Blackbird Lake (3 page)

“You’re my friend. You have to say that.”

“Well,
I
think you could stand to lose a few pounds,” Gloria chimed in, sauntering toward the shop door. A grandmother of three teenagers, she was small and as skinny as a scrap of tree bark, and her bright orange sweater, the color of a ripe pumpkin, hung loosely on her wiry frame. “But some men think more pounds is just more to love. So you need to think positive. And hope this date of yours likes red lipstick, because that one you bought is awfully red. I’m just sayin’.”

In typical Gloria fashion, she yanked open the door and was gone.

For a moment there was dead silence. Laureen and Carly stared at each other.

“Can you believe her?” Laureen finally gasped.

“Don’t you dare pay any attention to a word she says,” Carly ordered.

“Tell me the truth. Do
you
think the lipstick’s too red?” Laureen’s hazel eyes locked on Carly. The lipstick she’d carefully applied was full-on, red-carpet red, a lush, richly voluptuous color that looked bright and prettily vivid with her fair hair and creamy complexion.

“No way. It’s perfect. Gloria’s just being Gloria. Go home. Primp. I mean it, Laureen. Drink a glass of wine, and have fun tonight. I’ll expect a full report tomorrow.”

“No way.
You
go home.” Setting the cups down with a
clatter on the countertop at the rear of the shop, Laureen hustled up to the front where Carly was putting away the toys scattered around the small children’s play area.

“I’ll close up.” Her red mouth was firmly set. “
You
check on Emma—that’s a whole lot more important. My date isn’t until eight, so go. Go see your daughter.”

Straightening, Carly took another deep breath. “You sure? You don’t mind?”

Laureen grabbed the stuffed Big Bird from her. “Get outta here, boss.”

Carly didn’t have to think twice. Grabbing her purse from beneath the front counter, she managed a quick, grateful grin. “That does it. You’re officially employee of the month.”

“Last I heard, I was the only employee, this month or any other.”

“That makes you the best. Every month.” It was all she could do not to sprint to the door. “This guy better treat you right tonight or he’ll answer to me,” she called over her shoulder.

“Yeah, what are you going to do? Stitch him to death?” Laureen gave a small huff of laughter before the door of Carly’s Quilts clicked shut behind its owner.

Then Carly was bolting across Spring Street toward her Jeep, her tan wedges tapping the pavement. A cool September wind nipped down from the mountains, tousling her thick, curly mane of strawberry blond hair, making her shiver in her sea green cotton sweater and jeans.

I’m
not
going to have a panic attack, I’m
not, she told herself, taking deep breaths, repeating the mantra over and over, trying to turn her mind from every disastrous thought.

It was hard to get in enough air, though, and she felt a little light-headed. But she hadn’t had an attack in years, hadn’t even had one when she found out about Kevin being married, or when she discovered she was pregnant. She certainly wasn’t going to have one now…. She couldn’t
let
herself have one now, not after all this time….

She had nearly reached her Jeep when she heard Martha Davies’s voice call out from behind her.

“Yoo-hoo. Carly! Where’s the fire?”

Can’t get away with a thing in this town.
Carly’s stomach clenched. Turning, she managed a smile for her foster mother Annie’s cousin, the eighty-something owner of the Cuttin’ Loose beauty salon, waiting as Martha bore down upon her, beaming. A long purple knit skirt swished around the older woman’s legs and a turquoise crocheted sweater covered her tall, spare frame. Not a smidgen of gray showed in her chin-length hair. It was freshly dyed a light blondish auburn and gleamed with reddish highlights in the autumn sunshine.

Martha was famous in Lonesome Way for changing her hair color the same way some women changed shoes. But her heart was as steady as a rock. She was Emma’s godmother and, now that Annie was gone, the closest person to family Carly had left in the world.

If not for all the times she’d accompanied Annie on visits to see Martha in Lonesome Way over the years, Carly might never have discovered the town that had become her home.

“I was just on my way to find you,” Martha went on briskly before Carly could respond. “Closing up a little early, honey, aren’t you?”

“I wanted to squeeze in some extra time with Emma.” Leaning forward, Carly gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek. She hoped Martha couldn’t sense the tension flowing through her. Martha might be in her eighties, but she still ran her business with a firm hand and was as sharp as a toothpick. “It was a slow day; you know how it goes.”

“Oh, honey, you bet I do.” Martha’s dangling jet earrings swung as she shook her head in annoyance. “Wouldn’t you know, Georgia Timmons canceled her tint at the last minute and now I have twenty minutes to kill before my next client comes in for a manicure and cut. What am I supposed to do, twiddle my thumbs?”

She stopped grimacing suddenly and stared at Carly with sharply narrowing eyes. “You know, you look sort of tense, honey. Everything all right? Emma isn’t sick, is she?”

“Emma’s great. She blew me about fifty kisses when I left this morning. I’m just tired.” Carly hated lying but she
could hardly tell Martha that Emma’s daddy had breezed into town. Even Martha didn’t know that Jake Tanner was Emma’s father. No one knew. And Carly intended to keep it that way.

“Can I give you a call later?” She edged toward the Jeep. “Madison needs to study for an exam, plus she has a gig tonight. I want to let her leave as early as possible—”

“That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about—Madison! Can I switch days with her and watch Emma tomorrow instead of Friday? I’ll be shorthanded Friday and have a full day of appointments booked, including two perms and three manicures. But I don’t want to miss out on any time with my little miss.”

Ever since Emma turned one, Martha had insisted on having Emma spend the day with her at least once a week and then sleep over that night at her apartment. She’d even bought a crib that fit into a corner of her small living room and had sewn a gorgeous quilt for her goddaughter. Emma always squealed in excitement at the sight of “MaWa”—and not just because each time she slept over at MaWa’s apartment there was a new toy or doll waiting for her.

“No problem—or we could skip this week if it would be easier for you—”

“Not a chance.” Martha waved her hand, an amethyst and jet bracelet jangling cheerfully on her wrist. “I look forward every week to having my time with her. And—I bought her a little something new. I can’t wait to give it to her.”

“You don’t have to buy her things all the time, Martha.” A mixture of emotions rose in Carly, an overwhelming combination of guilt, love, and tenderness for this woman who had taken her and her daughter so deeply into her heart and woven their lives into hers. “Emma loves you for you, not because you give her—”

“Shoot, don’t you think I know that, honey? I
like
buying things for her. Gives me a kick to see her face light up. Never had a little granddaughter of my own. And it’s my business if I want to spoil her, isn’t it? I think Annie would want me to do just that. Remember, it’s
your
unpleasant job to say
no to her now and then—not mine.” Chuckling, she turned back toward the Cuttin’ Loose. “You go ahead now. But don’t forget to tell Madison,” she instructed over her shoulder.

“I won’t.”

For a moment Carly watched the older woman saunter back toward her shop. There was a lump in her throat as she studied the tall, retreating figure. Martha had always been so kind to her, so kind to Emma.

Just as this town had been….

Drawing yet another long breath that was supposed to be calming, she climbed into her Jeep, snapped her seat belt, and roared out of her parking space a lot faster than she’d intended.

She couldn’t believe any of this. That Jake Tanner was here, that this was really happening. But the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach brought reality vividly home.

Only an hour before, the biggest problem in her life had been the charity dating auction coming up next week. Ava Louise Todd, Sophie Tanner’s tiny, silver-haired grandmother, had roped her into being part of it. The dating auction was the first installment of the town’s big Thanksgiving fund-raiser to build a new animal shelter. Carly had volunteered months earlier to donate gift certificates, fabric, and quilting lessons as her contribution—and to sew a square for a community quilt.

But that hadn’t been enough for Ava.

Oh, no.

That petite little old lady might be as sweet and beautiful as the cinnamon buns sold by the dozens at A Bun in the Oven, but she also had a spine of industrial-strength steel.

It was not in Ava Louise Todd’s nature to ever take no for an answer.

“All we’re asking you to do is go on one tiny little date,” she’d pleaded with a gleam in her eyes. “And you need only spend a couple of hours with whichever man casts the winning bid. Where’s the harm in that, dear?”

Carly had tried to explain that she had zero interest in dating, that she was done with men—
done
with a capital
D
—and that the thought of parading across a makeshift stage at the Double Cross Bar and Grill before a roomful of shouting, stamping, whistling cowboys was as enticing to her as a night out on the Crazy Mountains, stark naked, in the midst of a February blizzard.

But Ava had merely chuckled and waved a hand at all of her objections.

“Now, don’t be silly, it’s going to be fun. You know Tansy Noble who works over at the post office, don’t you? Well,
she’s
up for our charity dating auction, and she’s been through three divorces, poor thing. And your own babysitter, Madison Hodge, volunteered, too, and that young woman is about as eager to parade across that stage as a gazelle would be to step into a lion’s den, especially after everything her mama put her through with all those beauty pageants she signed the girl up for—why, she got poor Madison started when she was only six! So if those two can brave it, something tells me you can, too. Especially for such a worthy cause. Only think about those poor needy animals!”

So Carly had. She’d thought about the animals, the strays, hungry, neglected, or abused—all of them needing a new shelter. Her heart went out to them. She’d been pretty much a stray herself, growing up in the homes of reluctant relatives who’d shuttled her off somewhere else whenever they got tired of having another mouth to feed.

A toss-away child, she remembered a caseworker saying once, in an undervoice. But Carly had overheard.

She knew all too well how it felt to be unwanted.

To have no place that was home.

And so, in the end, she’d caved. She’d agreed to put herself up for auction. It was a big icy plunge for someone who had dreaded standing before her third grade class to give a book report.

But now, at this moment, driving home toward Blue Bell Drive, knowing that Jake Tanner was here in Lonesome Way, the charity dating auction suddenly shrank to an insignificant blip on her emotional radar. No bigger than an ant at a picnic. A moth on the moon. Nothing compared to the
fact that her daughter’s father was here in his hometown and it was almost inevitable that he’d run into them.

He can’t find out about Emma,
she told herself, her chest tightening with fear.

It would change everything. If his family learned the truth, they wouldn’t understand why she hadn’t told him—or them—that Emma was part of their family.

She’d only wanted her daughter to be close to them…to know them, and for them to know her, even if they didn’t know who she really was….

She’d almost told Jake she was pregnant way back then. She’d debated with herself for weeks and finally had tracked him down at a rodeo in Prescott, Arizona, fully intending to tell him.

But when she’d spotted him, he was surrounded by a bevy of beautiful young women, all clamoring for his autograph. He’d had his arm around one dainty, laughing brunette as he signed. And she’d suddenly changed her mind. Backing away, she’d melted deliberately into the throng of people attending the rodeo before Jake ever spotted her.

She had no regrets about that, she told herself now. None.

Because it would have been a disaster. They’d only spent that one night together but it was as clear as a glass of spring water that Jake Tanner hadn’t the least desire to be a father. Or a husband. Or a boyfriend. He was a cowboy, a roamer.

A tumbleweed.

Jake didn’t even want a permanent
address
, much less a family!

Carly had strong feelings about men who left the women in their lives. Who didn’t do well with commitment. Her own father had abandoned her and her mother when Carly was only three. She barely remembered him—his face was merely a square-jawed shadow in the darkest recesses of her memory. She couldn’t recall his voice, his smell. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day he left. There had never been a phone call or a letter.

Even after her mother died, her father hadn’t come back
for her. She’d waited, telling herself every night before she fell asleep that he’d know somehow that she needed him, that he’d call or come. That he’d take care of her, hold her hand, tell her he was sorry for ever leaving her. He’d sweep her away from her aunt’s noisy jumbled house, or her cousin’s crowded trailer, and find a new place for them to live, a place where it would be quiet and happy and safe, with just the two of them.

She waited and waited.

But Les McKinnon never came back to rescue her.

So Carly knew all the way down to her innermost soul that she could only depend on herself. And that it would be far better for Emma to have
no
father in her life than a reluctant, resentful, or unreliable one. One who might take off at any time, disappear for weeks, a month, a year—or forever.

Just as hers had.

Jake was a bull-riding, rodeo-following, freaking famous cowboy, after all, with the world at his feet. And no inclination to settle down. He was as tough and independent as he was handsome. He was a risk taker, who liked to live life on the edge, with no roots, no attachments. A cowboy through and through, with zero desire ever to be tied to one woman or one place, even Lonesome Way.