Sister's Choice (4 page)

“We ought to plant some tomatoes,” Jamie said as they neared the clearing. “And maybe some peppers. We can learn how. I don’t think it’s too late in the season. Aunt Kendra said there’s space in the beds near the old cabin site.”

“I want to grow M&M’s.” Alison shoved Hannah when she laughed. “I do! Stop it!”

Jamie started to scoop up her youngest daughter, then she remembered that the doctor had warned her against lifting anything heavy while she waited to see if the in vitro was successful. Instead she pulled Alison close and admonished her softly.

“You can’t grow M&M’s in any garden,” she explained after she’d delivered a mini-lecture on shoving. “They make them in factories. But I’ll tell you what. If you help me plant tomatoes, I’ll buy you a pack of M&M’s. How’s that?”

“I don’t like it when Hannah laughs.”

“It’s a good thing to make people smile, isn’t it? Better than making them cry.”

“Well,
I
want to cry.” Alison puckered up but was unsuccessful.

“I would like an older sister,” Hannah said.

Eyes narrowed, Jamie sent her a warning glance.

“As well as Alison,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “An older sister for both of us.”

“Nice save,” Jamie said.

They made the rest of the trip in silence, which was a relief. By the time they drew near enough to see a pickup parked outside their front door, Alison had forgotten she was angry.

“Not the movers.” The truck looked vaguely familiar, and a man in a T-shirt and khaki shorts was unloading plywood. After a few seconds, Jamie realized who it was.

“That looks like Mr. Rosslyn. Cash. Remember Cash, Hannah? He fixed the stairs on the old cabin when we were here.” She glanced at Hannah. “You liked him. He’s a nice guy.”

“What’s he doing?”

“We’ll find out.” Jamie called to him as they rounded the last bend. “Cash, up here.”

The man stopped and turned, watching as they drew closer. He didn’t wave, then go back to work, as most would have. He watched them approach. Jamie saw a slow grin light his face.

“Boy, have they grown,” he said when the three females reached him.

Jamie was delighted he remembered her daughters so well that he could catalog the changes. “Hey, it’s nice to see you again. I was hoping you’d come by this week, so I could tell you how much I love the cabin.”

“I had good plans to work with.”

“I hope you’ll say the same thing about the big house. I’ve been working on incorporating Kendra and Isaac’s ideas with my own. Maybe you’ll have a chance to look over my final drawings soon, so we can have your architect go over them and draft the blueprints? Kendra says you’d like to break ground in a month or so.”

“I’ll be glad to. It was a darned shame about that fire. I’m glad they’re planning to get started again.” He squatted and looked Alison in the eye. “You’re Alison. I’m Cash. Remember?”

“We found a baby deer.”

“You did?” He sounded properly enthused. “Did it run away?”

“No, it was little.”

“Like you?”

“No! Little, like this.” She threw her arms open. “With spots.”

“Why are you throwing boards on the ground?” Hannah asked.

“You’re Hannah, right? Somebody told me two little girls needed a playhouse. Do you think they were right?”

Alison whirled. “Mommy?”

“Kendra sent you?” Jamie asked.

“We both figured they’d need something to do out here this summer or go crazy as trout in a drought. A place of their own. And a way to give you a little more space.”

Jamie wondered how
much
Kendra had told Cash about their reason for moving here. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Girls, what do you say?”

Hannah spoke first. “How big is it going to be, and where do you plan to put it?”

Cash got to his feet. “You’re Hannah, all right, only bigger. I remember all those questions.”

“I was hoping for a thank you, not an interrogation,” Jamie told her daughter.

“I would like to know exactly what to thank him for.”

Cash laughed. “Well now, I thought with your mommy’s help we could figure out something together. What do you think? Would you have some ideas?”

Hannah’s whole face glowed with excitement. “A pirate ship?”

“Too many showings of
Peter Pan
,” Jamie explained.

“Or maybe a spaceship?” Hannah added

“
Lost in Space
and
Star Trek
. Why don’t we let Mr. Rosslyn build you something that can be anything you want it to be. A castle, a ship, a fort.”

Cash gave a low whistle. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

Jamie met his eyes and smiled a little. Cash was an attractive man, and she was aware he was thinking of more than a playhouse. She felt his interest and saw it in his eyes. She reminded herself that she was feeling lonely, that she’d been yearning for an adult to talk to and was therefore a tad too receptive to the warmth in his smile. But despite her better instincts, she heard herself playing along.

“Oh, you might be surprised what I could ask for.”

He hesitated just long enough to make a point. “A man could have trouble keeping up.”

She doubted this man would have trouble on any level. She studied him for a moment. Cash was taller than she was, although an inch or so shy of six feet. His hair was a warm brown, his skin deeply tanned. His eyes were most arresting of all, neither blue nor green but something in between, like a tropical ocean under dark brows and lashes. She guessed Cash was maybe four or five years older than she was, but like her, he had lived those years at warp speed. He was country-boy casual on the outside, but from the first time they’d met, she had thought there was probably something more simmering inside.

“I was thinking imagination ought to be the key component,” she said, pulling herself back to the matter at hand. “The girls can supply that.”

“Now that’s funny, because that’s exactly what I had in mind. A deck with a sandbox under it? Slanted railings at the sides, a roof, maybe a slide for Alison, and a knotted rope to climb up and down for Hannah. A good pirate would have a rope.”

“But no plank to walk, okay? Alison would take that challenge in a heartbeat.”

“I can see that. She looks like a pirate to me.”

Alison beamed. “Cap’ain Hook!”

“Definitely a resemblance,” Cash said, nodding. “I thought maybe you girls might like to help me figure out just what to do, then put in a nail or two when the time comes. Would you be willing?”

Jamie could see that lunch had been temporarily forgotten. The girls were thrilled. For however long this took, they had a project to occupy them. Then, hopefully, the playhouse itself would be good for many happy hours.

“This sounds like a lot of work to me,” she warned. “If you ask for their input, you might end up building a McMansion.”

“Oh, I’ll take my chances.”

“It all sounds great, but we’ll owe you big-time for this.”

“Your sister’s footing this bill.”

She felt a surge of affection for Kendra, who had thought so far ahead and seen the need. “Listen, money can’t buy the peace the pair of you’ll be giving me.”

“The fawn wasn’t moving,” Hannah said, as if they had never changed the subject. “Do you know about fawns?”

Cash squatted down so they were eye to eye. “Yes, ma’am. I know that’s how they protect themselves. Where did you see it?”

Jamie listened as Hannah tried to explain. Once her daughter had finished, she clarified. “Where the woods curl back toward Fitch Crossing.”

“It wasn’t moving. I think it will die,” Hannah said.

“I tell you what. I think we should check on it tomorrow morning. Just to be sure. I’ll come over, and we can go together, but we shouldn’t go back any sooner.”

Jamie was glad to have reinforcements. “I marked the place with a baseball cap.”

He got to his feet. “Girls, I left something on the porch. My grandmother sent you a pie.”

For the moment the deer was forgotten. Hannah’s expression brightened, and Alison clapped her hands; then they took off together to see.

“This is all very nice of you,” Jamie told him.

“No trouble. That’s how we welcome people in the country. By fattening them up.”

“I was afraid the whole day was going to be about the fawn. Now they’ll spend at least some of it drawing up plans for the playhouse.”

“And eating apple pie.” His face grew serious. “I didn’t want to alarm them, but I did see a dead doe up on Fitch Crossing not too far from where you’re describing. I’ll call one of my men to help me remove it on the way out of here, so the girls don’t see it next time you leave, but we probably should keep an eye on that baby. Just in case that was the mother.”

“Not hunters…”

“Not this time of year. No, a car. People aren’t always good about cleaning up their own messes.”

“And what should I do if that
was
the mother and the baby’s alone?”

“That’s why I volunteered to come with you. We’ll see if we can figure out what’s up.”

“You’re going down in my book as a helpful guy to know.”

“I’d say just going down in your book is a good thing.”

Despite the silent voice urging caution, she was enjoying herself. Talking to a man was a welcome change from the girls. Flirting with one was a welcome change from just being somebody’s mother. And she liked Cash, had liked him the first time they met. Had even thought about him a time or two since.

“So you were serious about stopping by in the morning?” she asked.

“This is just my first load of materials. Maybe the girls can come up with an idea or two for the playhouse between now and then. We’ll look for the fawn first, then see what we can do about starting on it.”

“I’ll show you what I’ve done on the house plans, and by then the girls will have thought of a hundred good ideas to share with—” She came to an abrupt halt. “I’m sorry. I’m assuming you’re still single and don’t have a wife who has the right to claim your Sundays. I wasn’t thinking.”

“How did you know I was single in the first place?”

“Oh, last time I was here, it came up in some conversation or other.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear that one.”

They were back to flirting. Worse, she was back to liking it. “I doubt it was anywhere near as interesting as you’re imagining.”

“I’m not married. No woman in her right mind wants to be saddled with me, and of course this is strictly business, right?”

She thought of the baby that could well be growing inside her. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely what it is.”

Alison gave a whoop, and Jamie turned to see Hannah holding up the pie. “I’d better go. I promised the girls some lunch. I’d be happy to feed you, too.”

“Thanks, but I ate. I’m going to unload this truck, then head out. But I’ll bring another load when I come back tomorrow.”

“You’ll thank your grandmother for me?”

“I’ll tell her.”

Jamie started toward the cabin, then she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, but she had known that. She’d almost felt his gaze. “See you then, and thanks again for everything.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Jamie was just a little worried about the pleasure
she
felt.

B
efore moving into the old mobile home parked at the back of Cashel Orchards, Cash Rosslyn had reluctantly painted the exterior—but only because at the rate the trailer was rusting, he was afraid one morning he might wake up in his birthday suit with nothing sheltering him except gnarled apple trees and the shoulder-high weeds he called his front yard. With the same level of interest, he had hauled away all the junk in view: the graveyard of farm machinery, the 1943 Studebaker, the disintegrating hay bales complete with mouse housing developments and, last but best, the still pungent dog run where generations of retrievers and hounds had waited impatiently for hunting season to begin.

The inside of the mobile home was another matter. After the first trip inside he had bombed it for fleas and roaches and every other critter that had set up housekeeping. He had hauled out the remnants of the last farmworker’s belongings, removed and replaced the old cheap paneling with new cheap paneling, then hired a neighbor woman to scrub the whole place from top to bottom.

That was the last time he had paid much attention to interior decorating.

This evening, of course, a woman decorated his interior, the only one who felt free to come and go as she pleased, who ignored his protests—if he even bothered. Grace Cashel sat on his secondhand sofa watching one of the three channels his malfunctioning satellite dish would part with. She didn’t look up as he opened the door.

“Sandra was disappointed you didn’t make it for Sunday supper,” she said, eyes still trained on the fuzzy images flickering across the screen.

“I had a prior engagement. I told her way ahead of time I wouldn’t be there.”

“Your mother is easily hurt.” Grace picked up the remote and turned down the volume a notch. “I hope this woman who intercepted you on the way to a family engagement was intelligent enough to chew with her mouth closed.”

Cash plopped down next to his grandmother and put his arm around her. “Just somebody I know from high school. We went for a pizza, and she didn’t stop talking long enough to chew, although she sure downed her share.”

“You’re lonely.”

“I’m fine. And I’m not the one sitting here watching somebody’s thirteen-inch TV set when she has a twenty-six-inch and a working satellite dish in her house up the hill.”

“Whenever I turn that one on, I can almost hear Ben insisting I change the channel. I swear he’s still living there. Some nights I just have to get away from him.”

Cash squeezed her shoulder. “What does he want to watch?”

“He’s prone to wrestling and anything with John Wayne. Oh, and cowboy movies. If he hadn’t had so many responsibilities as a young man, he would have taken off for Wyoming and a home on the range.”

“He never would have left you.”

“You might be surprised. I’m not always the easiest woman to live with.”

“No…” Cash let loose with a long, low whistle. “You, Granny Grace?”

“She uses cheap perfume.” She finally glanced at him. “Your pizza-eating chatterbox. I can smell it on you.”

“I told you, she’s an old friend from high school, and she just got divorced. She spent the whole night sitting beside me in a booth swallowing eight slices to my two and telling me every rotten thing her husband ever did to her.”

“Your mother made roast chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. Not an herb or garnish in sight. Last week I gave her my recipe for jerk seasoning, but apparently she was unimpressed.”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

His grandmother groaned. “I could swear I retired. Didn’t somebody somewhere give me a gold watch? I certainly deserved one.”

“Did you keep up your permit for wildlife rehabilitation?”

“What have you gotten me into?”

“There’s
another
woman…”

The fawn was not easily forgotten. When bedtime rolled around, the girls demanded Jamie tell them a story about a deer. Jamie discounted all the ones she knew—
Bambi
and
The Yearling
certainly weren’t appropriate under the circumstances—and made up her own tale about a deer’s happy life in the forest. She was fairly certain they didn’t completely buy it, but by the time she had finished describing the many happy moments eating grass and leaves and destroying local vegetable gardens, they were fast asleep. Although she wanted to stay up and savor the quiet cabin, the chirping of crickets and a little time with the plans for Kendra and Isaac’s new house, she wasn’t far behind.

The next morning, the girls were up with the sun, demanding another trip into the forest. Dragging herself out of bed, she reminded them that Cash was coming later to help them look, so they had to wait. That did not make for peaceful conversation.

The telephone rang while she was getting eggs out of the refrigerator; Cash was on the other end. The call was brief. When she hung up, she recounted it to the girls.

“That was Mr. Rosslyn. He’s coming over at nine with more wood for your playhouse. I told him we’d feed him breakfast.” She went back to the eggs. “And he’s bringing somebody to meet us.”

“Who?”

“He said it was a surprise, and they’d be here by nine.” Actually, what he had said was “I’d be happy to come, but would you mind if I brought somebody with me? I promise she eats like a bird.”

Jamie was intrigued. She had decided not to prod, since that was probably exactly what he’d expected. But with the challenge issued, she rummaged through the refrigerator again to see what she could make that would be more festive than scrambled eggs.

She decided on mushroom omelets, a simple fruit salad and surprise muffins. The surprise was two teaspoons of jam buried in the center, which Hannah and Alison loved to help with. Once the muffins were in the oven, she put Hannah in charge of peeling bananas and Alison in charge of folding napkins.

The movers had come late yesterday afternoon, piling most of the boxes in the girls’ room or on the back porch, and after dinner, Jamie had unpacked several and tidied the cabin. With some of their own things on display—framed finger paintings and photos, an afghan a First Step friend had crocheted and a carnival glass pitcher filled with wildflowers they had brought back from the orchard—the cabin seemed more like their own.

Once the muffins were out of the oven, she showered and changed while Hannah read to Alison. By age four, her daughter had gotten tired of waiting to be read to and had taught herself, with only the most perfunctory help. Now, at eight, Hannah read to her sister almost as often as Jamie did, although Alison was learning to figure out words, as well.

As she towel dried her flat abdomen, Jamie pondered how quickly her daughters were growing. Cash had seemed surprised at the differences, and she understood. Unless an onlooker was watching every moment, the changes could be startling. Sometimes, she mourned the loss of the cuddly, malleable infants and toddlers they had been.

She rested her hand on her belly for a moment, wondering how that belly would look after
three
babies had grown inside her. Would men still find her attractive? How about somebody like Cash?

Did she care?

She smiled at that. She wasn’t even thirty, but her luck with men had been terrible. Of course, her ability to select men with an eye toward a stable future had been terrible, too. In her defense, early role models had been sorely lacking. As a child she had been a prime witness to her mother’s destructive relationships; then, as a teenager, she had been educated on city streets where nothing wholesome could flourish. The men who had crossed her path had been as lost and angry as she was.

Even when she finally began to rebuild her life, she had not chosen well. Neither of her daughters’ fathers were husband material. Imperfect birth control, not hopes for a loving family, had turned them into parents. Her heart had not broken when either man walked out of her life, although sometimes her heart broke for her girls, who needed more than financial support and their fathers’ reluctant visits.

So did she really care if the time came when men no longer gave her a second glance? If they looked at her hugely expanded body, no longer as likely to spring back into form after this third pregnancy, and turned away? Did she care if Cash lost all interest when he found out
why
she was in Virginia?

She had no answer. She wasn’t ready to give up on men. Just because she’d habitually chosen losers didn’t mean that, somewhere, some man wasn’t routinely crossing the finish line ahead of the pack. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted any part of the race for a while, either.

Didn’t she have her hands full already?

From the great room she heard the patter of bare feet, then Alison’s loud giggles. She’d had her five minutes of contemplation. Both charmed and wary, she dressed quickly in a denim skirt and tank top, ran a brush through her hair and went to see what was up.

By nine o’clock Hannah was providing running commentary from the front door.

“It’s nine and they are not here.”

“That’s called being fashionably late.”

“When is it fashionable, and when is it rude?”

“When the muffins get stale it’s rude. That’s a long time yet.”

“There are not always muffins.”

“Hannah, when you host a meal, even breakfast, you plan to eat some time after your guests arrive, to give them time to sit and chat, have something to drink, enjoy your company.”

“How long does that take?”

“Anywhere from half an hour to an hour, although shorter at breakfast time, and now I’m done with the entertainment tips.”

“I think I hear a truck. They are only—” Hannah glanced at a clock on the mantel “—two minutes late. Does that mean they are unfashionable?”

“No, it just means that you’re watching the clock. Why don’t you go out and greet them?”

“Me, too!” Alison took off for the door after her sister.

Jamie shook her head and hoped that whoever Cash’s guest was, she was up to the onslaught.

By the time the girls came racing back, the muffins were arranged on a stoneware platter, a pitcher of tea sat on the counter next to a carafe of coffee and the fruit salad was adorned with sprigs of mint.

“Cash and Granny Grace are here!” Hannah said.

Granny Grace?
Of all the people Jamie had anticipated, Cash’s grandmother hadn’t been one of them. She stepped out from behind the breakfast bar just as one of the least grandmotherly-looking women she had ever seen crossed the threshold.

Granny Grace was tall, almost as tall as Cash, who entered behind her. She was willowy and slender, with iron-gray hair and sharp features. The features were belied by creases and folds around dancing dark eyes adorned with rectangular black-rimmed glasses. A wide mouth signaled decades of smiles and laughter.

The most extraordinary thing about the woman was her sense of style. Rarely had Jamie seen lime green and purple used together with such abandon. Harem pants billowed around her hips and tucked in at her ankle; a hip-length vest, sprinkled heavily with crystal beads, sparkled like a fireworks display. She wore gold tennis shoes, and her fingernails were a deep scarlet that matched her lipstick.

Judging by the wrinkles and the patches of scalp visible under spiky hair, this woman
could
well be someone’s granny. But judging by her bouncing step, her flamboyance and obvious delight with life, she was a teenager.

What exactly did it say about a man when he brought his grandmother to visit?

“You must be Jamie.” Granny Grace extended her hand. “Let the rest of them call me Granny Grace. You call me Grace.”

Jamie shook, impressed by the strength of the narrow, age-spotted hand. “I’m so glad to have you here. Cash didn’t tell me exactly who he was bringing. Now I can thank you for the pie.”

“Cash is a rogue and a renegade. It skipped a generation. His mother is as tightly reined in as a carriage horse. Sandra’s a good daughter, mind you, but I was thrilled to see the mischief emerge again in this one. Until he came along, I was afraid all my genes had been flushed down the eternal toilet.” She nodded toward Cash. “Although he could do with some breaking in.”

Jamie laughed. “I bet if anybody could do it, you’d be the one.”

“Your oldest daughter has your dimples. She’s your spitting image. Was there a father?” She waved away her own question. “Never mind. Clearly there had to be, but he didn’t leave much of a footprint, did he? Now the other one? The leprechaun princess? Not a bit of you in the face, but I bet you had that same amount of energy and enthusiasm as a child.”

“I’ll have to ask my sister. She would know.”

“Don’t bother. I can see it in your eyes. I’m not fond of women who look like everything’s been washed out of them.”

Cash put his hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. “Granny Grace has no real opinions about anything.”

“There’s no reason to keep what I’ve learned to myself, dear. I need to share, share, share while I can.”

Jamie was enchanted. Normally she was suspicious of outrageous women. Her mother was all flash and dazzle, with little under the rhinestone exterior to anchor her to reality. But Grace had already paid close attention to Jamie’s children and made connections. Jamie thought this was a woman who probably paid close attention to everything and everyone.

“So what do you think of the cabin?” Cash asked his grandmother.

“I think it’s a lovely little postage stamp, and I think these girls are going to need that playhouse you’re building for them, so their poor mother can breathe a little. I suggest turrets and portholes and places to hide secret messages.”

Cash’s gaze swung to Jamie’s. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a conspiracy brewing.”

“And we just met.” Jamie flashed the dimples that were exactly like Hannah’s. “Just think what kind of trouble we’ll get into when we’ve known each other a week.”

Grace did not eat like a bird. She ate the way she dressed, with gusto. Once she was seated at the table, she listened raptly as the girls explained how they had helped with the muffins. She asked for seconds on the omelet and stole more off Cash’s plate when he wasn’t looking. The fruit salad interested her most of all.