The Rancher's Second Chance (Martin's Crossing Book 3) (11 page)

“We can do both, Nan.” Grace hugged her grandmother. She hugged her grandfather. “I love you.”

With goodbyes said, she turned to Brody. “Ready to go?”

His expression altered but he nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They left, walking together to the truck, the heat of late September beating down on them. In the distance she heard the drone of traffic, a jet flying overhead. Familiar sounds. But she’d gotten used to the quiet of Martin’s Crossing.

As they headed down the highway, the GPS giving them directions to the facility where Sylvia Martin lived, Grace thought about the past six months.

“I tried breaking things off with Lincoln. More than once.”

Brody gave her a quick look, then directed his attention back to the road. “Okay.”

“I don’t even know why I went out with him.”

“He has a way of convincing women that he’s charming. From a man’s point of view, I can’t say that I get it.”

“There’s nothing charming about Lincoln Carter.” She left it at that because now wasn’t the time to tell everything about a relationship she should never have started.

The GPS announced there was one mile until their destination would be reached. Grace thought about destinations and where she was going. Her grandmother had said to pick a goal, something to work toward.

After this, where did she belong?

Chapter Eleven

T
he facility was long, brick with multiple windows down each side and an entrance in the center. Several people sat under a covered patio. Brody parked, then sat in the truck for a minute looking at the building, not really seeing it. He definitely didn’t want to get out and face the woman inside.

“We should go in,” Grace said eventually.

Brody nodded, agreeing but not wanting to agree. He’d rather start his truck and head back to Martin’s Crossing. He couldn’t, though. He’d spent a lot of years wondering where Sylvia had gone and wanting to ask her why she’d left. Today he would face her, but he didn’t know if she would remember. He didn’t know if she’d be able to answer his questions.

“Let’s go,” he said, getting out.

Grace walked with him to the front of the building. One of the older men sitting on that patio smiled up at them, and then winked at Grace.

“Thank you, son, for bringing her with you. You just made my day.” The old gentleman chuckled and elbowed his friend, who sat next to him in a wheelchair.

The friend glanced up, nodded a little and then dropped his head to resume his nap. The other man shook his head.

“He misses everything. What are you two doing here today?”

“I’m here to see my...to see Sylvia Martin.” Brody reached to push the buzzer that would unlock the door and allow them to enter.

“Guess I don’t know her. Well, you have a good visit.”

Brody opened the door and he and Grace entered the facility with its gold carpet and light brown walls. Once they were inside, he didn’t really know what to do. Grace took over, leading him down the hall to the nurse’s station. A woman at the desk looked up.

“Can I help you?”

Brody had a lot of answers for that question. Most had to do with why he was here and how he could get out of this mess. He let out a breath and managed to cowboy up.

“I’m here to see Sylvia Martin.”

“Are you a relative?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, then Grace.

“I’m her son.”

“I only have one relative listed, a daughter.” The woman hit a few buttons on the computer. “Yes, just a daughter.”

“I’m not sure why you only have my sister on the list. There are five of us. Well, four now.”

“Okay.” The woman clicked a few buttons. “I can fix that. Your name is? And can I see ID?”

“Brody Martin.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. She slid a clipboard across the counter to him.

“Sign here, Brody Martin. I’ll walk you down to her room.”

“Will she know me?”

She shrugged. “Does she know you? She has some issues but usually remembers people. Kayla was here the other day and she knew her.”

“Kayla?”

The nurse cocked her head to the side and looked him over.

“Your sister?”

A small foot made contact with his shin. “Oh, of course.”

The nurse gave him a curious look. “Well, let’s go see how Sylvia is doing today.”

“If you just give me the room number, I’m sure we can find her.”

He didn’t want this woman to walk with them, to witness his first visit with his mother in over twenty years. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Grace with him. But then, he couldn’t imagine doing this without her. That was the problem with Grace. He wanted her with him. He wanted her gone. His emotions went back and forth like that about a dozen times a day.

Now, in this moment, he needed her.

The nurse came out from behind the desk. “I don’t mind at all.”

They walked down a back hall to a room near the end. The door was partially opened, and from inside they heard an afternoon talk show. “She likes her talk shows,” the nurse said.

Brody smiled, as if he knew. Because a son should know that about his mother. But he knew nothing about Sylvia, nothing except that she’d left. He should remember more than the bits and pieces of memory he had of her. He remembered decorating a Christmas tree. He remembered church. He remembered her driving away.

The nurse pushed the door open and motioned them inside.

“Sylvia, your son Brody is here to see you.”

There was his mother. Brody froze, unsure what to do as he came face-to-face with the woman who had walked out on them. The root of his fears, his obsessions, now sat in front of him. Her dark hair was short. Her eyes were vague and deep set. She studied him as intently as he studied her. And then she cried.

The nurse handed Sylvia a box of tissues. “Sylvia, you never told us you had another child. We only know Kayla.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened and she looked from Brody to the window. “He doesn’t know. No one knows.”

“Knows what, honey?” The nurse picked up a blanket and dropped it over the woman in the recliner.

“I wonder if anyone knows where I am?” Sylvia worried her lip as she asked the question. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Dallas at the Lakeside Facility.”

“I like it here,” Sylvia said. And then she looked at Brody again. “How did you find me?”

“Duke found you.”

She narrowed her eyes studying his face. “Duke, ridiculous name. Your father picked it. How old are you now?”

“I’ll be twenty-seven next week.”

“I never liked you boys. Always rough-housing, making messes, dirtying clothes. I hated doing laundry. I didn’t like the way you smelled. And your father. I shouldn’t have married him. I never did like living in the country.”

“Well, let’s not beat around the bush,” he murmured as she continued to list their sins, the things she didn’t like about them.

What had he expected, an apology? Regret? He’d expected her to ask about his life, about her children. He thought maybe she’d be sorry. He should have expected the anger. After all, she’d left and never come back. A person would have to be really angry to make that decision.

He took a deep breath. Right, okay, now what? What was he supposed to say to this woman when it was obvious she didn’t want him here, had never wanted him?

A hand touched his back. Sylvia looked past him.

“Who is this? Elizabeth?” Sylvia glared now.

“No, Sylvia, this is a friend of mine. This is Grace.”

At that his mother’s face fell and one tear streaked down her cheek. “Elizabeth died. I saw it on the news.”

Brody reeled. His mother knew. She’d kept track. And she’d never come home. Sympathy and compassion warred with his anger at this woman. If she’d been a stranger, maybe he could have mustered more sympathy. If she hadn’t walked out on her children. If she hadn’t been the person who left him alone, with scars. Deep-down scars, the kind he’d spent a lifetime dealing with. Scars that had left a little boy crying and a grown man wondering what it was about him that could make even a mother walk away.

“Yes, Elizabeth died. She had two little girls.” In the war of emotions, sympathy lost and anger edged ahead. “Our dad is dead, too. I don’t know if you knew that. Duke went to Afghanistan, but he came home. If you cared, you’d know that.”

“I care.” She stood, pushing her frail form out of the chair she sat in. The afghan she’d been covered with dropped to the floor. “I cared. But I wasn’t a mother. I was never a good mother. I would have beaten you to death that day if Jake hadn’t stopped me.”

All of a sudden the memory rushed back, painful and clear in a way it hadn’t been all these years. He remembered her hitting him over and over again. He remembered Jake pulling her off him and telling her she wasn’t fit to be a mom.

Grace held his hand now, tight. “I’m here,” she whispered. He guessed he knew that but he also knew she wouldn’t stay long. And he could do this alone. He pulled loose from her and took a few steps toward Sylvia. She looked away from him, but not before he saw her tears.

“You could have come back.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I couldn’t have. I was having another man’s baby.”

The words fell into the room and Sylvia fell back into the chair. The nurse told them they’d have to leave. This was enough for today.

Brody stepped away from the nurse. He squatted in front of Sylvia and put a hand on her arm, forcing her attention on him. “Where is she, this sister of mine? Who is she?”

Sylvia shook he head, fast and furious. “No.”

“Yes. Tell me. She deserves to know and so do we. She’s one of us.”

“I can’t tell you. I promised not to tell.”

“Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me who she is.”

Sylvia zipped her lips, as if she was a child locking up her secrets and he was the parent. He turned to the nurse and she shook her head. He started to stand; his knees were burning and he couldn’t take much more.

Sylvia’s phone was on the table next to her. He pushed himself to his feet and reached for it. Before the nurse could stop him. Before his mother could demand he put it down. He opened the contacts and found the name the nurse had said, Kayla. Kayla Stanford. He pulled out his phone, took a quick photo of the name and number and handed his mother back her phone.

“I will find my sister.”

“You shouldn’t. She isn’t strong. She...she might be like me.”

“I don’t care. I want to know her.”

She stared him down. “Why did you come here?”

“Fool that I am, I wanted to know you, too. I wanted you to tell me why you left. Now I know.”

She closed her eyes. “Now you know. And next week, I might not remember.” Her eyes opened. “Will you be back?”

Did she want that? He looked at the broken woman sitting frail and forlorn in front of him, and he couldn’t be angry. Not the way he wanted to be. Instead, he touched her shoulder. And he forgave her. Or at least he started down that path.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.”

He walked away, the nurse and Grace following him into the hall. Grace stepped close to him, her hand reaching for his. The nurse walked slightly ahead of him, and if her body language could speak, he guessed she was mad.

“When Ms. Stanford finds out, she’s going to be angry. She doesn’t like her mother upset.”

“Sorry, but I had a right to see her and to know her condition.”

“You might have rights, but I have a job to do. I can’t let you come in here and upset her.”

“It’s been twenty years and I had questions. I’m sure you’d have questions, too, if your mother had walked out on you. I’ll contact Ms. Stanford myself.”

He thought he was doing pretty good until he got in the truck. He sat behind the wheel for a minute, then he brushed at the dampness on his cheeks he hadn’t expected to feel. Tears. He was almost twenty-seven and he was crying over Sylvia Martin.

He hadn’t cried over her since that first night. Jake hadn’t let him. Now he knew why.

“Brody, are you okay?” Grace’s voice was soft, sweet. He’d nearly forgotten she was with him.

“I’m good.” He leaned back, eyes closed, taking deep breaths to clear the pain that had settled like a rock on his chest. “Man, this is crazy. I didn’t remember. I only remembered her driving away and crying because she wouldn’t come back. I remembered Duke and Jake holding me back, keeping me from running after her.”

“The brain has a way of blocking things.”

“Yeah, the painful memories, things that are traumatic. I know. All of these years I remembered her being manic. She would get a little crazy, dancing and laughing. And then she’d get angry. But I never remembered her hitting me.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I’m glad you can’t.” He started his truck. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

Before he could shift the truck into gear, she moved closer to him in the seat. With gentle hands she cupped his cheeks and turned him to face her. Her fingers slid through his hair to the back of his head. His heart ached in a whole new way as she touched her lips to his, kissing away the pain.

A whole lot of healing was in that kiss. She timidly brushed her lips against his. And then she leaned in closer. He kissed her back, hungry for her touch, for her kiss.

He needed her. He needed her touch, her softness, her love. He held her close, returning the kiss.

He needed her. But she couldn’t fix him. He knew that. It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t fair to her.

He pulled back, brushing a hand through her hair before setting her away from him.

“That was better than a bandage,” he managed to say with a smile.

But it felt a lot like ripping the scab off a wound.

* * *

The kiss had scared her senseless. Grace didn’t know what to say to him on that long ride back to Martin’s Crossing. Even when they stopped to eat, she could only sit across from him and try to make small talk.

Something had come out of that visit, being with him as he faced his mother. She got him now. She understood who he was. Now she got what it meant for him, when he’d picked her, choosing to trust her with his heart.

And she’d tossed it back to him without thinking what it cost him.

He had meant to give her a part of himself, a part that he’d never given anyone. Now she saw that letting him go might have been the biggest mistake of her life. It was too late for another chance, though. He’d promised never to let her back in. She’d promised her baby that she’d focus on the most important thing in her life—the child she would have in a matter of months.

She must have dozed off, because she woke with a start as he stopped in front of Oregon’s place. Her temporary home. She realized that more than ever. Being back in Fort Worth, back with her grandparents, she’d realized that she would have to go back now. There were no more reasons to stay away. She would go back to school, become a nurse, have her baby, and someday she’d have the husband, the home in the subdivision. The way she’d always planned, just with a side trip.

“You okay?” Brody asked as he opened his truck door.

“I’m good. I’m more worried about you,” she admitted. “Why don’t you stay for a little while? Have a glass of tea or maybe some cocoa. Oregon always has cocoa. The kind with little marshmallows.”

“No, I think I’ll pass on the little marshmallows. Don’t worry about me, Gracie. I’m used to shaking it off.”

“Why? You have family. You have friends.”

“I’m good. I really am.”

“No one is that good all the time, Brody. No one can go through what you’ve gone through today and not be a little battered.”