Texas Redeemed (17 page)

That was a first, Marin admitting what she valued over
her son. Was that A.A. talking? The “’fess up to your
screw-ups” step? Or was this heartfelt regret?

At the end of his shift, Peyton found several missed-call
notifications on his cell phone, all from his grandfather, and a brief text
message from Valerie, asking him to come out to the ranch. He dealt with
Nathaniel first, who warned him that Marin was in town and he should watch his
back. Not only did he
not
need his
grandfather controlling him like a marionette, he didn’t appreciate the vulgar
words the old man had substituted for Marin’s name. But his aggravation eased,
and something that felt like peace of mind bloomed, when he read Valerie’s
text.

Without sacrificing more time than it took to change out
of his scrubs and into a plaid shirt and jeans, Peyton drove to Battle Creek
more keyed up than he had any right to be.

The afternoon was fading into evening when he turned onto
Prosper Boulevard. Valerie’s breathless shouts preceded her as she ran, arms
floundering, down the slope toward the road. Alarmed, he parked at the curb and
leapt over the split rail fence to get to her.

“What’s wr—”

“Get her!” Even as she shot the order to him, Valerie
threw her arms out and dove for a pinkish-white pig that was astonishingly
quick for its portliness. The animal darted out of the way on its short legs
and, with a triumphant squeal, off it went in another direction.

Valerie scrambled up, growling, “Damn it, Tilly! I should
trade
you
for the llama.”

None of this was making any sense, but it was apparent
she wanted the pig caught. So when it scurried past Peyton, he crouched and
sprang. And somehow got his arms around the stocky little
deviant’s neck.

“Thank you!” Valerie hurried to them, ineffectively
brushing blades of grass off her cable-knit sweater. “I don’t want to think what
could’ve happened to her if she’d made it onto the road.”

“You own a pig?”

“Coop Calhoun does. Tilly’s a firecracker all on her own,
but our goat brings out the worst in her.” Valerie yanked a harness and leash
from her jeans pockets, dropped to her haunches and got to work strapping in
the pig.

“What’s this about a llama?”

“Lucy and her friend Sarah Carew’s
plot. Swap our goat for the Carews’ llama. I
wasn’t so sure about it, but after chasing Tilly from her pen practically to the
road—Aaahhh!” The pig reared up, pushing its wet
snout into Valerie’s face and knocking her onto her rear.

Though Tilly resisted, its curlicue tail twitching,
Valerie cradled the animal close and drew in a fortifying breath, her gaze
slowly skating over Peyton as he sat on the ground beside her. “There’re grass
clippings all over you.”

“You, too.”

“I didn’t ask you over to catch Tilly.”

A breeze, scented with dirt and sunshine and pig sweat,
tossed a lock of hair across her face. Automatically he tucked the long, wavy
strands behind her ear, tracing its shape with the back of his finger. Then he
leaned, and his lips and teeth gently found her lobe. “Then why, Valerie?”

He watched her suck in a shallow breath, saw her front
teeth scrape her bottom lip. “Your mother’s in Night Sky, working at the
diner.”

“I know. She was at Memorial today.”

Valerie went still. “What’d she say?”

“A variation of the same thing she always says when she
drops into my life.” Except Marin had seemed different this
time, in attitude and disposition. Had she been …
genuine? “I don’t need someone else to run her down to me. My
grandfather’s already done that.”

She shook her head and that errant piece of hair flew
across her face again. Only this time he didn’t intervene. “I just wanted to be
the one to tell you about … Well, to tell you she’s back. I asked her not to
hurt you again.”

Valerie had been looking out for him?

“I don’t want Lucy caught in the middle this time,” she
went on, drop-kicking the hope that had kindled inside him just now. “Needless
to say she won’t be hanging out at the diner.”

Marin hadn’t mentioned Lucy, and Peyton didn’t think she
had any designs to force her way into the girl’s life. “Isn’t that a little
extreme?”

“Not if it means sparing my daughter from that woman’s bullshit.
Peyton, can you really play the role of Marin’s son
and
Lucy’s father?”

“My mother’s not a part of what we’re figuring out
between you and me and our daughter. Yes,
our
daughter.”

“Okay. Ours.” Valerie stood up,
holding tight to Tilly’s leash. “But think about this. Each time Marin comes
back she destroys a piece of you. I won’t let Lucy be that piece.”

A
SMALL CROWD
had gathered on the ranch
within the hour Valerie spent going over the details of the cattle drive
itinerary with Dinah and Lucy. It was a twice-a-year routine, moving the herds
to summer and winter pasture, but the slightest miscommunication could spark disaster
with Battle Creek’s owner, managers and hands all acres away and unable to
respond quickly to any problem at the house.

“There’ll be two deliveries from the feed store while
we’re gone—on Wednesday and Saturday. Make sure Doug McNamara and his boy can
access the pens.” Valerie adjusted the reading glasses that had slipped down
her nose as she bent over the folder crammed with notes.

In her periphery Lucy let out an excited squeal and sat a
little straighter on the kitchen counter where she was perched in her pajamas
and the sheepskin boots she wore as slippers.

“Problem, Luce?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good.” Valerie reached for her thermos of hot chocolate
and wished for something with a stronger dose of caffeine, though she was
already wired and stressed. Peyton was on his way to the ranch to spend the day
with their daughter.

“Darlin’, I’m your aunt, not a
warden,” Dinah had protested when Valerie had assigned her the duty of watching
Peyton like a hawk. She’d insisted that he would feel mistrusted and humiliated,
and that the whole “durned” thing might turn him off the idea of trying to have
a relationship with his little girl. But in the end she’d respected Valerie’s
wishes and agreed to keep an eye on him during the week Valerie and the others
would be away.

“I’m thinking we should have the cattle in the valley by
day six, so we ought to be home by late afternoon on day seven.” She flipped
through the pages again, handing Dinah a list of emergency contact numbers,
including Lucy’s pediatrician.

Dinah sent her a level look. “There’ll be a doctor on site
often enough, Val.”

“Please don’t,” was all Valerie said. She swiped her
high-crowned hat and two-way radio from the counter beside her and settled the
hat on her head. “Anything else?”

Lucy climbed off the counter to say goodbye to the group
outside as they migrated to the stables and the two all-terrain vehicles that
were loaded down with camp supplies.

“One last thing.” Dinah planted
her hands on Valerie’s shoulders. “Be careful, will you? All
of you. And just keep a good eye on my girl.”

“I swear it.” Valerie had gone a round with Cordelia last week about her determination to join the
cattle drive. Once already Cordelia
had visited her gynecologist complaining of cramping. Even though she
wouldn’t be on horseback this time, but instead operating one of the ATVs, like
Coop, being out in the elements and moving from one campsite to the other for
the duration of an entire week would be hard as hell—if not just plain foolish.
In the end Cordelia had triumphed, getting her way
and making her family worry. “We’ll take care of her.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. Not like this.” Dinah’s plump
face contorted in a frown. “Y’all need to concentrate on the drive, not fret
about Cordelia every other second. She’s so mulish,
just like Rhys that way. Swear you’ll send her home if there’s trouble.”

“Absolutely.” Valerie clipped the two-way to her belt, tucked her glasses away and grabbed her heavy jacket from a stool. “And you keep my girl in your sights.”

“Always.” Dinah shuffled closer to fix Valerie’s jacket collar and smooth a speck of lint from her hat. Motherly gestures like this perplexed Valerie, who hadn’t been on
the receiving end of maternal affection until Dinah had come into her life.
Estella Turner had been more like a tutor, a friend who’d nurtured her love for
literature and opened her eyes to astronomy, but she’d been a proper lady and
it hadn’t been her place to be motherly to Valerie.

“You look terrified,” Dinah said. “Please don’t be.
Someday that boy’s going to show you he’s all right. There’s a plain goodness
about him. He just doesn’t know what to do about it, I don’t think.”

“Dinah, how can you even figure that? You don’t know
Peyton.”

“I’ve seen him around town.”

“Oh, that must make you an expert on him.”

“Quit being a butt.” Dinah arched a brow at Valerie’s look
of surprise. “It’s not attractive. Now get your jacket and get moving.”

With a put-out sigh, Valerie did as told—because she did
need a jacket and the group needed to head out.

She wasn’t being a butt, was she? She was protecting her
daughter—and herself. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be easy prey for heartbreak.
One of Peyton Turner’s casualties, just like when she was eighteen and willing
to help him out and he’d pushed her away. Just like when she was holding vigil
at her girls’ bedsides, and Anna was dying, and he’d been nowhere in sight.

Being open, vulnerable, hadn’t been smart. It had only
allowed the hurt to last longer, the pain to cut deeper. Oh, yes, she needed to
be cautious about Peyton. But some of the blame rested on her. It had been her
decision to give herself to him. It had been her own selfish choice to let her
daughters go on an out-of-town field trip just so she could have breathing
room. She’d wanted
breathing room,
and had ended up losing one of her children.

Shoulders stiff, Valerie put on her jacket as she jogged
toward the stables and sought out Lucy in the press of people talking and
joking and guzzling coffee from mugs and thermoses. Several horses were already
saddled and whinnying through the hubbub.

Lucy stood with Will, pushing up her sleeves and flexing
her biceps to show off muscles that weren’t very distinct despite soccer and
cattle ranch chores.

Even through Will’s thermals and jacket, the muscles in
his arms were clearly defined. No question Lucy had lost that round.

He said something that made the girl erupt in giggles as
Valerie navigated to them. “Do I get a goodbye smooch, or not?”

“’Fraid not,” Will said with an
exaggerated look of horror that made Lucy only laugh with more gusto. “Put it
there, right there.” He offered his hand to Valerie for a shake, but shook it
hard, making her almost stumble.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said with a playful shove.
“Go saddle up.”

Lucy threw her arms around Valerie’s neck and planted a
noisy, drawn-out kiss on her cheek. “Happy now?”

“Not till I get back.”

“It’s only a week, Mom.” But she still didn’t release her
mother, still kept her locked in a tight hug.

A car horn sounded. “That’s Peyton,” she said, and
squeezed Lucy before letting go. Several moments later he walked up, carrying a
Dunkin’ Donuts bag and a Blu-ray.

Yesterday she’d visited Memorial to donate books to the
children’s library, and for some reason had expected to run into him. But it
hadn’t happened and she’d been relieved. No, she
should’ve
been relieved—instead of slightly offended, as if she’d
been stood up. “Who knew you were a morning doughnuts type of guy?”

“Woke up with a craving for a Boston
Kreme.”

“You drove to Meridien for a
doughnut?” There were no chain establishments in Night Sky—which some
townspeople feared would change thanks to the citified thinking of those in
favor of the hospital’s expansion and the creation of a new road to Meridien.

“I figured Lucy might appreciate breakfast. Sausage and egg croissant sandwich. Any
good?”

“Uh-huh,” the girl said enthusiastically as she accepted
the bag and opened it to inhale the aroma.

Oh, God. He was feeding her fast food for breakfast. What
next?
It’s only a croissant sandwich. Not
even a doughnut. Calm down.

Valerie had expected drama to the tenth power when she’d
invited Lucy on the horse trail in the mountains and explained that Peyton’s
mother was waitressing at the diner and that because trouble seemed to follow
the woman, Lucy wasn’t allowed to visit the place for a while. But there’d been
no fussing, no accusations, no anger—just quiet acceptance and a soft “Guess
you don’t trust me to look out for myself,” that had left Valerie feeling
bereft.

“Got an evening shift at Memorial,” Peyton said to Lucy,
“but wondered whether you’d help me catch up on my movie-watching before then.”
He held up the Blu-ray.
Shrek.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t tame the smile that
broke free. “Whatever.”

“Are we leavin’ or not?” Coop
hollered out, already settled on the ATV, with Cordelia
parked on the identical vehicle beside him fiddling with the satellite phone.

“Leaving.” Valerie lifted her
arms and waved as she hurried to her horse. “Let’s go.”

As the group started to move out toward the pastures,
Valerie glanced over her shoulder. What she saw was Lucy standing close to
Peyton, nibbling the breakfast sandwich.

A snapshot of father and daughter.

With that picture in her mind, Valerie urged her horse
forward and didn’t look back.

“F
AST
FOOD
ISN’T
any good for a man like you.”

Peyton figured the second Dinah caught him stuffing the
crumpled Dunkin’ Donuts bag into the kitchen trash that she’d chew him out at
once. He was right. “It hit the spot.”

“Humph.” The woman’s curly white hair bobbed around her
face as she shook her head.

“I’ll give it
an hour before you start thinking about food again.”

“Yeah, because I like to eat.” Mesmerized, he sat on one of the stools and watched as the magic
started. Dinah practically waltzed about the kitchen, plucking a mixing bowl
from here and a frying pan from there. In minutes the stage was set for a
Dinah-style breakfast. “Miss Dinah, I wish you wouldn’t go to the trouble—”

She winked. “What trouble? Cooking is my glory. Where’s
that daughter of yours? Lucy! C’mere!”

Lucy, still in pajamas, popped in from the family room
where she’d been setting up the Blu-ray player. She’d already warned Peyton to
pay close attention because even though
Shrek
was a kids’ movie, only adults would “get” some of the humor.

“Lucy’s already had breakfast,” Peyton informed Dinah
when she asked whether the girl wanted one banana pancake or two.

“No, I can eat again,” Lucy said as she returned to the
family room. “Two. Thanks.”

Dinah retrieved a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk
from the refrigerator. “That one’s got a voracious appetite, apparently just
like her daddy.”

Another similarity. Another connection. Why did he find the detail so important?
And why did he, a man who would never intentionally assign himself to be some
kid’s father,
want
similarities and
connections to her?

“Blu-ray player’s all set,” Lucy announced from the
entryway. “Dinah, can we eat in the family room? Just this
time?”

“Only popcorn’s allowed in there—not syrup and jam.”

“Mom won’t care if she doesn’t know.” The girl sidled up
to Dinah, hugging her from behind and saying in a whispery whine, “Please,
please, please, please.”

“The answer’s no.”

“Dinah, Dinah, please, please, please.”

A realization formed, as if
someone had cracked open an oyster to reveal a treasure—or a curse. Tension
rode his nerves. A touch of white-hot fear seeped into his blood. He watched
through narrowed eyes as his daughter persuaded her great-aunt with every form
of manipulation in her repertoire.

“Just
a few grand.
That’s all I need
to get on my feet again. Nathaniel shouldn’t have a say in how you spend the
money Anthony left to you. Please. You have to help me. You’re my son. Please,
Peyton. Please?”

Where had his child learned to lie, manipulate and scheme
this forcefully? She’d told him on Halloween that she was “bad,” but how had
she figured out how to use it to her advantage?

“Di
nah,
” Lucy
persisted, her mouth twisted in a pout. “That’s a ridiculous rule. I’ll be
really careful and Mom won’t notice a thing.”

Peyton wanted to intervene, to pull his daughter away
from Dinah and erase that instinct to lie and plot. But he was cemented on the
stool, watching his child behave like a person he couldn’t trust anymore. Watching her behave like his mother.

Lucy resembled him, but she also took after Marin, with
her mannerisms and that crooked little smirk when she was fighting off a smile.

He wouldn’t let the girl turn into a carbon copy of the
woman he’d run halfway across the world to escape. No, not
his daughter. “Lucy,” he said, his voice unintentionally low, raspy,
cold, “she told you no.”

A moment of
thick silence lingered before the girl released Dinah and slowly, deliberately
walked toward him. Pausing in front of him she retorted, “Who gave
you
any say-so? Laying down the law with
me’s not gonna earn you any
bonus points with Mom.”

“Lucy!” Dinah admonished.