Where the Heart Leads (12 page)

Sammy's voice rang out from the back of the auditorium. “It's the same thing his father had! Get him to the hospital! Quick!”

Moira walked through the double doors of the Bosque Bend Hospital waiting room, then winced at the overbright fluorescent lights.

To make it worse, the long, windowless walls were covered with a repeated design of floor-to-ceiling blowups of children swinging into the air, teenagers frolicking at the seashore, and an elderly couple strolling along a blue-flowered pathway—all spaced between wide diagonal stripes of pink and cream.

Enid McAllister sat on one end of a sick pink vinyl couch. A tote bag lay on the floor beside her, and a skein of green yarn was in her lap. She looked up, tried for a smile, and patted the space beside her.

“Come sit with me, Moira. It would be nice to have some company.”

Moira settled herself on the couch and asked the question she was afraid of hearing the answer to. “How's Travis?”

He'd become more than a cast member to her. He was Rafe's brother.

“They're running tests. The doctors don't know yet whether or not they'll check him in. It could be something minor, but with our family history, they want to be sure. I'm camping out here for now.” Her mouth twisted. “I know the drill.”

“How…how many times has Travis had this kind of attack?”

Enid looked down at her hands as if they could provide an answer. Moira wanted to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, but held back. After all, she'd only met Rafe's mother once, and Enid probably knew that she and her son were on the outs.

“I don't know. He doesn't tell me these things—doesn't want to worry me.”

“Has—has anyone contacted Rocky?

Enid's face froze for a semi-second, and her eyebrows lifted. “No one can reach her.”

Moira blinked. So, she hadn't imagined it—there was bad blood between Enid and her daughter-in-law, but it wasn't fair for Enid to hold it against Rocky that she hadn't shown up at the hospital yet. There could be all sorts of legitimate reasons why she wasn't here, none of which Moira could think of at the moment. But she glued her mouth shut. Enid didn't need to hear a spirited defense of Rocky when her son might be at death's door.

Enid reached for her knitting needles. “How did the rest of the practice go?”

“Sergio Benton, Travis's understudy, finished the scene with Phil that we were working on.”

Moira watched Enid's needles guide the yarn in and out of itself. “I—I hope you're not offended that I continued with the rehearsal.”

Enid looked up from her knitting. “Moira, if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's to keep on going. We may find out that all Travis is suffering from is an addiction to my brother's pork ribs. And you did the right thing—arranged for him to get to the hospital immediately.”

“Actually, it wasn't me—I didn't understand was happening. Your nephew, Sammy Schuler, was the one who said to take Travis to the hospital. Before I knew it, Buck Overton had walked Travis off the stage and out the door. I never imagined he could be so decisive.”

She'd have to completely revamp her image of Desdemona's boyfriend. Apparently he was the strong, silent type.

Enid rested her knitting again. “I've always had a fondness for Buck. It was hard for him to grow up in the shadow of his brother, and Dolph Junior is as ignorant and boorish as his father.”

Moira's eyebrows went up. Apparently Enid McAllister wasn't one to mince words.

The doors to the waiting room swung open, and Enid looked up with hope on her face, but the newcomer was an anxious-looking middle-aged woman escorting a teenage boy whose arm was hanging at a painful angle. They went up to the intake window at the rear of the room, and a nurse opened the door to the treatment area.

Who was Enid expecting?
Rafe?
Moira bit her lip. If Rafe did walk in, what would he think of her sitting here with his mother?

The doors opened again, and Micaela Atherton burst through. Her cheeks were flushed; the orchid pinned on her elegant lace dress was hanging dangerously loose; and her hair, usually disciplined into a sleek twist, was almost as disarranged as her mother's.

Enid rose from the couch and embraced her like she was a long-lost daughter.

Moira's mouth fell open. Why were Enid and her son's paramour so chummy? Sure, Enid would have become friendly with Micaela when Travis was dating her, but Micaela was the “other woman” now. Did Enid approve of her son fooling around on his wife? The situation was getting more Hollywood by the moment.

Micaela drew a chair over to the couch and laid her sequined evening bag on the floor beside her. “What happened? I was singing at the Nyquist wedding, and Mom called to tell me Travis was in the hospital, that it was his stomach again. Is there a definite diagnosis?”

Enid shook her head. “They're calling it gastritis, just like with his father.”

Micaela buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, I pray. I pray for so much.”

Enid laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know, dear. So do I.”

There was a commotion at the door and Rocky pushed through them. Her jeans were a shiny dark blue, with copper-colored conchos down the sides, and her pale blue denim shirt complemented the tight taffy ringlets bouncing against her shoulders.

Micaela rose from the chair and picked up her evening bag, obviously preparing to leave.

Rocky's eyes were hard, but her voice was syrupy with concern. “Oh, do you have someone in the hospital too, Micaela? Did your dear mother have a stroke?”

Micaela gave her back smile for smile. “You're so kind, Rocky, but Mother is just fine.” She turned to Enid. “It was nice visiting with you, Mrs. McAllister, and I do hope your son will recover quickly.”

The doors closed behind her, and Rocky took the chair Micaela had vacated.

“I'm so sorry I wasn't here, Enid. I drove down to San Saba to help my cousin's wife with her PTA coat drive—those poor little tykes were so grateful—and didn't realize my cell had run out of juice. I got Billie Joe's message on my landline as soon as I got home.” She laid her hand on Enid's arm, and her voice lowered to a sepulchral whisper. “How's Travis doing?”

Enid shook her head. “No news yet.”

“Is Rafe in with him?”

“He's trying to find someone to stay with Delilah.”

A male nurse came back in and walked over to them.

Rocky stood up. “What's the word?”

“Still nothing yet, ma'am. But just to be on the safe side, we're admitting Mr. McAllister to the hospital for the night. He can have visitors now, but relatives only, and no more than two at a time.” His gaze swept the three women.

Moira edged back on the couch. “I'll wait here for you and Rocky.”

She'd flip through the stack of
People
on the table beside the couch. Maybe somebody she used to work with had scored a feature story.

But half a dozen reports on Johnny Blue's outrageous escapades and one croupy baby later, Moira was still alone in the waiting room. She looked at the clock on the wall. Almost eleven, and she was coming on sleepy. Maybe she should leave while she could still drive, but she didn't want to run out on Enid and Rocky.

The intake doors banged open, and her head snapped up.

Rafe.

His hair was a mass of rumpled flames, and his shirt was hanging out of his jeans.

Moira rose from the couch. “I'll go on now. Rocky and your mother are in with Travis. They should be back soon.”

His voice was raw with pain. “Don't leave. Please.”

He sat down beside her and rubbed his face as if he was in pain, then sat silent and unmoving, a hand spread across his forehead and eyes.

Moira clenched her hands, wanting to help, to comfort him, but not sure of what to do. She tried to rise again. “I'll…I'll see if the admittance clerk will let you—”

He grasped her wrist and pulled her back the couch. “No. Stay with me. I've been through this before. There's nothing anyone can do. Nothing.”

He ran his hand through his hair, then speared her with his eyes. His voice was low and guttural, almost a growl.

“I need to talk.”

H
e'd just put Delilah to bed when Billie Joe's call came in. Then he'd spent what seemed like an eternity tracing down Mrs. Goodrich, who, as it turned out, was playing Bunco at her daughter-in-law's house just down the road from the C Bar M.

God, he was tired—tired, frustrated, and angry, an explosive combination. He glared at the wall art, which he hated. Those pictures—childhood, adulthood, and old age. The three stages of life—all that damn thing needed to finish it off was an open coffin.

He had to make Moira understand.

“I spent hours in this room each time Dad had another attack, and then later, when he was dying. And I was here for Travis last spring and again, a month ago, just before you came to town.” He grimaced as he looked at the photos on the wall again. “They've tried to perk the place up, but there might as well be prayer stalls and incense here—no one is in this room unless something really serious is happening on the other side of those damn doors.”

He didn't know if Moira understood what he was saying or not, but at least she was looking him in the face now, which was a big improvement over the rehearsal, when she'd reverted to ice princess again.

Curiosity had been written all over the other cast members' faces, but he'd put on one of the greatest shows of his life, laughing and exchanging clever quips, pretending he wasn't at all concerned that Moira had frozen up on him.

But apparently the ice dam was broken because she was listening to him now too.

“Sammy said something about your father having the same thing.”

He nodded. “Dad's first bout was four years ago, just after Travis and Rocky were married.” He ran his hand through his hair again. It helped him think. “He was in and out of the hospital for six months. I was still living in Dallas and came down on weekends. Travis had his hands full with the ranch so it was mainly Mom and Rocky taking care of Dad.”

“What was the diagnosis?”

Rafe snorted his derision. “Gastritis, always gastritis. But it didn't matter what he ate or how many pills he took, the pain always came back.”

He sprang up and moved around the room, then stopped to glare at that damned white-haired couple on the wall, each of them bursting with health and vitality.

The rage grew in him—maybe it had never left him—and he smacked his fist into his hand.

“Sixty-two is too young to die! Hell, my great-grandfather Gilbert lived till he was ninety-five, and that was back in the day! And my grandfather made it to eighty-three before he got careless walking a horse into a travel van!”

Moira came over and put her arm around his back. “I'm so sorry. It's hard to lose people you love.” Her voice was soft and calming.

Goddamn!
Didn't anything unnerve her but that goddamn scar? Didn't she understand what he was goddamn saying?

He turned on her. “My father died on my watch! And now my brother is dying! And I can't do a fucking thing about it!”

She dropped her arm and stepped back a pace.

For the first time, she understood Rafe McAllister. He was a lot more than a sexy, easy-living, howdy-ma'am guy who had the wherewithal to dabble in theater. A lot more than the talented architect who designed horse barns and renovated old schools, more than the tough rancher who guarded his herd against snakes, hogs, coyotes, and panthers. Rafe was driven, just like the people she'd grown up around. The actors, the directors, the producers, the cameramen, the makeup artists, even the script girl—everyone on the lot—they had that same fire within them, and they crashed through impassible barriers every day to reach impossible goals.

But what Rafe had taken on was the total responsibility for his chunk of the world. He'd designed a prize-winning barn for his father, repurposed Bosque Bend's old high school, and was laying down plans to gentrify the whole block around the Huaco Theater.

And now he wanted to stave off death.

She locked eyes with him. “Rafe, if I knew a magic word, I'd heal Travis for you.” She reached out to him. “And I apologize about…yesterday. I wanted to…be with you, but I…panicked.”

He gave her a searching look, then crushed her in his embrace and claimed her lips. The overbright room dimmed to a haze, and she looped her arms around his neck.

Rafe was a good man, a caring man. He loved his family and supported his community.

He was also the man she had danced close and slow with, the man in whose arms she'd come alive, a man whose fire had lit her like a torch from the first moment she saw him.

Whatever he wanted from her, she would give.

T
he sky was overcast on Thursday morning, and the air was still, its silence broken only by a few reluctant birdcalls.

After Astrid left, Moira put on her denim jacket and took Ivanhoe out for a walk to show off his extra-extra-large Batman outfit and look at the cul-de-sac's Halloween decorations. Ghosts and skeletons danced from trees, gleeful witches rode their broomsticks across windows, and zombies stalked the yards.

She shivered as a gust of wind swooped down the street, tumbling autumn leaves across the pavement and reminding her that she didn't live in Pasadena anymore. Ivanhoe seemed to be enjoying the weather, but he had a thick fur coat on. She, on the other hand, was freezing her tail off.

Which meant she couldn't put getting winter coats off any longer, especially since Astrid was off at eleven today. They'd drive into town and do some shopping. She'd throw lunch at Billie Joe's Calico Cat into the bargain.

The minute Dr. Sjoberg dropped Astrid off, Moira hustled her sister into the Toyota.

“Happy day before Halloween. It's coat-buying day.”

As she backed out of the driveway, Mrs. Fuller glanced up from the vicious-looking, red-eyed spiders she was affixing to her tombstones and yelled hello.

Astrid waved back, then tilted her head in thought and turned to Moira.

“I don't get it. Mrs. Fuller's been really sweet, but she talks smack about the McAllisters all the time. Yesterday evening, when I was walking Ivanhoe, she told me that everybody in Bosque Bend knows that Rafe's great-grandfather stole the C Bar M from the Colbys, that the ranch really belongs to Rocky and her mother.”

Moira gave Astrid a quick glance. “Any idea where Mrs. Fuller is getting this from?”

“She keeps talking about Alice and Chub. I think Alice is her daughter.”

“Alice and Chub—Delilah said they were her aunt and uncle so Chub must be Beth's brother. Delilah also said they were mad at her daddy.” Moira sighed. “Families get messed up sometimes.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Don't we know it.”

An hour later, bundled up in their new coats, Moira and Astrid braved the elements and walked down the street to the Calico Cat, which was located in a century-old bakery just off the square. Billie Joe herself met them at the door, seated them at a corner table, then bustled off to greet Mayor Traylor and his wife as they came in.

Astrid hung her quilted A-line coat on the back of her chair and looked around at the sea of white tablecloths, the hardwood slat floor, and the glistening brass rails of the balcony.

“This place is awesome. I love the border thing all around the wall—those calico cats tumbling all over one another. And the balcony looks so glamorous, like something out of cowboy times.”

Moira nodded. “Billie Joe really has something going on here.”

The woman might not be able to tell her left foot from her right, but she sure knew how to set up a restaurant.

Astrid laid her menu down and looked across the table at her sister. “Hey, we really made a hit at Overton's Department Store with that Dolph guy. I thought he'd start salivating any minute. And the reductions he gave us on our coats! I think he would have ended up giving them to us free if we'd really pushed.”

“That was Dolph Junior. His father, Dolph Senior, owns the store. There's a younger son too—Buck's in the cast, but he's shy around women.”

Billie Joe came back to take their orders. “I'm really glad you came by today, Moira. The most wonderful thing has happened. A Hollywood reporter came by this morning and said he wants to write about the show—well, he asked about you mostly. Xandra and Fleurette—they always eat breakfast here—wouldn't talk to him, but I told him how much we all like you. He said he had to leave right away to cover some kind of story in Houston, but he'd be back before our opening night because the story had to be in by then or he'd lose the assignment. Isn't that great? Hollywood is interested in our
Gift of the Magi
!”

“What's his name?”

“Boyd Yancey—do you know him?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“I'll bring you his card. He wants you to contact him.”

She gave Billie Joe a practiced smile. “Thanks, Billie Joe. I'll see if I can work him in.”

Like hell she would.
The second anniversary of Colin's death had just passed, and she had a pretty good idea what Boyd Yancey really wanted to interview her about.

She rolled her lips in. But he wasn't going to get a word out of her, now or ever.

Rafe's voice called out to Moira as she crossed the street to the museum, and she stayed at the curb to wait for him.

Her heart beat faster as he came closer.

Yeah, she was stuck on this guy.

He took her arm.

“But it's Thursday, Rafe. What about Delilah?”

“Mom is staying at the house tonight to finish Delilah's Halloween costume—she wants to be a fairy so she can have a magic wand to hit boys over the head and turn them into frogs—so I thought I'd drive in and practice with the chorus for a few minutes, then visit Travis in the hospital. Will that work out?”

“Fine. How's Travis doing?”

“If nothing else happens, they're sending him home tomorrow. Rocky's got a truckload of Jell-O waiting for him.”

They entered the building and started up the steps.

“Hey, I've been wonderin'—what are you wearin' for the Pumpkin Party?”

What was she wearing?
She gave him questioning glance. “You mean long sleeves or short sleeves? I guess it depends on the weather.”

“No, I mean, what kind of
costume
will you be wearin'? Angel, devil, French maid?” He gave her a theatrical leer and twirled a nonexistent mustache.

She still didn't understand. “I wasn't planning on one. I haven't worn a Halloween costume since I was a child.” And even then, it had been as an extra in
A Nightmare on Elm Street
knockoff. “Are—are you dressing up for Halloween?”

“Of course. We all do. Why should the kids have all the fun?”

“What are you going to be?”

His eyes sparkled at her. “Let's make it a surprise.”

They reached the top of the stairs and walked into the auditorium together. Every head in the house turned. By the time they got halfway down the aisle, the applause had started.

Moira gave everyone a smile of appreciation, then got down to business and called the whole cast to come up onstage so Vashti could run them through both versions of “Street Song.” With Halloween being on Friday, they only had one more day to rehearse this week, and she wanted to shore up the first act as much as possible.

Everything sounded good. Rafe's strong bass wove in and out of the chorus, and when the children's high-pitched voices were added, it would be perfect.

Not that she was really aware of anything but Rafe.

He stayed halfway through the rest of the scene as Phil and Micaela went through the “Walking Along with You, Down the Avenue” sequence, in which they enjoy a window-shopping stroll down the street. It set up the story. First Micaela admired a particular hat in the milliner's window and sang “Ribbons, Feathers, and Flowers.” Then Phil, after checking out his pocket watch, came back at her with “Lovely Locks,” insisting that he didn't want her to wear anything that covered up her beautiful hair.

The scene was going well for a first run-through, Moira thought, but it would be better if Phil could bring himself to act more like he was attracted to Micaela.

Next, she called Sergio up for the major Dreamer scene so he would feel comfortable if—
when
he needed to step in.

Her antennae went up. She hadn't realized how good Sergio was. If she'd been the one doing the casting, he'd have gotten the role over Travis. No matter what he sang, Travis's baritone had a country-western delivery, while Sergio's tenor was pure musical theater. And he could sing the high notes without resorting to falsetto.

“Nice work!” she called up to him.

Sergio ducked his head in her direction, then hopped offstage and joined Buck, Desdemona, and Sammy in the back of the auditorium.

Moira nodded toward the ballerina. “Okay, let's see what ‘Della's Dream' looks like again, and then I'll let everyone go for the evening.”

Desdemona hurried down the aisle, holding her dance shoes by their ribbons, then sat on a prop chair to change out of her tennies and clomped over, flat-footed, to stand beside Micaela. The combination of stylishly ragged jeans, an overlarge Eisenhower Consolidated T-shirt, and stiffened shoes was a picture Moira would not easily forget.

Moira signaled Vashti to begin. This scene was tricky—Desdemona was supposed to reflect Micaela the same way that the Dreamer reflected Phil, but this time the reflection was expressed in dance. Moira watched as Micaela looked into a mirror that wasn't there, faced the audience that wasn't there, and began to sing, confiding her heart's desires.

Three measures in, Carmen lifted her violin, cuing Desdemona, who'd been frozen like a statue in the background, to begin her slow, graceful, wake-up movements.

Moira relaxed back in her seat. So far, so good. Later she'd have to bring in the other ballerinas—the older Loughlin girl and two chorus members. Like every other chorus member, the three girls were double cast, which meant their costume change before the next scene was going to have to be lightning fast.

Desdemona had the stage now, with Micaela providing a soft, wordless melody in the background. The two women related to each other, blending into one. There was chemistry between them, as if they cared for each other, which was exactly what Phil's scenes with Micaela did not have.

Moira applauded loudly and wished everyone a happy Halloween.

Oh God, she still didn't have a costume

Ivanhoe yipped a welcome from the backyard as the doorbell rang. Rafe was here, but Moira wasn't sure she was ready yet.

She'd tried for Mexican senorita, an easy costume for a couple of California girls. Her spangled fiesta skirt and the flamenco shoes were authentic, but Astrid's short-sleeved, heavily embroidered peasant blouse was a leftover from high school, and the red sash she'd knotted around her waist had started life as a fashion scarf. The little black velvet purse with the gold chain was just something that had shown up in their luggage.

She looped her neck with a couple of yards of red wooden beads from H-E-B's Christmas aisle and looked in the mirror again. Then just for kicks, she pushed the blouse off her shoulders—after all, adult Halloween costumes were usually outrageously sexy. But no, that was too obvious.

Besides, Rafe would have Delilah with him.

The doorbell rang and she shrugged the blouse back into place. Damn—part of her wanted to run for the hills, and another part of her wanted to throw herself into Rafe's arms and beg him to carry her away to his knightly castle on his white horse—preferably not Bella—and make wild, passionate love to her.

Personally, she was rooting for the knightly castle scenario.

As she walked down the hall, she could hear Rafe trying to convince Astrid to come along with them again. He'd called earlier in the day to be sure Astrid knew she was invited, but she'd insisted that she'd rather stay at the house with Ivanhoe.

Moira slung the little purse over her arm and picked up the rose-patterned shawl Astrid had contributed, then made her grand entry into the living room.

A charming strawberry-blonde fairy awaited her. Enid had done a top-notch job. Delilah's costume came complete with delicately tinted gauze wings, a cape in iridescent pastels, shoes that twinkled on and off, and a wand made of tinsel strung through a narrow plastic tube—not exactly the sort of thing that could cause a preschool boy any damage, Moira noted.

The fairy was accompanied by the sexiest-looking pirate Moira had ever seen. Cowboy Rafe was a turn-on, but Pirate Rafe raised the bar with his knee-high stage boots, black-and-red striped pants that looked like they were painted on, and a black frock coat over a white shirt unlaced enough to reveal a spread of russet chest hair.

He swept the tricornered hat off his head and bent his knee to execute the perfect pirate bow.

“Cap'n Hook McAllister at your service, ma'am.”

Delilah giggled and grabbed at his leg. “Dad-dee.”

Rafe picked his daughter up in his arms and gave her a quick kiss. “And here's my Tinkerbell.”

Moira fluttered her eyelashes and played along. “Alas, Cap'n. I know naught of the high seas. I am but an innocent senorita on her way to a Halloween party in Texas.”

“We'll give you a lift in our galleon, then. It's parked at the curb.” He looked at his watch, not exactly regulation equipment for a seventeenth-century pirate. “And we better get a move on. The gates to Wonderland have already opened.”

Astrid walked out with them to light the jolly-faced jack-o'-lantern on the front porch, and Rafe made one last try at including her in the outing. “Are you sure you want to stay at the house? The carnival is a lot of fun, and costumes aren't mandatory.”

“Thanks, but not this year.” She stood up and looked at the canine face staring at her through the screen door. “Ivanhoe needs me. This is his first Halloween.”

Moira waved her sister good-bye, then watched as Rafe lifted Delilah into the backseat and strapped her in.

Now it was her turn. His breath whispered in her ear as his palms slid up under her breasts and his thumbs found her nipples.

“All hands on deck.”

Rafe parked behind his office, which was the nearest he was going to be able to get to the square tonight. The night wind was brisk, but once they got inside the grounds, the crowd would cut the wind and generate enough heat to warm them up.