Chasing the Sun (39 page)

Hank nodded, a smile in his eyes.

Molly studied the pamphlet again. “There’s a name here. Charles Loring Brace of The Children’s Aid Society. Have you contacted him?”

“Not yet.”

Molly looked toward the window, which was open to the beautiful spring day. Children’s laughter drifted in with the fresh breeze. She recognized Ben’s voice and Penny’s shout and Abigail’s squeal of delight. Charlie was off somewhere with Dougal, Kate was on the other side of the house with Daisy, and the twins were probably running the Ortega girls ragged in the nursery. Was there room for another child in this crowded household?

She turned back to her husband. “It says they send the children to specific towns where people are waiting for them. After checking them over, they pick the one they want, and take them home.”

Hank continued to watch her, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

“It sounds rather cold, doesn’t it?” she said, feeling a prick of sympathy. “Almost like a livestock auction.” She knew what it felt like to be on display, to be judged and found wanting. She could still feel doctors and other medical men scrutinizing her, wondering what kind of woman would venture into their male domain, wondering when she would falter or make a mistake.

And what if a child wasn’t chosen? Perhaps was too ugly, or crippled, or deemed unlovable? Was he or she sent back?

That would be unbearable.

She remembered always being on the outside looking in. She remembered how it hurt to feel like she didn’t belong.

Until Hank.

And this lovely family.

They had given her back herself and, in accepting her as she was, had allowed her to become the person she was meant to be.

How could she not do the same thing for someone else? Especially a child?

She looked into her husband’s wise brown eyes and saw the acceptance and unquestionable support he had always given her. How could she deny him anything?

She would pick the homeliest, most awkward, most seemingly unlovable children on the train. Then she and Hank would make them shine.

Leaning over, she gave her husband a quick kiss, then straightened. She held out the pamphlet. “Then write to him,” she said. “While I sew your sail.”

He took the pamphlet and set it aside, then smiled at her in that familiar way that made the nerves beneath her skin quiver in anticipation. “Maybe later.”

BRADY DIDN’T CATCH UP TO JESSICA UNTIL LATE THAT afternoon.

He hadn’t exactly avoided her, but with so many things to settle before the horses left for Val Rosa, and Elena left, and Daisy and Kate went on their way, he barely had time to think, much less come up with what he wanted to say to his wife.

And why should he have to explain himself anyway?

She should know him well enough by now to realize how intolerable it would be to him to have to ask her for money. He might as well hand her his balls on a plate. He would try to explain that to her—not in those exact words maybe—no use giving her ideas—but somehow he had to get it across to his wife that he had everything under control and she had nothing to worry about.

The ranch was secure.

Her home and her family were safe.

He trusted her.

Always.

He found her up in the hilltop cemetery, sitting on the little stone bench beneath the mesquite tree, where she always went when she was upset or needed time and space to think. The sun was sinking toward the mountains to the west, and the tombstones, silhouetted against the last bright rays, looked edged in gold. Tattered pinkish-purple clouds clung to the mountain peaks, and the breeze out of the east was warm and fragrant and alive with the music of RosaRoja—crickets, cattle lowing, distant voices and laughter from the bunkhouse and cabins.

It was his favorite time of day.

Stepping through the iron gate, he let it clang shut behind him to warn her that he was there. As he wove through the markers of all the people who had lived and died on this patch of land called RosaRoja, he wondered how Jessica could ever think he would put it at risk. This was his home too. And these were his family and friends resting here.

Maybe
she
was the one who lacked trust.

Brady sighed. He was kidding himself and he knew it. This wasn’t about trust. It was about fear. His fear of losing her.

But pigs would frolic like nighthawks in the twilight sky before he would ever admit that to anyone but himself. A man had his pride.

She looked up when she heard him approach, but said nothing. He was relieved to see she wasn’t crying. Stopping beside her, he thrust his hands into the front pockets of his denims and said, “I made a mistake with the smelter loan. I should have told you but I didn’t want to worry you and I ... I was afraid if you knew, you’d be disappointed and, well ... upset.”

Christ.
Why had he admitted that? He almost reached down to check that his balls were still there. Instead, he stood in embarrassed silence and waited for her to speak.

It was a long time before she did.

“You’re such a dolt.”

Relieved, he sank onto the bench beside her. Lacing her fingers through his, he said, “The ranch was never at risk, Jessica. I wouldn’t have let it go that far. But you have enough to deal with and I didn’t want to add to your worry.”

“It’s my home, Brady.”

“As you once told me,” he reminded her with a smile, “it’s just dirt.”

“But it’s
our
dirt.” She took in a deep breath. When she let it out, he felt some of the stiffness leave the fingers in his grip. “I know it’s against your nature to ask for help, Brady, but in refusing to do so, whether you intend it or not, you tell those around you they’re not needed.”

Brady had to laugh. “Not needed? Hell, you’re the reason for everything I do. You, the children, my brothers. Without you, there’s nothing.”

She didn’t respond, but he sensed a softening in her posture.

Gently stroking the hand he held in his, he watched evening creep down the slopes, sending long shadows across the valley floor as the sun slipped behind the peaks. Bobwhites would be out soon. Coyotes and crickets would add their voices to the night music that had lulled him to sleep for a quarter-century. He would sooner die than let it all go. “Besides,” he said after a time, “how can you think you’re not needed? I let you tend all the important things, don’t I?”

She turned her head and looked at him, the side of her face stained pink by the dying sun. “What important things?”

“Me, for one.” He grinned. “And the kids, of course.”

She cast her gaze at the darkening sky. “You’re absurd.”

Undaunted, he added, “And I went all the way to England for you, didn’t I?”

“
After
a whole year,” she reminded him. “And
after
you sent me there.”

He couldn’t argue that.

“And as I recall”—she gave him an arch look—“when you arrived, you said you would never push me away again, and that you wouldn’t shut me out of your life, and we would share our problems and concerns with each other. Remember?”

Not exactly, but he nodded anyway. After kissing her hand to show his sincerity, he lifted his head and gave her what he hoped was a stern, manly look. “But don’t expect me to come belly crawling to you every time I have a problem.”

“Belly crawling!” She reared back to look at him, an imp dancing in her eyes. Her smile was positively evil. “Oooh. I like that picture.”

The sassy woman was laughing at him. “You want pictures? I’ve got your picture right here.” Releasing her hand, he reached for his belt buckle.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes pinned to his hands as he undid the top button on his denims.

“I thought you wanted to share.”

“Brady!” She looked around. “It’s daylight. Anyone could see us!”

“It’s dusk. And no one can see us.”

“But we’re outdoors! Cover yourself!”

Instead, he opened his trousers all the way and undid the tabs on his drawers. “Remember those riding lessons we shared? Time for another lesson.” And before she could protest further, he swung a leg over to straddle the bench, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her astride his lap.

“Brady!”

“Help me out here,” he muttered as he tugged and wrestled her skirts aside. “Shift to the right ... yeah ... there.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,
yes.
”

JACK HAD NOT BEEN AN EASY PATIENT.

He had insisted he be allowed up that morning, but Molly had been adamantly against it, afraid that if he walked on his leg too much too soon, he might pull his stitches loose and they would have to start all over again. It had been an ongoing battle throughout the day, but with liberal doses of laudanum and Molly and Daisy and Jessica and Elena all taking turns browbeating him, they had managed to keep him in bed.

Daisy had needed that extra time to figure out what she was going to do. The moment for a final decision on Brady’s plan was drawing close, but no matter how much she argued with herself, she remained mired in confusion. She loved Jack. But the dream was so much a part of who she was, she was certain if she let it drift away, she would lose the better part of herself.

It was an intolerable situation.

That evening, as she headed up to check on Kate before retiring for the night, she still had not reconciled herself to leaving Jack, and she was so weary of fretting over it she felt like curling into a ball in a corner and crying until there were no more tears left. Which would accomplish nothing, of course, other than to give her puffy eyes and a raging headache.

Stepping into Kate’s room, she raised the lamp she had brought from downstairs high enough to light her way through the toys and books strewn across the floor. Except the floor was clean—she had forgotten she had packed everything away that afternoon. Seeing the stripped room reminded her that she no longer belonged here, that soon she would be gone from this place and these people she had grown to care for so much. Then she realized Kate wasn’t in her crib.

Had she crawled over the slatted sides? It wouldn’t be long, Daisy knew, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Kate wasn’t yet two, although she was very agile for her age and had always been an energetic climber.

Frowning, she crossed to the water closet. Not finding Kate there, she went on to her own room. She wasn’t there either. Retracing her steps to her daughter’s room, she checked the wardrobe and behind the chair. Nothing. Starting to become concerned, she went out into the hall and listened. The house was as quiet as a church on Monday.

Then she saw that Jack’s door was ajar. She crossed over to it and knocked softly, not wanting to awaken him if he was asleep. When she heard no answer, she gently pushed it open.

Jack lay sleeping on his good side, the thick lump of his bandage outlined by the thin coverlet. Kate was sprawled beside him, one arm flung wide, the other holding her battered toy cat.

Daisy felt a knot of emotion tighten her throat. They were so beautiful. So perfectly matched. Was she doing the wrong thing, forcing them apart?

But if she didn’t, and Kate became even more attached, and Jack left...

If only . . .
she thought for the thousandth time.

If only she were different and didn’t have this dream burning inside her.

If only Jack were different and less ... Jack.

Ah,
but then she wouldn’t love him so much, would she?

With a weary sigh, she tiptoed toward the bed. After setting the lamp on the bedside table, she reached down to pick up Kate.

“Don’t.”

Startled, she straightened to find Jack watching her through drowsy eyes.

“Don’t take her.” He spoke softly so he wouldn’t wake Kate. “Let her stay for a while.”

“How did she get in here?”

“I woke up and there she was.”

“I’ll raise the sides on her crib.” Then she thought,
Why?
She’d soon be gone.

She stood in awkward silence for a moment, a little addled by the intimacy of being alone with Jack in his bedroom. Which was absurd, of course, considering they had shared rooms in San Francisco, and she’d been here alone with him last night after Molly had left. But somehow tonight it felt different. Perhaps because when he looked at her that way, she reacted to the man, not the patient.

“Why don’t you join us?” He gave her a sleepy smile.

Although he hadn’t shaved, he’d bathed again—she could smell soap, and in the lamplight, his clean, sun-streaked hair glinted like threads of spun gold. He was wearing a new nightshirt, too, and she wondered where he’d gotten it, since she didn’t recall him ever using one in San Francisco. But that sleepy, beckoning smile she remembered all too well.

“Stay,” he prodded. “It gets lonesome in here all by myself.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’ve been sleeping. I’ve never been in bed so long ... except for that time you and I—”

“Hush.”

The grin widened. “So you remember too.”

Oh, she remembered. She remembered more than she wanted to. Even now her clothing chafed against her tingling skin.

“Please, Daisy. Stay and talk to me. Tell me about your day.”

“Well ...” Turning, Daisy looked in the shadows for the chair.

“No, here.” Reaching over, he patted the mattress on the other side of Kate. “There’s plenty of room.” His expression changed subtly—his right brow rising in an arc, a lazy smile quirking one corner of his mobile mouth. She recognized the challenge behind it. “Stretch out, Daisy. Just for a bit.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Unless you’re afraid.”

For a moment she blinked at him in astonishment, then clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a startled burst of laughter. “My God, you’re unbelievable,” she choked out. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

“Not around you.”

“So now I’m supposed to rip off my clothes and leap into bed, is that it?”

His smile seemed to waver. “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, Jack.” Still fighting laughter, she leaned over and gave his whiskered cheek a quick kiss. “You do know how to make me laugh.”