Where the Heart Leads (18 page)

Donna Sue blinked and shook her head as if to clear it. “But what—I'm missing something—does that have to do with Pen?”

“He came to the rehearsal last night and said we needed to change the location of the story from London to New York because of the song about John D. Rockefeller.”

Donna Sue's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in horror. “Ooh! When I read the script last summer—I can be such a ditz—it passed right by me.”

“I told him we'd work something out, but that I thought the playbills had already been printed. As it turned out I was wrong. Judy Schoenfeldt dropped by later in the evening to show me the mock-up, and she said it wouldn't be any trouble to replace the write-up of Victorian London with one of old-time New York. Then—and this is the best part—she stayed for the rest of the rehearsal to watch Phil.”

Donna Sue's eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I don't get it, babes. What's the big deal about Judy—she used to do theater, by the way, and she was really good—seeing her husband act like a department store mannequin?”

“Because the second he finished his first scene, Judy went down front and talked to him. I couldn't hear a word, but her body language was expressive enough. And when Phil went onstage for his next scene, he was transformed. I mean, you'd never mistake him for Rudolph Valentino, but he looked at Micaela, he smiled at her, and he actually touched her hand without acting like she might give him the cooties.”

“Two birds with one stone, Moira! You're super!”

Moira shook her head in denial. “I didn't have a thing to do with it. It was all Judy.”

A wail came from down the hall, and Donna Sue got up. “Ginny's unhappy about something. I'd better go see what's going on.”

“Take your time.”

Moira took a sip of hot cocoa and looked at the picture of Donna Sue and her family over the wood-burning fireplace. Xavier was strikingly handsome. Was he into theater? Did he sing?

Donna came back into the room with Ginny in her arms. “I think she's hungry. Do you mind if I nurse?”

“Not at all.”

Donna Sue opened her blouse, unsnapped the cup of her bra, and attached Ginny to her breast.

“So—how are things going with you and the Fontaines?”

“Beats me. I backed Xandra up on the tempo thing, but she still looks at me like I'm about to knife her in the back. I don't understand what's going on with those two.” She sighed. “But what the heck—they're patient with the adults and sweet with the kids, even Wendy Nixon, who can be a pain.”

Donna Sue shifted Ginny into a more comfortable position. “Give them a little time, babes—or maybe a lot—and they'll come around. The sisters Fontaine are nervous around new people.”

Moira took another swallow of cocoa and sat back in the chair. “You know, with their love of children, I'm surprised they never married. I've seen their publicity photos from when they were younger, and they were both quite attractive. It's odd, though, that when you get past that black hair—which they must be dyeing in India ink—they look even less like sisters than Astrid and I do. And their body builds are totally different too—Xandra is tall and long limbed, and Fleurette looks like a lady wrestler.”

Donna Sue switched Ginny to her other breast and gave her an amused smile.

“Oh, babes, did you really think Xandra and Fleurette are sisters? Let me tell you—my aunt worked voter registration and—at least according to the great state of Texas——they were not born Fontaines.”

“I don't understand.”

Donna Sue snapped her bra shut and closed her blouse. “Babes, no matter what they say, there's just one small—it's really minuscule—bedroom in that apartment over the studio.” She shrugged. “We all play along because they keep to themselves, and—as you say—they're patient with adults and good with the children.”

Moira blinked. “You mean…”

“They reinvented themselves—French names and all—so they could live together. You've got to understand the small-town mentality, babes. Everybody wants to know what's going on in everybody else's bedrooms—every juicy detail—but they aren't going to rock the boat.”

The door opened, and Donna Sue's face lit up. “Xavier! I'm so glad you got back early! I want you to meet Moira!”

Moira had barely gotten home before there was a knock on the door. Her heart sank. She'd noticed Rocky's yellow Jeep parked in front of Mrs. Fuller's house when she drove in.

She wanted to avoid the laughing girl for a while, but after all, her feelings of guilt weren't Rocky's fault. If the stories about Phil and the Athertons had made her uncomfortable, she should have said so instead of laughing.

But Rocky wasn't laughing today. She wasn't even smiling. “I've got to talk to you, hon. It's about something really important.”

Moira put Ivanhoe out, then opened the door and ushered Rocky into the family room. No sugar cookies this time.

Moira sat down on the couch and Rocky pulled up a chair. Moira had the impulse to put more distance between them, but made herself hold her ground.

“I don't know how to bring this up, hon, but you're my friend, and I don't want you to get hurt.”

“What do you mean?” What sort of story was Rocky going to feed her now?

“From what I hear, Rafe's a sex bomb and a half, but, hon, you gotta be careful. Maybe you need to back off of him. A lot of folks around here are thinking he had something to do with Beth's death.”

Rocky paused as if considering how to phrase bad news tactfully. “Now, I love Rafe to death, hon, but I've gotta tell you that a couple of days before she got killed, Beth told me she was going to up and leave him—take Delilah and go move in with her parents. She didn't like living on the ranch—the loneliness, all the noise when the calves and cows were separated for weaning, knowing that we castrate the little bulls at roundup, that sort of thing. And she said it was more important to leave right then because she was pregnant with a baby boy.”

Moira bit her tongue. A month ago she would have swallowed every word of what Rocky was saying. Now she knew to take it with a grain of salt—or maybe one of those big blocks of salt that Rocky was always talking about.

Rocky's taffy-colored ringlets bounced like coiled springs. “It was so sad. I knew Beth and Rafe had been fighting a lot lately, but I didn't know how it would end up.”

She laughed and threw her hands up as if releasing a bird into the air. “Of course, it's ridiculous, hon. Rafe had nothing to do with it. No way he could have arranged for one of those Mexican guys to kill Beth just by shooting his gun into the air. Even though Mervin Hruska has made two visits to Rafe's office lately and taken a deposition from Beth's brother, I'm sure that pathologist the city has hired isn't going to find anything.”

Moira couldn't let this go on any longer.

“But Rafe loved Beth and—”

Rocky glanced at her watch and stood up. “Hey! I've got to get a hustle on! Cattle don't move themselves across the river! Sorry to talk and run.” She laughed, reached down for her canvas bag that had a playful kitten painted on it, and headed for the door.

Moira watched out the window as Rocky hopped in her yellow Jeep and raced down the street way too fast for a family neighborhood.

What was that all about? Was Rocky trying to scare her off Rafe?

Thanksgiving day dawned bright, cold, and windy—just like the day Delilah had been born. She'd been almost a month early, Rafe remembered, and he'd prayed without ceasing all the way to the hospital.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, he retrieved the bouquet that he'd kept wet all night and drove to the cemetery.

It would be a full day, with Delilah's birthday falling on Thanksgiving this year. Hosting a combination Thanksgiving and birthday party was not in his field of expertise so Mom had moved back in to supervise the proceedings. At last count, there would be twenty-four adults and eleven children, including TexAnn and her family.

But before he did anything else, he had to visit Beth.

He parked on the church road and walked to her grave, then squatted down to put the Thanksgiving chrysanthemums in the vase and think things over. He thought about when he first saw her, the weekend she'd met his family, their two-year courtship, the day they got married, and their honeymoon in the foreman's cottage. They were so young, so infallible.

Their years at the University of Texas had been difficult, but somehow the hardships drew them even closer together, and when they graduated, the world had opened its arms to them. Beth was starring in Dallas productions, and he was an up-and-coming architect. Delilah had been the frosting on the cake.

Then Dad started having stomach trouble and he'd spent every other weekend in the Bosque Bend Hospital waiting room. And when the end came, he knew he had to move Beth and Delilah back to the ranch.

He'd been surprised at how quickly Beth had adjusted to the lifestyle. Oh God, they'd had so much together. They'd ride out every day, with Delilah on the saddle in front of him. And the week before Beth died, she'd told him she was pregnant.

He stood up. He would always love Beth, but she was slipping further away from him every day. And Moira was drawing closer and closer.

He bowed his head for a long minute, then stood up, tugged the gold band off his ring finger, and put it in his pocket.

Beth was the wife of his youth, but he wanted Moira to be the wife of his maturity.

A
strid turned around slowly so Moira could check her out from every angle.

“Do you think this sweater dress is okay? Is it too tight from the back? I can change into something else. There's still time.”

Moira gave her a puzzled look. “You look great, your butt's just fine, and I like your nail color.”

Something was going on with Astrid. Why was she acting so nervous? Not only was she concerned about what she was wearing, which had never before happened in the history of womankind, but instead of painting something like turkey drumsticks on her nails, she'd matched them to the deep mauve of her dress. What was different about today—aside from it being Thanksgiving, of course?

Moira sat down on the bed. “Are you sure you don't want to come to the C Bar M with me?”

Astrid shook her head, then made sure her chandelier earrings hadn't tangled themselves. “I told Dr. Sjoberg I'd come over to her house for Thanksgiving.”

Ivanhoe barked as an automobile horn sounded outside, and Astrid's head whipped around. “Right on time!”

Moira went on big-sister alert. Why was Astrid so excited about going to her boss's Thanksgiving dinner, and why had the car horn sounded different than usual?

“Uh, who is picking you up?” This wasn't her sister's usual ride.

Astrid turned away and reached for her purse. Her voice was studiously casual. “Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Aaron Sjoberg, Dr. Sjoberg's son. He's a veterinary student at Texas A&M, and he's been helping out at the office all week.”

So that was it. Moira smiled. At last Astrid had found herself a guy with the potential of commanding a fifty-dog kennel.

Rafe took charge of Moira as soon she walked through the door. He'd been watching for her out the front window for the last half hour as he fended off aunts, uncles, and cousins who knew damn well what he was doing and seemed to get an unholy joy out of trying to distract him.

Moira was a Renoir come to life—the bright eyes, the red cheeks, the tendrils of baby hair escaping from under the fur-lined hood of her blue twill coat. It was all he could do not to whip out an art pencil and make a quick sketch of her.

She handed him an oblong box wrapped in a paper with a design of pink-and-blue balloons on it. “Could you hold this for me? It's an American Girl doll, and it's from Astrid too. She couldn't come.” She looked around. “Where's Delilah?”

“She's upstairs in her playroom, workin' off her excess energy chasin' around after her cousins.” He put Moira's package down on the wide window ledge next to the door and helped her out of her coat. “Cousin Sharon is runnin' the show.”

Three of his mother's sisters, pretending they were casually passing through, drifted into the foyer. As he hung Moira's coat in the closet, he heard Aunt Clarice introduce herself and her sisters and, when he turned back, saw all three of them beaming at Moira as if she were pumpkin pie with whipped cream on it.

He'd known exactly how it would be. Today was a triple treat for the McAllister-Schuler clan—Thanksgiving dinner, Delilah's birthday, Moira Farrar.

The sisters all but congratulated him when he reclaimed Moira, told him how happy they were that she was joining them for Thanksgiving, then looked at one another as if transmitting a secret signal and moved on.

Moira didn't know it, but she'd passed her first test as far as the Schulers were concerned. Rafe put his arm around her waist and walked her into the living room, maneuvered her through a pack of teenagers too absorbed in each other to notice his guest, then walked her into the empty dining room to deposit Delilah's birthday gift on the overburdened buffet.

Moira glanced at the mixture of birthday and Thanksgiving decorations on the long table.

“What's the schedule of events?” she asked. The aroma wafting out the kitchen door reminded her that she'd skipped breakfast this morning.

“We all crowd around the table in about an hour and eat enough to last till Christmas. Then we'll watch Delilah open her presents and blow out her candles. Afterwards, while the aunts and uncles are sittin' in armchairs sleepin' off the tryptophan, TexAnn will herd the children upstairs to Delilah's playroom again.”

“TexAnn—she's here?” She wasn't sure whether she wanted to meet Rafe's formidable sister or not.

Rafe nodded. “She's helpin' Mom and Granny Mac in the kitchen. My great-grandmother, is in there too.”

He pushed the kitchen door open, and Enid came over to give Moira a quick hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Moira! Let me introduce you around! That's my grandmother, Oma Schuler, folding napkins at the table, and my mother-in-law, Granny Mac, is the one preparing the mushrooms. The one wielding the electric carving knife is Rafe's sister, TexAnn.”

Moira eyed the serrated edge of the knife. Enid's daughter looked like a younger edition of her mother, but she also looked like someone who could command an army. It was obvious why TexAnn would run for senator, but Moira was surprised that she wasn't running for governor.

TexAnn laid an authoritative hand on her mother's shoulder. “Mom, everything's under control here, and Sharon will be bringing the kids down in about twenty minutes, so how about you getting rid of the apron and introducing Moira to the rest of the family? I think the Schulers have congregated in the family room. I can hear the piano.”

In other words, TexAnn was ordering her mother to go enjoy herself.

Enid made a gesture of surrender and let Rafe put his arm around her and walk her out of the kitchen.

The front door swung open as they reached the foyer, and Rocky stepped inside, hauling what looked like a large cardboard box behind her. “Howdy, y'all! Can anyone help me with this thing? It's for Delilah.”

As Rafe took the box from her and leaned it against the newel post, Moira finally made out what Rocky's gift was—the big, expensive flap-out playhouse Overton's had advertised in yesterday's
Retriever
.

Rocky put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Where's the birthday girl?”

“The kids are upstairs in the playroom,” Enid answered.

“Well, I'm still a kid myself so that's where I'll be too!” Rocky declared with a melodic laugh. “Hey, Moira, how about you walking me up the stairs?”

Enid waved her hand. “You two girls go on up and see Delilah.” She winked at Moira. “The Schulers can wait for another day.”

Moira laughed and joined Rocky on the stairs. Maybe she could begin all over again with Rocky, now that she knew not to take her seriously.

“How's it going with Travis?” she ventured. Rocky's husband's health was a safe topic. No way it could evoke any funny stories that she'd feel ashamed of laughing at later.

Rocky laughed. “He's feeling sorta puny today and decided to stay home. He's saving himself for roundup tomorrow.”

“Roundup?”

“Didn't Rafe tell you? The McAllisters always hold a roundup on the day after Thanksgiving. That's when they castrate the baby calves.”

Moira refused to respond to her sidelong glance. Was Rocky trying to provoke her?

They reached the landing and followed the hullabaloo to Delilah's room, or rather, her suite. She had two rooms—one for sleeping, and one for playing—which could be separated by the same kind of sliding doors that guarded Rafe's bathroom, closet, and office The doors were open now, and the children were running back and forth, engaged in some sort of catch-me game, while Carmen Atherton and a redheaded woman looked on.

Moira glanced around. Delilah's sleeping area, which faced out over the front of the house, was sweet and simple—a single bed with a lamp on a table on one side of it and a wall of closets on the other side. Over her bed hung a pencil drawing in an oval frame.

Rocky noticed her interest. “That's Beth, but it doesn't look like her. She had a lantern jaw, and her hair was flat straight—not a bit of body in it.”

Moira studied the sketch. The broad jaw was there, but somehow it worked with the rest of her features. Maybe love was blind, but it was also likely that Rafe was recording more than Beth's chin and hair. Even in the photo in Enid's collage, Beth had a radiance about her, a glow, that Rafe had captured perfectly in his drawing.

Delilah, suddenly aware she was in the room, rushed over to embrace her, then took her by the hand to lead her into the midst of the children. “I want to 'troduce you to all my cousins.”

Moira had just finished helping Delilah put all her My Little Ponies to bed when TexAnn came upstairs to call everyone to dinner. Rocky immediately stepped forward and exerted her auntie rights to walk the birthday girl downstairs, which left Moira and Carmen bringing up the rear.

Carmen gave her a warm smile as they walked to the landing. “You know, Enid really likes you. She's telling everybody how happy she is that Rafe's found someone he wants to bring home.”

Well, that was a quite a conversation starter. “I like Enid too.” What else could she say? What was the accepted way to acknowledge the approval of one's sexual partner's mother?

They started down the stairs. “Delilah's my goddaughter,” Carmen continued. “Beth was my best friend all through school—and an even better friend then when I came back to Bosque Bend with my baby.”

Beth was Carmen's best friend? But Rocky had said
she
was Beth's best friend.

Thanksgiving dinner had been cleared from the table, Delilah had opened her gifts and been serenaded by all present, Carmen and Rocky had left, the birthday girl was down for a well-deserved nap, and TexAnn was driving her grandmother and great-grandmother back to Waco.

Moira stayed to help Enid with the final cleanup, while Rafe went out to the barn to prepare for the roundup. Once the last counter had been wiped, Enid broke out a bottle of Pinot Noir and the two women sat down at the kitchen table.

Enid took a healthy swallow. “I've been meaning to thank you for rescuing Sammy. As many brothers and sisters as I have, I'm closer to some than to others, but I have a loyalty to all of them—and their kids. In fact, I'm writing a family memoir.”

“With the size of your family, that's quite an undertaking.”

“Oh, I've already covered the Schulers. Now I'm working on the McAllisters and the history of the ranch. It's one of those classic Old West stories, but it's more about relationships than cattle.”

Moira sipped at her drink and activated her mental recorder. “That's the best kind.”

“Back in the 1850s, Rocky's great-grandfather won the ranch in a poker game and started running cattle. But he didn't have a lick of business sense and would have lost every acre of it if Gilbert McAllister hadn't stepped in. They went half and half, but Colby resented sharing—it's always that way when the money person comes on the scene. Anyway, Colby thought he could win the ranch back if he played enough poker, but the cards went against him this time.”

Moira nodded. So this was why Bertie Fuller had told Astrid that the C Bar M had been stolen from the Colbys.

“You'd think the animosity would have died down in this generation, but grudges last a long time in a small town. The Colbys have been grumbling ever since.” Enid raised her glass to her lips. “I never took to Rocky's mother. She wasn't the sweetie she pretends to be. Rafe thinks Bertie Fuller—who is the most gullible person on the face of the earth—was the source of the rumors about the ranch and Beth's death, but I think it was Theda Eagan and that she repeated the big lie often enough that Bertie and Chub believed her.”

Enid paused as if she were wondering whether to go on.

Moira didn't say a word, just looked expectant. Whatever the story was, she wanted to hear it all.

“Rocky made a play for Rafe early on, but he'd already met Beth, so then she went after Travis—he and Micaela were having problems at the time. I think Rocky told him she was pregnant because the next thing that his father and I knew was that they were married. Three months later, she said she'd had a miscarriage.”

She finished off her glass with a flourish, then looked straight at Moira.

“Rocky's the sort of person that women catch on to, but men never figure out till it's too late. Rafe's father thought Rocky was a ministering angel because she sneaked ‘real food' in for him when he was in the hospital.” Enid poured herself another half glass and topped off Moira's glass, which wasn't anywhere near empty. “I wish he'd seen her face when she learned Rafe inherited everything, just like the oldest son always has.”

Moira took a few more sips from her own glass. She wasn't a drinker so it was heady stuff to her, but what Enid was telling her was even stronger.

Too many things were adding up against Rocky for her to ignore. Maybe she'd better steer clear of the laughing girl for a while. At least till she sorted everything out.

The Christmas season went into full swing the next day. Cars sprouted felt deer horns out their windows and cheerful plastic wreaths on their grills, cedars along the road wound themselves with tinsel garlands, Santa Clauses sat on rooftops, reindeer pranced on parched lawns, and a Salvation Army bell ringer had stationed himself in front of Walmart.

Rafe bought the biggest wreath he could find and dropped a twenty into the pot as he left. He'd have to remember to arrange for a couple of cast members to come sing carols around the kettle. It would be good publicity and bring in a few more bucks for the Salvation Army Christmas dinners.

Yesterday had been a good day. It was always a good day when the family got together, and Thanksgiving falling on Delilah's birthday this year made everything extra special.