Lone Tree (33 page)

Enough, she thought. Homesickness, guilt and dismay had
mixed together inside her like a melancholy snowball rolling downhill. It was
too difficult dealing with her own life and its losses without taking on the
burdens of another. And as far as Miles was concerned, everything was guesswork
anyway.

She needed to get out of here. Go brood, go to
sleep, or just give in and have a good cry. Her mood would only worsen the
longer she remained within the holiday atmosphere. Preparing to stand, she
pushed her chair back too abruptly and jolted her knee. Her breath caught but
she managed not to gasp, just waited for the leg to ease. Fortunately, no one
looked at her. She hoped to make her exit with a minimum of fuss.

Once she was able to get to her feet, she told her
companions goodnight then looked across the room and waited to catch Reed’s
eye. When he glanced up and saw her standing, he gave her an inquiring look. She
shrugged, conveying the message she was leaving early, but there was no
problem. His expression changed—still questioning, but asking a different
question. She smiled and shook her head, preferring not to have company later.
He patted his right knee. Again she shook her head. The knee was fine, thank
you.

She turned away, feeling conspicuous because their
communication was open to anybody and everybody to read, and took her leave.
She made it to the kitchen door before Miles hailed her. She turned.

He reminded her so much of her mother in
temperament, in the cut-and-dry way he made decisions and laid down ultimatums.
He was aggressive by nature, and stubborn, just as his daughter had been. But
beneath the hard exterior, her mother had also had the capacity to nurture and
protect. Lainie’s sense of loss was so great at that moment she wanted to run
to Miles, bury her face against him and feel secure again in the unconditional
love of a parent for a child. But that wasn’t possible with Miles Auburn. Not
with the secrets she’d kept. And, she realized, if her mother had gotten that
from her father, she wouldn’t have run from him.

“You’re missing your family,” he said softly.

“Yeah, you could say that.” She looked at the door,
finding it difficult to swallow past a sore lump in her throat.

Then, in the uncomfortable silence that followed,
her gaze returned to his. Go ahead and blurt it out, she thought, don’t let him
stop you.

“Miles—”

“Lainie—”

They’d each spoken at the same time, and in that
instant, she backed down. When he motioned for her to speak first, she only
lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. With her feelings so muddled, she was
too drained and blue to dredge up the past. She said lamely, “I enjoyed
tonight. It felt like...family.”

“You are family, Lainie Sue.”

Oh, boy. She turned away. “Goodnight, Miles.”

She reached for the doorknob but then turned back.
She had to have at least this much. Putting her hands on his shoulders for
balance, she stretched up on tiptoes, careful of her right leg. He didn’t
appear surprised, just bent his head and allowed her to brush her lips across
his cheek. Lainie blinked away moistness in her eyes as she walked outside and
to her own door.

*

Christmas Eve morning, Lainie and Jackie shared
brunch and exchanged gifts in Jackie’s duplex apartment. It had thin walls, so
there was almost a constant murmur of sound from the people next door, but that
had been a selling point; Jackie didn’t mind hearing her neighbors because she
knew they’d also hear her if she ever needed help.

“Mind you,” she said as she placed a steaming
casserole atop the table. “I’m not promising anything here. This is a brand new
recipe.”

Full of sausage, eggs, bubbling cheese, green pepper
and onion, it smelled as good as it looked. They each tested it with the air of
a casserole connoisseur. “Umm.” Lainie sat back with a grin. “It’s a keeper.”

Over coffee and raisin cake they got to their gifts,
Jackie going first. When she uncovered the embroidered vest Lainie had found in
Lawary’s Western Emporium, she just looked at it for a long moment. Then Jackie
thanked her and motioned for Lainie to open her present. Trying to hide her
disappointment, Lainie removed ribbon and paper. If Jackie didn’t like her
gift, she was welcome to return it. And if that were the case, Lainie would buy
it for herself. Then she opened her box and pulled out an identical vest.

They laughed as they put them on. “Since we think
like twins,” Jackie said. “Might as well look like ’em, too.”

A simple breakfast was set out on the side buffet at
Lone Tree on Christmas morning, and a small group clustered near the tree.
Ranch hands, except for Nelly and Reed, were with their respective families.

For Nelly, Lainie had filled a beribboned basket
with a variety of applesauce: jars and cans in every brand she could find.
Nelly investigated the assortment like a child given something precious. His
gaze rose and met hers. “Lookin’ forward to sharing this with you, little
missy.”

With only days to spare, a gift idea for Miles had
finally occurred to her. Yesterday she’d baked a coconut cake, sliced a neat
piece, placed it on a plate and wrapped it with Saran. She’d put it in a fancy
white box, marked it fragile, and placed a red ribbon around it. It seemed
perfect—yet she worried he might not recall her swiping his cake during their
first meeting so the gift would mean little to him.

When he removed the box lid, she watched his brows
draw together. He peered into the box as if not sure what was in there, then
looked up, caught her eye and grinned. “Took you a while to give this back, but
where’s the fork?”

“Tarnation!” How had she forgotten the crowning
touch?

His gift to her was also simple, a framed snapshot
of her mounted on Glory. She didn’t recall the picture being taken. Gratefully
she noted that her face was partially shadowed by her hat so there was little
resemblance to her grandmother.

She was disconcerted to find a second gift from
Reed. Earlier that morning she’d found a gift box on her pillow containing a
light-blue nightgown, the sheerest she’d ever seen, and he’d wanted her to
model it, right then and there. She was quite willing to do so. Her breath
quickening, she’d slipped into the bathroom and exchanged the old gown for the
new one. She loved its silky caress on her skin. It was simply made, just one
piece of material with thin folds across the shoulders, falling into a deep vee,
then hanging in a soft swirl to mid-thigh. When she emerged, his gaze drank her
in, all of her. She turned, giving him the full benefit, then faced him again
and he stepped forward.

“Uh-huh,” he said, voice hoarse. His hands slipped
beneath the sheer fabric. “Blue is a beautiful color on you.”

She trembled at his touch, then raised her arms to
encircle his neck. “I don’t know why you bought me a nightgown. Seems I seldom
get to wear one for very long.”

“The prettier it is, the more I enjoy taking it off
you.”

Now presented with another gift, and in front of an
audience, she was aware of her warming blush and refused to look at the person
responsible for it. She opened the second package with some trepidation, but
this one was practical and sensible: a canteen, with a device to be hooked on
to one’s belt instead of to a saddle.

*

Although Lainie wasn’t a diehard football fan, she’d
always made it a point to watch the Super Bowl. Her mind wasn’t on it today,
however. She continued to be frustrated with her grandfather’s refusal to
listen to her, yet she was growing increasingly anxious as time was running out
and the showdown loomed.

She stood in front of the open refrigerator in
Reed’s house, trying to remember what she wanted, uncomfortably aware of him watching
her from the kitchen doorway.

Oh, that was it. She grasped the pitcher of tea.

“Something’s gnawing at you,” he said. “And has been
for a long time now. Surely wish you’d talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

She almost dropped the glass jug.

At her juggling motion, he crossed the room and took
the container. He gave her a long look, but when she didn’t respond, he didn’t
push. “Was this for you or for me?”

“I was going to pour a glass for each of us.”

“Rather have a beer. Long as you’re there, will you
get it?” He withdrew a glass from the cabinet and poured her beverage, then
carried it and the bowl of corn chips into the living room. “Best hurry or
you’ll miss the kickoff.”

She returned the pitcher to the refrigerator and
followed him. She sat on her end of the sofa. He remained still for a moment,
just looking at her, then with a shake of his head that mixed amusement with
exasperation he got up and went after his beer. She wet her lips, watching him.
By forgetting his beer, she’d proved his point.

Confiding in Reed, however, would put him in the
middle, which was neither wise nor fair. He might—probably would—take the issue
right out of her hands, and that would make him responsible if Miles and she
lost each other. And if Reed lost his place at Lone Tree because of running
interference for her, then the blame would lie with Lainie.

It was up to her to deal with her grandfather.

*

Though winter in West Texas wasn’t as harsh as what
some of the state saw, this year was a cold one. The first week in February the
thermometer dropped to forty and got stuck.

On a brisk Sunday morning, Lainie drummed her
fingers on Reed’s door, then opened it without being bidden. He was sitting on
the sofa, staring at the fire. He looked up, his expression on the pensive,
almost dreamy side, a mood she seldom saw in him.

“Weather getting to you?” She stamped her feet to
get feeling back into them, hesitated, then removed coat and gloves. She’d warm
up faster without extra clothing between herself and the fire.

“Was thinking I’m about ready for another camping
trip,” he said, and she blinked.

He laughed, then motioned for her to sit with him,
but she settled on the floor next to his legs instead and stared at the
wavering flames. She felt a twinge in her knee, but the twinges were becoming
fewer and milder. Once she repositioned herself, her discomfort eased.

His hand smoothed her hair. “I was just sitting
here, remembering your yen to make love in the moonlight.”

“Um.”

“And I was thinking about a wish of my own.”

She twisted to look up at him. “What might that be?”

“Have you ever seen the River Walk in San Antonio?”

“I’ve heard of it. Never been there.”

He pulled strands of her hair through his fingers.
“I walked it once, almost all of it. It’s busy, but still beautiful and
romantic—or could be if you’re with the right person.” His gaze softened.
“That’s where I want to go on my honeymoon.”

Slowly, she turned back to stare at the fire.

“I want to take you there, Lainie.” His voice was a
caress in itself. “I want to share that walk with you. Share my life with you.”

She was afraid to look at him, or to speak. Her eyes
burned and her throat felt choked. An image flashed into her mind’s eye—the
Pacific Ocean, walking the beach and wading through the waves with Reed. He
could share with her; she could share with him. It was beautiful, yet
unattainable, for as long as she held secrets. Until she settled matters with
her grandfather, she wasn’t free to love Reed and make plans with him.

Reed’s hands fell to her shoulders. The silence was
deafening.

“We can talk about this another time,” he said
softly. He’d tried to check his disappointment, she could tell, but it still
told in his voice and that broke her heart. “We don’t have to talk about it
now.” His lips brushed across the top of her head, then he stood and placed
another log on the fire.

Doc Talbot had told Lainie she could get up on a
horse again around mid-March, and he’d cautioned her to wait until then to
drive as well. She was pushing it by more than a month, but she was fairly
certain she could manage a brake pedal.

The day after Reed’s proposal, she waited until no
one was around—heavens to Betsy, no way was she going to push her luck with her
one-time jailer—and then she took her car out to practice on the ranch roads,
where hopefully she couldn’t hurt herself or anybody else if she couldn’t
handle the brake. Nelly was aware of what she was doing but made no comment,
which reinforced her confidence. After an hour of forward, reverse, cornering,
and numerous fast stops, she figured she could handle a car as well as she ever
could. Slamming on the brake produced a twinge that made her wince but didn’t
prevent the action.

Nothing now stood in the way of her having that talk
with Miles. She tried planning what to say and how to say it, but at no time in
her life had a script worked for her. So she planned on giving him no room to
put her off again. But other than that, she’d play it by ear.

He retired shortly after nine each night, so that
evening at nine-thirty she returned to the office and marched straight to his
desk then behind it to use the intercom. There were three of them: one in the
office, one in the kitchen, and another in his bedroom. She buzzed his room,
waited, but got no answer. He’d either changed his routine or was in the
bathroom. She decided to give him a minute before buzzing again.