What You Wish For (33 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: What You Wish For
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“Best offer today. Is it today or is it tomorrow?”
“Who cares? It's now that's important.”
“God, I love you, Helen.”
“I love you more,” Helen said.
“Always and forever.”
“And into eternity.” Helen smiled.
Epilogue
“By this time tomorrow I will be Mrs. Sam Tolliver. Getting married on Christmas Eve is so special. I want to believe it was meant to happen this way. Best of all, Sam will never be able to forget our anniversary. I am so happy I could just . . . bust! Thank you so much, Julia, for agreeing to be my maid of honor.”
“You're absolutely giddy, Helen. I've never seen you like this. I hope you will always be this happy. I want to thank you again for . . . my lottery winnings. And for the belly chain. You gave me a life I couldn't have had otherwise. And on top of that, I met this wonderful man on that cruise you insisted I take. He's arriving late this afternoon. I told him the whole story about my past. Like Sam, he said whatever came before doesn't matter. You gave me the courage to leave the shelter and go back to my own identity. That was the biggest flaw, Helen. We are who we are. While this bravado may not be for all the people who walk through those doors, it works for some of us. Thanks to you. What in the world am I going to do with a million dollars?”
“I don't have a clue, Julia. You said if you won the lottery you would know what to do with it. That's how much the New Jersey lottery was the week I wrote the check. If that's all you have to worry about in this new life of yours, then you're home free.”
“Are you and Sam going to visit me and Tom?”
“Tom is it? You sound like you've made up your mind. Are you going to go back to Montana with him?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm happy for you.”
“Is your mother coming to the ceremony, Helen? What about Daniel's sister?”
“I'm not sure about my mother. I invited her. The boys found her for me. That's how I think of Artie, Gerry, and Sam—the boys. 1 bought her a little house with a nice garden. I took her shopping for new clothes and furniture. I asked her if she could have anything in the world, what would she want. She wanted a face-lift. If the swelling and bruising go down, she might come. I'm not counting on it. I set aside money for her so she never has to work again. We're civil to one another. There's no motherly love there, and I have to accept that. I wish it were different. Isn't it strange, Julia? We always want what we can't have. Daniel's sister never responded to the invitation, so we don't expect her.”
“Looks to me like you have it all.”
“Oh, God, Julia, I do have it all. All my dreams have come true.”
“What about Daniel?”
“That's a long, depressing story. Don't ask me why, but I went to see him. I guess I wanted to see for myself that he wasn't going to be a threat to me any longer. He didn't recognize me. I almost didn't recognize him. He's got a beard and a mustache and he wears those one-piece suits and slippers. He more or less shuffles his way around, if you know what I mean. I found out he was a ward of the state. His mother refuses to have anything to do with him. His father more or less closed up shop. He was paying for him until his money ran out. The foundation is paying now. I know, I know, don't say it, Julia. It was Sam's idea. I balked, but he said it was the humane thing to do, and he was right. I guess he's happy, if that's possible, in his own little world. I'm told he pecks away at a computer all day long. That chapter of my life is gone now. I try not to look back.”
“I hope you two are talking about me,” Sam said, taking Helen in his arms.
“We were. We said only the nicest things. That's because there wasn't anything bad to say.”
“I want to show you ladies something,” Sam said, turning the television on for the noon hour news.
“What is it?” Helen asked anxiously.
Sam snorted. “I think it's a last hurrah of some kind. Those are screaming, yelling, fighting-mad mothers who have been waiting in line for Boots and her puppies. This particular store just got a shipment of twenty-five thousand and of those twenty-five thousand, ninety-nine percent of them were rainchecks, which means if there's a mother fighting for one and she doesn't have a raincheck, she isn't going to get it. Boots is the biggest toy seller of all time according to the people who track things like this. How did you know, Helen?”
“I didn't know. I did it as a tribute to Isabel Tyger. That little dog meant the world to her just the way Lucie means the world to me. I guess it will put Tyger Toys on the toy map. I hope she knows.”
“I'm sure she does, honey.”
“I don't even have one. I was going to keep the prototype, but Artie got the bright idea to auction it off at Thanksgiving for the Leukemia Marathon.”
“I'm going to head off for the airport. Can I bring anything back for either of you?” Julia asked.
“Nope. See you at dinner. Julia's going to Montana after the wedding, Sam.”
“Good for you, Julia. See you at dinner.”
“I'm all yours, Sam.”
“Promises, promises.”
 
“I'm so nervous, Julia. Do I look all right? Did I put too much hair spray on? Do these earrings go with my pearls? I think the hem of this dress is an inch too long. What do you think? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. I think I have it all. Do I, Julia? Oh, you look so pretty. Tom is a handsome guy. I like that rugged look. I have too much rouge on. This lipstick isn't the right color. What was I thinking?” Helen babbled.
“Hold it right there. You look perfect. Trust me. I would not let you go to your wedding if one hair was out of place. You're just jittery. All new brides are jittery. We have five minutes. Take a deep breath. I bet Sam is more nervous than you are.”
“Sam? Sam could be under fire, and he'd be cool. He doesn't get rattled like I do. Okay, I'm ready.”
For one split second Sam thought he swallowed his tongue. She was so beautiful he had a hard time drawing a breath. He wanted to say something but all he could do was stare at his soon-to-be-bride. In just five minutes she would be Mrs. Sam Tolliver. He would have a wife in five minutes. A wave of dizziness threatened to overcome him.
And then she was standing next to him, Artie and Gerry behind them, Julia and Les, Sam's favorite student, to the right of them.
“Dearly beloved, we are . . .”
“Who gives this woman . . .”
“We do,” Artie and Gerry chirped in unison.
“Helen, do you take this man, Sam Tolliver, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“Sam, do you take this woman, Helen Stanley, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
When Helen could catch her breath, she turned and gasped. “Mom, you came.”
“Well . . . I wasn't sure . . . you look so pretty, Helen. I used to look like you,” she said sadly.
“Mrs. Stanley, you're still as pretty as your daughter. I almost can't tell you apart,” Sam said gallantly.
“That might be a bit of a fib, young man, but I'll accept the compliment. I brought you a present, Helen. It isn't much. I know you have everything. It's just a little . . . what it is, is your baby bracelet when you were born. I thought you might like to have it and your first baby shoes for your own child.”
“Oh, Mom,” Helen said, her eyes filling with tears. “Come on, let's have a toast.”
“I can't stay, Helen. I . . . I promised to . . . please don't laugh ... but I promised to sing in the choir for midnight Mass. We're having an early rehearsal.”
“Mom, that's great. Will you come for dinner tomorrow?”
“I'd like that, Helen. I'd like that very much. Congratulations to both of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Tears rolled down Helen's cheeks. Sam kissed them away. “That's the nicest she's ever been to me, Sam.”
“Maybe it's the way things will be from now on. This is the season of miracles, isn't it? Look around, Helen. What could be more perfect than this? The Christmas tree is glorious, the house smells heavenly. Our best friends are here. The dogs are happy and healthy and together. I go back to teaching starting next month. We're a couple now. We have a good life and so many tomorrows to look forward to.”
“I'm just so happy, Sam.”
“Me too, honey.”
“We're leaving, too, Helen,” Julia said. “Tom wants to go to church before we set out for Montana. I'll say good-bye now. We're going to drop Les off at the airport. He said he doesn't mind hanging out at the airport for an extra hour.”
“Promise you'll write and call.”
“I promise.”
“We'll be on our way, too,” Gerry said, his face wistful.
“Oh, no. You two are staying right here with us. We're going to change and take a little walk. All four of us. All six of us if you count the dogs. Then we're going to come back here and open presents. That's some pile,” Helen said, pointing to the gifts piled high under the tree. “I spent hours and hours wrapping those presents. I want to be appreciated. Furthermore, you're staying here tonight and we're celebrating Christmas together. In other words, Mr. and Mrs. Sam Tolliver request the honor of your presence for the holiday.”
“We accept,” Artie said.
“Do we ever,” Gerry said.
 
“This is the first time in all the years of coming here that I don't feel like I've been kicked in the gut,” Gerry said.
“I think you made it right, Helen,” Artie said.
“I hope so. If I could have any wish in the world right now, it would be that Isabel knows I did my best. Boots and her little family of collectibles will live on forever. Sam said they made toy history.”
“She knows,” Gerry said.
“Yes, she knows,” Artie said.
“It's late, we should be getting back,” Sam said, an uneasy feeling settling between his shoulder blades. “It's almost Christmas morning.”
The dogs trooped ahead, the others following in single file.
“Egg nog, a chorus of ‘Jingle Bells,' and we're off to bed. The presents will have to wait for morning,” Artie said.
“I second my friend here,” Gerry said.
“I'll pour,” Sam said.
“Wait just a minute. Okay, which one of you managed to get me the year's hottest toy and leave it under the tree?” Helen demanded as she picked up the stuffed animal and all the little pups nestled in a wicker basket. “There's kind of a glow to it.”
“You can't beg, borrow, or steal one of those,” Artie said. “We know, we tried to get you one.”
“I did, too, honey. No luck,” Sam said.
“Julia didn't leave it, and my mother didn't leave it. It wasn't here when we went down to the cemetery. Why is it glowing like this? Can you see it? Or is it me?”
“I told you she knows,” Artie said gruffly.
“You could never keep anything from Izzie. She knew everything,” Gerry said.
“I didn't know the lady,” Sam said lamely.
“Merry Christmas, Boots,” Helen whispered.
And then they were alone.
“Sam?”
“Shhh. It's whatever you want it to be. Let's sit on the couch and enjoy being Mr. and Mrs. Sam Tolliver.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Helen laughed.
“To us,” Sam said, clinking his wineglass against Helen's glass.
“To us,” Helen said.
Please turn the page
for a preview of
Fern Michael's new novel
KENTUCKY RICH,
the first in a new trilogy,
featuring beloved characters
from the Texas and Vegas series, and
coming from Kensington Books in October 2001.
Prologue
The two brothers watched from the window as a black limousine crunched to a stop in the middle of the gravel driveway. In silence, they watched a uniformed driver step out and open the rear passenger door. Their jaws dropped when they saw a slender, long-legged woman dressed in brown-leather boots, well-cut jeans, and white shirt emerge and look around. A sun-darkened hand reached up to adjust tinted glasses before she tipped the brim of her pearly white Stetson to reveal a mane of thick sable brown hair.
“Who the hell is
that?”
Rhy Coleman demanded of his brother.
“How the hell should I know?” Pyne said. “Whoever she is, she's coming up to the porch. I think you should open the door.”
When his older brother made no move to greet their guest, Pyne started toward the door, but it opened before he could reach it. The strange woman blew in like a gust of wind. Without a glance in the brothers' direction, she headed straight for the stairway leading to the second floor.
“Hey! Just a damn minute!” Rhy shouted. “Who the hell are you to walk in here like you own the place?”
She turned to face them and smiled as she lowered her glasses. “I do own it, Rhy, at least a third of it. Don't you recognize me, big brother?”
Rhy's eyes widened with shock.
Pyne walked toward her. “Nealy! Is it really you?”
“In the flesh,” she said, thinking it funny that neither one of them had recognized her. She'd known them the moment she'd seen them, not by the family resemblance but by the slump of their shoulders. Her smile vanished as she glanced back at the stairs. “Where is he?”
Pyne's head jerked upward.
Nealy nodded. “You two stay here,” she ordered. “This is between me and him. I have something I want to say to him, and I don't want either of you interfering. Do you understand? This is my business, not yours.”
When there was no response, she repeated her question. They nodded reluctantly. Nealy stared at the two men. They were strangers to her; she felt absolutely no emotion for them—not love, not hate, not even curiosity. They were just two men standing side by side in the hallway.
It had been almost thirty years since she'd seen her brothers and her father. Almost thirty years since she'd left this house with Emmie in her arms. Almost thirty years since she'd set foot on Coleman land. And now, after all this time, here she was, back in Virginia.
Home.
The word made her shudder. She turned her back on her brothers and gazed at the staircase that led to the second floor. As a child, she'd climbed those stairs a hundred times, maybe a thousand. Usually to run and hide so she could whimper in safety.
Shoulders stiff, back straight, she mounted each step with the same mix of confidence and caution she used when mounting her horses. At the top, she stopped and looked down at her brothers, who appeared to be debating whether or not to follow her. “Go about your own business while I take care of mine.” She hurled the words at them in a cold, tight voice to ward them off. Nealy remembered another day, long ago, when they'd stood in the same spot watching her. She glared at them now as she had then and waited until they walked away before making her way down the hall.
Nealy hesitated only a moment outside her father's bedroom, then opened the door and walked in. The room was just as she remembered it, gray and dim with ineffective lighting, a few pieces of battered pine furniture, and worn-out, roll-down shades covering the two windows.
Her nose wrinkled at the smell of dust, mold, and medication. Hearing a groan, she turned her gaze toward the bed and saw a mound of quilts . . . her father, the man who had banished her from this very house thirty years ago. How old was he? She tried to compute her father's age but gave up because she simply didn't care.
As she walked toward the bed, she sensed rather than heard someone follow her inside the room. One of her brothers no doubt. Damn, didn't they know an order when they heard one? Of course, they knew, she reminded herself. If there was one thing Pa was good at it was giving orders.
A frail voice demanded to know who was there. Nealy stepped up closer to the bed and heard a footfall behind her. Rhy or Pyne? she wondered. More than likely Pyne. In his youth, Pyne had been the one to show concern about things and people. Rhy, on the other hand, had taken after their father, not giving a tinker's damn about anything or anybody.
“It's Nealy, Pa.”
The voice was stronger when he spoke a second time. “There ain't nothin' here for you, girl. Go back where you came from. You don't belong here.”
“I don't want anything, Pa,” Nealy said, looking down at the load of quilts on the bed. They looked dirty, or maybe it was just the lighting. Clean, dirty . . . what did she care? She pushed the Stetson farther back on her head so she could get a better look at the dying man without any shadows over her eyes.
“Then what are you here for?”
Nealy felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced back to see Pyne. The hand was to tell her to take it easy.
Like hell she would. Her father had never taken it easy on her. Not even when she was so sick she couldn't stand on her own two feet. She removed Pyne's hand with her own and gave him a warning look. Thirty years she'd waited for this moment, and neither Pyne nor Rhy were going to take it away from her.
“I came here to watch you die, old man,” she said, looking her father straight in the eyes. “And I'm not leaving until I hear you draw your last breath. I want to see them dump you in the ground and cover you up. I want to make sure you're gone forever. Only after I've danced on your grave will I leave. Do you hear me, old man?” She glared at him, her eyes burning with hate.
The old man's face became a glowering mask of rage. “Get out of my house!”
“Still ordering people around, are you? Well guess what? I don't have to take your orders anymore. I repeat, I came here to see you die, and I'm not leaving until you go to hell. That's where you're going, Pa. Hell!” There, she'd said what she'd come to say, but why didn't she feel a bigger sense of satisfaction? Why did she feel this strange emptiness?
“Pyne! Take this devil child away from me. Do you hear me?” the old man gasped as he struggled to raise himself up on his elbow.
“I'd like to see him try,” Nealy said bitterly. Then she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder again. “I'd like to see anyone even try to make me do something I don't want to do. Those days are gone forever.”
The old man gurgled and gasped as he thrashed about in the big bed. Nealy watched him with clinical interest. Her eyes narrowed when she saw drool leak from his mouth. God did work in mysterious ways, she thought as she remembered the day her father told her to take her drooling dim-witted child and never darken his door again. Spawn of the devil was what he'd called Emma. She stood staring at him until he calmed down, then stretched out her leg and with a booted foot, pulled over a straight-backed chair and sat down facing the bed. For long minutes she stared at him with unblinking intensity until, finally, he closed his eyes in resignation.
“Okay, he's asleep now,” Pyne said. “What the hell are you doing here, Nealy? We haven't heard a word from you in thirty years, and all of a sudden you show up just as Pa is getting ready to die. How did you know? Can't you let him die in peace?”
Nealy removed her Stetson and rubbed her forehead. She didn't really care all that much for hats, but she'd always longed to wear a pearly white Stetson, just like the Texans wore. These days she was into indulging herself and doing all the things she'd longed to do but for one reason or another had never done.
“No, I can't let him die in peace,” she said, her voice even now, calm. “He has to pay for what he did to me and Emmie.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched her brothers closely, wondering what they were thinking before she realized she didn't care. She really didn't give two hoots what her brothers or anyone else thought. “As to how I knew he was dying, I made it my business to know everything that has gone on here for the last thirty years. A day didn't go by that I didn't think about that old man or this place. And you know why I'm here, Pyne. I want my share of this place for Emmie.”
Pyne chuckled softly. “Your share? You just said you'd made it your business to know everything that's gone on around here. So how come you don't know that Pa refused to make a will? There hasn't been any estate planning, Nealy. And neither Rhy nor I have power of attorney. The government is going to take it all. Whatever's left will be a piss in the bucket.”
Nealy bridled with anger. Leave it to her gutless brothers to let their father go to his deathbed without so much as a power of attorney. “We'll just see about that,” she said. “Call the lawyers right now and get them here on the double. Offer to pay them whatever they want. Just get them here. If we work fast, we can still get it all into place. As long as Pa's still breathing, there's a chance. Now, get on it and don't screw up, or you'll be out on the highway along with your brother.”
Pyne stammered in bewilderment. “But . . . I can't. Pa wouldn't . . .”
Nealy stood up, took her brother by the shoulders, and shook him. “Don't tell me what Pa would or wouldn't do. It doesn't matter anymore. He's dying. There's nothing he can do to you, to any of us. Don't you understand that?”
Pyne Coleman stared down at his fit and expensive-looking younger sister. After all these years she was still pretty, with her dark hair and big brown eyes. Once when they were little he'd told her she looked like an angel. She'd laughed and laughed. Back then they had been close out of necessity. It was all so long ago. And now here she was, thirty years later, just as defiant as ever and issuing orders like a general.
Nealy suffered through her brother's scrutiny, wondering what he was thinking. She was about to ask when Rhy stuck his head in the door, and hissed, “You better come downstairs, Pyne, there's a whole gaggle of people outside. They said they were relatives,
family
. I didn't know we had a family. Do you know anything about this?”
Pyne didn't seem the least bit surprised. “I know a lot about it,” he said, smiling. “Pa told me about them about a month ago, right before he had his stroke, but he didn't say anything about them coming here. I wonder what they want.” He took Nealy's elbow and steered her toward the door. “I'll make you a deal. You make them welcome while I make that phone call to the lawyers.”
Nealy jerked her arm free, walked back to her father's bedside, and leaned close to him. Only after she was satisfied that he was still breathing did she follow her brothers downstairs.
In the foyer, Nealy set her hat down on the telephone table and checked her hair and makeup. With all the skill of a seasoned actress, she worked a smile onto her face as she headed toward the door. Rhy wasn't kidding when he said there was a gaggle of people outside. But
family
? Whose family?
“Hello,” she said. “I'm Nealy Coleman. And you are?”
A well-dressed elderly woman stepped forward and introduced herself. “I'm Fanny Thornton Reed. I represent Sallie, your father's sister's side of the family. We're based in Las Vegas, Nevada. And this is Maggie Coleman Tanaka. She represents Seth, your father's brother's family. Their roots are in Texas. I talked to your father on the phone about a month ago and told him we were coming, but it looks like you weren't expecting us. Is something wrong?”
1
Seventeen-year-old Nealy Coleman's chest heaved and rattled when she coughed, causing the housekeeper's faded eyes to grow wide with alarm. The toddler at Nealy's feet started to cry. Nealy reached down to pick up the little girl. “Shhh, don't cry, Emmie. Please don't cry,” she pleaded hoarsely. The child whimpered in her mother's arms.
“Let me hold her while you stick your head under that steam tent I made for you. Land sakes, child, if you don't take care of yourself, you're going to end up in the hospital or the cemetery.” The housekeeper reached for the toddler.
“All right, Tessie, but you keep an eye out for Pa. I've still got three horses to groom, and you know how he is. He doesn't like it when any of us get sick and can't do our chores.” Nealy gave Emmie over to the housekeeper and sat down. “If you sing to Emmie, she'll stop crying.”
Tessie walked around the kitchen with Emmie in her arms, crooning to her as she tried to comfort the fretful child.
“Whatever you do,” Nealy added, “make sure supper isn't late. Pa will take it out on me if it is.” Nealy stuck her head under the towel and struggled to take deep breaths from the bowl of steaming mentholated water. She could hear the old woman singing off-key to her daughter. Something about a blackbird baked in a pie. If she wasn't so sick, she might have laughed.
Moments later Nealy heard the swinging door slam against the wall and ripped the towel away from her head. Her face dripping wet from the steam, she jerked around to face her father. In that one instant she saw everything in the huge kitchen: the coal stove and bucket, the stewpot on the stove, the old refrigerator, the clean, crisp curtains hanging on the windows, her brothers Pyne and Rhy, and her hateful, angry father.
So much for Tessie keeping an eye out
, she thought miserably.
The sound of the rain hitting the back porch beat like a drum inside her head. Chills racked her body as she struggled to her feet. Afraid of what her father might do, she started to inch closer to Tessie and her daughter when his hand snaked out and pulled her back.
“What are you doin' lollygaggin' around in here when you have horses to tend, girl?”
Nealy threw her head back, lifted her chin and met his angry gaze. “I wasn't lollygagging, Pa. I was waiting for the rain to let up.”
Her father snickered in disgust. “Like hell you were,” he said, looking at the bowl of water. “You got a slicker, girl. Now git to it.”
Pyne stepped forward. “I can do her chores, Pa. Nealy's sick.” Without warning Josh Coleman swung his arm backward. Pyne took the blow full to the face. He reeled sideways, his hand going to his nose. Blood spurted out between his fingers. Rhy handed him a dish towel.
Tears filled Nealy's eyes. She staggered over to the coatrack by the kitchen door. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely take the slicker from the peg. She turned around as she put on her slicker and looked straight at Tessie, begging her with her eyes to take care of Emmie a little while longer. The old woman nodded in understanding. Nealy cringed when she heard her father say, “Put that drooling half-wit in her bed and get our supper on the table, woman.”
Outside in the pouring rain, Nealy trudged to the barn. Once inside, she collapsed on a bale of hay and fought to catch her breath. She turned fear-filled eyes on the barn door and whispered, “Just this once, God, help me. Please.”
Help arrived minutes later in the form of her brother Pyne. He touched his lips to her forehead. “Jesus God, Nealy, you're burning up. Lie down and rest and I'll do what needs doing. Pa will never know. He went into his office with a bottle so you know what that means.”
Nealy curled up in a nest of loosened hay and put a horse blanket under her head. “I don't understand you, Pyne. Why do you let Pa treat you like he does? Why don't you stand up to him and show him what you're made of?”
Pyne looked up from cleaning April Fantasy's rear hoof. “You keep thinking I'm something I'm not. I don't have your grit, Nealy. I never have and I never will. And Pa knows it.”
Nealy sighed in resignation. It was sad but true. Pyne had no backbone whatsoever.
“He doesn't pick on Rhy, just you and me. I hate him. I hate him so much . . .” She broke into a fit of coughing. She felt like she'd swallowed a pack of razor blades. “I never felt like this before, Pyne. I think I must be dying. I see two of you. Who's going to take care of Emmie if I die?”
“Shhhh,” Pyne said as he picked up the currycomb. “I'm not going to let you die, Nealy. As soon as I finish up here I'll take you into the house and put you to bed. Tessie told me she's going to fix you a couple of mustard plasters and that you'll be right as rain in no time.”
Right as rain, Nealy thought as her eyes started to close. What was right about rain? she wondered as she drifted off.
The barn door opened and banged back against the inside wall. Nealy struggled to a sitting position and was relieved to see it was Rhy, not her father.
Pyne looked over the horse's back. “Rhy!”
Rhy looked at Nealy, then at Pyne, his expression full of disgust. “Pa's in rare form tonight,” he said, picking up a hoof pick and a currycomb as he walked past Nealy toward the second stall.
Nealy didn't know what to think. Was Rhy going to help Pyne do her chores? Maybe he wasn't such a bad brother after all. Or maybe he wanted something. With Rhy, you just never knew.
“Hey, Rhy, you ever been horsewhipped?” Pyne asked.
Nealy knew that it wasn't so much a question as it was a prediction of what was going to happen if their father found out what they were doing.
“You know I haven't. If you're trying to scare me, don't bother. Pa isn't going to find out unless one of you tells him.” He bent to pick up the horse's hoof. “I can tell you this, Pa's worse now than he ever was, and it's all
her
fault,” Rhy said, pointing the hoof pick at Nealy. “Her and that illegitimate half-wit of hers have been the talk of the town for the last two years. Christ Almighty, we can't go anywhere anymore without folks whispering behind their hands.”
Nealy bristled. “Just because Emmie hasn't talked yet doesn't mean she's a half-wit. Stop calling her that, Rhy. Please.”
“Wake up, Nealy. For Christ's sake, Emmie's two years old and she hasn't done anything but cry and grunt. Like it or not, sis, you spawned a half-wit, but worse than that you brought shame to this family and this farm. It's pretty damn hard for us to hold up our heads. Guess you didn't think about that when you opened up your legs.” He tossed the hoof pick into the bucket. “You'd be doing us all a favor if you'd just pack up and leave.”
“Rhy!” Pyne shouted. “You said you wouldn't say . . .”
“I know what I said,” Rhy interrupted, his face transformed with his rage. “But that was then, and this is now. I'm tired of living this way. Tired of the gossip, the whispers, the smirks. I'm tired of it all, ya hear? I've had enough.”
Nealy bit down on her lower lip. So now she knew why Rhy had come out to the barn—not to help, but to tell her to leave. And since Pyne always wanted everything Rhy wanted, that probably meant he wanted her to go, too. But where could she go? What would she do? She was only seventeen. How would she take care of herself. How would she take care of Emmie? She tried to think but her head was too fuzzy. Tomorrow she would think about it. Tomorrow, when she was feeling better.
Fern Michaels likes to hear from her readers. You can contact her at [email protected].

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