Taking the fellowship in Memphis was the right thing for her to do. She needed a reboot of her career because nursing had been her dream since age thirteen. She didn’t want to retreat. Dawson and Sloan had moved forward. So would she. Lani had meant what she’d said to Sloan….Lani was glad for Sloan’s success. Sloan’s and her shared ordeal and its damage would never completely vanish, but Lani knew from her work as an RN that scar tissue thickened and formed over all wounds—on the flesh and inside the heart. And Lindsey? Well, her future was darker. Lani recalled the joyful expression on Lindsey’s face when she’d introduced her to Sloan, her half sister. All of them deserved some joy!
Dawson took his time in the shower, letting the water soothe tired muscles while he chastised himself for not telling Lani about running into Sloan. Determined to apologize, he went into the kitchen. Lani was gone. He groaned, hating that she’d left without them settling things. He knew how shocked he’d felt running into Sloan out of the blue…like walking through a time warp into a place that he never wanted to revisit. He should have told Lani on the day it happened. “Rookie mistake,” he told himself with disgust. Now Lani was hurt.
Then, on the granite countertop next to the sink, he saw the word SORRY spelled out in battered potatoes. He grinned, felt a knot rise to his throat, and reminded himself that the same spirit that made Lani ache so profoundly also allowed her to love unreservedly. It was one of the many reasons why he loved her so much.
Dawson opened a drawer, dug out a pot, filled it with water, and threw in the pile of wounded spuds. He grabbed his cell phone and texted: How about a dinner of mashed potatoes and take-out chicken tonight?
Seconds later, her text chirped: On my way.
Cole entered the Windemere Public Library a day and a half after dropping Lindsey for her chemo treatment, his twenty-four-hour shift having stretched into thirty-two. The city council simply had to increase the EMT hiring budget. Windemere’s population was growing, and all the shifts and crews were overworked. And yet in spite of his physical exhaustion, he was at the library because an idea had burned a hole in his willpower, and he was following through on it.
“May I help you?”
The librarian’s voice from behind caused him to jump. He turned to face a woman, asking, “Um…do you keep old yearbooks someplace in here? You know, from the local high school.”
“Certainly. We’re digitizing the older editions but still have many in print form. It’s a slow process. Is there a particular year you would like to see?”
“Not exactly sure…maybe six or seven years back.”
“I’ll take you to the stacks where the books are shelved, and you can look through them.”
That suited Cole. He wanted to be alone when he searched the books’ pages for the time when Sloan had attended Windemere High. It wasn’t in his nature to snoop, but Lindsey’s text about Sloan and Lani running into each other at the cancer center while he was at work had eaten a hole through his brain. Not a happy reunion. Something going on between them, and I’m totally confused.
He’d had that very same feeling when he’d run into Sloan talking to Dawson Berke, but now Lindsey had witnessed tension between Lani—Dawson’s girlfriend—and Sloan. When Cole had met Lani and Dawson in the restaurant, they’d looked happy together. At least until Cole had come to their table and said hello. Dawson had been friendly, but had been tense and uneasy the entire time Cole had chatted with the couple. So today, as soon as he’d finished his shift, Cole had showered, changed into fresh clothes at the fire station, and come downtown to check out a hunch.
Sloan had said she and Dawson knew each other in high school, and Cole was betting that Lani also had been a student at WHS. In high school, she’d been Sloan Quentin, so he figured she’d taken the name Gabriel for the sake of her career. Lots of professional singers, actors, and actresses changed their names.
The yearbook collection was aligned on metal shelves in a far back corner of the building bordering a concrete wall, with a student desk close by, and not a solitary person anywhere near the area. Alone and private. Just what he wanted. He scanned the spines of the shelved yearbooks, paused, and did some mental calculations. Lindsey had told him Sloan was seven years younger than her, so Sloan was now in her early twenties.
He counted backward, chose books according to his best guess, sat at the desk, and began reading through indexes for her name. He hit pay dirt for what had been her junior year. Apparently, she’d missed the eleventh-grade photo day, so only her name was listed, but he did find a shot of her on a school stage with four guys, in a band called Anarchy. He laid the book aside and picked up the one for the following year, where he found her senior picture, and also a photo of Dawson. Cole saw in a glance that Sloan hadn’t been a joiner. Under Activities only the name of the band was listed. Under Dawson’s name was Cross-Country, All City, All County.
Cole lingered over Sloan’s picture. She was pretty but looked edgier, with more eye makeup than necessary, in his opinion. He leafed through various yearbook sections…Sports, where he saw Dawson in a group shot with his teammates, Senior Days, where there were several pictures of Anarchy performing for crowds of students. The caption named the lead guitarist as Jarred Tester, and he and Sloan looked pretty cozy in the montages. Cole skimmed a section called Student Life. It had no captions but only grab shots of kids walking hallways, clustered in a courtyard, gathered at lunch tables, seated in classrooms. There he found Sloan and Dawson, arms entwined in three photos and looking like a couple. So they had dated. Maybe it hadn’t ended well.
Cole flipped to the Senior Prom section, with photos of couples standing under a trellis of fake flowers, but none of Sloan with Dawson. Cole couldn’t find them in a jumble of pictures of dancing couples either. Cole eased back in the hard library chair, reminded himself that not all seniors went to their proms. Cole had attended his, but with a girl who was a buddy, not a love interest.
Lani. Where was she? Dawson had introduced her as Alana Kennedy. He turned to the index and found that she’d been a junior during Sloan’s senior year, which surprised him. On the Homecoming pages, he found Lani in a group shot of a committee of junior girls who’d helped decorate the gym for a homecoming dance following a football game. The page also held a large photo of the Anarchy band playing on the field during halftime, with Sloan center stage, holding the mike in a death grip.
Cole flipped to photos of the junior class and located Lani, along with a laundry list of school activities beneath her picture. The contrast between Lani and Sloan and their involvement with their high school was striking and only served to pique his curiosity. He tossed pages back and forth among the three images—Sloan, Dawson, Lani.
He’d seen the strained civility between Sloan and Dawson with his own eyes, and the genuine happiness between Lani and Dawson. And now there was Lindsey’s report of what she’d witnessed between Sloan and Lani. What was going on with these three? A love triangle? A bitter breakup? Something that had happened after high school was over?
He rubbed his face, felt the stubble of his beard, and blinked, blurry-eyed and brain-fried. He was too tired to think now. Plus it really wasn’t any of his business. Why should he invest time and energy researching the past of a woman so far out of his life sphere in the first place? Idiot! Disgusted with himself, he stood, re-shelved the books, and left the library, no closer to solving the mystery than when he’d come.
Sloan worked two weeks and often late into the night with CC in the small recording studio, sometimes with musicians, sometimes with only prerecorded musical tracks. The going was slow at first, with CC offering her songs penned by his favorite songwriters. Sloan sat wearing headphones to hear renditions of songs, and flashed a smile when she heard one she especially liked.
CC had told her, “You’re the singer, Sloan, and you get to choose the songs you like best. We’ll compile a list, let you do a vocal run-through with just the music portion, and then you can decide if it’
s right for you.” She liked that about CC. He never pushed her toward a song. He let her find the lyrics, the tone, and the mood that worked best with her voice. He would work his magic after the tracks were laid, but she retained artistic control.
CC said pacing in the album was important, so together they created a list of tunes with varying rhythms—fast, slow, saucy, a redo of some other singer’s popular song—and built what CC called her vinyl identity, anchored by her hit single, “Somebody’s Baby,” which was still climbing the charts.
Terri flew in from LA for a few of the sessions, including today’s. “You’re booked into a Memorial Day event in Dallas,” Terri told her. “Onstage with some rising newcomers, along with two name bands. And last week your song had record-setting downloads. This is all very good, Sloan.”
Sloan was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her back padded with pillows against the headboard. The best thing about working long days and evenings was that deep sleep held on to her, and she had no nightmares of clutching hands. “Give me a list of my competition.”
Terri pulled papers from her briefcase and laid them on the table beside the chair where she sat, while Sloan nibbled her way through some chicken nuggets from a fast-food drive-through window. “Already done.”
“Soon as you return from Dallas,” Terri said, “you’ll begin filming your video.”
Sloan thumbed through messages on her cell while Terri told her about the upcoming video shoot—the director (one of the best); the locations (still being selected, but there would be several); and the time set aside for postproduction, when the clips would be strung together into a scripted visual story line and readied for MTV and CMT launches.
Sloan half listened as she read through texts from Lindsey that kept her linked to Windemere….Toby couldn’t wait for the school year to be over, Gloria was working too hard, Lindsey herself was feeling pretty good further out from chemo, and missing Sloan. Sloan had received no messages from Cole, and was surprised to feel disappointed about it. What was it about the man that tugged at her? For starters, she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t even tried to kiss her that night by the pool. He’d wanted to. She’d seen it in his eyes. And she would have let him too. True she was attracted to Cole physically, but also to his persona, his skill set, cooking expertise, rapport with kids, and most of all the way he looked out for Lindsey. He was strong, independent, and certainly didn’t seem to need anyone in his life. Or even want anyone—
“Are you listening to me?”
Terri’s question startled Sloan away from her wandering thoughts. She slid her phone aside, looked contrite. “Of course. Um—what did you say?”
“I asked if you’re going to Windemere this weekend.”
“Maybe. Toby has a baseball game, and Lindsey wants me to come with her and Gloria.”
Terri offered a rueful smile. “So you’ve accepted her narrative of you being her sister?”
“I—I guess I have.”
“Even without proof positive? Because this can’t stay a secret anymore. The more you hang in Windemere, the more it will be noticed. Yours and Lindsey’s connection is going to come out. Are you ready for that?”
Sloan furrowed her brow and thought of the people who already knew…more than she’d ever intended. “I don’t talk about it to others. You’re the one who told CC.”
“Because I don’t want you torn between your career and what’s happening to Lindsey. I was busy career building when my mother died. I could have been there with her in the hospital, but wasn’t. I’ve always regretted that.”
Terri’s confession surprised Sloan, but it also acted as ballast for her own choices. “I—I like Lindsey. She’s sister-worthy,” Sloan said wistfully, “and life’s dealt her a bad hand. I don’t think I can walk away from her now. It would be cruel, and she doesn’t deserve that. But I don’t want to hurt myself either.”
“Yes, she doesn’t deserve cancer. However, trust me that the media will come sniffing around, and probably put you under a microscope.” The idea sent a chill through Sloan, and it must have shown on her face, because Terri quickly added, “But you have me on your side, and it’s my job to put a positive spin on everything you do, especially if you’ve been honest with me.”
Sloan ignored Terri’s invitation to say more. She yawned and slunk down into the pillows. “I’m being a real good girl, Terri. Never fear.”
Terri scooped up her purse and briefcase. “Okay, then. I have to catch an early flight.” She turned off the desk lamp, adding, “Have a good time with your family.”
My family. The words replayed in Sloan’s head as she drifted into sleep.
Lani found Ciana in the main barn grooming one of her many horses, and when Ciana looked up, she welcomed Lani with a sunny smile. “How are you? I thought you’d be gone by now. Memphis, isn’t it?”
“Dawson’s packing the rental trailer at my sister’s place now. We’ll drive over this afternoon, move everything into my new place and get me settled. Classes start Monday.”
“You excited?”
“Yes, but nervous too.”
Ciana put down the curry brush and walked closer. “You’re going to do fine. And it’s for just a few months, right?”
“Five, but three extra weeks for clinic duty,” Lani said, unable to express how much she was going to miss her life in Windemere. And Dawson. “I should be home for Christmas.”
Ciana swept Lani with a gaze. “You’re not dressed for riding Oro today.”
“I was here last weekend. No, I’m here to talk to you.” A lump clogged Lani’s throat, and she swallowed it down. “I—I want to sell Oro, need to sell him, and thought maybe you or Jon could handle it for me.”
Ciana looked shocked. “You’ve had Oro since you were thirteen.”
“I know…but I can’t take care of him anymore.”
“If you’re worried about winter feed money…”
Lani shook her head. “That’s an issue but not the main one. It’s…it’s time…for me to let go of him.” A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, and she swiped it aside. “He helped me through a lot of hard times growing up, but…I need to move on. If you handle the sale, I know he’ll go to somebody who’ll love him. He’s a wonderful horse.”
Ciana squeezed Lani’s shoulder. “I doubt Jon will sell him. Oro’s old but a perfect saddle horse. He’ll have a home here for the rest of his life.”
Lani buried her face in her hands and broke down crying. Ciana wrapped her arms around the girl who’d been her best friend, Arie’s, cousin. “It’s all right, sweetie. You were a wonderful owner, and when you move back, you can ride him if you ever want to.”
“He helped heal me.” Lani’s words were muffled against Ciana’s clothing.
“And now it’s time for you to go heal others.”
“I just don’t think I can finish watching the game. I want to more than anything, but…” Lindsey let the sentence trail with a labored breath.
Sloan had driven over on a Saturday morning to see one of Toby’s YMCA baseball games. The metal bleachers under a hot sun were hard and uncomfortable, and in spite of their holding umbrellas to shade themselves from the heat, Lindsey looked sickly and in pain. “We should leave,” Sloan said, jumping up.
“Please stay, Sloan,” Lindsey said. “Toby knows I sometimes have to leave early, but it’ll mean a lot to have someone in the family stay and finish cheering for his team till the end of the game.”
“I’ll run her home,” Gloria said firmly. “I know what needs doing once we get there.”
“Someone in the family…” Sloan regretted her first judgment of Gloria, because without Gloria’s care and devotion, Lindsey and Toby would be much worse off. Gloria folded two umbrellas and scooped up her and Lindsey’s stuff. “I’ll be here for your Little Man. No worries,” Sloan said.
“Win or lose, Cole will take the boys out for pizza, and most of the parents tag along. I know Toby would like having you come too
.”
Sloan nodded and watched the two women walk to the parking lot and drive away, as she mulled over the idea of eating pizza with kids and strangers. And with Cole. She adjusted her sunglasses and old ball cap and hunkered down. Ever since she’d arrived, people had been staring at her. Their looks and elbow nudges had thrust her back to the days when gossip had followed her in the town, and although these young mothers and fathers, many with toddlers in tow, were total strangers, she felt self-conscious, misplaced without Lindsey and Gloria on either side of her. She stepped down off the bleachers and wandered along the fence, closer to the dugouts. She’d rather stand than sit anyway.
It also gave her an opportunity to concentrate on Cole as coach. He appeared to enjoy the job and the boys, offering encouragement if they struck out, or if their hits turned into easily caught fly balls, or if they were tagged before getting on base. By the time the game ended in a tie and the two teams lined up and slapped hands with each other, all disappointments were forgotten. “Who wants pizza?” Cole shouted to his players.
A chorus of “Me, me, me!” went up.
He turned and saw Sloan at the fence, and grinned, as if he’d won an unexpected prize. The sight of her made the already sunlit day sunnier. “Well, hey!” He thought she looked gorgeous in shorts and a tee, her blond hair pulled through the back of her ball cap.
Sloan felt her pulse kick up a notch, and returned his smile, explaining, “Gloria took Lindsey home and asked me to stand in for them at the pizza party. I rode with Gloria, so I’ll need a ride.”