She still hadn’t reached the top of the hill when she saw a bent metal sign. CALLAWAY ROAD. It went uphill, too. The blacktop was crumbling at the sides, and she stumbled. Her cords ripped, and she started to cry, but she made herself get up. This wasn’t straight like the other road but had curves that scared her because she didn’t know what was on the other side.
She almost didn’t care if she died now, but she didn’t want a wolf to eat her face, so she kept going. Finally, she got to the top of the hill. She tried to look down and maybe see the farm, but it was too dark. Her toes jammed against the front of her sneakers as she started downhill. Finally, the woods opened up a little, and she saw this wire fence. The wind blew cold against her cheeks, but she was sweaty under her puffy pink jacket. It seemed like she’d already walked a hundred miles. What if she’d walked past the farm and didn’t even know it?
At the bottom of the hill, she saw a shape. A wolf! Her heart hammered. She waited. It felt like it should be morning, but it wasn’t. The shape didn’t move. She took a cautious step forward and then another, getting closer and closer until she saw that it was an old mailbox. Something might be written on the side, but it was too dark to read, and it probably wouldn’t be her brother’s name anyway, since people like her brother and her dad tried not to let everybody know where they lived. Still, it had to be his farm, so she turned in.
This road was the worst of all, gravel without any blacktop and big trees making it even darker. She fell again, and the heels of her hands stung from the gravel. Finally, she came around a curve where the trees stopped and spotted a house, but there weren’t any lights on. Not even one. Her house in Nashville had motion lights, so if a burglar came close at night it would light up. She wished this house had motion lights, but she didn’t think they had those in the country.
She hoisted up her backpack and walked closer. She saw more buildings. The shape of a barn. She should have thought about what she’d do if nobody was awake. Her mom hated getting woken up too early. Maybe her brother would, too. Worst of all, what if her brother wasn’t really here? What if he was still in Chicago? That was the one thing she’d been trying hardest not to think about.
She needed a place to rest until it got to be morning. She was scared to go to the barn, so she gazed toward the house. Slowly, she made her way up the path.
Chapter Eight
The faintest threads of morning light crept through the lace curtains in the tiny window above Blue’s head. It was too early to get up, but she’d foolishly drunk a big glass of water before she went to bed, and the gypsy caravan, for all its cozy charms, had no bathroom. Blue had never slept in a more wondrous place. It had been like falling asleep in the middle of a fairy tale that came complete with a wild, blond-haired gypsy prince who’d danced with her around the campfire.
She couldn’t believe she’d dreamed about him. True, Dean was exactly the kind of man to inspire outrageous female fantasies, but not from a realist like her. Ever since yesterday morning, she’d been too aware of him in all the wrong ways, and she needed to snap out of it.
The wagon’s bare wooden floor was cool under her feet. She’d slept in an orange T-shirt that said BODY BY BEER and a pair of deep purple tie-dyed yoga pants that had never seen a yoga class but were super comfy. After she’d slipped into her flip-flops, she stepped outside into the cucumber chill. Only the birds’ dawn songs broke the quiet—no clatter of garbage cans, shriek of sirens, or piercing warnings from trucks backing up. She headed for the house and let herself in the side door. In the morning light, the white kitchen cabinets and their bright red knobs gleamed against the new soapstone counters.
Don’t sit under the apple tree…
Dean had taped black plastic over all the bathroom doors before he went out last night, and she made her way to the downstairs powder room partially tucked under the stairs. Like everything else in the house, this room had been designed for him, with a high sink and a partially raised ceiling to accommodate his height. Blue wondered if he’d noticed how much his mother had personalized everything. Or maybe she’d simply done as he’d asked.
While the coffee brewed, she located some bowls from the boxes of new kitchenware waiting to be unpacked after the kitchen was painted. The clean plates sitting on the new countertop reminded her of the dinner she’d shared with April last night. Dean had begged off, saying he had things to do. Blue bet those things included a blonde, brunette, and redhead. She pulled open the refrigerator door to get milk and saw that he’d made a big dent in the shrimp Creole leftovers. Judging from how little of the dish remained, all that sex had worked up his appetite.
She splashed water in the sink to wash some dishes for breakfast. The white bowls had red mattress-ticking stripes around the edge, and the mugs were printed with a cluster of bright red cherries. She poured her coffee, added a splash of milk, and wandered toward the front of the house. When she reached the dining room, she paused in the doorway. Last night, April had told her she was considering having some landscape murals painted in here and asked if Blue did that kind of thing. Blue said no, which wasn’t exactly true. She did a fair amount of mural work—pets on rec room walls, business logos in offices, the occasional Bible verse on a kitchen wall—but she refused to paint landscapes. Her college professors had given her too much grief about the ones she’d done for her classes, and she hated anything that made her feel incompetent.
She let herself out the front door. Sipping her coffee, she ambled toward the steps and enjoyed the mist swirling in the hollows. As she turned to watch a platoon of birds perch on the barn’s roof, she jerked and splashed coffee on her wrist. A child lay huddled in the corner of the porch fast asleep.
The girl looked like she might be thirteen or so, although she hadn’t lost her baby fat, so she could have been younger. She wore a dirty pink jacket with a Juicy logo and muddy lavender cords that had a V-shaped tear at the knee. Blue put her wrist to her mouth to lick up the coffee. The child’s wild, curly brown hair tumbled over a round, grimy cheek. She’d fallen asleep awkwardly, her back wedged against the dark green backpack she’d shoved into the porch corner. She had olive-toned skin, bold, dark eyebrows, and a straight nose she hadn’t quite grown into. Her polished blue fingernails were bitten to the quick. But despite her grime, her clothes looked expensive, as did her sneakers. This kid had BIG CITY written all over her, which meant another wanderer had shown up at Dean’s farm.
Blue set down her mug and made her way to the child’s side. Crouching down, she gently touched her arm. “Hey, you,” she whispered.
The girl jumped, and her eyes shot open. They were the toasty brown of caramelized sugar.
“It’s okay,” Blue said, trying to calm the fear she saw there. “Good morning.”
The child struggled to sit up, and a morning croak deepened her soft southern accent. “I—I didn’t hurt anything.”
“Not a whole lot out here to hurt.”
She tried to shove the hair out of her eyes. “I wasn’t…supposed to fall asleep.”
“You didn’t pick a very comfortable bed.” She looked too skittish for Blue to cross-examine just yet. “Would you like some breakfast?”
The child’s front teeth sank into her bottom lip. They were straight, but still a little big for her face. “Yes, ma’am. If that’s okay?”
“I was hoping someone would show up to keep me company. My name is Blue.”
The child struggled to her feet and picked up her backpack. “I’m Riley. Are you the help?”
Obviously, she came from a privileged background. “Help or hindrance,” Blue replied. “It depends on my mood.”
Riley was too young to appreciate an adult smart-ass. “Is…like anybody here?”
“I am.” Blue opened the front door and gestured for Riley to enter.
Riley peered around as she came inside. Her voice quivered with disappointment. “It’s not done. There isn’t any furniture.”
“A little. The kitchen’s a
lmost finished.”
“So…nobody’s living here now?”
Blue decided to dodge the question until she figured out what the kid was up to. “I’m so hungry. How about you? Do you feel like eggs or cereal?”
“Cereal, please.” Dragging her heels, Riley followed her down the hallway to the kitchen.
“The bathroom’s right there. It doesn’t have a door yet, but the painters won’t be here for a while, so if you’d like to wash up, nobody’ll bother you.”
The girl gazed around, looking toward the dining room and then the stairs before she and her backpack headed into the bathroom.
Blue had left all the nonperishable groceries in sacks until the painters finished. She went into the pantry and dug out some cereal boxes. By the time Riley returned, dragging her backpack and jacket behind her, Blue had everything set out on the table, including a small cow-pitcher filled with milk. “Choose your poison.”
Riley filled her bowl with Honey Nut Cheerios and three teaspoons of sugar. She’d washed her hands and face, and some of her curls stuck to her forehead. Her lavender cords fit too tightly, as did her white T-shirt, which had FOXY written across it in purple glitter script. Blue couldn’t imagine a less appropriate word to describe this serious child.
She fried an egg for herself, made a piece of toast, and carried her plate to the table. She waited until the child had satisfied the worst of her hunger before she started digging. “I’m thirty. How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“That’s a little young to be on your own.”
Riley set down her spoon. “I’m looking for…somebody. Kind of a relative. Not—not like a brother or anything,” she said in a rush. “Just…like maybe a cousin. I—I thought he might be here.”
Right then, the back door opened, bracelets jingled, and April came in. “We have company,” Blue said. “Look who I found asleep on the porch this morning. My friend Riley.”
April cocked her head, and a big silver hoop peeked through her hair. “On the porch?”
Blue abandoned her toast. “She’s trying to find one of her relatives.”
“The carpenters should be here soon.” April smiled at Riley. “Or is your relative one of the painters?”
“My—my relative doesn’t work here,” Riley mumbled. “He’s…He’s supposed to live here.”
Blue’s knee banged the table leg. April’s smile faded. “Live here?”
The girl nodded.
“Riley?” April’s fingers convulsed around the edge of the counter. “Tell me your last name.”
Riley dipped her head over the cereal bowl. “I don’t want to tell you.”
April’s complexion lost its color. “You’re Jack’s kid, aren’t you? Jack and Marli’s daughter.”
Blue nearly choked. It had been one thing to suspect Dean’s connection to Jack Patriot, but another thing to have it confirmed. Riley was Jack Patriot’s daughter, and despite her clumsy attempt to hide it, the relative she was looking for could only be Dean.
Riley tugged on a coil of her hair, pulling it over her face while she stared into her cereal bowl. “You know about me?”
“I—Yes,” April said. “How did you get here? You live in Nashville.”
“I sort of got a ride. With this friend of my mother’s. She’s thirty.”
April didn’t call her on her obvious lie. “I’m sorry about your mother. Does your father know you’re—” April’s expression hardened. “Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t got a clue, does he?”
“Not most of the time. But he’s very nice.”
“Nice…” April rubbed her forehead. “Who’s supposed to be taking care of you?”
“I have an au pair.”
April reached for the notebook she’d left on the counter last night. “Give me her number so I can call her.”
“I don’t think she’ll be out of bed yet.”
April locked eyes with her. “I’m sure she won’t mind if I wake her up.”
Riley looked away. “Could you tell me…Is anybody…Is like maybe my…cousin living here? Because it’s very important for me to find him?”
“Why?” April said tightly. “Why do you need to find him?”
“Because…” Riley swallowed. “Because I need to tell him about me.”
April drew a shaky breath. She gazed down at the notebook. “This isn’t going to work the way you want.”
Riley stared at her. “You know where he is, don’t you?”
“No. No, I don’t,” April said quickly. She looked at Blue, who was still trying to absorb what she was hearing. Dean bore no resemblance to Jack Patriot, but Riley did. They had the same olive skin tone, mahogany brown hair, and straight bladed nose. Those darkly rimmed caramelized sugar eyes had stared back at her from countless album covers.
“While Riley and I talk,” April said to Blue, “would you take care of that matter upstairs?”
Blue got the message. She was supposed to keep Dean away. As a child, she’d felt the pain of withheld secrets, and she didn’t believe in shielding kids from the truth, but this wasn’t her call to make. She pushed back from the table, but before she could get up, a firm set of footsteps approached from the hall.
April grabbed Riley’s hand. “Let’s go outside and talk.”
It was too late.
“I smell coffee.” Dean walked in, freshly showered, unshaven, a GQ ad for hip country casual in blue bermudas, a pale yellow mesh T-shirt with a Nike swoosh, and high-tech lime green sneakers as streamlined as race cars. He spotted Riley and smiled. “Morning.”
Riley sat paralyzed, drinking him in with her eyes. April pressed a hand to her waist, as if her stomach ached. Riley’s lips parted ever so slightly. Finally, she found her tongue. “I’m Riley.” Her voice came out in a papery croak.
“Hi, Riley. I’m Dean.”
“I know,” she said. “I—I have a scrapbook.”
“You do? What kind of scrapbook?”
“A—about you.”
“No kidding?” He headed for the coffeepot. “So you’re a football fan.”
“I’m sort of…” She licked her dry lips. “I’m sort of like…maybe your cousin or something.”
Dean’s head came up. “I don’t have a—”
“Riley is Marli Moffatt’s daughter,” April said stonily.
Riley kept her focus glued entirely on him. “Jack Patriot is…like my dad, too.”
Dean stared at her.
Riley’s face flushed with agitation. “I didn’t mean to say that!” she cried. “I never told anybody about you. I swear.”
Dean stood frozen. April couldn’t seem to move. Riley’s stricken eyes filled with tears. Blue couldn’t stand witnessing so much pain, and she rose from her chair. “Dean just rolled out of bed, Riley. Let’s give him a few minutes to wake up.”
Dean shifted his gaze to his mother. “What’s she doing here?”
April stepped back against the stove. “Trying to find you, I guess.”
Blue could see this meeting wasn’t playing out as Riley had imagined. Tears spiked the child’s lashes. “I’m sorry. I won’t ever say anything again.”
Dean was the grown-up, and he needed to take charge, but he stood silent and rigid. Blue moved around the table toward Riley. “Somebody hasn’t had his coffee yet, and it’s made him a grouchy bear. While Dean wakes up, I’ll show you where I slept last night. You won’t believe it.”
When Blue was eleven years old, she’d have challenged anybody who tried to close her out, but Riley was more accustomed to blind obedience. She ducked her head and reluctantly picked up her backpack. The kid was a walking heartache, and Blue’s own heart contracted in sympathy. She slipped an arm around Riley’s shoulders and steered her toward the side door. “First, you have to tell me what you know about gypsies.”
“I don’t know anything,” Riley muttered.
“Fortunately, I do.”
Dean waited for the door to shut. In less than
twenty-four hours, two people had confronted him with the secret he’d been able to keep for so many years. He spun on April. “What the hell is going on? Did you know about this?”
“Of course I didn’t know,” April retorted. “Blue found her asleep on the porch. She must have run away from home. Apparently she only has an au pair watching her.”
“Are you telling me that selfish son of a bitch left her alone less than two weeks after her mother died?”
“How would I know? It’s been thirty years since I talked to him in person.”
“Un-frickin’-believable.” He thrust his finger at her. “You find him right now and tell him to get one of his flunkies over here this morning to pick her up.” April didn’t like being ordered around, and she set her jaw. Too bad. He headed for the door. “I’m going to talk to her.”
“Don’t!” Her intensity stopped him. “You saw the way she was looking at you. It’s easy to see what she wants. Stay away, Dean. It’s cruel to raise her hopes. Blue and I’ll handle this. Don’t do anything to let her get attached to you unless you’re going to see it through.”
He couldn’t hide his bitterness. “The April Robillard school of child rearing. How could I have forgotten?”
His mother could be a real hard-ass when she wanted to, and her chin shot up. “You turned out all right.”
He threw her a disgusted look and left by the side door. But halfway across the yard he slowed. She was right. Riley’s needy eyes said she wanted everything from him that she knew she wouldn’t get from her father. The fact that Jack had abandoned the kid so soon after her mother’s funeral spelled out her future in big capital letters—an expensive boarding school and vacations spent with a series of glorified babysitters.
She’d still have it better than him. His vacations had taken place in luxury villas, fleabag hotels, or seedy apartments, depending on where April had been with her men and her addictions. Over time he’d been offered everything from marijuana to booze to hookers and generally had accepted it all. In fairness, April hadn’t known about most of it, but she should have. She should have known about a lot of things.