Winter's End (11 page)

Anna. Arianna. One and the same. Without the ring she wouldn’t have recognized it. Thirteen years of living hard had altered the woman’s appearance. Anna’s worn, heartfelt smile was nothing like Ari’s camera-ready expression. Anna’s face held eyes beleaguered by a decade of drugs and hard knocks.

Ari was sharp, a Latin vision of beauty and poise, camera-savvy from top to bottom.

The door opened with a blast of cold air. “We won!” Jess threw chilled arms around Kayla’s middle and hugged. “Four-three, with the Saints scoring their fourth goal in the closing minutes. You should have come.”

“Then one of you would have stayed home,” Kayla reminded her. There was no way to hide the picture in her hands. Jess eyed it, her expression guarded.

“Where did you get that?”

“Your father’s dresser.”

“Why?”

“He asked me to.”

Jess stared at the woman who looked like an older version of herself, her face awash in emotion, then she squared her shoulders in acceptance. “I’ll let you take it to him while I get rid of some layers. I checked on Grace. Marc’s checking the cattle.”

Kayla wavered, then moved to the bedroom. Jess was right. Pete wanted the picture for his own comfort. When she stepped to the side of the bed, his eyes opened.

“Took you long enough.”

“I got sidetracked,” Kayla told him. She paused. “Jess is home.”

Pete’s eyes flickered, uncertain. He glanced at the picture she held, then toughened his gaze. “Can you set that on the nightstand so I can see it?”

Kayla did, then perched on the side of the bed, unsure what to say.

“We were happy once.”

“You seem happy now, Mr. D.” She kept her voice gentle.

“But it’s not the same as being together. A family.”

“You’ve done well. Marc is strong and successful, Jess is warm and loving.”

He brought his gaze around. “Marc is distrustful of life and love and Jess has no woman to confide in. There’s a lack in these walls and I’ve known it a long time.”

“You did your best.”

“Did I?” He examined the picture. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

Kayla’s heart hammered. Should she tell him what she knew, how Anna regretted her choices? That she died alone, a vagrant whose history read like a big-city Jane Doe?

Jess’s arrival spared her decision.

“What a game! Give me the remote, they’ll show highlights on the news. Cooper was amazing in the attack zone, and Dobson played the boards like he was born to it.”

Pete grinned up at her. “Hockey and horses. You should have been a boy.”

“But I clean up nice.” Jess twinkled down at him. Her eyes strayed to the picture, but she kept her silence. Whatever feelings Jess had for the woman who’d abandoned her were hidden for the moment.

Kayla stood. “Since you guys are back, I’ll head out.” She stretched and yawned. “It’s been a long day.”

“Thanks, Kayla.”

Marc’s voice gave her a start. She turned, half frowning, half smiling. “I thought you were in the barn.”

“Everything’s fine there.”

Kayla gave Mr. D. a smile and Jess a hug. “See you Monday.”

She ducked through the doorway so she wouldn’t block the TV. As she rounded the kitchen, Marc caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, eyes down. “Nothing. Just tired.”

He studied her, his look sharp. “No.”

“It’s been a long day, Farmer Boy.”

“Testy,” he mused. “But only with me. Why is that?”

She had no energy to spar with him. Her nerves lay too near the surface, and things that should have never involved this family now linked her to them.

Rule one of nursing: When you’re tired, sleep. Kayla needed to rest and wake refreshed to reexamine the problem. Right now she rode on emotion alone. Not good.

“I’m not testy. Well, maybe a little, but just from being tired.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m a morning person.”

He eyed her. The hand on her arm gentled. “Are you okay to drive? I could take you.”

Her heart thumped at his look, his words. She glanced down, then realized she should warn him about the picture. “Your father asked me to bring down a family picture. From upstairs.”

Marc frowned, confused.

“With your mother.”

He swore, then shook his head in realization. “Sorry. I just…” He scrubbed a hand across his face, then shrugged, his expression softening. “Whatever he needs is fine. Were you afraid I’d be angry?”

“I can understand you don’t love reminders.”

He straightened. “Jess is vulnerable right now. She has no mother and her father is dying. I’m okay.”

Uh-huh.
Kayla worked her jaw before turning to her boots. “Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head, looking down. “Just agreeing with you, Marc.”

“In that tone?”

“Yup.” She straightened and retrieved her jacket.

“More like capitulating.” Marc adjusted the left shoulder, then angled the sleeve to ease her arm into it. He kept his hands there, fingers clutched in the navy wool, looking down at her, those gray-green eyes thoughtful.

“Semantics.”

“Perhaps.” He tugged her closer. “Let’s see what you make of this, Kayla.”

His mouth covered hers with gentle pressure, the kiss warm and alive. He smelled of crisp air and wood stove, hay and Old Spice. It was the most delicious combination of scents she’d ever known. Masculine and rugged. She leaned into the kiss, hands flat against his chest, reveling in the feel of him, hard muscle balancing her softer curves. She felt safe. Warm. Cherished.

Three feelings she’d never experienced simultaneously. Talk about a head rush.

He ended the kiss and stepped back, studying her. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “I’m not sorry I did that.”

“No?”

“Not in the least. And it was way better than I imagined, by the way.”

Gazing into sea-green eyes, Kayla free fell into a canopied forest of hopes and dreams. “You’ve thought about kissing me?” It took work to tamp down the note of hope. From his gentle look of amusement, she wasn’t fully successful.

“Haven’t thought of much else, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Marc—”

“Shh.” A thick finger paused her words. His eyes never wavered, never left hers. “If you’re sorry about it, tell me tomorrow. Or next week. Let me enjoy this for a little while, okay?”

Okay? Did he want to know how okay it was? How his touch unnerved her, warmed her, melted her despite the frigid night? He drew her in and pressed a second kiss to her mouth, ending way too soon. “Thanks again for the tickets.”

“Hey, listen, the tickets were a random thing,” Kayla protested. “You didn’t have to…I mean…” Her voice trailed. She didn’t want him to think she was looking for payback.

He closed the space between them. “I didn’t kiss you because you shared the tickets. I kissed you because I wanted to know what it would feel like to hold you.” His palm touched the curve of her cheek. Then he grazed her lips one last time, a whisper of a kiss.

Oh, man. His words softened her heart.

“Now you better go or you’re liable to get kissed again.”

Like that would be a hardship. Kayla pressed a finger to her lips, his kiss warming her. “Okay.”

He smiled at the single word and opened the door behind her. When she got to her car, she turned.

He stood framed in the doorway, lamplight spilling around him, much as he’d been the first morning they met. But this time his stance was relaxed and confidant, his profile serene. He waved. “Good night, Kayla.”

With the thirty-odd feet of space between them, she had more sense of control. Distance proved an amazing equalizer. “Night, Marc.”

S
he was leaving in a few months. What was he thinking?

Marc beat himself up the next morning. Kayla wasn’t anything he’d planned for, nothing like the girl he imagined, yet there she was, creeping into his heart, filling spaces left empty too long.

Marc wasn’t stupid. He saw why he shouldn’t fall in love with Kayla Doherty as plain as the mammoth pet food sign to his left. Mental, big-block letters explained why Kayla was wrong for him.

But this attraction refused to abate. He felt helpless in its grip. He thought of her, he planned for her, he imagined a life with her.

He’d pushed it aside for weeks, controlling himself with no small effort, only to kiss her the night before. Get a taste of the woman unafraid to go toe-to-toe with him when necessary.

He loved that about her.

The thought made him grin as he forklifted a pallet of rabbit food. Spring feed brought the promise of rebirth. Baby lambs, bunnies, cats, dogs and chicks prevailed as the days stretched longer.

The idea of baby animals made him almost giddy. He passed a hand across his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.
Slow down,
he ordered himself.
Step back and assess the situation.

He’d tried to do that all morning.

No luck. The look on her face haunted him. Her expression had been vulnerable after that kiss. Needy.

Kayla wasn’t needy. She was streetwise and book-smart, an intimidating combination.

Marc refused to be intimidated. Intrigued? Oh, yeah. Interested? Most assuredly, despite the hundred reasons he shouldn’t be. Kayla was slated to leave shortly. She bore no resemblance to the kind of woman he intended to fall in love with, and a strong likeness to what he’d chosen to avoid. He didn’t want or need a snazzy dresser, a woman on a first-name basis with designer tags, or one who didn’t have sense enough to don sturdy shoes when the mercury plummeted.

Before you knew it, she’d have Jess following in her footsteps, messing up what Pete and Marc had invested to keep the younger girl grounded.

He should avoid her. Too much danger lay there, too many pitfalls. What kind of a fool walked into a bad situation, eyes open and let it get out of hand?

The worst kind, he reminded himself. He glared at the silent stacks of packaged feed. The future held nothing for them. He knew that. She wasn’t a girl to give up her dreams and tie herself down to a North Country farmer.

Kayla had big league written all over her, from the name-brand sunglasses to the squared-off toes of her designer boots, and he was a girl-next-door kind of guy.

That was as it should be. He’d leave it at that. He might not like the choice, but he’d make it, nonetheless.

Arianna DeHollander and Anna Hernandez were one and the same.

The thought plagued Kayla Saturday morning.

How could it be? What were the odds? Kayla shook herself, focusing. Slim odds or not, facts didn’t lie. Kayla’s faith mentor, the woman who’d led her to redeeming love was the same woman who ran roughshod over Pete, Marc and Jess. She had no idea how to reconcile that.

He kissed me.

Kayla touched her mouth, remembering. The contact sent a quiver as she recalled Marc’s kiss.

Why?

There was the question. The guy hadn’t exactly been ambivalent in his feelings. His strong disregard for her was evidenced from the beginning, and now…

Now, what?

Now nothing, she assured herself. She had plans looming. Big plans. As much as she loved her job, she was a finger’s width from her goal, the chance to let the sun bathe her skin more often. At one time in her life she’d had noticeable freckles. Five years in the North Country and they’d all but disappeared.

The wind howled outside, weighting her arguments, but the memory of Marc’s mouth, his strength, refused to fade. The thoughts warmed her from within. She flushed, remembering, then gave herself a mental shake.

Schoolgirl nonsense. Resolved, Kayla downsized the emotion and grabbed a workout DVD. When all else failed, get sweaty. Not a bad credo.

Firm step back, Marc reminded himself on Monday. He eased the truck into a feed store spot opposite Kayla’s car and figured he should probably kill time unloading supplies before heading to the house.

Chicken.

Yup. Jess was home early for a change. Because she was inside with Kayla, they’d be fine without him. For a while, at least.

He finished as Kayla stepped out of the house. She spotted him, then headed his way, purposeful.

Uh-oh.

Nowhere to run, no place to hide. He watched her approach from his vantage point on the raised dock, then swung down to meet her.

She jumped into the conversation with no preliminaries. “Jess is working on a school project and asked for my help. Would it be all right if we spend an evening together?”

“You and Jess?”
Duh, DeHollander. What did you think she meant? Were you expecting her to fall at your feet after that kiss, proclaiming her everlasting love?
Because Jess’s schoolwork wasn’t the expected topic of conversation, Marc’s thoughts scrambled.

Kayla nodded briskly. “Yes. Her project includes research on AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa and since I’ve worked on that, I’ve got info to add. Would Wednesday be all right?”

Marc switched to big brother mode. “She rides on Wednesdays and her mare’s due to foal. What about Friday?” He paused a quick moment, then realized his presumption. “Unless you have a date.”

The shake of her head reassured him, but her words didn’t. “If I’m with Jess on Friday, that’ll still leave me Saturday. Okay.” She started to nod, then stopped. “I forgot. Sarah and I are shopping on Friday. Craig’s off and we’re heading to Syracuse for some girl time.” She pursed her mouth. “Sunday?”

“Afternoon or evening?”

“Probably both. Bring her by around one. We’ll work through supper and you can grab her that evening, okay?”

“Okay.” Marc nodded toward the house. “And Dad? He seemed all right?”

Concern shadowed her features. “His appetite is waning.”

Marc waited.

“His pain is increased, as well. I called Dr. Pentrow. I expect he’ll order a patch.”

“A patch?” Marc frowned.

“A medicated patch,” Kayla explained. She held his look. “It’s a helpful tool for controlling pain without interruption when you near the end.”

Near the end.
The words resounded in Marc’s brain.

He swallowed hard, then looked away. He shifted his jaw, his neck tight. “It’ll keep him pain-free?”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll find something that does.” Kayla glanced beyond him, then swept the truck and store a quick look. “You might want to take advantage of your slow time to spend more time with him.”

Marc read the unspoken admonition. Pete DeHollander was on his last days and Marc was tending things that could be put on hold or delegated to someone else.

Kayla turned. Marc fell into step beside her. “Look, I know what you’re thinking…”

“That’s a trick.” She pivoted to face him. “Usually you don’t give me credit for having a thought process.”

“That’s not true.” Marc shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not exactly, anyhow.” He looked anywhere but at her. “I like spending time with Dad, but there’s a farm to manage. The calves are almost ready to drop. The horse is about to foal. There’s a business to run. Jess to care for.”

Kayla watched him, unmoving.

Marc rubbed his jaw. He wasn’t sure how to rationalize his feelings, but he wanted her to understand. “I hate sitting in there, waiting for him to die.” He shook his head. “It’s not natural.”

“It’s very natural,” she corrected. “Life goes full circle. Your father sees this as going home to God.”

“If he hadn’t smoked for thirty-eight years, he might not be going home quite so soon,” Marc returned.

Kayla shrugged. “You could get trampled by a bull tomorrow, or crash your truck taking a curve on ice.”

Marc winced. She hit home. He tended to drive with his foot too heavy, always hurrying.

“Your father believes his days are numbered by God’s calendar, not ours.”

“And you accept that?” Marc stared at her. “Even though you know his smoking led to his initial cancer and now this.” He waved a hand to the house. “Lying in there, waiting to die, because he wouldn’t give it up? He’s compromised his health for a habit he wouldn’t break.”

Kayla paused before responding. A trio of crows cawed above, sniping a caustic tune. Kayla’s glance shifted up. She sighed, then tightened her mouth and shook her head. “I believe in God’s plan, Marc, even though I’m new at this whole faith thing. I can’t quote you chapter and verse to prove my points like some long-term theological student.” She shrugged. “I
believe because I choose to believe. It makes sense to me. And addictive habits are tough to break,” she noted.

Her frown deepened as she scrabbled a loose stone with her boot. She glanced up at him, then away, her expression accepting. “I can’t give you whys and wherefores, but I can look at your father’s life and see it’s been good. He taught you everything he knew. Kept you under his wing. It couldn’t have been easy, doing that alone.”

“He piled mistake on mistake,” Marc retorted. He moved away, then swung back. “He married the wrong woman, then did nothing to rectify the problem.”

“So he should have chucked her? Knowing she was sick?”

“Not sick. Selfish. Self-absorbed. Self-centered. Take your pick.”

His words riled her. The sky-blue eyes snapped, then softened with effort. “You should talk to him while there’s still time. Ask him about your mom. Let him confide in you.”

“Like he’s done with you.” Marc fixed his gaze on her. “You come in here for the last chapter of a thirty-year story and think you have all the answers. But you don’t. Not even close.”

She didn’t back down. Meeting his eye, she slid her look toward the house. “Talk to him before it’s too late. You don’t want to run out of time.”

He actually thought he liked her directness? Her no-nonsense approach and her spunky attitude?

At the moment it ranked dead last on his list of criteria. He backed away from the car. “Will Dr. Pentrow call about the patch?”

Pensive, she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “You should hear from him or the pharmacy within the hour. If not, call the service. They’ll jump on it.”

He read between the lines.
Don’t bother me, it’s my night off.
He nodded. “Okay.”

She hesitated. Her look said there was more she wanted to say.

She didn’t. Face tight, she eased down the driveway without a backward glance.

The yard grew lonely as her car faded into the twilight. Colder, somehow.

Marc shrugged off the feeling and strode to the house, determined to get through the coming days the best way he knew. Hard labor and minimal downtime always worked in the past.

Fatalism made sense to Marc. What happened, happened, but he refused to let fate rule him. Personal self-control and good planning held him in good stead so far.

Discounting the foolish things he’d done as a kid, Marc appreciated his maturity. He had a plan laid out. He’d achieved renowned status as a premier breeder of prize-winning Herefords and developed a crossbreeding program that commanded blue ribbons and high prices for his prime beef. He was schooled in animal husbandry and the debit and credit lines of a successful enterprise. He kept his costs minimal, but wasn’t afraid to spend money to augment future prospects.

He stopped at the door.

Pete DeHollander demonstrated those traits to his young son. It was Pete who’d prodded him into taking one step more, Pete who urged patience when Marc didn’t understand his mother’s ever-changing moods.

Marc massaged the nape of his neck. He loved his father, but rationalizing the disease that could have been prevented, the mother not cut out to be a mother and the fact he was about to be left alone with Jess angered him.

He needed to move beyond the fury, but hadn’t a clue how to accomplish that. It seemed like anger had been a part of him forever.

Not forever, son.

Hand out, Marc faltered.

No, he hadn’t been mad forever. Just since the fall of his sophomore year, when he found his father and Jess both crying, the howling baby clutched in Pete’s hands, tears wetting his father’s cheeks, his chin.

He’d never seen Pete cry before and hadn’t seen it since. The sight shook him. Marc glimpsed the truth of what Pete had done for long, hard years. He’d worked to provide a sense of normalcy to a relationship that was anything but.

Rock-solid, Pete set the tone for a young boy’s life, his dreams. He was the first line of defense against a world of change. Marc had always been able to count on his father’s love, his strength.

Pete’s strength ebbed that autumn afternoon and never came back fully. From that day forward, Pete seemed different. Humbled.

Blessed are the humble, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Humility or weakness? At the moment, Marc was unsure where one left off and the other began. With a firm twist of his hand he opened the door and let himself into the house that seemed emptier every day.

“Jess?”

Jess emerged from Pete’s room, her expression questioning. “What’s up?”

“Got someone I’d like you to meet,” Marc told her. He tossed her a barn coat. “Grab your boots.”

“Someone to…” Jess’s frown deepened, then cleared. “Grace foaled?”

“Hurry up. You’re slow.”

“Did she, Marc? Why didn’t you call me? I wanted to see the foal get born.”

Marc snorted. “She managed to deliver in the one half hour I didn’t check on her. Seems Grace enjoys her privacy.”

“So what is it? What does it look like?”

Marc swung the door open. “Let’s go see.”

“Marc!” Jess ran ahead, her voice floating back to him on the northeast wind. “Is it a paint or not?”

Marc grinned. The sire was believed to be a tobiano, although he only had a dozen foals to his credit. Grace bore tobiano markings, but her heredity was more “Heinz 57,” a little of this, a little of that.