes, Rachel, I am your mother.”

“You don’t look ’xactly like your picture.” Rachel’s words held no recrimination; it was just a simple statement of fact.

Marydyth glanced up at Flynn, silently begging him to help her.

“Rachel and I found your portrait in the attic recently.

We rehung it over the mantel,” he explained. “And Rachel is real proud to have it there,” he added with a smile tilting his lips.

“Oh.” Marydyth wanted to crush her daughter to her breast, wanted to smell her hair, to touch her skin, to feel her in her arms, but she forced herself to stand there by the open door.

“Have you come home now?” Rachel asked softly.

Marydyth nearly sobbed aloud. She drew in a ragged breath and twisted her fingers together. “Yes, darling. I have come home.” She glanced at Flynn to see if he would dispute her words, but to her surprise he gave her a little smile of reassurance.

Rachel turned to Flynn and jerked on his Levi’s-clad leg several times. He frowned and bent down so she could lean close to his ear.

“I’m not sure this is my mama, Unca Flynn,” Rachel whispered in his ear.

Flynn glanced at Marydyth and she thought something like pity might have clouded his brown eyes. “’Course she is, honey.”

“But she looks…different.”

Marydyth took a halting step forward and allowed the door to close behind her. “I picked your name, Rachel. Did you know that?” Her fingers ached to touch the copper curls, to caress the velvet-soft cheek, but she would
not do it until Rachel showed her that she was ready for such contact.

“Do you remember when I was born?” Rachel asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“Uh-huh.” Marydyth swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I remember the day very well.”

“If you are my mama, then how old am I?” Rachel’s chin came up and the glint of challenge twinkled in her eyes.

“Rachel, honey, that is not polite…” Flynn said as he eased himself up from Rachel’s level.

“Three years, seven months and eight days, Rachel Irene Hollenbeck,” Marydyth said with a little catch in her throat.

Those words rolled over Flynn and he felt as though he had been hit between the eyes. His insides clenched and knotted in knowing that Marydyth had counted the days of her child’s life—counted them and missed them.

He looked from mother to daughter. All of a sudden he longed to be somewhere else—anywhere else. He couldn’t deal with this kind of naked emotion. He was an ex-marshal, for God’s sake. He didn’t know what to do or what to say to these two Hollenbeck females.

Damn it all.

Flynn bent down on one knee and drew Rachel close. “Honey, have I ever lied to you?”

“No, Unca Flynn.” Rachel’s curls swayed as she shook her head.

“And I’m not lying now. This is your mother—she’s come a long way to see you and I think you should be more respectful.”

“It’s all right. I don’t…I don’t want to force her.” Marydyth nearly choked on the words but she managed a weak smile. She bent down until she was able to look
at Rachel eye to eye. “For now, could we just be friends, Rachel?”

Rachel glanced at Flynn for confirmation—or was it permission?

“Rachel, your mama asked you a question.” Flynn’s voice was lovingly stern.

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to be your friend.” Rachel kept hold of Flynn’s hand but she extended the other to Marydyth.

She was very polite—and very distant. Marydyth knew she had a deep gap to cross to reach her daughter’s heart.

“Fine, Rachel. We’ll start out by just being friends, but I want you to know that I love you very much.” Marydyth blinked rapidly. This was no time for tears. “I want you to know that.”

Rachel tilted her head and studied Marydyth as if she were sizing her up. Then she smiled a little but she never relinquished her hold on Flynn’s wide, work-worn hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rachel said.

Marydyth inhaled deeply and stood up. What had she expected? Rachel had been so little when she left. She had no memory of her, and undoubtedly Victoria had made sure that nobody filled in the gaps. She blamed Victoria and Flynn for the pain she was feeling.

Flynn wanted a smoke—and a drink. He couldn’t quite ignore the misery he saw in Marydyth’s eyes before she so carefully hid it, and he couldn’t banish the image of her quiet dignity when Rachel had rejected her.

He could see she was hungry for Rachel, but to give her credit, she was holding herself in check. He felt as though he should do something, some magical thing that would bond mother and daughter, but he couldn’t think of what it might be. Mercifully Moses Pritikin came clomping out of the front parlor and saved him.

“I thought I heard voices.” Moses looked from Flynn to Rachel to Marydyth. “Uh—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Marydyth faced Moses with the same icy dignity that she used in dealing with Flynn. “Mr. Pritikin.”

“Miz Hollenbeck. You are looking well.”

Marydyth’s brows shot upward. Flynn watched Moze’s neck redden. The stain rose all the way to his silver hair. He had seen the attorney stare down hardened criminals in the courtroom, but today he blinked and looked away when Marydyth Hollenbeck met his eyes. He experienced a certain twisted satisfaction to know he was not the only man who was a coward around womenfolk.