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Return to Emmett's Mill
Kimberly Van Meter
Return to Emmett’s Mill
Kimberly Van Meter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u42d4fc95-3722-571b-a0ad-3b1fbd3ed87a)
Title Page (#u8f39023d-c365-5c65-a909-5a65d8f5dbd5)
About the Author (#u635b2696-1c14-5d08-aa2f-919ae47eed26)
Dedication (#u118262ba-792a-53d3-9aaa-fd5bb936df44)
Chapter One (#u1eed3790-9c82-5628-b509-06e86db769df)
Chapter Two (#ud1a2d5a4-5a49-5dab-b259-e831e3201d69)
Chapter Three (#udd5a9aae-50ee-5e49-827d-67832bc7d0fc)
Chapter Four (#u2140eb60-dc20-510d-a5b0-1948e720f209)
Chapter Five (#ub192a839-0ed9-5b94-a581-4cba1f5847e2)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
An avid reader since before she can remember, KimberlyVan Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings, on her mother’s old portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved to the point of reaching that coveted published status.
A journalist (who during college swore she’d never write news), Kimberly has worked for both daily and weekly newspapers, covering multiple beats including education, health and crime, but she always dreamed of writing novels and someday saying goodbye to her nonfiction roots.
Born and raised in scenic Mariposa, California, Kimberly knows a thing or two about small towns – preferring the quiet, rural atmosphere to the hustle and bustle of a busy city any day – but she and her husband make their home in Oakdale, which represents a compromise between the two worlds. Kimberly and her husband, John, met and fell in love while filming a college production. He was the camera operator and she the lead actress. Her husband often jokes that he fell in love with his wife through the lens of a camera. A year later they were married and have been together ever since.
To Krystina Morgainne for your gift of hope.
To Wynette Kimball for your expertise and wisdom
during a time of great emotional upheaval.
To my children, Sebastian, Jaidyn and Eryleigh, for
understanding when Mum was glued to her laptop.
To my husband, John,
for his determination to continue growing, learning
and loving together even when it’s hard.
And finally, this book is dedicated to anyone who’s
ever had to face something painful in their past in
order to embrace the future. Your courage is your
strength and a gift to yourself and others.
You deserve good things. Never let anyone
convince you otherwise.
CHAPTER ONE
THE DRIZZLE FALLING FROM the gray skies blended with the steady drone of Father McDonald’s voice until Tasha Simmons lost the ability to tell them apart.
The dull gleam of her mother’s casket mirrored the gloom of the skies. Tears welled and receded until Tasha’s eyes and throat ached.
Flanked by her sisters, Nora and Natalie, and Natalie’s husband, Evan, she blocked out the pain that came with the knowledge her father was only one sister over, and she locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground.
Suddenly, the short holiday visits over the years weren’t enough. Not nearly enough to get her through something like this. She’d give anything to have one more day with her mother. Just one day.
Fingers tightening around the black plastic umbrella handle, Tasha blocked out faces she’d known her entire life until they were as anonymous as the raindrops pelting the small group. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d ever been the girl they remembered.
The priest ended his reading from the scripture meant to offer some measure of solace to the ones left behind, and everyone murmured “Amen.” He gestured to her father who, with Natalie’s help, approached the casket with slow, stiff steps, a rose clutched in his hand. Tasha averted her eyes, not wanting to watch as her father disintegrated into harsh, shuddering sobs. Staring at the wet ground, the rain creating muddy rivulets down the side of the hill her mother would be buried in, she suddenly hated her sisters’ decision not to cremate. Tasha didn’t want her mother lowered into the cold ground, surrounded by worms, ants and other disgusting insect life. The grief she was holding back rose in her throat and she struggled to get a grip.
Her mother wasn’t supposed to die so young. She wanted to scream it to the heavens until her voice was hoarse or until it disappeared entirely.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Father McDonald indicated it was their turn and the three of them placed their snow-white roses beside that of their father’s. Bitterness filled her mouth and tainted her thoughts. What significance did placing flowers on a casket have on anything? Her mother could not enjoy their beauty or smell their sweet scent.
Tasha passed Nora as she returned to her place and startled at the red-rimmed stare she received. There was more than grief in her sister’s slate eyes and there was no doubt in Tasha’s mind that it was directed toward her.
An apology was useless; she wouldn’t even try. Their mother was dead. Would it have mattered if she’d come home any sooner?
Father McDonald gave his final words, ending the short service. She dragged a deep breath into her lungs, then a shudder followed as the cold went straight to her bones. Tasha murmured to Natalie that she was leaving but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
“Tasha?”
“Hello…” She racked her brain for the woman’s identity, but even as the woman drew closer, a sad smile on her plump face, Tasha’s mind blanked.
“I’m so sorry about your mom. She was such an amazing woman.”
Tasha nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief clutched in her hand. The woman kept talking, and a spark of recognition flared in her mind, but Tasha couldn’t remember her name.
“Goodness, what’s it been? Fifteen years or so since you left home to go to Stanford? What were you studying?” The woman shook her finger at Tasha in thought. “No, don’t tell me…anthropology! That’s right. You were getting a degree in anthropology. How’d that work out for you?”
“Ah…well, I’ve been working for the Peace Corps,” she offered, struggling to fan the spark into something less frustrating than just the fleeting image of a long-ago friendship.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
Tasha hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings when she’d clearly cared enough about Tasha’s mom to attend the funeral, but there was no help for it. She shook her head regretfully, but the woman graciously waved away her consternation.
“Don’t sweat it. I don’t exactly look the same as I did in high school. Not many of us do, well, except you, of course. You don’t look as if you’ve aged a day. Plop a tiara on your head and you’d be the spitting image of you at seventeen when you were prom queen.”
A frightening thought. Tasha stiffened and searched out her sisters. Natalie caught her beseeching stare and hurried over as quickly as the cemetery mud and her shoes would allow.
“Hannah, how are you?” Natalie asked, a pleasant smile fixed to her face despite her obvious fatigue. “Things good down at the hardware store?”
Hannah Donner. Tasha slapped a mental hand to her forehead for blanking on someone who’d once been a close friend. It seemed unfathomable that she’d forget Hannah’s name, but weariness and grief had robbed her of higher mental ability. Always the forgiving sort, Hannah seemed to move right past Tasha’s momentary memory lapse and nodded in answer to Natalie’s question, but her expression dimmed appropriately in light of the reasons they were gathered. She reached out a hand and Tasha reluctantly accepted. “I’ll always remember your mom like she was when we were in high school—the cheer squad’s very own personal team mom. Nobody made better brownies.”
“Thank you,” Tasha choked out as a wave of unwanted nostalgia clogged her throat. Memories of sleepovers, girl-talk, childish dreams and blissful sighs over cute guys rushed her brain as she struggled against the sensation that she couldn’t breathe. She was relieved when Nora trudged up to them, her expression hard.
“Are you coming to the wake?”
Tasha averted her eyes, inwardly flinching at the anger in her youngest sister’s unforgiving stare. “Uh, no, I’ll probably just head back to the hotel for some rest,” she answered, catching Hannah’s nod of understanding and Nora’s darkening frown. “I’m pretty tired—”
“I should’ve known.” Nora cut her off and continued toward her vehicle with short, angry steps.
Tasha watched as Nora climbed into her truck and held her breath in alarm as her sister drove too fast out of the cemetery parking lot.
“She’s taking this pretty hard, isn’t she?” Hannah asked, though the question was rhetorical. Missy’s death had taken a toll on the entire Simmons clan. Only Nora covered her grief with the anger she held against Tasha.
Natalie pressed her lips together as if to apologize for their youngest sister, but Tasha read understanding in her middle sister’s eyes and felt outnumbered.
They were ganging up on her. And, the reason chafed.
A letter, written in Natalie’s flowery script, appeared in her memory and she bit down on her bottom lip. She hadn’t known. Couldn’t have known. The original letter had somehow been eaten by the postal service, and by the time the second letter arrived a month later the cancer had moved with deadly accuracy throughout their mother’s body before she could board a plane. Yet, her sisters blamed her.
“Tasha?”
Natalie’s voice penetrated her thoughts and she realized both women were staring.
“Are you all right?” Hannah asked, taking in Tasha’s rigid state.
Tasha slowly unclenched her fists and offered a small smile. “I’m tired,” she answered, and Hannah nodded her understanding.
“Of course you are,” she said. “After everything, I’m sure you’re exhausted. “Well, uh, call me while you’re still in town and we’ll go to lunch. Catch up on old times.”
Tasha nodded with false promise but shuddered privately. No, thank you. The past was a place she rarely visited.
And for good reason.
JOSH HALVORSEN WENDED his way through the departing crowd following the service, sadness at a vibrant life cut short dogging his steps. He hated the saying that God only took the good ones, because somehow it seemed a penalty for being a decent human being. Growing up, Missy Simmons had been like another mother to him, though at times, he certainly felt one had been enough. Ahead, he saw Tasha talking with Hannah Donner and his breath hitched in his chest as he saw her in the flesh after all these years.
He slowed his pace and people flowed around him. At one time they’d been inseparable, crazy in love until it had ended badly and he’d limped away nursing a broken heart and bruised ego.
The last time they spoke was the day they broke up during her first year at Stanford. They learned quickly long-distance relationships were hard to maintain—even when the love was strong. In the end, fear of losing her coupled with irrational jealousy eventually drove a wedge between them even their love couldn’t withstand. The echo of their last words ghosted his mind and regret followed.
He’d thought time had dulled those feelings, but the moment his eyes alighted on her willowy figure, wrapped in an austere black woolen overcoat, he’d known by the startling zing that sent his heart racing that he was wrong.
An invisible connection flowed between them, tethering him to the spot despite his desire to blend into the crowd. He’d paid his respects, nothing more was required of him. Perhaps…but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away as if he’d never been there. Good manners dictated he offer his condolences to Gerald Simmons…and to Tasha.
“Tasha…” Her name felt foreign on his lips, almost forgotten, but he knew that was impossible.
“Josh.”
His name came out in an astonished husky murmur that reminded him of other times, and for a split second he wondered how things might’ve turned out if different choices had been made. He glanced away, shoving his near-frozen hands deep into his jacket pockets, until he could look at her without distraction.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he offered, his gut twisting at the pain he read in her red-rimmed green eyes before she concealed them behind dark glasses. “She was a good woman who didn’t deserve to die so young.”
“Yes, she was.” Tasha nodded. “She thought the world of you,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “And she would’ve been happy to know you came.”
“I’d heard she was sick. I was hoping for a recovery,” he said, noting the subtle differences in Tasha, none being uncomplimentary. She was still beautiful. Maturity had treated her well, accentuating her natural grace and refining her soft, cultured voice.
“Thank you,” she said, bringing her umbrella down closer to block out the wind that was wreaking havoc on her fine hair that hung loose to her shoulders, the moisture in the air bringing out the stubborn curl she used to hate. He remembered playing with the soft strands, twining them around his finger on lazy summer days spent down at the Merced River.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” The observation drifted out of his mouth and her startled yet instantly guarded reaction made him wish he’d kept it to himself. She gave him a brief smile that hovered too closely to patronizing to be taken at face value, and he sensed more had changed than he realized. “Take care, Tasha,” he said, and quickly moved on.
He was nearly to his truck when he heard his name called. Turning, he was surprised to see Natalie hurrying toward him.
“The wake is atmy parents’house. Please come,” she said, once she caught her breath. “Mom loved you like a son. You are always welcome in our home.” She hesitated, as if weighing her decision to continue, then added resolutely, “Tasha would like it, too.”
Somehow he doubted that. “It’s nice of you to offer, but—”
“But nothing. You were once friends. And, right now, we all need our friends. You know?” She finished with a smile that begged even though her words had not. Like Tasha, Natalie’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her nose pink from both the frigid weather and her tears. “Please?”
Against his better judgment, he nodded slowly and she exhaled as if in relief, her breath creating a gray plume of mist before them. “Then it’s settled. You’ll come. It’ll be nice. For everyone.”
With that she turned and joined Tasha, who was waiting in the new Honda sedan he assumed belonged to Natalie.
He knew the smart thing was not to go, but a part of him wanted to see her again. And that desire worried him. She was part of his past, not his future. That much he knew. But, as he climbed into his truck, his thoughts returned to the very place he didn’t want to go.
She’d been the cutest girl on the cheer squad and he’d fallen hard. He missed those halcyon days when his biggest concern was passing Algebra II and beating the rival football team at Homecoming. Theirs had been a clichéd romance. The jock and the princess. But it’d been great while it lasted. Too bad he’d been too dumb to see what a good thing he’d had. He shook his head, annoyed at the maudlin direction his thoughts had taken, reminding himself that life was what he’d made of it.
A heavy sigh felt trapped in his chest. What the hell was he going to say to Tasha at the wake when it was obvious they’d said all they needed to say to each other years ago? He should’ve been firm, but he’d never been the kind of man to turn a woman down when tears—or even the hint of tears—were involved.
Besides, it was the least he could do for the family he’d once considered as his own.
CHAPTER TWO
TASHA SHIVERED DESPITE the warmth caused by too many bodies crammed into the small house of her childhood. Slipping out on the pretense of needing to help Natalie in the kitchen, she removed herself from the crush of people and wandered away from the family room.
If things had turned out differently, would she have stayed? Raised a family like Natalie? Started a business like Nora? Trailing her fingers along the wainscoting, she detoured to what used to be her room. The plan had been to turn it into a sewing room, but it still looked exactly as she’d left it. Sinking to the single bed, she inhaled the unique smell of a closed-off room and her gaze roamed the corkboard where dozens of postcards were pinned. A painful smile formed as Tasha envisioned her mom pinning a new one to the board after she’d read it.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”
Her sister’s voice at her back made her wipe at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes before she turned and answered. “I wasn’t. Natalie persuaded me to change my mind,” she admitted, watching warily as her sister came into the room. “It’s good to see you, Nora,” she added truthfully.
Nora softened a little. “You’ve been missed. It’s been too long since you’ve been home.”
Four years. The longest she’d ever been without making a short stop in Emmett’s Mill.
“I know. I was stationed at a medical clinic in Punta Gorda and there just never seemed to be a good time to leave. They’re always needing volunteers. I didn’t want to leave them shorthanded.” She avoided Nora’s gathering frown, turning away with her arms wrapped around herself. “It isn’t like I can just call up a replacement, Nora. There isn’t even phone service in some areas. My job isn’t like that of most people. I can’t just leave. People need me.”
“Your family needs you, too,” Nora retorted, the anger returning to her voice. “Mom needed you.”
She turned, tears pricking her eyes. “I know,” she said, accepting the harsh look Nora sent her, knowing her anger came from a place of pain and grief. She tried reaching out, but the burn coming from Nora’s bloodshot eyes stopped her. Dropping her hand, she shrugged helplessly. “Nora, my being here wouldn’t have stopped the cancer. She was going to die whether I was here or not.”
“You’re right. But maybe if you’d been here, the last name on her breath wouldn’t have been yours.” Tasha startled at the revelation and Nora stepped forward, her voice beginning to tremble with the force of her anger. “Maybe if you’d been here, she wouldn’t have suffered through a broken heart, as well as the pain of the cancer as it ate her from the inside.”
“Stop.” Tasha closed her eyes, blocking out the tears coursing down her sister’s cheeks. What could she say? Nothing would erase the fact that she had been thousands of miles away while their mother suffered through pancreatic cancer. She slowly opened her eyes again as the silence lengthened. Nothing she could say would convey how sorry she felt, so she remained silent.
Nora wiped at her tears and then pinned Tasha with a look ripe with bitterness and sorrow. “What can I say, Tasha? You simply should’ve been here.”
“I know,” she answered quietly, though there was an edge to her tone. She accepted Nora’s condemnation…to a point. And that point had been reached. “You’ve said your piece, now let it go, Nora. You’re not the only one grieving, you know. I lost my mother, too.”
Nora’s jaw hardened and Tasha wearily prepared for another stinging backlash from her youngest sister, but to her surprise it didn’t come. Instead, Nora swallowed hard as if choking down whatever she’d been tempted to say next and gave Tasha a short nod. “I didn’t mean to start a fight. But, the last few months have been hard. Really hard. And it would’ve been nice to have our eldest sister here with us. That’s all.” Tasha gave an almost imperceptible nod and Nora continued softly. “We needed more than postcards, Tasha. Paper is no substitute for flesh and blood.”
Let it go, for pity’s sake! Frustration swept through her as she stiffened against Nora’s attempt at burying her under a mountain of guilt. Mission accomplished, little sister. A snap retort danced on her tongue, but she didn’t want to spend the brief time she had before returning to Belize fighting. She began to offer a truce, but Natalie, who appeared in the doorway, looking fatigued and exasperated, cut her off.
“There you two are,” Natalie broke in, peering into the room with annoyance. “Nora, I could use your help with the hors d’oeuvres trays, and, Tasha, could you help me with the guests who just arrived?”
Suddenly sensing the tension in the room, her gaze darted from one sister to the other. “What’s going on? Are you two fighting already?” She didn’t give either a chance to answer. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I need your help. Whatever squabbles you guys are having can just wait. Besides—” she sent a dark look to them both “—I’m sure you two can agree this is not the time or the place to be airing your dirty laundry.”
Chastised, Nora left the room without an argument.
“At least she seems to listen to you,” Tasha said with a weary sigh. “All she wants to do with me is argue.”
Natalie considered this, then said, “Tasha…she doesn’t really know you. You left when she was sixteen. All she knows is that you weren’t here when you were needed. Her memory of you is shaped by the image she created when you weren’t around.”
“And now I’m here and the reality of who I am is a disappointment?”
Natalie rubbed at her eyes, the tiredness there pulling at Tasha’s conscience. What was she doing? Natalie was right. Now was not the time. “Forget it. I understand. Just point me in the direction you need me to go. We’ll table this for later.” And by later she meant never. She really didn’t want to delve any deeper into Nora’s apparent disillusionment. There was enough grief in this house to fill a well. No sense in overflowing the damn thing.
Natalie accepted her offer and pointed down the hallway. “I need someone to help with the guests. More have arrived and I’m stuck in the kitchen. And—” she paused, rubbing her arms together with a brief glance around the room “—make sure you close this door behind you. There’s a terrible draft coming in from somewhere.”
“Sure,” she said. The last thing she wanted to do was usher in more people who no doubt wanted to ask about her long absence, but Natalie was in drill-sergeant mode and trying to back out would only cause her to draw the big guns. Besides, Natalie had pretty much single-handedly put together all the arrangements for the day and the least she could do was point people toward the food and accept a few condolences.
Drawing a deep breath, she followed Natalie and reentered the family room, where people she recognized and some she didn’t milled around or huddled in clusters. Skirting the larger groups, she fielded a few questions, but for the most part, she was left alone. The guests were respectfully brief in their innocent questioning, and Tasha was soon relaxed enough to consider grabbing a bite from the buffet table. Plate in hand, she noted with a start she was standing right beside Josh. Seeing him at the cemetery had been shocking enough, but being in such close proximity that she could smell the crisp scent of his aftershave and see the subtle touch of time in his face caused an irrational longing to lay her head on his shoulder. She knew it was Natalie who invited him, but she hadn’t expected him to accept.
Moving quietly, she tried leaving the buffet table, but Josh caught her movement out of the corner of his eye and turned.
They stared, each wondering what to say to each other, until Tasha realized what they were doing was childish. They were adults; time to act like it. She braved a small smile.
“You look good,” she admitted in a grudging tone.
He inclined his head, accepting her compliment, and murmured, “I could say the same to you. It seems the jungle agrees with you.”
“Thanks,” she returned, waiting as he put slices of roast beef and potatoes on his plate and added a slice of buttered bread, then moved away. After loading her own plate, she hesitated and he turned, as if reading her indecision or feeling her reluctance to take a seat beside him. Once they’d been more than friends; now they weren’t even acquaintances. He jerked his head in invitation but she knew it was out of courtesy. “Are you sure?”
“It’s fine,” he assured her, this time with more conviction.
He led her into the rarely used sitting room, as if instinctively knowing that she craved some quiet after the emotional events of the day.
They sat at opposite ends of the loveseat her mother had bought at an estate sale and had considered a steal, and she idly wondered when Josh started liking Mrs. Holt’s roast, if only to focus on something other than the feel of her heart beating painfully.
He’d always complained it was tougher than an old shoe. He turned and the question must’ve flashed in her eyes, for he bent toward her and whispered an answer out of the corner of his mouth.
“She knows where I live.”
Tasha laughed. She’d seen Mrs. Holt watching the buffet line like a hawk, noting who had bypassed her contribution and who had dutifully taken some. A foreign feeling created a warm glow inside her and she had to pop a stuffed mushroom into her mouth before she embarrassed herself.
“Besides, I’ve realized…it’s not that bad,” he added in a tone that was entirely too high-pitched for honesty or natural for a man of Josh’s considerable size.
“That’s not what you used to say.”
“Things change,” he said, sticking a forkful in his mouth with fake relish. “See? Delicious.”
Tasha chuckled when his act faltered as he swallowed, and for the barest of seconds, it felt natural to sit beside him enjoying a meal. Until she glanced down and caught the pale white line encircling his ring finger, reminding her sharply that they had taken different roads without each other. The absence of the ring made her wonder. “I heard you married Carrie Porter,” she ventured, surprised at how after so many years the knowledge still managed to burn. But she didn’t blame him for moving on. Not now, anyway. She popped another mushroom, chewing until a morbid sense of curiosity took hold of her tongue. “Why no ring?”
His mouth formed a grim line and he shrugged. “Didn’t figure I should wear the ring anymore when the divorce was final months ago.”
Oh. “What happened?”
He shot her a quick look and she got the distinct impression she was trespassing. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Forget it. It’s none of my business. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Chalk it up to jet lag, grief, pressure from my sisters…take your pick.”
He nodded and returned to his plate, leaving her to wonder if she shouldn’t just make an exit now before she ended up wandering into dangerous territory for them both.
Time had added lines around his blue eyes, and slivers of gray threaded the hair that had once been solid brown, but his shoulders were wider than she remembered and thick with muscle that hadn’t been there when they were kids. As far as she could tell, there was nothing boylike about the man next to her. The knowledge gave her a dark thrill that immediately put her on guard. She wasn’t supposed to feel those kinds of things for Josh anymore. But when he was sitting within arm’s length, it was hard to ignore the spark.
He surprised her when he started talking about his life with Carrie.
“It was good for a while, but I guess we grew apart. You know how that happens.” He paused, but he didn’t really expect an answer. “Anyway, she still lives in Stockton. I needed a fresh start and figured I could find that from home. So, here I am.”
She nodded, surprised at the modicum of sympathy that she felt for Carrie. “I’m sorry,” she offered, hoping Josh knew she was sincere. He accepted her condolences in the same fashion she’d accepted his—politely—and crumpled his soiled napkin before dropping it to his empty plate. As she watched him, a flood of memories came back and Tasha spoke before her brain could catch up and tell her to stop. “You know, when I heard you and Carrie had married…I have to admit, it threw me a little.” More than a little, but that fact made little difference now. When he looked at her sharply, she shrugged. “I mean, I guess I never would’ve put the two of you together because you weren’t exactly friends in high school.”
“I know.” He shrugged again, but the blue of his eyes had gone bleak and she sensed the pain that he was trying to hide. That she could see it so easily jarred her, and she struggled to recover without letting on how it had affected her. It wasn’t right that she could still read him so well. Time should’ve blunted that ability, but it hadn’t. He drew himself up, his plate resting in one hand, and briefly met her wide-eyed gaze. “What are you gonna do?” he asked rhetorically, the sarcasm in his tone at odds with what she knew of his personality. “Marriages end every day. I should’ve known better in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. At one time he’d been quite romantic. Josh was the kind of man women loved to marry because he was a one-woman kind of guy who cherished the family. His bitterness caused sadness to spill over inside her for the boy who’d lost his belief in love.
“Forget it. It’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing her words were inadequate.
“What’s done is done,” he said. Their eyes met again, and Tasha was tempted to look away for fear of catching something else that he hadn’t meant to share, but she couldn’t. Her heart fluttered but she held his gaze, wondering how he managed to affect her after all these years. It was heady and frightening. And it made her question whether or not he shared her ability and could read the confusion she felt. Shaking his head, Josh broke the spell, and when he spoke again, at least the sarcasm was gone. “Everything happens for a reason, right?”
“That’s what some people believe.”
“You don’t?” he said, catching what she didn’t say.
“No.” She left it at that and he didn’t press.
“Well, I’m one of those people, because if hooking up with Carrie was good for only one thing, I got it, and that’s my son.”
Son? An overwhelming sense of self-pity filled her. “You have a son?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay light and politely interested when she felt cheated of something that never truly belonged to her in the first place. “What’s his name?”
“Christopher,” he answered. “He’s fourteen.”
“Just one?” she asked, remembering a distant conversation held between two young lovers seeking shelter from a summer storm in an abandoned hay barn. Back then, he’d boasted of wanting a houseful of Halvorsen sons and daughters.
“Just one,” he confirmed, though there was regret in his voice. “Carrie had problems with her pregnancy and we didn’t want to risk it.”
“That was smart,” Tasha said.
“Yeah, well, it helped that Carrie wasn’t interested in more kids, anyway. She said one was enough, and since it was so hard for her, I agreed.” He turned to her, a speculative light in his eyes as he abruptly switched subjects. “So, what have you been up to all this time? I heard something about the Peace Corps? That’s intense. I always knew you’d do great things. Seems I wasn’t wrong.”
The proud statement, touched with wistfulness, made her stomach flop in an uncomfortable manner. She didn’t deserve his praise, or anyone else’s for that matter. She enjoyed her work—it gave her a measure of peace knowing she was helping others to lead a better life—but her motivation hadn’t been grounded in humanitarian reasons. It had simply been the fastest and easiest way to escape the nightmares, the guilt and the questions. The fact that it had turned out to be something she could embrace without reservation was just a perk.
“Anyone can join the Peace Corps. It’s not an exclusive club or anything. You just have to want to help people,” she said, suddenly hating that her life had been shattered before she’d had the chance to actually live it. Surprised by the odd burst of rancor, she covered with a light laugh, adding with false brevity, “Oh, and not have a phobia for really big bugs. And snakes. The jungle is full of them. Most are harmless, the bugs that is, and even edible. Many indigenous tribes find grubs delicious. I’ve even tried a few,” she admitted with a blush. “Some taste like popcorn when roasted over an open fire.”
“Popcorn?”
“Well, sort of. I don’t think they’re going to replace Orville Redenbacher anytime soon, but they’re…crunchy and full of protein.”
He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a loud guffaw that took her by surprise. At first she felt defensive, but once she realized he wasn’t laughing at her but rather at the very odd conversation turn, she joined him. Wiping at her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry…that was a really weird thing to say at a wake….”
“Hey, no need to apologize. I totally understand.” The warmth of his voice told her somehow he did understand and she relaxed for the first time since touching down in California. She missed this feeling and it was tempting to sink into it, but she knew it was created out of extreme circumstances. What they’d had was gone. She wasn’t foolish enough to hope that they could ever recreate what they’d both destroyed.
The splash of reality drowned the good feelings she’d been enjoying and brought her back to earth.
He’d married Carrie, and Tasha had run away, afraid of what people would say, think or feel when they found out what had happened to Emmett’s Mill’s sweetheart. An even worse thought would’ve been if they didn’t believe her.
Her own father hadn’t. Why would anyone else?
It’d been easier to run. And, as she sat beside Josh, she realized she’d never truly stopped running.
He didn’t know what happened that night; he’d already left Emmett’s Mill with Carrie to start a new life without her.
Even so, she’d cried his name into her pillow, wishing for his strong arms to calm her quaking body and chase away the nightmares that came every night, no matter how hard she pushed herself, hoping for oblivion.
But that was long ago and she was a different person now.
And she would die before she ever divulged to anyone, much less Josh, what had happened to her.
CHAPTER THREE
TASHA HELPED CLEAR DISHES with her sisters, her mind a jumbled mess, happy to avoid conversation with her father, though a surreptitious glance in his direction where he sat stone-faced and bereft should’ve told her he was in no shape to resurrect old arguments. For that matter, neither was she.
“I think that went fairly well,” Natalie said, loading the dishwasher while Tasha hand washed what wouldn’t fit.
“As well as a wake can go, I suppose,” she murmured, pausing to rub wearily at her left eye with her wrist and sneaking another glance at her father.
“Where did such a weird custom start, anyway? Bringing food to a bunch of grieving people. Stupid, if you ask me,” Nora said, mostly to Natalie, who to her credit only reacted with a long-suffering look. “I, for one, didn’t feel like chowing down after my mother’s funeral. Morbid. Simply morbid.”
The last words were delivered as she stalked from the room to gather the rest of the leftovers, and Tasha was glad for the respite. She hadn’t remembered Nora being such a hothead.
“You sure you don’t mind hand washing?” Natalie asked, drawing her attention.
“I can do this in my sleep. No dishwashers where I’m stationed,” she answered with a sigh, placing the cleaned pot on the dish rack and proceeding to the next. “Besides, it feels good to do something. Makes me feel useful.”
“You were a big help today,” Natalie said, brooking an amused smile on her part. Nat was always trying to make everyone feel better. Tasha accepted the compliment and finished with the dishes. Silence stretched between them and Tasha tumbled into an odd funk that probably had more to do with her jet lag than her grief, as the true measure of that emotion hadn’t quite hit her yet.
Her two younger sisters had grown into strong, capable women while she was away. Not that she’d doubted they would, but Nora was still in high school and Natalie was in her sophomore year at UC Davis when she left, and Tasha hadn’t been thinking about the future, theirs or her own. She’d run away with little thought to anything but escape, and while she’d been running, time had kept moving. She stole a glance at her sister and withheld the bitter sigh trapped in her chest with the rest of the terrible and awful things she kept hidden away.
A tear slid down her nose before she could stop it, and a wave of sorrow threatened to knock the strength out of her legs. Bracing herself against the sink, she prayed for the ability to get through this moment before Natalie noticed the breakdown that was surely heading her way. Breathe. Just breathe. But a sob caught in her throat and an ugly sound escaped.
“Tasha?”
Turning away, she closed her eyes, but the action only squeezed out the tears she was trying to hold back. “I need some air,” she managed to say before bolting from the room. Flying past Nora, who was just returning with more empty plates, she stepped into the darkness and embraced the frosty air as it penetrated her clothing and caressed her skin.
Sinking to the front porch step, she wrapped her arms around herself, more for reassurance than warmth, and fought to stay focused. Her breath came in painful stops and starts as she willed the hurt away. She was too old to keep saying it’s not fair, but that didn’t keep her from thinking it over and over. Wiping at the tears that felt frozen to her cheek, she stared up at the sky and wondered if her mother was up there somewhere. And if so, was she looking down at her eldest daughter with a sad frown on her face? Wondering how her brightest star had winked out within a heartbeat?
She dropped her head to rest on her knees and tried curling into a ball. I’m sorry I didn’t come homeearlier. I would’ve been here for you. Fresh tears slid down her cheek and her gaze was lost on the darkened landscape of her parents’ home. She drew a shaky breath and buried her face into her arms.
Oh, Mama…I’m so sorry.
JOSH GRABBED A POT HOLDER and pulled the smoking mess out of the oven just as Christopher’s lanky form rounded the kitchen corner to lounge against the wall. Damn.
“Another one bites the dust?”
Pot holder covering his mouth as he coughed and sputtered, he gave his son a short nod. “Looks like pizza again. Sorry, buddy.”
“Fine by me.” Christopher sent a dubious look toward what had started out as Tater Tots casserole but had ended charred and dangerous, and said, “Did that even start out worth eating?”
Josh wrinkled his nose at the concoction and pursed his lips. “Dunno.” He swung around to give his son a grin. “But I get points for trying, right?”
“Sure, Dad,” Christopher said, cracking the first grin Josh had seen on his son’s face since they moved. Christopher pivoted on his heel and Josh followed him out of the kitchen, glad to leave behind the burning wreckage and needing to see how Christopher was adjusting.
“So, you getting used to the new school yet?” he asked, rubbing at the sting in his eyes and blinking hard until his vision cleared. “Everything okay? No one’s giving you any trouble?”
“It’s ,” Fine Christopher answered, his cheeks reddening when his adolescent voice cracked.
“You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”
“Dad, stop stressing. I’m fine. One school’s no different than the other. They all suck.”
His hopes sank at Christopher’s revealing comment. He’d hoped Emmett’s Mill would be a fresh start for the both of them. At the last school, Christopher had been bullied incessantly. It wasn’t the same as when Josh was in school. These kids weren’t just stealing lunch money or tossing nerds in trash cans. With the last incident, a group of punks had cornered Christopher, flashing a switchblade.
Josh felt sick all over again at the thought of what might’ve happened if a teacher hadn’t come upon them. Suspensions had been given to the boys from the school’s side, and after Josh filed a complaint with the police, felony charges had been levied. By that point, he’d already packed his bags, finished with everything associated with the city of Stockton. Including his wife.
Speaking of. He withheld the grimace and tried to keep his voice neutral. “It’s your mom’s weekend. She’ll be here Friday after school. Make sure you have your stuff ready.”
“What’s the point? She won’t come.”
Josh winced inwardly at the hurt couched inside his son’s belligerence. Since moving, Carrie hadn’t made much of an effort to see Christopher. He knew the reason, but he’d hoped Christopher didn’t. “She’ll come,” Josh said. “She promised.”
“She promised last weekend, too,” Christopher reminded him, his young face darkening. “She’s too busy spending her new boyfriend’s money.”
Josh should’ve known Christopher would catch on to the real reason Carrie found one excuse after another to reschedule her visitation. He was a smart kid. But as Josh struggled for some sort of reason to give his son this time, he needn’t have bothered. Christopher wasn’t interested in listening.
“Who cares? I don’t,” Christopher said, slouching against the wall as if he really didn’t care if his mother came to see him or not. “She can’t stand me, anyway.”
“That’s not true,” Josh said. “She loves you.”
“Actions speak louder than words, Dad,” Christopher said with a healthy dose of sarcasm before shoving off the wall and walking away, obviously finished with the conversation.
Josh’s heart cracked just a little bit more for what his son was going through. The fact of the matter was, Carrie made it no secret that Christopher embarrassed her. She’d expected their son would be athletic and popular because his father had been, but instead, he was gawky and awkward, his body leaning toward scrawny. To make things worse, early-childhood asthma had made him unable to do many of the things other kids were doing at his age, and he wore braces and glasses. Add to the mix a healthy dose of natural shyness and he made a perfect target for bullies.
Josh knew Carrie loved their son, but she was too wrapped up in things that didn’t matter to realize she was losing her only child. But Josh was the last person Carrie would accept parental advice from. The divorce was too fresh; the hurt and disillusionment too overwhelming—he wouldn’t even try. Either she’d wise up, or not. All he could do was to be there for Christopher.
Awash with regret for choices he had made when he was young, he knew in his heart that somehow fate had made him and Tasha take separate paths for a reason. But right now, he couldn’t help wondering how things might’ve been different if they’d been able to make a long-distance relationship work.
Stanford hadn’t seemed that far away. He’d been so proud of Tasha for getting into the prestigious school. Although the distance eventually tore them apart, he never stopped being proud of his smart girl—even if she wasn’t his anymore.
Ah, hell. He scrubbed his hands across his face in annoyance at the wistful direction of his thoughts. There was no use in looking backward all the time, and he made a point to avoid it even though Carrie always accused him of holding a torch for Tasha. It wasn’t true and no amount of reassuring ever seemed to convince her. He’d given everything to his marriage. But his best wasn’t enough. A failed marriage was a helluva wake-up call.
He’d come home to Emmett’s Mill to get his head on straight, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. When his older brother, Dean, had offered him a job at Halvorsen Construction, he’d gladly accepted, more than happy to bury himself in hard labor, to earn every bruise, scab and aching muscle.
He hadn’t factored in Tasha. Didn’t think he had to. From what he gathered, she rarely came home.
Until now.
He grimaced at the weakness he felt slowly building when he thought of her. She still had the power to make his insides do weird, girlie things, and that was enough to make him realize it was best to steer clear.
That shouldn’t be too hard, he thought, noting his sharp disappointment. He sighed softly. It didn’t look as if Tasha was itching to return for good.
CHAPTER FOUR
TASHA GAVE THE LIST in her hand a quick glance as she breezed through the double sliding doors of the small grocery market, intent on finishing the task as quickly as she could. She wasn’t thrilled with doing the grocery shopping, but both her sisters had plans of their own and couldn’t change them.
Miner Market hadn’t changed much since she was a kid, she noted, going right to the deli counter for her father’s roast beef. In high school, she used to come here with her girlfriends for a hot burrito and a soda, which was often shared among them during lunch. She smiled at the memory and kept moving until she heard her named called.
“Tasha Simmons! Look at you! Goodness, girl, don’t you age?”
Tasha stopped and a name filtered into her memory as the brunette woman ran over to her. “Crystal, wow. You look great, too. How are you?” she inquired politely.
She patted a rounded stomach and beamed. “Can’t complain. Number three right here. Another boy. Jack said pretty soon we’ll have our own basketball team at the rate we’re going. Any kids for you?”
“Uh, no,” she answered, struggling to keep her expression pleasantly bland, ignoring the void she felt in her heart. “Not yet.” Probably never. She lifted her basket. “Well, good to see you. I’d better get to this list or Natalie will kill me.”
Crystal nodded and moved her cart as if to leave but stopped as a sudden thought occurred to her. “I heard Josh’s in town, too. Have you seen him?”
“Actually, yes, he came to my mother’s funeral.”
Crystal’s expression lost some of its sparkle. “Oh, that’s right. She was such an awesome woman,” she said, resting her hand on her belly. “You let me know if you guys need anything. Anything at all.”
Tasha accepted Crystal’s offer with a nod but knew she wouldn’t call.
She detoured down the bread aisle when she saw someone else she’d gone to school with and exhaled softly in relief when she didn’t hear her name called at her back.
For a fleeting, selfish moment, she wished she was already back in Belize, away from the groups of well-meaning folk who had no idea why she wasn’t in the mood to reminisce.
Her coworkers knew she treasured her private time, and since she’d never established herself as the social type, they left her to it.
She drew a deep breath against the sudden tightness in her chest and looked down at the few items she’d managed to grab and groaned. The list was a page long. How much food could one old man eat? She had a sneaking suspicion Natalie had loaded the list in the hopes that she’d run into a friend or two. She sighed. Her sister wasn’t as sly as she thought. Tasha’s problem wasn’t Emmett’s Mill or the people; it was the memory. She’d seen countless counselors, psychiatrists and even a shaman or two in the hopes of dealing with that one incident, but her own brand of therapy prescribed avoidance. And it worked. She didn’t see the point of messing with a method that wasn’t broken.
Almost finished and grumbling under her breath about retribution, she rounded the corner and almost swallowed her tongue when she came face-to-face with someone she’d hoped to never see again.
Diane Lewis, Bronson’s wife, stood not more than four feet in front of her, an uncomfortable expression on her pinched face. For a paralyzing moment, Tasha thought Diane knew what had happened, but when she calmed, she realized Bronson would never have admitted his guilt. Still, Diane’s reaction to her wasn’t kind, which made her wonder what story Bronson had given for her sudden departure.
“Hello, Diane,” she ventured, offering a smile.
“Natasha.” Diane returned with her given name instead of the shortened version everyone else used. “You look well.”
“Thank you.” She struggled to find neutral ground but her insides were trembling. A condolence was in order for Bronson’s death but she couldn’t find the words. When Natalie wrote to tell her, Tasha had read the letter multiple times and crumpled it to her chest as she allowed grim satisfaction to roll through her. It wasn’t right, certainly wasn’t Christian-like, but she hoped he rotted in hell. And it wasn’t something she could tell his wife. Diane solved the dilemma by speaking again first.
“I heard about your mother. Give Gerald my best.”
Tasha nodded, and Diane, stiff-backed and elegantly coiffed, kept moving. It was several moments before Tasha could breathe without great effort. Wiping at her eyes, she glanced quickly to see if anyone had caught the uncomfortable exchange. Once satisfied she’d suffered alone, she hastened for the checkout lane.
TASHA RETURNED TO HER dad’s place and heard her sisters’ voices, one raised and one exasperated.
“What’s going on?” she asked, and placed the groceries on the kitchen counter. Nora immediately crossed her arms and sent a stony look her way, while Natalie simply exhaled, the breath lifting her bangs as frustration laced her features. “What now?” She followed her sister’s gaze outside. Their father was on the porch swing without benefit of a jacket or sweater and the wind was kicking up. “What’s he doing? It’s freezing. Someone needs to get him to come inside.”
“What a novel idea. Why didn’t we think of that?” Nora quipped sarcastically, continuing with a snort. “Like we haven’t already tried. He won’t budge. It’s like he’s gone crazy or something.”
“Cut him some slack. He just lost his wife,” Tasha reminded her sister sharply, and moved past them. What was Nora’s problem? Everyone in the family was hurting. Was it asking too much for her to be a little more sensitive? Bracing herself against the cold, she stalked out the side door to the porch swing, still annoyed at Nora for her callousness but not quite sure what to say to her father. They’d pretty much avoided each other since she returned, and while it hurt to be treated like the plague, she didn’t have the courage to push it.
As she came closer she saw his eyes were bloodshot and softly swollen from tears, and her heart stuttered. She slowed her step and gingerly sat beside him.
“Dad?” She tried to discern what he was looking at, but she saw nothing except pine trees and bracken. She turned to him. “What’s going on? You need to come inside. It’s too cold.”
His bottom lip, blue from the frigid mountain air, trembled as if he were about to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, he lifted his chin just a bit higher as he focused on a point just beyond the pines.
She tried again, ignoring the goose bumps rioting across any exposed skin and the rush of memories that threatened to rob her of her ability to speak coherently. Once, this man had been her hero. Until the day he failed her when she needed him the most. Notthe time. Focus on the now before the man froze to death. “Dad, please come inside. Natalie’s made your favorite for dinner. Meat loaf, I think.”
“Not hungry,” he retorted hoarsely.
Stubborn man. “What are you doing? Trying to die of exposure? Don’t be like this. Mom’s gone. We don’t need to lose our father in the same week because he was too foolish to come in before a storm.”
“Don’t talk to me about losing your mom,” he said, startling her with his sharp, angry rasp. His mouth tightened and his hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe away a sudden glint in his eye. “You weren’t here when she needed you. You don’t know what she went through.”
Stricken by the vehemence in her father’s voice, she tripped on her own words as she tried to defend herself. “Dad, I—”
“Bah!” he spat. “Go save a goddamned tree. It’s all you seem to care about.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” she gasped. “Why would you say that? I came home as soon as I found out.”
“She was already dead!”
Tasha sucked in a sharp breath and tears sprang to her eyes. Once again her own father was against her. How could he possibly believe she wouldn’t have been here if she’d known sooner? “I came as soon as I could,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice level when she wanted to scream.
“She cried your name over and over, wanting to know why you weren’t here.” He buried his head in his hands, raking his fingers through the wild knot of white hair on his head, his breath catching as he continued. “And there was nothing I could do. Nothing! Natalie called and left messages with your supervisor. She wrote letters… Why would you hurt your mother like that? She needed you so much,” he ended with a bereaved moan, his shoulders shaking silently as he cried into his hands.
She’d never received any messages. A million different things could’ve happened to them, none of which were anyone’s fault specifically, but the communication gaps were wider in underdeveloped countries. She squeezed her eyes shut and hated her sisters for sending her outside to be crucified. But she couldn’t argue the facts. Tasha hadn’t been here when her family needed her the most. She risked rejection and gently placed her hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good enough. Sorrier than anyone will ever know,” she added in a whisper. “I can’t take it back. I’d do anything if I could. Deep down somewhere, you have to believe that, Dad. I loved her, too.”
His throat worked convulsively as he raised his head, searching for the truth in her eyes. Pleasebelieve…
After a long moment he nodded and tears of relief sprang to her eyes, but she choked them back for her father’s sake. He was drowning in a sea of his own heartache, and she wouldn’t do anything to further drag him under, but she yearned to hear something else from him—something she was not likely to get.
“Oh, Tasha… My Missy…she died in so much pain.” He looked away, but not before she caught the open anguish in his heart. Fresh guilt washed over her. She tried to speak, to offer something to ease the burden he carried, but nothing short of a watery croak came out. Say something, her brain urged, but she didn’t know what to say. She knew nothing would ease his sense of loss, because she knew nothing anyone could say to her would mend the jagged hole in her heart. So it was better to just sit there andfreeze your ass off? “Dad, please come in out of the cold. Everyone is worried you’re going to catch pneumonia out here. Please.”
A long moment passed before her words reached that closed-off space blocked by his grief, then he turned slowly, a measure of his old personality asserting itself in his gruff voice. “You go on. I’ll come in when I’m ready,” he said, dismissing her.
She blew a hard breath in mild frustration. “Dad, Nat and Nora sent me out here to bring you in. If I go back in there without you, either they’ll just send me out again or Nat will send Nora, and trust me when I say that girl is not big on saying things nice. She’s likely to have you declared mentally unfit and put in one of those old-folk homes where they feed you nothing but Jell-O and Ritz crackers. You don’t want that, do you?”
A part of her was joking, but another part had to admit that sometimes Nora was unpredictable. She wouldn’t put it past her sister to do something so rash, if only to make a point.
Her father’s chuckle sounded dry and rusty but she welcomed the sound. He rose on stiff limbs from the old porch. “That girl has balls the size of Texas sometimes,” he said.
“She reminds me of someone else I know,” she retorted under her breath, fatigue suddenly pulling at her eyes and forcing a yawn despite the chatter of her teeth. She followed her father into the house, glad to be out of the cold and to have accomplished her objective.
The minute they came inside, Natalie fussed around their father, trying to put a shawl across his shoulders until he waved her away and announced he was going to bed, leaving Nora to stare after him in hard-edged annoyance and Natalie to groan over all the food she’d just prepared.
“Tasha, can’t you talk to him? He needs to eat,” Natalie implored, ignoring Nora’s muttered comments even as she looked in the direction their father had disappeared. “I’m worried about him. He hasn’t eaten a good meal in days.”
She sighed wearily and grabbed her coat. “Nat, I think he needs a little space. He’s dealing with a lot right now. It’s not every day your life is destroyed, you know. You can’t expect a raging appetite when everything you’ve ever known is gone.”
“I understand how he feels…” Somehow, Tasha doubted that, but there was no point in arguing and even if there was, she didn’t have the energy. Natalie ignored Tasha’s sigh and continued, “But even so, he needs to eat.”
“He’ll eat when he’s hungry. Just wrap everything up and leave it in the fridge,” she suggested, sliding her arm into her coat, eager to seek the solitude of her hotel room.
Nora came into the room and eyed Tasha’s state of dress with a gathering frown. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my hotel,” she answered.
“I don’t think so. We have details to discuss.”
Natalie stepped forward but Nora ignored her, her voice rising as she crossed her arms across her chest. “You’re not running out on us again when we need you the most.”
“I’m not running out on you,” she returned brusquely, rubbing at her eyes with the flat of her palm. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
“We’re all tired, Tasha. But we need to talk about a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like who’s going to go through Mom’s things, who’s going to help Dad with the day-today stuff, you know, things like that.” Foreboding tingled at the edge of her thoughts as she waited for her sister to get to the point. “And—” she lifted her chin, as if knowing what she was about to say was going to go over like something icky in a punch bowl “—we need to decide how to split up the shifts.”
“Shifts? What are you talking about?”
Natalie jumped in even as she shot Nora a look that said she wasn’t happy with her delivery, clarifying, “Tasha, what Nora is trying to tell you is we need you home for a while—”
“I can’t,” she broke in flatly. “I have to return to Belize in a few days. I have projects, people who depend on me. My team is right in the middle of creating a serviceable water-treatment system and I can’t just drop everything because—”
“Because our mother died?” Nora finished for her, two high points of angry color flashing in her cheeks. “No, heaven forbid, that Tasha rearrange her schedule to accommodate a death in the family.” She threw up her hands and stalked into the kitchen, still ranting. “Gotta make sure some obscure village in the jungle has running water or else Tasha might lose her saintly status.”
“What’s her problem?” Tasha queried Natalie, who was looking as if she were caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. “She’s been pissed off at me since I returned. I don’t understand what she’s so angry about.”
Natalie took a seat on the armrest of the sofa, something she never would’ve done if their mother was still around, and sighed. “This is how she deals with her grief, I guess. She turns it into anger.”
“Yeah. Anger against me.” Tasha exhaled loudly, then turned to her sister. “But you understand, right? Why I can’t stay? I mean, I really do have obligations.” Tasha expected a quick answer, but Natalie’s long pause made her look sharply. “What? Are you mad at me, too?”
“A little,” she admitted, but she seemed ashamed of her admission and elucidated in a quiet voice. “I know why you wouldn’t return before…but the man who hurt you died five years ago, Tasha, and Mom needed you.” Her voice cracked a little and tears glistened as she added, “We all needed you. And now that you’re back, we need you to stay at least long enough to get Dad back on track.”
Stay? Here? “I could lose my post,” she blurted out, hoping to appeal to Natalie’s more pragmatic side. When Natalie’s expression didn’t soften, Tasha knew she wasn’t going to back down. “What if I can’t?” she asked, knowing Natalie would understand she was talking about more than just helping out around the house. “What if it’s just too much? Being here makes it real all over again.” She lowered her voice to a painful whisper. “I ran into Diane Lewis at the store.”
Natalie’s face softened. “What did she say?”
“Not a lot,” she admitted. “But it was incredibly awkward and…I don’t want to go through those kinds of encounters on a daily basis.”
“I understand.” Natalie came toward her and pulled her into a fierce hug. “But you’re not alone. We’ll be with you every step, every moment. And if anyone, including Diane Lewis, even looks cross-eyed at you, we’ll handle it. You can’t keep running. We need this. You need this,” she stressed softly, sending a sharp pang straight to Tasha’s heart. “There’s more to your past than just that one ugly moment. We’re in there, too.”
Tasha wanted to say no, but words failed her and she nodded slowly, even though her instincts told her to board the first plane to Belize, back to the place where no one knew her secrets or wanted to know more than she was willing to share. Where no one expected her to face a past that she’d willfully buried under layers of denial, anger and grief.
Her sisters were asking more than she could give.
Yet, she felt her head nod. “Fine,” she whispered, turning to leave but adding a caveat for sanity’s sake. “Only until things are settled. No exceptions.”
“It must be nice to be able to drop limitations on your family. Makes me wonder if you do the same thing to your people in the Peace Corps,” Nora said, returning to the room, her eyes hot. “I’ll bet you trip all over yourself to help out when it doesn’t involve us.”
Tasha drew back in stricken silence, unable to breathe from the pain in her heart from Nora’s attack. But it was true. Tasha ran herself ragged when she was working, trying to dull the constant hurt she carried with her from day to day. Her mouth worked but nothing came out, words failed her. If only she had the courage to explain. Tasha was spared the effort for Natalie whirled on Nora, surprising them both.
“Stop it! I’ve had enough of your snap judgments on a person you hardly know.”
“Why are you taking her side?” Nora wailed. “Ever since she got here she’s been trying to skip out on us like we’ve got the goddamned plague! Why are you defending her?”
Tasha started to say something, but Natalie stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. Natalie drew a deep breath, and when she began again, her tone softened. “She’s agreed to stay long enough to help us get things settled with Dad. Just stop treating her like she’s the enemy. She’s our sister. Try to remember that fact.”
The glitter in Nora’s eyes betrayed the hurt she was feeling, but her expression hardened just the same. “Yeah, well somebody ought to remind her of that fact, too,” she spat, then turned and grabbed her own jacket. “Food’s put away. I’m outta here.”
“Nora…” Tasha managed to croak her sister’s name but the rest died on her lips. Their father’s snores filtered down the hallway and she was glad he hadn’t witnessed their meltdown. She met Natalie’s weary look. “I don’t want to come between you two. You guys are close and I don’t want to ruin it. She has a right to be angry.”
“I agree,” Natalie said quietly. “But she takes it to another level. That’s her way with most things, but it shouldn’t be the way she is with you. The good news is her temper usually burns out as quickly as it fires. Give it a little time. She’ll come around.”
“I don’t know, Nat.” Tasha shook her head wearily. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Nora to get over her issues with me.”
Natalie crooked a thin smile. “Ye of little faith,” she said, adding ruefully, “Then again, you might be right.”
Tasha’s mouth curved for a moment. “Thanks, Nat. Thanks for…everything.”
“What are sisters for?” Natalie joked softly before checking her watch. “It’s late. I better get going and make sure Evan put Colton to bed.”
“He’s such a sweet little boy,” Tasha murmured, watching as Natalie shrugged into her coat. “You’re lucky to have him.”
Natalie smiled, the first bright and genuine one Tasha had seen on her sister’s face since arriving in Emmett’s Mill. They walked to the door in silence until Natalie, hand on the doorknob, stopped with a sad contemplative look. “You know, I never realized how Mom kept us all connected. She was the common thread. Now I guess it falls to you.”
“Oh, God, Nat. Don’t set me up to fail. I think I’ve disappointed enough people to last a lifetime,” she said around the lump of fear in her throat.
Natalie ran the back of her hand lovingly against her cheek and graced her with a sweet smile that spoke of her confidence in Tasha and said, “You won’t fail. It’s not in your nature. You’re a leader… always have been and always will be.”
Tasha stared, struggling under the weight of her sister’s belief and her own denial, but most of all, she wasn’t sure if she wanted her sister to be right or wrong.
CHAPTER FIVE
JOSH MADE HIS WAY toward the local newspaper office to start a subscription. He enjoyed reading the newspaper on Sunday morning with his coffee. It gave him a sense of normalcy that he felt sadly lacking since his divorce, and, small as it was, he was clinging to it.
The storm had broken, and although a bracing wind kept pedestrians clutching at their jackets to ward off the chill, Josh barely felt the cold. His mind was crowded with the details of reestablishing himself. Dean was good enough to offer him a job on his crew, and Josh was happy to work with his brothers again.
They were good guys, and Dean had a son a little older than Christopher who was willing to help his younger cousin get acclimated to the new school.
Gripping the handle, the cold burning into his palm, he pushed the door open and walked inside.
The blond receptionist looked up at the sound of the door jingling, and when she saw who it was, a bright yet surprised smile lit her face. “Josh Halvorsen? Wow! It’s been forever since I last saw you.”
“Patti Jenkins,” he said slowly with recognition, following with a warm smile. Patti had been one of those girls he knew peripherally, but as they hadn’t exactly traveled in the same circles in school, he hadn’t gone out of his way to really know her. But he did remember her being a nice girl. Real smart, too. “Since when’d you start working for the Tribune?” he asked, happy enough to make small talk as he handed her the cutout from an old newspaper for new subscriptions.
“Oh, about three years ago. I was working for the bank, but then there were some layoffs so I ended up here. It’s nice enough and I get benefits. That’s all that matters.” She glanced at the paperwork. “You moving home for good?”
“Seems that way. The city really wasn’t my scene. Too much country in this ol’ boy.”
She gave him an appraising glance, answering cheekily, “Nothing wrong with that. Country’s fine by me. I’m one husband away from being single and I’m always looking for the next lucky Mr. Patti Jenkins.”
He chuckled, knowing she was kidding, and was happy to play along. “Good to know.”
Grinning, she returned to the paperwork in her hand. “It will just take a minute to get you set up, but your first issue will take about two weeks.” She waved the paperwork in annoyance. “Something about the file system. I don’t know, for some reason, even though we don’t have more than a handful of subscriptions it takes longer than molasses in winter to get it going. Though,” she added with a wink, “once you’re in the system, it’ll take an act of God to get you out. I don’t think Adeline Merriweather has paid for a subscription in nigh five years, but she gets her weekly paper as faithful as ever.” Josh laughed outright at that and she continued with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, honestly, who can take away some sweet old biddy’s weekly news? It’s just not seemly. Anyway…here you go.”
She handed him the receipt and he tucked it into his wallet. He was in midthanks when the door jingled and he turned.
Tasha’s expression surely mirrored his own as she shut the door behind her and offered a tentative smile to both Patti and himself. “It seems you’re everywhere in this small town,” she murmured. She peeked around him to wave at Patti. “Hi, Patti. You look great. How’ve you been?”
“Can’t complain. You?”
“Same.”
“Don’t let her fool you, she’s been working for the Peace Corps for the past couple of years,” he interjected before his good sense got a hold of his mouth. She blushed at the hint of pride in his voice, and he remembered how shy she could become under the right circumstances.
“I heard you were back in town, too,” Patti said, gesturing for him to move out of the way. He pretended to act offended but they knew it was for show. “How are you doing? I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Thank you, Patti. It’s been a tough transition, especially for Dad.”
“I’ll bet. If my mom died my dad would probably try to climb into the grave with her,” Patti said in commiseration. “He wouldn’t know how to function without her. I don’t even think he knows how to write a check.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Oh, goodness. I hope to God my parents go at the same time. I don’t want to have to teach my dad to balance a checkbook!”
Tasha smiled, though Josh could tell it was plainly for Patti’s benefit. She cloaked her sadness well enough, but he knew her better than most. As if remembering herself, Patti asked, “So, what can I do for you today?”
Tasha cleared her throat. “Well, I was wondering if I could get extra copies of my mom’s obituary,” she asked, then apologized. “I know it seems morbid, but there are some members of our extended family who would like to see it and they won’t settle for a photocopy.”
Patti waved away her concern. “No problem. How many do you need?” Tasha indicated five and Patti disappeared into the back to retrieve them.
She turned to Josh and he tried not to stare like a starving man, but that’s how he was starting to feel.
“So…are you getting settled in?” she asked.
“So far so good. We rented a small place out on Darrah. It’s not the Ritz but it’s nice enough for me and Chris.”
“How’s your son adjusting?”
How’d she know to ask the one question he’d like to avoid. “Not as well as I’d hoped,” he admitted, surprising himself by answering. But it felt good to talk to Tasha. He couldn’t deny it. “He’s a shy kid, likes his computers more than anything else. It’s hard for him to make friends sometimes.”
“Natalie was like that,” she murmured.
He nodded, remembering. “I’d forgotten how awkward she was.” He chuckled. “She was an odd bird for a while.”
“Tell me about it.” Tasha’s light laughter followed. “I thought she’d never come out of that phase. She practically lived with her nose in a book, though in hindsight, she now owns a beautiful children’s bookstore so I suppose it was all for a reason.”
“I guess I shouldn’t worry about my son and his love for computers, then, huh?”
“He could be the next Bill Gates,” she offered. “You never know.”
“No, you’re right. I’ll stop worrying.”
Patti reentered the room talking. “Must’ve been a popular newsweek. You got our last saleable copies,” Patti said with a surprised shake of her head then a shrug. “Never can tell what’s going to get these people’s motor running. The weeks you think you’re going to sell out, you have extra. The week you think is going to be slow…sells out. Go figure.”
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