Sage Creek Page 13

  And tonight there was a sleepover at Val’s. The last one of the summer.

  Then her cell phone rang and she jumped. Even though she knew it might be Shannon or Val or one of her other friends, she rushed to grab it from the top of her maple dresser.

  She’d been waiting and waiting for the next call, not knowing when it would come. Or if it would come.

  What if Dad’s around? she wondered the instant before she looked at the caller ID. What if he wanted to know who she was talking to?

  She might have to lie and she didn’t want to. Ivy never lied to her dad. Unless not telling him something this important about to happen in her life counted as a lie.

  She was very much afraid that it did. Sometimes lately that thought kept her from falling asleep at night.

  When she saw the now familiar number on the caller ID, her stomach clenched.

  “Where are you?” she whispered into the phone. She was pretty sure her dad was still outside feeding the horses and working with Shiloh, like he did every morning, but he might’ve come indoors without her realizing it.

  “Still in Texas, baby girl. I’m real sorry it’s taking me so long to get to you.”

  She gripped the phone tight, listening to the quick, lilting, almost giddy voice of her mother.

  “I can’t come yet, but I’ll be there soon, sweetie. Practically before you blink.”

  “When?” Ivy choked back the lump in her throat. She wanted to see her mother so badly the pain sometimes felt like it was slicing her in two.

  Her friends saw their mothers every single day. Even the ones who were divorced lived in town. They got to hug them, ask them questions, talk to them whenever they wanted.

  Ivy hadn’t seen her mom in four years. But it felt like a hundred.

  Sometimes it was hard even to remember exactly what her mother looked like. From the pictures she had, which she kept in a stationery box in the top drawer of her dresser, she knew her mother had very long, curly red hair—like hers, only darker and much prettier.

  And her mom wasn’t awkward or ugly, the way Ivy felt most of the time.

  No, she was tall and glamorous and beautiful, and everyone used to stop and speak to her when they walked together down Main Street. Her mom had won the title Queen of the Rodeo back when she was fourteen—and held it for years and years.

  She’d told Ivy all about how five different cowboys had begged her to marry them. That was the bedtime story her mom used to tell her before she went to sleep at night. How she had her choice of all five cowboys—champion bronc riders and bull riders and calf ropers—and even, once, the owner of the Silver Lake Rodeo in Wyoming, but she’d picked Ivy’s dad instead.

  Your daddy was the biggest catch of all, her mother had told her as she tucked the covers around Ivy and turned out the light.

  All the girls in Lonesome Way wanted him for their own, but I’m the one who got him.

  So why did you run away? Ivy had always wanted to know in the weeks and months and years after her mother left. She planned to ask her just that when she finally saw her again.

  It was something she needed to know. She needed to know if her mom left because of her—because she was too much trouble or did something so bad that her mom couldn’t stand being around her anymore and had to leave.

  She didn’t see how it could be because of her dad. There was nothing wrong with him. Out of all of her friends’ dads—and there were some really nice ones—hers was hands down the best.

  “Where are you, Mom? Right now, where in Texas are you?”

  She hated that her voice quavered like she was going to cry. Okay, she was crying, a little. She sniffled as her mother ignored the question, just promised that they’d be together soon.

  “You didn’t mention anything to your daddy about me, did you, precious girl?”

  “No.” But I want to, Ivy thought miserably. She heard Bretta and Bonfire nickering in the corral.

  “Why can’t I tell him, Mom? He won’t be mad that I’m going to see you,” she whispered into the phone.

  At least, she didn’t think he’d be.

  “Now you listen to me, Ivy Rose. No telling your daddy that I’m coming. Promise me.”

  “I already promised before,” Ivy mumbled.

  “You promise me again. C’mon now. If your daddy finds out, he won’t let me see you. Is that what you want? For me to come all that way and your daddy says forget it?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then promise. Right now.”

  Ivy squeezed her eyes tight shut. “I . . . promise.”

  “There’s a sweet girl. Now I’ll be there soon, so you just sit tight and wait to hear from me or Aunt Brenda, okay, baby?”

  I’m not a baby, Ivy wanted to yell, but she didn’t. If she did, who knew what would happen? Mom might get mad, hang up, never ever call her again.

  “Wait a minute, Mom.” Mom. The word tasted strange on her tongue. Her friends said it all the time, talking to their moms, or about them. But Ivy didn’t mention her mom to anyone, not even Shannon.

  “When you get here, you’re going to talk to Dad, aren’t you?”

  “Well, sure, precious, eventually. But not right away. He might get mad and not let me see you anymore at all. And that would just break my heart. But you—don’t you worry about a thing. You just be ready. I’ll call you again in a week or so. Let you know just how close I’m getting. I can’t wait to see you, baby. You know that, right?”

  Ivy wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard some of the same longing in her mother’s voice that twisted through her own heart. Her throat felt hard and tight, and she couldn’t answer.

  “We’re going to have us a real happy reunion,” her mother promised with all the confidence in the world.

  Then there was silence. Her mother was gone. Just like the other times.

  Ivy stared at the phone, and then tossed it down onto her bed. It sank into her cream and blue flowered comforter and she plunged down beside it, facedown, eyes closed, her cheeks pressed against the fluffy soft cotton.

  As always, she tried not to think about the day her mom left. But memories of it continued to haunt her, even more so since her mother began to call.

  She’d been seven when her mother left Lonesome Way, but she could still remember things about that day. How scared and alone she’d felt. The sun beating down on her, scorching hot. She had been wearing pink shorts and she’d felt like her legs were on fire. She had been thirsty from eating all those Doritos from the bag her mom pushed into her hand before she ran to that silver car and drove away.

  Ivy remembered holding so tight to Peegee, her giraffe, that her fingers felt like they were going to fall off. And waiting, most of all, waiting for her dad to come and get her.

  “You stay right here, darlin’. Peegee will keep you company. Your daddy’s coming for you real soon. Don’t you move now. Don’t go with anyone except your daddy. Just sit tight, that’s mommy’s good girl.”

  Her mother had jumped into that car and sped away. Ivy didn’t remember much about the man who was driving it, except he had slicked-back hair.

  Ivy had waited and waited. Then waited some more.

  Daddy’s coming for me, she’d whispered to Peegee.

  But he didn’t come.

  Finally, she’d started to cry, scared her dad wasn’t ever coming for her.

  Her mom had left. Maybe her dad had left too....

  “Ivy! Time to hit the road!”

  When her father’s voice boomed up the stairs and into her bedroom, Ivy’s head jerked up.

  She sprang off the bed, feeling like she wanted to cry, but forced herself to blink back the tears stinging behind her eyelids. Dropping her cell phone into her denim purse, she swiped on another dab of lip gloss and hurried downstairs.

  “Feeling okay?” Her dad studied her, looking worried, which instantly annoyed her.

  “I’m fine. Why are you all dressed up?”

  He’d showered, his hair
looked damp and freshly combed, and he had a tiny shaving cut on his jaw. And he’d changed from his blue chambray shirt and old Wranglers that he’d worn working in the barn with the horses earlier into a fresh black polo shirt and his nice jeans.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Nope. Just dropping you off at Mia’s house for the shower.”

  He winked at her and handed her the present she’d ordered online after Sophie suggested it—a baby mobile with tiny pink and silver stars dangling from it. She’d carefully wrapped the package in thinly striped pink and lavender paper.

  “Are you staying for the whole shower, Dad? I don’t get it. Why are you all dressed up?”

  “I’m coming in to see Aunt Liss before it starts. Maybe I’ll come back after if Uncle Tommy wants a hand loading all those gifts in the truck.”

  “Oh.” But she studied him for a moment. It sounded fishy to her. Her dad dropping in at a baby shower? When he had a new horse that he was busy starting? And when Aunt Liss and Uncle Tommy had already said they’d bring her home?

  Something was up.

  But it was nice that he’d be there, she thought, following him out to the truck. Aunt Liss would be glad to see him. Uncle Jake and Uncle Travis hadn’t been home to visit in a long time, though she and Aunt Liss had both talked to them on the phone after Dad called to tell them about the early labor. But ever since her grandparents died, she and her dad were the only family Aunt Liss had in Lonesome Way anymore. And vice versa.

  She knew what it was like to want family around.

  She didn’t know if her mom would actually stick around this time when she came back, but every night Ivy said prayers that she would.

  She prayed even harder that her dad wouldn’t be mad at her when he found out all the things she wasn’t telling him.

  And especially what she was going to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sophie arrived early at Mia’s pin-neat little house on Larkspur Lane to help set up for the shower.

  Mia had draped an exquisite cream-colored lace cloth across her oak dining table, and together they got to work setting out pretty flowered china plates and pale yellow cloth napkins. Sophie filled the punch bowl while Mia strung pink and silver streamers and balloons along the walls of the L-shaped living room, dining room, and even the kitchen.

  Some high school friends, Becca Miller and Jess Blanchard, arrived even before the guest of honor, and pitched in to help arrange all of the food on pretty platters and serving bowls.

  Becca, it turned out, had three-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, and Jess had a one-year-old named Evan.

  “Everybody says he looks exactly like me,” Jess babbled to Sophie, flipping open her phone and showing photos of a dark-haired little boy splashing in a bathtub. “But I think he’s the spitting image of Dan.”

  “He has your eyes.” Sophie was smiling as she glanced from the photo to the woman who’d been her lab partner in chemistry senior year. “But definitely Dan’s nose and smile.”

  “My two look exactly like my side of the family. Look, Sophie.” Becca held out her phone.

  It was true—the little girl and boy in side-by-side swings on a backyard play set were like miniature versions of Becca, with her dark brown hair and doe-shaped eyes.

  “Adorable.” Sophie tried to ignore the empty ache in her heart as she handed back Becca’s phone.

  If things had been different, if Ned had been the man she thought she married, she’d have children of her own by now, with their pictures on her phone, their smiles and first words and bedtime giggles embedded in her heart.

  “And how cute is Lissie’s baby girl going to be, with those Tanner genes?” Mia sailed toward the dining room carrying the carved watermelon bowl filled with cantaloupe, watermelon, miniature marshmallows, grapes, raisins, and pineapple.

  “Speak of the devil,” Jess exclaimed as Lissie burst through the kitchen door, radiant in a silky blue top that flowed over chic black silk maternity pants.

  “Who’s ready to party?” Lissie’s laughter bubbled through the kitchen. Then she spotted the cinnamon buns Sophie was arranging on a crystal platter.

  “I need one of those, Sophie. Desperately. And I need it now.”

  Sophie tossed one to her. Everyone cheered as she caught it and popped a morsel of gooey caramel and sweet dough into her mouth.

  “This woman’s bakery opens on Monday!” Lissie held the cinnamon bun aloft. “Baby and me will be the first ones in line.”

  There was laughter and a smattering of applause before Gran, Martha, and Dorothy arrived within moments of each other, and the kitchen crowd ebbed into the dining room to ooh and aah over the table settings.

  Sophie was alone in the kitchen, sliding her pinkfrosted cupcakes onto a white platter when Ivy came through the back door, with Rafe right behind her.

  Ivy looked a bit withdrawn today but every bit as pretty as the cupcakes, with her wavy auburn hair glowing like a halo around her face.

  And Rafe . . . well, Rafe made her pulse jump, the same way he had when she was eleven years old.

  “’Morning.” Sophie’s quick smile included both of them. She was pleased, thinking that she’d spoken with just the right tone of casual friendliness.

  And then Rafe looked at her with those piercing eyes the color of a storm blue Montana sky, and she somehow knocked one of the cupcakes off the platter with her elbow. It toppled to the floor, the frosting shmushing against the planked wood.

  “Let me give you a hand with that.” He tore off a paper towel as Sophie knelt to gather up the splattered remnants.

  “Where are we supposed to put the presents?” Ivy asked impatiently.

  “In the living room. They’re all piled up near the fireplace.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before the girl darted from the kitchen to join the women gathered around Lissie, laughing and chattering. Sophie wondered what was wrong as she scraped up icing from the floor.

  “It’s a good thing I baked two dozen of these.” She stood up, folding the gooey mess inside the paper towel.

  “Even if you’d only made a handful, I can’t see anyone going hungry today. Not with this spread.”

  It was true, there was enough food for double the number of women attending the shower. Besides the fruit, there was a fancy make-ahead French toast casserole, hash browns with mushrooms and sausage, and green salad with pine nuts, oranges, and strawberries. An egg and ham casserole, lightly browned on top, was ready to be set on the dining room table, as well as scoops of tuna salad in dainty lettuce cups and a wicker basket brimming with raspberry muffins and cinnamon buns.

  Which didn’t even count the chocolate fudge cake with cream cheese icing Sophie had baked for dessert.

  “Hungry?” The corners of her mouth turned up. “As the brother of the guest of honor, you’re welcome to stay.”

  On the words, the front doorbell chimed, and still more women streamed into the living room. Sophie heard her mother’s voice amidst the chatter.

  “Thanks, but I know better than to let myself get outnumbered by a whole herd of women. I’ll be back later though to pick up Ivy.” His grin faded. “She’s kind of down today. Moody or something. I’m not sure why. These days, I can’t read her as well as I used to.”

  “She’s growing up. Maybe she’s nervous about school starting on Monday. Middle school is a big scary leap socially.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Rafe looked thoughtful. “I guess it could be that.”

  His gaze settled on her. “Any more tire trouble?”

  She shook her head. “I told you—it was just some silly kid.”

  “Ah-huh. Maybe.” He looked doubtful. And deliciously ruggedly male in this little house decorated with balloons and streamers.

  He was standing close to her in Mia’s snug little kitchen, and Sophie couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like when he’d backed her up against the wall of the Good Luck kitchen and kissed her dizzy. Waves
of memory flowed through her. His raw strength as he held her, bending his head toward hers. Hot, deep, craving kisses that made her feel like her heart was going to fly out of her chest. His big hand sliding beneath her sweater . . .

  “Penny for your thoughts, Ms. McPhee.”

  Heat rushed through her skin at his words, and that slow smile of his deepened. He might have been reading her mind.

  “My thoughts’ll cost you a lot more than that.” She kept her voice light. But she felt her heart racing.

  It would be so easy to lean into him right now. To wrap her arms around that hard-muscled body, lift her mouth to kiss him . . .

  That way madness lies.

  Or heartbreak.

  She plunked herself back to reality, lifted the platter of cinnamon buns, and moved toward the dining room.

  “Sophie. Wait.”

  She turned, gripping the platter.

  “I was wondering . . . maybe you’d like to go riding later. And have supper at the ranch.”

  She was so surprised she nearly dropped the platter. Say no, she told herself. Right now. But she wanted to say yes.

  “Ivy has a sleepover. The last one before school starts. I could throw a few steaks on the grill, open a bottle of wine. Just as friends,” he added. “I promise.”

  Unless you decide different. She could hear his thought though he didn’t say it. It hung slender as a thread in the air between them.

  Rafe found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to answer. He hadn’t planned on extending the invitation. It had been spontaneous, but he didn’t regret the words.

  The only problem was that Sophie was looking at him as if he’d asked her to fly in a spaceship made of aluminum foil and mud to the outer reaches of the moon.

  “Supper. Tonight,” she repeated, obviously stalling, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her on the spot.

  “That’s right. Food. Drinks. Corn on the cob. The works.”

  More silence.

  He usually didn’t get hesitation when he extended an invitation to a woman. His chest tightened. She was going to say no.