Texas Redeemed (7 page)

The bell rang and Lucy listened closely to the sounds of
footsteps, laughter, books dropping, lockers slamming. When the halls quieted,
she whispered, “Better get to class before you get a late demerit.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Can’t say.” She peeked around the lockers, scanning the
emptying hall. If she could get to the ground floor and out the corridor at the
side of the school building before the tardy bell rang, she’d be good. “Gotta
go.”

Sarah unzipped her backpack and pulled out a Hershey bar.
“Here, in case you get hungry.”

“No way.” Sarah was diabetic and needed snacks to
regulate her blood sugar, so she couldn’t afford to share her stash. “But
thanks.” Lucy started off toward the stairs, tugging her backpack strap over
her shoulder.

“Call me later,” her friend said as she sprinted off in
the opposite direction, and Lucy slipped through the doors and out into the
sunshine as the bell rang inside the building.

Yesterday’s rain had cooled the air, and the autumn breeze
ruffled her hair. She adjusted the hood on her sweatshirt as she moved across
the campus, extra careful to avoid the single-story attached building that
served as the town’s elementary school. At the gas station she skulked around
outside, too worried that Sully Joe, who had an amazing memory for a little old
guy in his nineties, would recognize her and mention her visit to Valerie.
There was stuff she had to tell her dad—if she could even call him that. She’d
heard her great-grandfather call somebody “Johnny-come-lately” once, and that’s
just what Peyton Turner was. Their family had been broken from the start, with
her mom poor and trying to raise twins. Then the ranch was almost taken away
and then Anna
was
taken away.

And Gramps had been a fairy godfather, trying to make
everything good. But nobody was the same, especially her mom who worked all the
time and was always telling Lucy to make smart decisions—something Lucy just
couldn’t do, as if she was hardwired to screw up.

It didn’t take a brainiac to know her mom wouldn’t see
her sneaking out of school to visit her dad as a “smart decision,” especially
when she’d sworn she never wanted to see him ever again. But Lucy figured
Machiavelli had the right idea—decisions were only as good as their outcome.

If telling Peyton Turner to his face that it was best for
her and her mom that he stayed gone for good was what it took to make it
happen, then she’d do it.

She sidled out of earshot of a woman rubbing a quarter
against a scratch-off lottery ticket, leaned against the gas station’s brick
storefront and called the taxi service number she’d found in Cordelia and
Jack’s phone book last night.

She wished she knew what her parents had talked about at
the main house. Had he explained why he’d left and never come back until now?
Had her mom told him all about Anna?

Lucy touched the hairclip that pinned her hair away from
her face. One of the faux gems had come loose and it was scratched and
sometimes pulled her hair, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that
every year it got harder to remember her sister wearing it.

A red car rolled to a stop at the pump near where Lucy
stood waiting for the taxi. The passenger window lowered, and a man in
sunglasses poked his head out. “Everything all right, beautiful?”

Lucy’s hearing aid was turned on and functioning but she
pretended not to hear him and tightened her grip on her hobo and backpack.

The driver slapped the horn and she flinched, dropping
the hobo in front of her feet. She bent to grab it, heard the click of the
car’s door opening and prepared to deliver a soccer kick straight to the guy’s
crotch.

“Hey—” the man in the passenger’s seat started, with one
leg dangling out of the car. A group of teens who were no doubt ditching class,
too, appeared around the corner with sodas and chips in hand, and he shut the
car door, mumbling something to the man at the wheel. A few seconds later the
car circled around a row of pumps and sped off.

You’re okay. You’re
fine. Calm down.
Lucy didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath, and now
gulped air in and out. Tourism was the town’s lifeblood, but during the day
there were more out-of-towners about than people who called Night Sky home. And
tourists, or “city folk,” as her great-aunt called them, were too easy to spot.
They talked fast and drove impatiently—maybe struck dumb that the place had
need for only four traffic lights—and didn’t quite understand that in a rural
town like this one, there wasn’t much reason to rush anything.

They were the ones who you really turned a suspicious eye
to, and the odds weren’t good that a stranger could creep into town, cause
trouble and creep away without having to answer to the law.

A few minutes later a white sedan with a blue-and-green
logo reading To-Go Cab entered the lot. She clambered into the backseat and
rattled off her great-grandfather’s address.

The driver spied her in the rearview mirror. “Shouldn’t
you be in school?” There was doubt in his heavily accented voice, making the
word sound more like
skoowell.

“It’s teacher conference day,” she lied, adding a
cheerful smile as she got settled. “Meter running yet?”

Confused, the driver blinked a few times but pressed on
the accelerator and headed away from the gas station. “It is now. Is this a
drop-off or—”

“How long can you wait?”

“Depends on how much you can pay.”

Lucy had counted twenty-two bucks in her wallet this
morning, which was a huge chunk of her savings from her allowance. She wasn’t
sure how long it would take to tell Peyton Turner that she didn’t want a father.

In truth the idea of having a real dad around was strange
and … interesting.

But it was a total novelty. After all, her mother had
taught her how to change a tire and wrangle cattle, how to mow a lawn and fight
for herself.

And why should she get to have a dad when Anna hadn’t?
Anna was the one who’d never gotten in trouble, who’d always remembered when to
use her indoor voice and pick up her toys. She was the one who had made their
mom happy … and deserved to have a dad.

The ride seemed to take forever, even though it was more
like seventeen minutes. Finally the driver stopped the car, turned in his seat
and said, “Made up your mind, kid? Am I droppin’ you off or waitin’ here?”

The fare to get here had put a serious dent in her cash.
“Drop off.” She paid and slid out of the cab, pausing to check out the
ginormous van parked at the curb. It was white but covered with splashy flowers
and an advertisement for something called Gardens of Edie.

At the security gate she almost laughed in relief when her
great-grandfather’s butler let her inside without giving her the third degree.

“Afternoon, Lucy. What brings you by?” Jasper said when
she moseyed past the museum-like foyer and parlor to the sitting room,
nonchalantly glancing around to check for signs of her father.

She’d gotten up early this morning to map out her story.
Now it was time to deliver. With a solemn expression she said, “I had an upset
stomach thing at school. Mom’s swamped at the ranch and said I could hang here
for a while. Is that cool with you and Gramps?” If she outright asked for her
father, Jasper would see through her lie in a hot minute.

“Nathaniel’s in the city on business today. I’ll call
Valerie and let her know you got here safely. How
did
you get here, by the way?”

Crap. “I—” Lucy racked her brain in record speed “—called a taxi at school. Mom probably won’t answer because she’s … uh …
castrating a bull today. Plus I already texted her.”

The butler paled a little at the word
castrating.
“All right. I’ll get you a
glass of ginger ale and a few crackers.”

Lucy impatiently waited for him to go into the kitchen
before she searched the entire main level for her father. No sign of him. And
it was weird that Jasper hadn’t mentioned whether he was home.

What if she’d gone to all this trouble for nothing, and
he was out on an errand?

Or …

Now there really was a queasy feeling in her belly. What
if her father had left town again, without even telling her goodbye? He owed
her that much, didn’t he?

Not that she wanted him hanging around in the first
place.

She bounded to the dining-room table just as Jasper was
setting out a plate of unsalted crackers and a glass of ginger ale. “Thanks,
Jasp.” A puzzled frown answered her and it hit a second later that she’d been
running and now sat in a fancy high-backed chair with her knees pulled up
against her chest—against her “upset” stomach. Casually she lowered her feet to
the floor and reached for a cracker, avoiding that something’s-not-right-here
look. “So …”
Did my dad skip town again?
“…
what’s with the flower power van out front?”

“Never heard anyone call my wheels
that
before,” a high-pitched female voice said. A short woman with
an explosion of crazy-curly blond hair and wide blue eyes paused in the
dining-room entryway. Her laugh made Lucy think of a million tiny bells. “But I
like it. Flower power van. Nice.”

Jasper took a few steps toward the woman, but stopped
short and jammed his hands in his pockets—probably because the dirt smeared all
over her beige smock was about to give him hives. “Is there something—”

“Forgot the shed key.” The woman shrugged sheepishly, her
peony-patterned gloved hands full with a pair of lumberjack work boots and a
small shovel.

“You might need that,” Jasper muttered.

Maybe it was that lazy southern accent, or the woman was
just a fan of dry sarcasm, but she smiled slowly until a deep pair of dimples
bracketed her mouth. “Guess I might.”

Curious, Lucy sipped her ginger ale and watched Jasper
head into the mudroom to retrieve the key. “Are you Edie?” she asked the woman.

“Not me,” she replied with another smile, this one
friendly, open. “I’m Hope Fortune.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks. Edie was my aunt. Gardens of Edie was her
business, and I learned pretty much all I know from her, so when she passed away
it just made sense for me to take over. At least for a while.”

“Never heard of your business.”

“It’s based out of Meridien.”

“Are you the new gardener here?”

“Yes, it’s her first day,” Jasper answered stiffly before
Hope could respond. Careful to avoid contact with her filthy gloves, Jasper
slid the key beneath the shovel in her palm. “Miss Fortune, this is Mister
Turner’s great-granddaughter, Lucy. Her father’s visiting so don’t be alarmed
if you see him coming and going.”

Ah, so he
was
still
in town.

Key in her possession, Hope continued to linger as if she
was stuck where she stood and didn’t know it. With fair skin, a teeny diamond
in one nostril, and dressed in a peasant blouse and worn-looking
used-to-be-black jeans, she reminded Lucy of a faerie in one of those New Age
books in the little bookshop in town.

“Off I go then,” Hope said abruptly, briskly, as she
clambered off the way she had come.

Jasper’s gaze followed until she was out of his line of
vision, then he busied himself brushing cracker crumbs off the table onto his
cupped palm. Then he grabbed a wet mop and trailed after Hope’s footsteps,
muttering something about dirt.

Lucy took that as a cue to get moving. She slunk out of
the dining room and upstairs. She knew which room had belonged to her father
when he’d lived here before; it was the one room in this enormous house she’d
never entered.

Today the door was unlocked. Carefully she twisted the
knob and opened it just a crack.

“Um, hello?” she whispered into the opening, then, greeted
with silence, she stepped inside. At the foot of the bed was an open suitcase
with clothes spilling out of it. A similar case that was closed sat on top of
the bed. The air smelled like some woodsy guy cologne and a little bit like
soap.

Lucy turned slowly, taking in the room’s details. She
spotted a picture on the bureau that seemed to have tipped over and she righted
it, doing a double take at the image. Her parents.
Together.
They were just kids then, her mom still flat-chested and
her dad without even the shadow of a beard on his face. It was surreal to see
them like this, friends but maybe even something more.

Her mom had told her again and again that he’d been her
best friend for ages, but they’d never been boyfriend and girlfriend. Sure, her
mom was perfect to fool around with, but not good enough to date.

“A chip off Anthony Turner’s block, eh, Dad?” she
mumbled, laying the picture facedown the way she’d found it. Just remembering
the stories people told about her ladies’ man of a grandfather warranted an eye
roll.

She rifled through one suitcase, then, bored to find only
clothes and shoes jammed inside, she moved on to the other. Sitting
cross-legged on the bed, she unzipped the case and carefully extracted a stack
of official-looking files and photographs, lots of her father in all different
places: on a medical bus with a group of people, sitting atop a camel, trekking
through what looked like wreckage after a storm, sporting a beard and shaggy
hair and reading to two little boys with beautiful dark skin who looked like
they hadn’t eaten in all their lives.

Lucy picked up a file stamped M
ÉDECINS
S
ANS
F
RONTIÈRES
/D
OCTORS
W
ITHOUT
B
ORDERS
. She’d heard of that, but didn’t know much about it, just
that it was some international charity organization.

It didn’t make any sense that the guy who’d hooked up
with her mom and skipped town could be the same as the one in these pictures.

She spread the files in front of her and started to read
the contents, her eyes skimming over the words—
surgeon
and
assignment
and
disaster.