Sweet Home Montana (The McKaslin Clan) (3 page)

But the elegance and grace of the woman, the power and dignity were different. Mary Whitman commanded attention. She took a regal step forward. Dressed in quality clothes, she looked casual and tasteful. She wore sleek tailored tan slacks and a coordinating cashmere cardigan and mock-turtleneck shell. Accents of gold—fine gold, no fourteen-karat stuff—glinted at her earlobes and throat, wrist and fingers. Her designer purse and shoes matched perfectly and looked pristine, unscuffed.

Lauren had never felt so small. She felt painfully aware of her wrinkled khaki shorts and her simple summer top—not exactly designer or the latest fashion. Her discount-store rubber flip-flops were nearly worn out.

Only now did it occur to her that maybe she should have stopped at a fast-food place and used the bathroom to change into nicer clothes. With a sinking feeling, she had to admit that nothing in her wardrobe would make a better impression on this woman. She’d assumed her mother had come from simple beginnings.

She smoothed the wrinkled cuff of her shorts and tasted her nervousness. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’m Lauren.”

Okay, that was obvious. But the woman—her grandmother—wasn’t saying anything. She just stood there, one hand resting on the side of her car door, not moving a muscle.

It was Caleb Stone who broke the silence. “Mary, are you all right?”

He dropped his grip on Lauren’s arm and moved forward. In that moment, Lauren saw the caring. The genuine concern. He had a good heart.

“No.” The older woman nearly choked on the word. She lifted her hand to her chest, pressing against her throat. “The sight of her simply knocks the breath from me. Lauren, you’re the spitting image. It’s just uncanny.”

“Of Katherine?” Caleb asked.

Lauren didn’t know who Katherine was. She was only aware of the pain beginning to fill her chest.

It’s my mom, she thought, knowing there had been a terrible rift between her grandmother and mother, something horrible enough for each to ignore the other for two decades. Without a doubt it was her mom’s fault.

“I—I look like L-Linda, I know.” Her voice caught on her mother’s name, or maybe it was the swirling emotions and fears that made her stutter. “But I’m n-nothing like her. I don’t want to upset you.”

“No, I’m not upset. Just surprised.” Mary Whitman took off her sunglasses, exposing gentle green eyes brimming with tears. “You look something like Linda, true, but heavens, look at you. You’re the very image of my sister, gone this last year. It’s like she’s come to life again. Goodness. Come closer, child.”

I don’t remember this woman, Lauren thought, taking a stumbling step forward. But she wanted to. With all of her heart. Surely there were some memories tucked away. She tried to resurrect them. Images of homemade cookies or hot chocolate—but there was only a blank. Nothing at all. No recollections of a younger-looking version of this woman before the silver hair and the gentle wrinkles.

Mary Whitman stood tall with a poise that came from a lifetime of rising above adversity. Lauren could sense it, see it in the dignity of the woman’s tear-filled eyes. Tears that did not fall. Her arms stretched out, eager for a hug.

Lauren came from a childhood without a lot of affection. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had hugged her. The thought was uncomfortable, but she stumbled forward anyway and into the circle of her grandmother’s embrace.

Lilacs. Mary smelled of lilacs. It was a scent Lauren remembered. Somewhere in the vast shadows of her early childhood, she saw the glimmer of memory just out of reach, bobbing closer to the surface.

It was a start.

Chapter Three

O
ver her grandmother’s shoulder, Lauren caught sight of Caleb’s slow, silent retreat. He held her lemonade glass in one hand as he backed away. Their gazes met. For one instant, the breeze stopped blowing. Her heart stilled and the tightness in her chest faded.

“I told you.” He mouthed the words, lifted a hand in farewell and headed silently out of sight, leaving behind the impression of his kindness. A kindness she appreciated.

Mary released her from the hug, but held tight to her hand, as if she were determined not to let go.

Strange, Lauren had come here feeling vulnerable, but this woman’s arm was so frail, nothing but fragile bones and a silk sleeve. Lauren took a more guiding hold on her to make sure she was all right. “You look like you need to sit down.”

“No, dear. Just taken back. You wouldn’t remember my dear sister. Cancer took her. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her sorely.”

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine what that must be like, to miss someone so much. To love them so much.

Judging by the pain stark on her grandmother’s face and how it seemed to drain her of strength, Lauren decided that she might live a lonely life, but maybe she was lucky, in a way. She would never know her grandmother’s sorrow and loss and heartbreak.

Maybe that was better, to be safe from that kind of pain.

“I’m
so
glad you’ve come. Now, let me get a good look at you. My, how you’ve grown. A little underfed, but that’s an easy remedy. I can’t get over it. All this time.” Tears silvered Mary’s eyes. “Twenty-two years just flew by and it’s an eternity all the same. It’s been enough for the sweet little toddler you were to grow up. You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“No, but I wish I did.”

“Well, here I’m going on and on and you must be tired from such a long drive. You must have come up through Utah.”

“I did. It was a gorgeous drive. It’s lovely here, too.”

“I think so, too. It’s home.” Mary slipped her arm through Lauren’s. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve put you out here.”

Sadness seemed to stick with the older woman and her voice was brittle sounding. Lauren didn’t know what to say or how to make it better. She looked up to realize there was an in-ground pool to her left, glittering around an enormous brick patio. Ahead, there was a garden gate that led to a small cottage, hidden behind climbing roses and flowering shrubs.

It was sweet, like something out of a gardener’s dream.

“This used to be my studio, and then a guest house. Your sister Katherine lived here for a long while, until she got her own place in town. Caleb stayed here when he went to college. He lives next door now, and takes care of the place for me when I’m gone. These days I spend most of my time in Arizona.” Mary led the way along the cozy porch to the front door. “Speaking of Caleb, where did he get off to?”

“To see to the horses, I think.”

“He’s a fine man. I don’t know what I would do without him. I’ve known him since he was a wee thing. He’s a man a woman can count on.”

How could she tell her grandmother that she hadn’t thought that a man like that existed on this entire planet? Mary obviously held Caleb in high regard and for good reason. The image of him in his cowboy hat, calming the horses seemed implanted in Lauren’s brain. There was goodness in him and a lot of dependability. Even she could see that. But a lot of men were that way—except when it really counted.

“I thought you might be more comfortable out here,” Mary was saying as they ambled along the flagstone path to the little cottage. “You’ll have your privacy. I know this is going to be a lot for you to adjust to, meeting your family. There are a lot of us.”

“It’s already overwhelming. But nice.”

Mary’s beaming smile was reward enough. Lauren was deeply glad that she’d come. No matter what. A flicker of joy filled her right up. She, who’d always felt so alone, had a grandmother—a real one, a caring one. It was hard not to care right back. And didn’t that mean she was completely out of her element?

Yes.

The little house had a fan-shaped window in the rounded top of the door. It was like a storybook cottage.

Another clue that she was out of her comfort zone. Inside, the cottage was as sweet as promised from the outside, with sheer white curtains swinging in the breeze from the open windows, gleaming honey-wood floors and a cabbage rose covered couch. There was a matching chair and ottoman, which looked good for reading, and scarred end tables topped with colorful pottery lamps. Lauren spotted a tiny kitchen in the corner, with an avocado-green stove and refrigerator. The place was so homey, she was afraid to believe it was real.

Just like with Mary.

“You go ahead and freshen up, dear. I know it was a long, hot and dusty drive. I had Caleb stock the little kitchen with a few necessities, so poke around if you like. When you’re ready, come up to the main house. I should have supper on the table in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

During the whole trip Lauren had wondered what she would say to her grandmother. She’d made a mental list of the questions to ask and of the things she needed to know. Now those questions flitted away like dry leaves in the wind, rolling out of sight.

She felt lost. Nothing was as she expected it to be.

Mary reached out and squeezed her hand. The contact wasn’t something she was used to, but for that one microsecond, the vast canyon she always kept between her and everyone else was bridged. She was no longer painfully alone.

Then Mary let go and stepped away. The canyon around her returned and she didn’t know what to say next. She wrapped her arms around her middle, but that was no comfort from the loneliness.

She was trailing her grandmother to the open door, to close it after her, when she spotted a framed picture hung on the wall. It was one among many with unfamiliar smiling faces, but this photograph called to her.

“Oh, that’s you right there.” Mary brushed a manicured fingertip toward the family portrait. “Do you remember?”

“Not really.” She stared at herself, the little girl in the photograph, chubby with the look of a tot who was more infant than toddler, dressed in a poufy white-and-blue sailor dress and bonnet. She sat on her mother’s lap. She recognized her mom, of course. Perhaps that was what had made her stop in the first place.

She studied the face of the tall, capable-looking man standing behind Mom. She didn’t recognize her father’s face, which was more lean than round, with a hawk-like nose and square jaw. He had a friendly look to him.

Her dad. The dad who’d never wanted to see her. She swallowed hard against the pain. Maybe what her mother had told her about her father was not true, either. Why didn’t she remember him? Or her brother and sisters? Her brother was a tall, teenage boy who closely resembled their father. There were three other girls—a slim preteen, who had wide eyes and a pretty smile even with braces, and two grade-school girls who were shockingly identical.

Twins? Lauren didn’t even know there were twins in the family. Her family. People she was connected to by blood, but nothing else. They were simply strangers.

Strangers.

She studied the smiling family. The clothes were dated, fashionable twenty years ago and of modest department-store quality. The kids had the same blond hair and violet-blue eyes that she had.

An eerie feeling of recognition crawled through her, but it was nothing she could grasp. No tangible memory came to the surface through the void.

“That’s your father, of course. He’s remarried. Spence runs the family bookstore these days, along with Katherine. You won’t be meeting her on this visit, since she’s off on her honeymoon. The twins are Aubrey and Ava. Of course, they’re all grown up now. Don’t think, because you didn’t grow up here, that you were out of my thoughts or my heart, because that wouldn’t be true. You’re my granddaughter, regardless of what your mother did.”

How could that be said so simply, as if Linda hadn’t done everything she could to upset and bribe and wheedle money out of Mary? Lauren swallowed hard against the memories that settled like a boulder in her throat. She may have been very young, but she remembered many of mom’s phone calls and how she’d behaved. It all made sense now. Is that the kind of person she seemed like to Mary, someone like her mother?

She looked again at her mother’s face, young and unlined, sun browned, even back then, to a shocking shade. The striking woman in the pretty blue dress that matched the light shade of her eyes and her hair in a sleek bob
resembled
her mom. But Lauren didn’t know this woman. The mother she knew never would have been anything like the calm, cheerful-looking woman in the photograph.

Lauren felt even more alone, a stranger to herself.

Her grandmother broke the silence. “I’m terribly glad you’re home now. I’d best go put the potatoes on. You must be hungry.”

Lauren’s heart stood still. She saw the older woman to the door and waited a moment to close it so she could memorize her grandmother’s figure—her natural poise, straight spine, her slenderness and elegance. Mary walked through the little picket gate, where an arbor thick with red roses arched overhead, and then disappeared from view.

This was
not
what she’d been expecting. Boy, talk about being out of her comfort zone. Lauren closed the door and leaned against it. She was just tired, that’s why she felt so fragile. She blinked back the rising tears in her eyes. She’d come to find the truth. She had a feeling the truth was something she wasn’t going to like.

Still, it was hard not to adore her grandmother. She seemed like the nicest person. She’d come thinking, at best, she would meet this lady. And now she had to wonder if there was a chance finally to have a real family tie. Or was this welcome simply to satisfy curiosity? A meeting and then that was all. Her grandmother would see her granddaughter all grown up, and she would have answers.

Tucking away her hopes, Lauren went in search of her bags, which she found on a little cedar chest at the foot of the quilt-covered bed. The bedroom was sweet with tiny rosebud wallpaper softening the walls. White ruffled curtains framing a large bay window seat rippled in the wind.

The view was stunning. Jagging mountains dominated the horizon, and the sky was the bluest she’d ever seen. Deep greens of trees and the neat rows of a garden gave way to white fencing beyond. And, she realized, as she eased onto the window seat’s plump cushion, to Caleb.

Tucked in the shade of the stable, he was brushing the white horse. He hadn’t noticed her and she didn’t seem able to look away. There was something about him that felt as calming to her as the gentle breeze through the open window. It wasn’t every day a girl got to round up runaway horses with a handsome—and kind—cowboy. It was a new experience for her. She couldn’t help wondering about her brother and sisters in the family photograph. This was probably the way they’d grown up, with visits here and adventures on those horses and family meals made with vegetables grown in the garden.

Her grandmother’s words replayed in her mind.
Don’t think because you didn’t grow up here, that you were out of my thoughts or my heart, because that wouldn’t be true.

Those words had meant a lot. For the first time in her life, the haze of unhappiness from her childhood felt far away and she could see clearly. The meeting with her grandmother had gone well—her initial worries were over. Now, there was the rest of the family to meet—tomorrow. For now, she was grateful to have the time to get to know Mary.

She checked the time on the way out the door. She wanted to make sure she helped her grandmother in the kitchen. Rose-scented air greeted her as she skipped down the steps. Caleb’s baritone carried on the hot wind. He was calling her name. Still brushing the white horse’s sleek coat, he flashed his dimpled grin. He raised a hand, gesturing her over.

He was a kind man and hard not to like. So she headed his way through the fragrant flower garden ripe with full blooms of colorful roses then along the edge of the vegetable garden.

He came up to the fence, his Stetson shading his granite features. “Things look like they’re goin’ pretty well.”

“Better than I’d let myself hope.”

“You must have awful low hopes as a general rule. You said you talked to Mary on the phone. You had to suspect she’d be as nice in person.”

“Yes, but you just never know how things are going to turn out.”

“You’ve got a smile on your face. That about says it all.”

She shrugged, not wanting to talk about her feelings. She was a private person, Caleb got that. He was pretty private himself. Her gaze went behind him to the mare standing in the shade of the horse barn. There was a look of wistfulness there. “I hope they don’t get out again. What if you hadn’t been around to catch them?”

“Ah, but you see, that’s the fun part of the game for Malia. She wants me to know she can get out any old time she wants. But what she really wants is for me to chase her. She loves to run. And to win.”

“I see. You indulge her by letting her outrun the pickup.”

“Now, don’t you let her hear that, or it’s gonna make her cranky.” Caleb checked over his shoulder at the mare who’d pricked her ears and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t let her fool you. She understands English about as well as I do. Maybe better, since she’s got nothing more to do than to stand around all day pondering it.”