A Home of Her Own
“Rumor had it that my mother tried to poison him. Actually, she gave him too much insulin, which she claimed was an accident, but he divorced her and cut her out of his will. Would I know that if I was just some squatter?”
“Pretty much everybody knows that,” he pointed out, trying to see her more clearly. “At least around here.”
“Okay, you bought the land next door from Morris when I was ten and you were about twenty-five. Josh was a couple of years younger. You and he started a stud service with a black stallion that had a white star on his forehead and white socks.”
At his surprised silence she added grudgingly, “That horse was beautiful. I used to bring him sugar cubes and apples.”
Slowly, Mike let go of her and eased away, wondering why his stallion hadn’t keeled over if she’d been feeding it from her evil mother’s pantry. Now that he could see her a little better, he couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t wearing anything, other than maybe a pair of panties, beneath that baggy sweatshirt. The hem hit her almost at midthigh; bare, shapely legs extended from there.
“It’s cold. Where’re your pants?” he asked.
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s late. I happened to be in my sleeping bag when you so kindly broke into my house and ruined my night. Forgive me for not dressing more modestly.”
With that biting edge to her voice, he could tell she still had plenty of spunk. But she’d certainly changed in other ways. Mostly, she’d grown up. Although she had large breasts, especially for such a small woman, the fat had melted away, and her hair was long and curly and tumbled almost to her waist. With the light from the kitchen acting like a halo behind her, he could now see that it was more red than blond.
Mike restrained a whistle and couldn’t help wondering whether she would’ve looked that good six years ago if she hadn’t pulled her hair back every day. If so, she might have commanded a little more positive attention from the boys in town. As it was, she hadn’t been especially attractive. Nor, with her unpleasant personality, did she have anything else to recommend her.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” he asked.
Her hands curled into fists. “Maybe I appreciate my privacy.”
More likely she enjoyed being caustic. He remembered Lucky clinging to Morris’s arm the day Morris had invited Mike over to meet his new wife and children. Because of his grandparents’ divorce and the quick second wedding, it had been a difficult year for Mike’s whole family, but particularly for Mike, since he’d always been closest to his grandpa. Everyone else had refused to acknowledge Morris’s invitation to come to the house, but Mike had shown up, hoping that everything he’d been hearing was a lie, or at least not as bad as it seemed. He’d thought he knew his grandpa. He’d thought his grandpa would never change. But Morris had been swept away by the excitement of his new relationship and was never the same after falling in love with Red.
Mike had known there was indeed trouble in Eden when Morris hugged Lucky close and introduced her as “his new girl.” “This one’s a little doll,” he’d said, but the moment he turned his back, Lucky stuck out her tongue at Mike and ran away.
Mike blinked, wondering what had brought Lucky back to Dundee. After Red died, his mother had finally stopped talking about how “that woman” and “those children” had stolen Morris’s love, as well as his money, then abandoned him when he was old and sick. Those who’d really loved him had taken care of him that last year. She’d also quit telling Mike, every chance she got, that it was Red who’d caused his grandmother to die shortly after Morris did. The doctors say it was heart failure. Of course it was. Her heart broke when she found out about Daddy’s affair. Mother was never the same after she left him and moved to town. Eventually, the scandal had slipped into the background and Mike hated to see it resurrected. “Are you here to stay?” he asked.
When Lucky threw back her shoulders and brought up her chin, he knew he hadn’t done a very good job of concealing his hope for a negative answer. But then, he couldn’t imagine her expecting anyone to be happy about her return, his family least of all.
“I might stay for a while,” she said. “You don’t have any problem with that, do you?”
He had a problem with it, all right, but he’d already done all he could about Lucky. As soon as he’d learned that his grandfather had never legally adopted her and her brothers, as they’d all believed, he’d sued her for the house. And lost. Then he’d tried to buy it from her, several times. But she’d refused to sell. Bottom line, Lucky legally owned the place his grandfather had always promised to him; she could stay as long as she liked.
“What you do is your decision, of course,” he said, his tone as curt and formal as hers.
“My thoughts exactly.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late, I’m nearly naked, and it’s cold.”
He leaned sideways to gaze through the short hallway to the kitchen. Aside from the candles and the crackle of a fire, she didn’t seem to have many comforts in there. Surely, staying in such a barren, filthy place had to be miserable, especially for a young woman. But he didn’t want her to be too comfortable, did he? Then she might prolong her visit.
“Is there anything else?” she asked when he hesitated.
Letting his breath seep slowly between his lips, he stooped to retrieve his hat, which had fallen off when he’d “disarmed” her. “No.”
She stalked to the front door and yanked it open.
If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve said something neighborly, something like, “If you need anything, I’m right next door.” Because she was a woman, and young and alone, he had a tough time not saying it. But she wasn’t just any woman. She was the daughter of the most selfish, grasping woman he’d ever met.
“Good night,” he said coldly and walked out, carrying his hat. If Lucky had turned out as much like Red as he suspected, she could certainly take care of herself.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCKY COULDN’T SLEEP. Her presence had been discovered by Morris’s first family. Already. Before she could even settle in and begin her research. She didn’t peg Mike Hill as much of a gossip, but he was loyal to his family. Now that he’d seen her, he was sure to mention it to his mother, who would mention it to her sister and brothers, and so on until half the town rose up against her. After all, practically everyone in Dundee was a friend or relative of the original Caldwells.
Not that Mike or any of the people in his circle could do anything about her return—except make it unpleasant. Morris had seen to that. Considering what he believed her mother had tried to do to him, Lucky couldn’t understand why he’d still loved her and why he’d provided for her, especially so well. He’d left her brothers each a sizeable chunk of land, but he’d given her a little more than anyone else when he bequeathed her the house and a living allowance. Besides being grateful, she still missed him terribly. He was the best man she’d ever known, one of the few who had room in his heart for a fat, ugly little girl.
Ironically, Mike, one of her greatest rivals, reminded her of the man she’d loved so dearly. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he smiled. Not that he’d ever smiled at her. When she was a teenager, she used to daydream that the rugged cowboy next door would strike up a conversation, but she couldn’t remember his even acknowledging her. Which was probably why she’d become so determined to get a reaction out of him. She’d even flashed him one day while he was riding past on a horse and she was swimming in the pond. She’d doubted he could ignore that—and had felt mildly exultant when an expression of displeasure had flickered across his face.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she tried to shut out the terrible craving she’d always felt for any crumb of approval or acceptance—especially when it came to Morris’s first family—and concentrated on staying warm.
She was tempted to leave this house, leave Dundee. But the list of names she’d found in her mother’s journal was reason enough to stay.
AFTER A MISERABLE night’s sleep, Mike stared at the phone, wondering whether or not he should call his mother. It was possible that Lucky didn’t plan on staying for any length of time. She moved around a lot. He knew because he was in charge of mailing off the monthly check she received from Morris’s trust, and she was forever sending him a new address. If she saw this as a stopover, if she was only going to move on in a few days, mentioning her sudden return would upset his mother, his entire family, for nothing.
But if Lucky was going to stick around, it’d be better to give everyone some warning.
He’d called his brother, Josh, already, but Josh was in Hawaii with Rebecca and Mike hadn’t been able to reach him.
“Mike?”
Mike glanced toward the door. Plump, fifty-year-old Rose Hilman, who handled the accounting, had just poked her head into his office.
“Yes?”
“Gabe Holbrook is here to see you.”
Forgetting about his mother, his brother and Lucky Caldwell, Mike sat taller in surprise. He’d grown up with Gabe. They’d been best friends since they were kids, but ever since the accident, Gabe rarely came around.
“Send him in,” he said.
As Mike waited, he felt a surge of guilt and remorse. Over the past few months he hadn’t made enough of an effort to see Gabe. The man had had a tough two years, the worst imaginable, but he’d become so remote and moody, it was difficult to connect with him anymore. There didn’t seem to be anything safe to talk about. The subjects they used to enjoy—football, rodeo, women—had all become painful reminders of Gabe’s loss.
Mike stood as Gabe wheeled himself into the room, slightly heartened that his friend looked so healthy. A long-sleeved T-shirt covered the corded muscles in his broad shoulders and arms, which bunched as he forced his chair over the thick pile of the carpet. Obviously he’d been lifting weights. His face was leaner and harsher in some respects, but he possessed the same thick-lashed blue eyes and wavy black hair that had always made him a favorite with women. At least he’d been a favorite before the accident….
“Gabe, good to see you, man.” Mike rounded his desk to shake hands.
Gabe’s grip was firm. “It’s been a while.”
Too long, and Mike knew it. If only the sight of Gabe in that damn wheelchair didn’t make him feel so…heartsick. He shoved his hands in his pockets, because he suddenly didn’t know what else to do with them, and sat on the edge of the desk. “You look good, buddy. You must be drinking more of that wheatgrass juice you made me taste last time I came up to the cabin.”
It had probably been two months since that visit, but if Gabe resented the neglect, he didn’t let on. “There’re more vitamins and minerals in a tablespoon of wheatgrass juice than—”
“I know—a whole grocery sack of fresh vegetables,” Mike broke in, chuckling. “And I still couldn’t force it down.”
Gabe’s eyes swept over him. “From what I can see, you’re doing okay without it. For an old guy.”
Two years younger, Gabe had skipped a couple of grades in school and always teased him about his age.
“Forty’s right around the corner,” Mike said, “and you’re not the only one who won’t let me forget it. Josh has been giving me hell for months. So what brings you out to the ranch on such an ugly day?”
Gabe’s eyes cut to the window, where snow was falling so thickly Mike could barely make out the barn.
“The roads aren’t impassable yet. But your driveway could use some shoveling. How do you expect a cripple like me to get around?”
The way he tried to make light of his situation made Mike more uncomfortable. Gabe’s body had been his whole life. Now he was a broken man, could never be fixed, and was living out in the hills like some kind of hermit.
“You seem to get anywhere you want,” he said, which was true. If Gabe didn’t go out much, it wasn’t because he couldn’t.
He shrugged. “I manage. Especially when I have a good reason.”
“Sounds like something’s up.”
“I wanted to tell you that my dad’s running for Congress in the next election.”
“Really?” Mike nearly stood at this news, but remained sitting on the corner of his desk to lessen the height difference between them. He hated towering above Gabe when Gabe was really taller by a couple of inches. “That’s great. He’s got the background for it. He’s been a state senator for…what? Nine years now?”
“Ten, but it’ll still be a tough race. Butch Boyle’s been in office forever.”
“An incumbent is always difficult to beat. But your father’s well respected in this state. I think he has a good chance.”
“We need some new blood in there. Butch’s been in Washington so long I don’t think he remembers he’s from Idaho.”
Mike had to agree. He’d never been impressed with Congressman Boyle. But Mike would’ve supported Gabe even if Gabe had just announced that his father was running for President of the United States. This was the first sense of purpose he’d felt in his friend since the car accident.
“Fund-raising’s critical,” Gabe continued. “That’s the other reason I’m here. I was hoping you’d help me.”
“If you’re asking me to contribute, you know I will.” Mike leaned over and shuffled through some papers on his desk, looking for his checkbook, but Gabe’s voice stopped him.
“I was hoping you’d be willing to do a little more than give me a donation.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “What, for instance?”
“I’d like you to put together a committee. I want to meet with Conner Armstrong and the rest of the investors in the Running Y Resort, and Josh and your uncles and a few other folks in town.”
“You don’t need me for that.”
“Actually, I do. I’m not sure they’ll take an ex-football player seriously enough.”
Mike suspected Gabe meant they might not take a crippled ex-football player seriously enough. No one thought Gabe any less of a man now than he was before, but Mike didn’t bother trying to convince Gabe of that. He knew from experience that Gabe wouldn’t listen. “Boise is where the money’s at, not here.”
“Boise is split between the two congressional districts. We’ve got the more conservative part, which we’ll probably lose to Boyle,” Gabe said. “As far as grassroots efforts go, we’re going to have to do what we can here and up in the panhandle.”
Mike rubbed his chin. He’d shaved when he got up this morning, but he could already feel the whiskers that would create a shadow across his jaw by dinnertime. “What kind of money are we talking?”
“Half a million, at least. I’m sure Boyle can easily raise that much, what with Political Action Committees and donations from the timber industry.”
“We can’t raise half a million from private individuals, no matter how successful our grassroots efforts are,” Mike said. “We live in a state that’s nearly half-rural.”
“I realize that. But there are other avenues.”
“Like…”
“The American Federation of Teachers, the American Federation of State, County, and Municipal Employees, the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, the Teamsters Union…”
“You’ve been doing your homework.”
Gabe gave him a rare smile. “Damn right.”
Mike considered the request. Maybe getting involved in Garth Holbrook’s campaign would give him and Gabe something in common again, help them both adjust to who and what Gabe was now.
“Sure,” he said. “Josh is out of town with Rebecca for a few days, an early Christmas present. But I’ll set up an appointment with him, Conner and the other Running Y investors as soon as he gets back.”
LUCKY LEANED against the wall of her old bedroom and rubbed an itch on her forehead with the back of her hand. She’d been knocking down cobwebs and sweeping out the house all morning and didn’t want to touch her face with her fingers. The physical exertion of cleaning helped her stay warm, so she’d kept at it while waiting for the snow to let up. But it was already noon and the weather didn’t seem likely to change any time soon. If she wasn’t careful she could get stranded out here another night.
She was determined not to let that happen, but she didn’t have too many options. There wasn’t any cell phone service because of the surrounding mountains. She was fifteen miles from town and didn’t have anything remotely resembling a shovel with which to dig her car out of the snow. And Mike Hill was her only neighbor.
Mike Hill… God, she couldn’t ask him for help! He’d always resented her, and she’d—
She’d nothing. Most of the time, she didn’t even exist for him. It was better to pretend he’d never existed for her, either.
Deciding there wasn’t anything she could do until it stopped snowing, she headed downstairs for her suitcase so she could hang up a few of her nicer clothes. She’d packed carefully, filling her bags to maximum capacity just in case she stayed awhile, but her belongings were no longer neat and tidy. After Mike had left last night, she had trouble getting warm again and she’d rummaged through them, searching for layers.
Shoving her clothes back inside her biggest suitcase, she sat on the lid to close it, then pulled it over to the stairs and started hoisting it up one step at a time.
“Come on,” she grumbled as she strained to keep moving. She made the first curve of the stairs and rounded the second, but the corner of her suitcase hit a spindle, nearly jerking it from her grasp, and the latch gave way. With a curse, Lucky watched in frustration as everything spilled down the stairs.
“That’s it, I give up,” she said, and dropped the suitcase, too. It banged its way along, hitting the wall and the railing several times before finally crashing to the floor.
Sinking onto a step near the top, she glowered at the wreckage. What was another mess? She was already alone in a house with no utilities, stranded by a terrible storm….
I should leave Dundee as soon as the storm lifts. That thought had been drifting in and out of her mind all morning. She’d already put this place behind her once, along with its ghosts and memories. Why had she bothered to come back?
The black journal that had fallen out of her suitcase, along with everything else, served as a quick reminder. Studying what she could see of the fanning yellowed pages, she wondered once again whether reading it had been a mistake.
Would finding her father really make any difference?
She had no idea. Her brothers hadn’t grown up with their father, but they knew his name. According to Red, he’d been a handsome young man named Carter Jones, who’d spent two years in Dundee before breaking her heart and following the rodeo circuit. Except for the money he’d occasionally sent when he was working, they’d never heard from him again.
Her brothers didn’t seem to have a problem with that, but she was different. She’d grown up without knowing so much as a name. Until now. Suddenly, she had three possible candidates. She’d come here with the goal of narrowing it down to one. And why not? What better things did she have to do? She’d been traveling from place to place, volunteering at hospitals and food banks and shelters for six years—ever since she’d graduated from high school. There really wasn’t anywhere left to go, at least anywhere she’d find the peace she’d been seeking in her volunteer work. This small town hated her for being who she was, but it held all the secrets she needed to gain some perspective on her life.
With a sigh, she retrieved the journal. Maybe returning to Dundee wasn’t a mistake, but she should’ve waited for spring. She might have waited, except that she’d wanted to be here for Christmas. The memory of that one holiday, her first in this house, had tempted her back.
She chuckled sadly. God, she was still trying to relive it. How pathetic…
Stepping past the shoes and underwear on the stairs, she went back to her mother’s bedroom to confront the vulgar graffiti on the wall. This room, those words, brought back so much of what she’d experienced when she lived here. Her friends’ parents’ disapproving glances and hushed words: Julie’s brought home that Caldwell girl again. We need to have a talk with her…. Lucky’ll turn out to be just like her mother, you wait and see…. We’re law-abiding, churchgoing folk. We can’t have that kind of influence in this house. The suggestive whispers of the boys in school: Is your hair that red everywhere? Let’s go behind the bleachers and take a look…. With a mother like yours, you ought to know all the tricks.
All the tricks? Growing up, Lucky had known more about sex than she should have, but certainly not from her own experience.
Sliding down the wall to the bare floorboards, she opened the weathered book she’d found when she finally went through the boxes her brothers had sent her after Red’s funeral. The list of male names scrawled in her mother’s hand brought back fragments of memory Lucky had tried for years to suppress. Men, coming in and out of their ramshackle trailer while Lucky was small, ruffling her hair or handing her a shiny quarter. Men moaning behind the closed door of her mother’s bedroom.
Despite the terrible cold, sweat gathered on Lucky’s top lip. She wanted to burn the journal, obliterate the proof. But she couldn’t. Dave Small, Eugene Thompson and Garth Holbrook were all listed as having “visited” her mother twenty-five years ago, right around the time a man would’ve had to visit Red for Lucky to be born. Unless Red was seeing someone she didn’t write down, which seemed unlikely given her scrupulous records, one of these men was probably her father….
Lucky recognized Dave Small’s name, and Garth Holbrook’s, too. Both had been prominent citizens of Dundee, giving her some hope that she could identify with or admire her father at least a little more than she did her mother. They might have visited a prostitute several times, but Lucky knew from watching Red that being faithful wasn’t easy for a lot of people. It was even possible that they hadn’t been married when they’d associated with her mother.
She thumbed forward to the blank pages that represented the year Morris had come into their lives. He’d put a stop to the male parade going through Red’s trailer. For a while, anyway. Until Red forgot what it was like to scratch for a living and grew bored with being an old man’s wife. Then, while Morris was away on his many business trips, everything had started up again. Only now her mother didn’t keep a list, the men didn’t leave any money, and Lucky was old enough to have a clearer understanding of what was really going on when her mother said she needed to speak to Mr. So-and-So alone for a few minutes.
Briefly, Lucky closed her eyes, shaking her head at all the times she’d begged Red not to risk their newfound security. As Lucky grew older, Red had quit pretending that Lucky didn’t know the truth and started threatening her instead. You say anything, Lucky Star Caldwell, and I’ll kick your ass right out of this house.
Her mother’s voice came to her so clearly, so distinctly, that Lucky glanced up, toward the entrance of the room. But she saw nothing—nothing except herself as a young, insecure girl, peeking into the room in response to her mother’s shrill call, “Bring me some damn aspirin.”
When things at home became unbearable, Lucky would sneak over to the Hill brothers’ barn to be with their beautiful horses. There, for an hour or two at a time, she managed to forget the sick feeling that, by her silence, she was betraying Morris as badly as her mother was. Or the knowledge that, even if she’d had her mother’s permission to tell what she knew, which she most certainly did not, she wouldn’t have breathed a word of it because she couldn’t bear the thought of Morris disappearing from her own life.
Snapping the book closed, Lucky climbed to her feet. She’d tried so hard to distance herself from all that. Once she’d graduated from high school, she’d left Dundee and never looked back. Even when Morris had died and her brothers sent word of her inheritance. Even when, two years later, her mother had a stroke and passed away. Even when Mike Hill contested the will, forcing her to hire an attorney. She’d let the attorney go to court for her and when it was all over, she’d simply petitioned Mike, as executor of Morris’s estate, for the check he was supposed to send her each month and left the house to rot.