Bitter Past, page 18
“Oh.” Joelle rinsed the last of the glasses and handed it to him. “No, I’m not.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you?”
“No. But there are times when I’d like to be.”
There was an electric moment when he held Jo’s gaze and then moved ever so slightly toward her. Joelle thought he was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. But Trix broke the spell as she trotted over and gave a gentle nudge with her nose.
“Someone’s tired,” Joelle said. “And she’s not the only one.”
“Right. Up you go. And try not to worry. No one’s going to bother you tonight.”
Joelle guessed that included himself. And she was kind of sorry about that. She glanced at the stairs, knowing this was her cue to leave. But she didn’t want to.
“Aren’t you tired?” Shawn asked.
“Very.” She hesitated, then decided to plunge ahead. “I’m afraid to go to sleep because I’ve been having these awful nightmares about something that happened when I was small.”
“Tell me.” Shawn sank onto the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.
“The dream or what really happened?”
“Start with what really happened.”
“When I was two years old my family went on a camping trip. While my parents were setting up the tent, I wandered off and apparently a strange man used a small dog to lure me into his truck.”
“Jesus. But why do you say apparently?”
“Because I don’t remember any of this. I’ve read the newspaper accounts though.” They were a lot more detailed than the vague story she’d been told by her family. “The man took me to his house—it was an old two-story with stairs to an unfinished attic. Somehow I managed to run away from him and make my way to that attic, where I hid in an old cedar trunk—the kind women used to have for their trousseaus in the old days.”
“What a brave little kid you were. And smart.”
“I stayed hidden in that trunk all night. And then the next morning, they found me.” Joelle felt oddly detached from herself. As if she was relaying something that had happened to a different person. “The police had received a tip from my abductor’s neighbor. I guess he heard me screaming when the man pulled me out of his truck. The amazing thing is that I survived the incident without a scratch. I was completely unharmed.”
“And the man?”
“He’s in prison for life. They found evidence of other children in that house. Children who weren’t as lucky as me.”
“What a terrifying story. I’m not surprised you still have nightmares. Did you ever get counseling?”
“For what? Like I said, I don’t remember any of this. It’s just a story I’ve been told and that I’ve read about.” Until today, it was also a story she’d never shared before. Not with a single friend or lover. Not once in all her thirty-two years.
“Maybe your conscious mind doesn’t remember. But I’m damn sure that experience has been imprinted on a primitive level.”
She wanted to disagree. But she had started to tremble. Not tiny tremors, but an almost violent shaking of all her muscles. She was no psychologist, but even she understood that her words had somehow unlocked something deep inside of her. She wanted to laugh off her reaction, but instead, tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice completely failed her.
When Shawn opened his arms, she let him pull her close against his reassuringly strong chest. And she stayed there a long, long time.
Chapter Thirteen
Shawn and his mother were still in their bedrooms when Joelle got up the next morning. She’d only managed six hours of sleep, but they’d been restful. No nightmares. Quietly she hustled Trix out of the house and back to the cottage so she could get ready for the Huckleberry Festival. In the fresh, clean sunshine of morning, her fears of the previous day felt excessive. There were no dead creatures on the welcome mat, and the inside of the cottage was just as she’d left it. Still, she remained committed to the plan of driving home that afternoon.
It was the safest course of action, and yet something about returning to Whitefish made her feel sad. She thought of last night, and that time she’d spent alone with Shawn. It had felt so natural and easy being there with him. They’d had that moment when he’d almost kissed her. And then that time in his arms after she shared her story.
She’d never felt such a connection to a man before. But once she was back home, she didn’t imagine she would see him again. So pointless to even think about the possibility of a relationship.
After taking care of Trix’s food and water needs, Joelle put on her light blue summer dress, wedge sandals, and a simple pair of hoop earrings. Her stomach tightened with nerves as she locked up the cottage and prepared to face the citizens of Lost Trail.
She checked her watch. Just five more hours and then she could leave.
*
Joelle parked in the designated lot for festival volunteers, then made sure all the Jeep’s windows were closed and doors locked. There was a steady flow of people heading toward the park where the pancake breakfast was taking place. She paused for a minute to admire the setting. The clean white of the vendor tents looked so smart with the bright indigo and periwinkle huckleberry banners and flags that were flying everywhere. She joined the queue for pancakes and was pleased to see that the breakfast included a cup of strong, hot coffee, two stacked pancakes, a ladle of huckleberry syrup, and two strips of bacon. Cassidy gave her a friendly smile as she flipped the pancakes onto her plate. “Good job you missed the first batch. They came out a little scorched.”
“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it now,” Joelle said, admiring the beautifully gold-brown pancakes. With her plate fully loaded, she looked around for a place to sit. Several rows of tables had been set up on the expansive grounds. Most of them were full. Then she noticed some extra spaces next to Cassidy’s mother.
“Hi, Jessica. Mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” The elderly archivist was wearing a pale pink cotton shirt with a floral bandana tied around her neck. A badge on her blouse identified her as a volunteer, and as she smiled, all the wrinkles in her face seemed to rearrange themselves, concentrating at the corners of her eyes and in curved lines around her mouth.
Joelle had no sooner settled than she noticed Matt with his girlfriend, Jamie. Matt was holding two plates, while Jamie was managing on her crutches beside him. Joelle waved. “Matt, Jamie! There’s room here.”
“Look, it’s Joelle,” Jamie said to Matt before lifting one hand from her crutch to wave back.
Joelle pulled out the chair next to hers and helped Jamie settle, while Matt took the chair next to Jessica.
After making introductions, Joelle asked where Jamie’s dad was.
“He already ate at our bed and breakfast, so he’s getting in his steps,” Jamie said. “After that he’s going to save us spots for the parade.”
Jessica, who had been gazing at Jamie since Joelle had introduced her, suddenly snapped her fingers. “You’re the hiker who went missing.”
Jamie flushed and dropped her gaze. “Guilty.”
“I’m so glad they found you. It’s a strange thing, but sixteen years ago another female hiker went missing along that same stretch of trail.”
“That was my mother, Eve Brooks. I’m surprised you remember her.”
“I’m the archivist at the Lost Trail Courier. I remember we had a profile all lined up about Eve. Just as we were about to go to print, Vera—she was the wife of the publisher back then—caught sight of it and made us pull it. She used to love pulling prima donna stunts like that.”
Joelle heard Jamie say something in response, but the words washed over her. She was too preoccupied by what Jessica had just said. And then, suddenly, Edward Cocker was at their table, aiming a camera right at them. Jessica noticed him at the same time.
“Speak of the devil, here’s my publisher—Edward. Smile, everyone. We’re about to get our picture taken for the Courier.”
Edward snapped several pictures then moved on to a table full of happy children with purple huckleberry stains around their lips. Joelle leaned closer to Jessica. “It must be tough for Edward to be here after what happened to Sam.”
Jessica shrugged. “Work always comes first with Edward. We typically run six pages for the festival. And our subscribers and advertisers love lots of pictures.”
“Is Edward a full-time photographer at the paper?” Jamie innocently asked.
Jessica laughed. “Heavens no. He’s the owner and chief editor. You have to be a jack-of-all-trades at the Courier. Fortunately digital photography makes it relatively easy for anyone to take a print-worthy photo.” She checked her phone. “The parade’s going to be starting soon. I’d better get a move on.”
Joelle said goodbye absent-mindedly. She was still watching Edward as he worked his way among the crowd, taking pictures. Myrtle had suggested he was a ladies’ man, and Joelle wondered if Vera had pulled that photo and profile of Eve because she’d been jealous? Eve had been very beautiful.
Joelle finished every bite of the breakfast—it was too good to waste—then said bye to Jamie and Matt and fell in with the rest of the crowd as they jostled to find a good spot to watch the parade. She was struck by how many families with children there were, as well as cliques of teenagers, and young couples. Yes, there were older faces in the crowd, but it seemed that Lost Trail wasn’t one of those small towns kids couldn’t wait to grow up and leave.
The parade began with a small group of veterans in uniform, two of whom brandished the American and Montana flags. Next came the parade’s grand marshal, local cowboy legend Brice Lockwood, astride a beautiful palomino, followed by the parade’s mascot, Huck L. Berry, riding in a small truck decked out with balloons and streamers. Joelle pitied the man in the huckleberry costume, his head and body subsumed in the huge purple sphere, only his long, skinny legs open to the fresh air.
And so the parade continued with lots of balloons and flags and people tossing candies into the crowd, which children on the sidelines scooped up into large plastic bags. The Sons of the American Revolution had a float with men decked out in coats and breeches and three-cornered hats. Faces red and glistening with sweat, they looked incredibly hot, but they all carried their flags proudly. Joelle’s favorite part of the parade was the teenagers on horseback, representing the local working cowboy school. She spotted Candace right away, on a sorrel quarter horse, a proud, happy smile on her face. Behind her, her brother, Bruce, sat solidly on his own horse. Finally the Sheriff, in his official black truck, cruised down the street, ending the whole affair with a flourish of authority. Judging by the slightly sheepish expression on Zak Waller’s face as he tossed candy out the window to the children, this was not a part of his job that he relished.
After the parade, Joelle was due at the craft table. It was easy to find the kiddie section—she just headed toward the masses of blue and silver and white balloons. There was an enormous bouncy castle, a table for face painting, and then there was the craft area, which had been set up under a large white canopy, with three low tables, each with six child-sized chairs. Rosemary Masterson had already set out craft supplies in the middle of each table.
“Joelle, good, I’m so glad you’re here. This is Mary, Amanda’s mom.” She indicated the woman at the third table, who waved and smiled. Mary was petite like her daughter, with gray hair cut stylishly short.
“It’s looking like it’s going to be an incredibly busy day.” Rosemary fanned her face with a stack of poster paper. “And already it’s so hot.”
“How is your daughter managing with the heat?” Joelle asked. She couldn’t imagine being eight months pregnant in this weather.
“Tiff is amazing. She’s babysitting Zak and Nadine’s son, Jett, today. She had planned to bring him to the kiddie section this morning. But with the crowds and the heat, she’s just staying put in our air-conditioned house.”
“I get it,” Joelle said, taking a long drink from her water bottle.
“We’ll each be in charge of one table,” Rosemary said, focusing on the task at hand. “I’ve got simple instructions for three different projects. But of course, if the children have other ideas, creativity is to be encouraged.”
Joelle studied the instructions, which were in clear plastic sheet protectors. The suggested crafts were for dream catchers, butterflies on a stick, and wind chimes. A sample of each completed craft was next to the instructions. They were all adorable and Joelle looked forward to helping the kids make their own.
The first two children to show up looked around three and five and approached the tables shyly. Rosemary coaxed them into seats and gave them their choice of which craft to make. Soon they were absorbed in folding, coloring, and gluing.
Another two children arrived, and then three more. Soon Joelle had a tableful of children, all of whom seemed to need help at the same moment. Some of the kids were very intent on following instructions precisely. But most were unfettered by perfectionism and those were the ones who were the most fun to watch. She was helping one little boy tie bells to his wind chime when she noticed Wyatt, standing about twenty feet away, in deep conversation with his mother. Vera had her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and seemed to be doing the majority of the talking. It was hard to read Wyatt’s expression from under the brim of his cowboy hat, but his shoulders were hunched, and he seemed a little cowed.
Not far off were Amanda, Candace, and Bruce. Amanda seemed to be waiting for her husband, but the kids, noticing their grandmother Mary at the craft table, went rushing toward her.
Bruce was still dressed in the jeans, cowboy hat, and boots he’d been wearing on his horse, but Candace had changed into a short denim jumpsuit, which showed off her tanned, long, slender legs. While Bruce said something to Mary, Candace glanced Joelle’s way and there was something in her cool bluish-gray gaze that gave Joelle another jolt of recognition. Why did the girl look so familiar?
And then it hit her. Candace’s eyes were exactly like the twins’. And Brent’s. Other similarities jumped out at her. Candace was long and lithe like the twins. Her hair was light brown, unlike her dark-haired parents and brother.
Could Candace be Brent’s biological daughter? Joelle did the math—and it worked. And suddenly she remembered a letter Olivia had told her about, a plea for money from someone claiming to be Brent’s long-lost daughter. The letter had been consigned to the junk mail pile, assumed to be from scammers after Brent’s lottery money.
Maybe the letter had been genuine. Wyatt or Amanda might have sent that letter on their daughter’s behalf, and when they didn’t receive an answer, maybe they’d been desperate enough to try the blackmail route?
Amanda seemed about to join her mother and kids, but when she spotted Jo, she stopped short. Impulsively, Joelle dashed up to her. “Amanda. I need to ask you something.”
*
Damn it, there was that journalist again. Was she ever going to leave her alone? Amanda glanced toward her husband, but he was still focused on his conversation with his mother. “Leave me alone,” she hissed quietly.
But Joelle didn’t back off. “Please, it’s important. Did Brent know Candace was his daughter?”
“Pardon me?” Amanda glanced around, panicked that someone might have heard. But there was a lot of noise, and no one was looking in their direction. She stepped closer, not trying to contain her anger. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Have you seen Brent’s twins? There’s a definite resemblance to Candace. And the timing works. And if you were pregnant when Brent left Lost Trail, that would explain why you were so upset that he wanted to end your relationship.”
Amanda felt like she might faint. It was so damned hot out here, and this woman just would not let her be. She took a quavering breath in and then stepped even closer. “No, Brent didn’t know. Nor does Candace. Wyatt and I agreed it would be better if she grew up believing he was her real dad.”
But it had, in fact, been Wyatt who negotiated that deal. He’d said he loved Amanda and wanted to marry her, but only under his terms. At the time she hadn’t felt she had any option. Well, there had been one option. She could have raised Candace on her own.
But marrying Wyatt had made sense on so many levels. They’d been friends for years and she knew, when the time came, he’d make a good rancher. In that respect he was a much better fit for her than Brent could ever have been.
“My sister told me Brent received a letter after his lottery win from someone claiming to be his long-lost daughter.”
“What?”
“At the time Olivia and Brent thought it was a hoax. Now I’m guessing that letter was from you and Wyatt.”
“Of course not!” The denial was instinctive, but almost as soon as she’d uttered it, she was plagued by doubt. Could Wyatt have contacted Brent? She knew he’d been terribly worried about money lately. But then what had happened at the gas station…that couldn’t have been Wyatt. No way would he have stolen a semi and purposefully crashed into Brent’s much smaller SUV.
However…she remembered he’d been strange that night. First he’d grounded Candace, then, after dinner, he’d announced—out of the blue—that he had to drive to Missoula to pick up a new part for their bailer.
“Maybe you thought your daughter—and the ranch—deserved a piece of Brent’s lottery winnings,” Joelle pressed.
“As if either of us would do such a thing. That’s disgusting.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t. Can you be so sure about Wyatt?”
Oh dear Lord. This woman just wouldn’t let her be. Amanda wanted to put her hands over her ears and start humming. Anything to block more of the reporter’s questions.
“Please leave me alone. I need to find my husband.” She pushed past Joelle and made for Wyatt, who was still in an intense conversation with his mother. Normally Amanda, who was slightly cowed by her mother-in-law, wouldn’t have dreamt of interrupting. But today she broke into their conversation without even an apology.
