Jack's Heart, page 2
At the moment, with the cold streaming in from the open tailgate, the prospect of being near some body heat had appeal. “Will there be room?”
“Yeah.” He sounded grim. “Got any more blankets?”
“There’s a box—”
“Got that. Need more for — this will do.”
She saw a flash of scarlet in the mirror, tried to twist around again, found that still wasn’t a good idea. “Hey, was that my cape?”
“Dunno.”
“Long, hooded, cashmere, lined with satin, my favorite piece of clothing ever.”
He wasn’t listening. Because partway through her description, he’d backed out of the tailgate and dropped it closed behind him.
How hard was it to recognize a cape? Didn’t take a fashion expert for heaven’s sake, so—
Her door opened abruptly.
“What were you doing with my cape?” she demanded.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“What?”
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“I heard you,” she said a little testily, but she figured she was entitled. “Let’s try why?”
“So I can carry you to the back.”
“Carry me? Carry me? Do you have any idea how heavy I am?”
“Less than a bale of hay.”
That stopped her, because she had no idea how much a bale of hay weighed. And while she was stopped, he scooped her up.
Out of self-preservation she put her arms around his neck. She figured if he started to drop her she could hold onto his neck long enough to soften her landing.
“And you’re having to carry me through snow,” she added.
“Been in snow before.”
His breath puffed warm across the slice of her cheek exposed between her pulled-down knit cap and the scarf wrapped up around her chin and mouth.
“Why are you doing this? I was fine where I was.” Sort of.
“More room.”
The wind had strengthened. If his mouth hadn’t been practically in her ear she might not have heard his low voice through all the layers of cloth.
“Doesn’t take that much room to wait. You said somebody’s coming from this ranch of yours so—”
“Not mine. I’m foreman. Not owner.”
“Ownership is not real important to me at the moment.”
He grunted. Might have been part of a chuckle. Might have been in pain from trying to support her elephant-like body.
He turned the corner to the back of the car, and the going got a bit easier, apparently because he’d tamped down the snow during his box-rearranging. He set her on her feet, and lifted the tailgate.
He’d created a sort of elliptical nest in the middle, cushioning the deck with blankets and—
“My cape!” She snatched the nearest section of fabric and reeled it in, bundling the fabric in her arms.
He moved as if he intended to lift her again. She evaded it by swinging her arm away, and nearly lost her balance on the snowpack underfoot. She saved herself by sitting — hard — on the edge of the tailgate.
“Can you get in by yourself?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
And she did. By inching herself backward like a panting, heaving cross between a crab and a rhinoceros. Each time she moved backward she scrunched up the blankets a bit, and he pulled them down.
As soon as she got far enough in that — with her knees bent — the tailgate could be closed without performing a double footectomy, she flopped back, trying to replenish her oxygen. The wadded up fabric of the cape sat on her chest. She watched it rise and fall with each breath.
She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t had another contraction during these maneuvers.
“Okay?”
Her eyes flicked to him. He’d come up beside her without her even noticing his movement. In other words, he’d climbed in like it was the easiest thing in the world. Damn him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He made that sound again, and since he was no longer carrying her, she had to conclude it had more to do with amusement than pain.
“I’m gonna radio again.”
In the time she took two breaths, he was out and had dropped the tailgate down, cutting off the wind.
She started trying to fold the cape to put it somewhere safe. But the voluminous flow of fabric made it more than a little tricky while she was lying down and with barely enough room to stretch her arms.
She could just make out his voice over the wind, which probably meant he was shouting into the radio. She listened harder, trying to assess his tone.
Neutral. Matter-of-fact.
Then she felt the serious pain edging back in. Sliding in inexorably, like an oil slick being brought to shore by the tide.
She fisted her hands in the cape’s material.
Each swell, rising a little higher, carrying the black, foul-smelling blob of pain a little closer until—
“How’re you doing?” he said from someplace close by. He had to be, right? She couldn’t hear him that clearly if he were outside, but she hadn’t heard him get in — Oh, hell, who cared?
“The contractions are coming — Oh … Oh, God!” Pain swallowed the universe and her along with it. There was nothing but pain. There would never be anything but pain.
It receded, but she knew that was just a ploy so it could hurt more the next time. Higher and closer with every swell. She knew the ocean’s ways. This was an ocean of pain.
But at least, for now, it let her see what was around her. She looked up into the cowboy’s face.
He was partially kneeling beside her, his hat was gone. He had light brown hair with a weird dent in it. And eyes somewhere between blue and gray.
“My cousin has gray eyes,” she said between pants. Why was she panting like she’d run ten miles?
He frowned. “That so?”
“That’s so. Eleanor Thatcher — McRae. Can’t forget the McRae becau—”
She screamed. Not like at a scary part in a movie scream, where you follow up with a nervous laugh. But a scream like when the pain that swallowed you had all its knives out slicing every little bit of you.
When she reached the border between the ocean of pain where she would never leave and the world that other people inhabited, she realized the cowboy had his hand on her forehead, stroking back her hair.
“You’re going to have that baby soon.”
“Can’t. Water hasn’t—” She panted the words out. She didn’t have her breath back from the pain or the scream or both. “—broken.”
“Sometimes doesn’t happen until after. We’re going to deliver it here.”
“Here? Don’t be silly. We can’t—”
“We can.”
He said it so simply, she began to believe. “Have you delivered a baby before?”
“Yes.”
She looked up into his eyes. They were very calm. Yet, sad. So sad. Why would he be so sad? Because she was going to die? But he’d said he’d delivered babies before, so … “Oh, shit, you mean cows!”
“Cows and horses and sheep and dogs.”
She gestured to herself. “Human!” Then at her abdomen, “Human baby!”
“It’s all nature.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not—”
“You’re going to have this baby. Here. And soon. And nobody else is going to get here before you do. It’s you and me.”
She locked eyes with him and opened her mouth to point out again what a stupid, horrible, bad, bad, bad idea this was. His calm, sad eyes stared back at her.
She said, “You and me.”
“Right. I’m going to need some room. So—” He hooked her under her arms and slid her more toward the front of the car. She was sitting up more than she had been, which was slightly more comfortable. Like being on a bed of pins instead of needles.
He spread the cape over her, then started backing up.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t sound panicked, because she didn’t panic. She was up for anything. Ready for any adventure. Yes, sir. That was her.
“We gotta get you out of these pants. Fast.” He opened the tailgate and stepped out, having to remain bent over so he didn’t hit his head. He started on her shoes, but left her socks on.
“Won’t be hard. I haven’t worn anything but elastic for months. Never thought I’d miss zippers, but — Wait. Wait!” He’d started to tug on the bottom of the pant legs, which were cooperating like they thought they were going to get some action.
“Contraction?”
“No.” The pants were gone. He draped the side of the cape over her, moving more things around. Making room for where he’d have to be when she — “This is going to happen. This is really going to happen. Here. Now.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to use my cape.”
“Yes.”
She loved that cape. This kid better be worth it. And if anyone else ever said anything like that about her precious baby she would scoop their heart out with her fingernails. “Oh, God, at least tell me your name.”
“Jack, Ma’am. Jack Ralston.”
“I’m Valerie. Valerie Trimarco. Or Val. Lots of people call me Val.”
“Ma’am.” He crawled back in beside her, tugging the tailgate closed after him. The wind howled at having its fun thwarted.
“If you call me Ma’am one more time, I swear I will not try to muffle my screams one little bit.”
His mouth quirked. “Okay, Valerie.”
“Okay. As long as we understand each other.” For no reason other than the reasons that had been staring her in the face for hours, some of them for months, her eyes welled with tears. And then the well ran over. “Oh, God, Jack Ralston, what are we going to do?”
He leaned over her, looking her straight in the eyes. “We’re going to have this baby, Ma — Val. You and me.”
“You and me,” she repeated.
“And everything’s going to be okay.”
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
“—and everything was okay, because you came into the world, bright and beautiful and healthy and screaming,” Val said, concluding the expurgated version of her birth that Addison Rose Trimarco loved to hear.
And now everything was going to be okay with this, too.
It was a good idea. A great idea. Her followers would go nuts for it. That’s why she was back in Wyoming for the first time in three and a half years.
“Now, it’s time for you to go to sleep.”
“Say it, Mommy.”
“See you later—”
“Allie-gator.” They finished together.
As her daughter giggled, she stroked her hair back from her forehead. “Sleep tight, Addie.”
“No bites,” Addie ordered. She’d shortened the traditional don’t-let-the-bed-bugs-bite goodnight wish into a command to the universe that matched her spirit.
Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
That still astonished Val.
For the first two-and-a-half years of her life, Addie had been what could be kindly called an erratic sleeper.
That’s how the blog, then the podcasts had started. With her own sleep echoing her daughter’s disjointed patterns, Val had found herself awake and longing for connection at the oddest times and often with only snatches of moments to try to fill the craving.
So, rather than harass family and friends who didn’t keep Baby Hours, she’d blogged. And she’d discovered a community of other mothers feeling as if they’d been unplugged from the universe. She gave them a voice through “Mommy: The Truth Zone” and they gave her astonishing loyalty. Everything blossomed from that. She made a living now at something she loved.
Nearly as miraculous, Addison had gone to sleep one night almost a year ago at a normal time, and that was that.
Val slipped out of the cottage’s solitary bedroom. The double bed had already been there. Her kind hosts had added the youth bed for Addie.
In the living room, Val picked up her keyboard, plugged it in to the travel monitor, and started typing about the miracle of Addie going to sleep. Remembering the years of sleepless or fragmented nights and days, she hoped her earlier travails — and their eventual end — would give someone out there tonight the knowledge that they weren’t alone. That there might be a full night’s sleep somewhere in their future.
It was strange not to be telling her readers about what she’d been doing today.
But that would ruin the surprise.
So it had to wait until tomorrow, when she would finally thank Jack Ralston.
Really thank him. With a surprise party to celebrate what he’d done for her and Addie, joined by the people who knew him here in Knighton, Wyoming.
And then she’d share the party and the thanks and how wonderful he’d been with all her followers for the first time.
She should have done this years ago.
Well, okay, not at first. Because at that point in her life taking a shower had been an accomplishment that left those Mount Everest-climbing folks in the dust. A surprise thank-you party in Wyoming? No way.
Even when Addie started sleeping, it had taken a while to rebuild her own energy. Plus, there was the issue of when. On Addie’s birthday, as a sort of anniversary? Couple problems with that. She had first-hand experience of Wyoming in January. Also, shouldn’t Addie get to have fun on her birthday with her friends? And then there was the fact that Val’s family and friends in Gloucester would shoot her for depriving them of celebrating that day with Addie.
With the birthday out, that left too many other choices, none better than another. She’d dithered along, pretending she was waiting for the perfect moment when she’d just been procrastinating.
Until opportunity knocked on her door — or dropped into her inbox, depending on how you looked at it — and refused to go away.
Fate had said now. So, here she was.
Everyone had been incredibly supportive and helpful here in little Knighton, Wyoming. Particularly the family that owned the Slash-C Ranch where he worked. Not even at her most optimistic could she have dreamed up better people. They were all in on the surprise. Excited about it. Had not only made it possible, but fun.
That left Jack Ralston.
Everything was going to be okay.
More than okay. Great. Terrific. Super.
*
“Jack’s right behind me,” Matty Brennan Currick announced as she pushed open the door. “He thinks we’ve got something to go over for the Slash-C. Dave’s with him to prevent any last-minute snafus. All set, Valerie?”
“All set,” she lied.
Oh, the arrangements were all made. Everyone who should be here was. The food was ready. The banner hung over the Café’s counter. The camcorder was already running to make sure she caught everything.
So, yes, all the stuff was ready. It was her that wasn’t ready.
Especially her stomach. Which had chosen this moment to imitate those old barnstorming airplanes doing loop-de-loops. Great timing.
Everything would be okay.
So why were her hands slick on the video camera? Why was its “anti-tremor” software working overtime?
Donna Currick placed a hand on her arm, and said quietly, “It’ll be fine, dear.”
Matty Brennan Currick had answered the phone when Val called the Slash-C out of the blue nearly three months ago now with her story about the foreman of the ranch the Currick family owned. And Matty was the person Val had been communicating with regularly. The one whose enthusiasm for all this had carried Val past any and all obstacles. Matty’s husband, Dave Currick, had been as nice as he could be since she and Addie arrived. So had everyone else. In these two days she’d met dozens of people, and liked every one of them.
But the one she felt the most drawn to was Donna Currick, Dave’s mom and Matty’s mother-in-law.
She couldn’t be much younger than Val’s mom, yet she felt almost like a contemporary. Though a contemporary who was really smart and saw through people like glass. Which was almost as scary as it was appealing.
“It’s just … Do you think it’ll be a surprise?” Val asked her now.
“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure it’s a surprise.”
A wryness in her tone caught Val’s attention, but there was no time to pursue it. Matty, still stationed by the door, stage-whispered a stern, “Shh!”
Matty backed up to join the group by the counter, leaving Val’s camera a clear view of the entryway.
The door pushed open, Dave’s easy voice carrying in ahead of him. “…a couple more factors to consider before we place the order. Go on, Jack. Matty’ll have us a booth by now and we can…”
He kept talking, but Val didn’t hear the words.
Jack Ralston.
Jack.
Last night, she’d worried that she wouldn’t recognize him. It had been years, after all. Not to mention that, at the beginning, he’d mostly had on coat, hat, and mufflers. And by the end, she’d had other things on her mind.
She recognized him.
Recognized the way he moved, even with the sunlight from outside back-lighting him. Which made no sense, because she’d hardly seen him walking at all.
And now he wasn’t moving, either.
He’d stopped dead in the doorway.
His eyes — oh, yes she remembered his eyes — scanned the group and stopped on her.
“Surprise!” rose as a roar around her.
It startled her into breathing again with an indrawn uhh, which was when she realized she hadn’t been breathing for some unspecified amount of time.
Then her breathing stopped again.
Jack didn’t so much jolt, as recoil for a fraction of an instant.
Surprise. It must be the surprise.
Immediately, his hand came up and she thought he was going to take his hat off. She prayed fast and fervently that he would smile. That everything would be okay. That this wasn’t a stupid, stupid, stupid idea.
Because in that first instant she’d seen something in his eyes…
He tugged the hat lower, hiding more of his face.
He didn’t smile.
Dave Currick clapped a hand on his back in would-be congratulations, but Val didn’t miss that it was mostly a push forward, bringing Jack inside the door. The door swung closed behind them, and while her eyes adjusted, Jack Ralston became a still, shadowy figure.
“Yeah.” He sounded grim. “Got any more blankets?”
“There’s a box—”
“Got that. Need more for — this will do.”
She saw a flash of scarlet in the mirror, tried to twist around again, found that still wasn’t a good idea. “Hey, was that my cape?”
“Dunno.”
“Long, hooded, cashmere, lined with satin, my favorite piece of clothing ever.”
He wasn’t listening. Because partway through her description, he’d backed out of the tailgate and dropped it closed behind him.
How hard was it to recognize a cape? Didn’t take a fashion expert for heaven’s sake, so—
Her door opened abruptly.
“What were you doing with my cape?” she demanded.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“What?”
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“I heard you,” she said a little testily, but she figured she was entitled. “Let’s try why?”
“So I can carry you to the back.”
“Carry me? Carry me? Do you have any idea how heavy I am?”
“Less than a bale of hay.”
That stopped her, because she had no idea how much a bale of hay weighed. And while she was stopped, he scooped her up.
Out of self-preservation she put her arms around his neck. She figured if he started to drop her she could hold onto his neck long enough to soften her landing.
“And you’re having to carry me through snow,” she added.
“Been in snow before.”
His breath puffed warm across the slice of her cheek exposed between her pulled-down knit cap and the scarf wrapped up around her chin and mouth.
“Why are you doing this? I was fine where I was.” Sort of.
“More room.”
The wind had strengthened. If his mouth hadn’t been practically in her ear she might not have heard his low voice through all the layers of cloth.
“Doesn’t take that much room to wait. You said somebody’s coming from this ranch of yours so—”
“Not mine. I’m foreman. Not owner.”
“Ownership is not real important to me at the moment.”
He grunted. Might have been part of a chuckle. Might have been in pain from trying to support her elephant-like body.
He turned the corner to the back of the car, and the going got a bit easier, apparently because he’d tamped down the snow during his box-rearranging. He set her on her feet, and lifted the tailgate.
He’d created a sort of elliptical nest in the middle, cushioning the deck with blankets and—
“My cape!” She snatched the nearest section of fabric and reeled it in, bundling the fabric in her arms.
He moved as if he intended to lift her again. She evaded it by swinging her arm away, and nearly lost her balance on the snowpack underfoot. She saved herself by sitting — hard — on the edge of the tailgate.
“Can you get in by yourself?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
And she did. By inching herself backward like a panting, heaving cross between a crab and a rhinoceros. Each time she moved backward she scrunched up the blankets a bit, and he pulled them down.
As soon as she got far enough in that — with her knees bent — the tailgate could be closed without performing a double footectomy, she flopped back, trying to replenish her oxygen. The wadded up fabric of the cape sat on her chest. She watched it rise and fall with each breath.
She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t had another contraction during these maneuvers.
“Okay?”
Her eyes flicked to him. He’d come up beside her without her even noticing his movement. In other words, he’d climbed in like it was the easiest thing in the world. Damn him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He made that sound again, and since he was no longer carrying her, she had to conclude it had more to do with amusement than pain.
“I’m gonna radio again.”
In the time she took two breaths, he was out and had dropped the tailgate down, cutting off the wind.
She started trying to fold the cape to put it somewhere safe. But the voluminous flow of fabric made it more than a little tricky while she was lying down and with barely enough room to stretch her arms.
She could just make out his voice over the wind, which probably meant he was shouting into the radio. She listened harder, trying to assess his tone.
Neutral. Matter-of-fact.
Then she felt the serious pain edging back in. Sliding in inexorably, like an oil slick being brought to shore by the tide.
She fisted her hands in the cape’s material.
Each swell, rising a little higher, carrying the black, foul-smelling blob of pain a little closer until—
“How’re you doing?” he said from someplace close by. He had to be, right? She couldn’t hear him that clearly if he were outside, but she hadn’t heard him get in — Oh, hell, who cared?
“The contractions are coming — Oh … Oh, God!” Pain swallowed the universe and her along with it. There was nothing but pain. There would never be anything but pain.
It receded, but she knew that was just a ploy so it could hurt more the next time. Higher and closer with every swell. She knew the ocean’s ways. This was an ocean of pain.
But at least, for now, it let her see what was around her. She looked up into the cowboy’s face.
He was partially kneeling beside her, his hat was gone. He had light brown hair with a weird dent in it. And eyes somewhere between blue and gray.
“My cousin has gray eyes,” she said between pants. Why was she panting like she’d run ten miles?
He frowned. “That so?”
“That’s so. Eleanor Thatcher — McRae. Can’t forget the McRae becau—”
She screamed. Not like at a scary part in a movie scream, where you follow up with a nervous laugh. But a scream like when the pain that swallowed you had all its knives out slicing every little bit of you.
When she reached the border between the ocean of pain where she would never leave and the world that other people inhabited, she realized the cowboy had his hand on her forehead, stroking back her hair.
“You’re going to have that baby soon.”
“Can’t. Water hasn’t—” She panted the words out. She didn’t have her breath back from the pain or the scream or both. “—broken.”
“Sometimes doesn’t happen until after. We’re going to deliver it here.”
“Here? Don’t be silly. We can’t—”
“We can.”
He said it so simply, she began to believe. “Have you delivered a baby before?”
“Yes.”
She looked up into his eyes. They were very calm. Yet, sad. So sad. Why would he be so sad? Because she was going to die? But he’d said he’d delivered babies before, so … “Oh, shit, you mean cows!”
“Cows and horses and sheep and dogs.”
She gestured to herself. “Human!” Then at her abdomen, “Human baby!”
“It’s all nature.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not—”
“You’re going to have this baby. Here. And soon. And nobody else is going to get here before you do. It’s you and me.”
She locked eyes with him and opened her mouth to point out again what a stupid, horrible, bad, bad, bad idea this was. His calm, sad eyes stared back at her.
She said, “You and me.”
“Right. I’m going to need some room. So—” He hooked her under her arms and slid her more toward the front of the car. She was sitting up more than she had been, which was slightly more comfortable. Like being on a bed of pins instead of needles.
He spread the cape over her, then started backing up.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t sound panicked, because she didn’t panic. She was up for anything. Ready for any adventure. Yes, sir. That was her.
“We gotta get you out of these pants. Fast.” He opened the tailgate and stepped out, having to remain bent over so he didn’t hit his head. He started on her shoes, but left her socks on.
“Won’t be hard. I haven’t worn anything but elastic for months. Never thought I’d miss zippers, but — Wait. Wait!” He’d started to tug on the bottom of the pant legs, which were cooperating like they thought they were going to get some action.
“Contraction?”
“No.” The pants were gone. He draped the side of the cape over her, moving more things around. Making room for where he’d have to be when she — “This is going to happen. This is really going to happen. Here. Now.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to use my cape.”
“Yes.”
She loved that cape. This kid better be worth it. And if anyone else ever said anything like that about her precious baby she would scoop their heart out with her fingernails. “Oh, God, at least tell me your name.”
“Jack, Ma’am. Jack Ralston.”
“I’m Valerie. Valerie Trimarco. Or Val. Lots of people call me Val.”
“Ma’am.” He crawled back in beside her, tugging the tailgate closed after him. The wind howled at having its fun thwarted.
“If you call me Ma’am one more time, I swear I will not try to muffle my screams one little bit.”
His mouth quirked. “Okay, Valerie.”
“Okay. As long as we understand each other.” For no reason other than the reasons that had been staring her in the face for hours, some of them for months, her eyes welled with tears. And then the well ran over. “Oh, God, Jack Ralston, what are we going to do?”
He leaned over her, looking her straight in the eyes. “We’re going to have this baby, Ma — Val. You and me.”
“You and me,” she repeated.
“And everything’s going to be okay.”
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
“—and everything was okay, because you came into the world, bright and beautiful and healthy and screaming,” Val said, concluding the expurgated version of her birth that Addison Rose Trimarco loved to hear.
And now everything was going to be okay with this, too.
It was a good idea. A great idea. Her followers would go nuts for it. That’s why she was back in Wyoming for the first time in three and a half years.
“Now, it’s time for you to go to sleep.”
“Say it, Mommy.”
“See you later—”
“Allie-gator.” They finished together.
As her daughter giggled, she stroked her hair back from her forehead. “Sleep tight, Addie.”
“No bites,” Addie ordered. She’d shortened the traditional don’t-let-the-bed-bugs-bite goodnight wish into a command to the universe that matched her spirit.
Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
That still astonished Val.
For the first two-and-a-half years of her life, Addie had been what could be kindly called an erratic sleeper.
That’s how the blog, then the podcasts had started. With her own sleep echoing her daughter’s disjointed patterns, Val had found herself awake and longing for connection at the oddest times and often with only snatches of moments to try to fill the craving.
So, rather than harass family and friends who didn’t keep Baby Hours, she’d blogged. And she’d discovered a community of other mothers feeling as if they’d been unplugged from the universe. She gave them a voice through “Mommy: The Truth Zone” and they gave her astonishing loyalty. Everything blossomed from that. She made a living now at something she loved.
Nearly as miraculous, Addison had gone to sleep one night almost a year ago at a normal time, and that was that.
Val slipped out of the cottage’s solitary bedroom. The double bed had already been there. Her kind hosts had added the youth bed for Addie.
In the living room, Val picked up her keyboard, plugged it in to the travel monitor, and started typing about the miracle of Addie going to sleep. Remembering the years of sleepless or fragmented nights and days, she hoped her earlier travails — and their eventual end — would give someone out there tonight the knowledge that they weren’t alone. That there might be a full night’s sleep somewhere in their future.
It was strange not to be telling her readers about what she’d been doing today.
But that would ruin the surprise.
So it had to wait until tomorrow, when she would finally thank Jack Ralston.
Really thank him. With a surprise party to celebrate what he’d done for her and Addie, joined by the people who knew him here in Knighton, Wyoming.
And then she’d share the party and the thanks and how wonderful he’d been with all her followers for the first time.
She should have done this years ago.
Well, okay, not at first. Because at that point in her life taking a shower had been an accomplishment that left those Mount Everest-climbing folks in the dust. A surprise thank-you party in Wyoming? No way.
Even when Addie started sleeping, it had taken a while to rebuild her own energy. Plus, there was the issue of when. On Addie’s birthday, as a sort of anniversary? Couple problems with that. She had first-hand experience of Wyoming in January. Also, shouldn’t Addie get to have fun on her birthday with her friends? And then there was the fact that Val’s family and friends in Gloucester would shoot her for depriving them of celebrating that day with Addie.
With the birthday out, that left too many other choices, none better than another. She’d dithered along, pretending she was waiting for the perfect moment when she’d just been procrastinating.
Until opportunity knocked on her door — or dropped into her inbox, depending on how you looked at it — and refused to go away.
Fate had said now. So, here she was.
Everyone had been incredibly supportive and helpful here in little Knighton, Wyoming. Particularly the family that owned the Slash-C Ranch where he worked. Not even at her most optimistic could she have dreamed up better people. They were all in on the surprise. Excited about it. Had not only made it possible, but fun.
That left Jack Ralston.
Everything was going to be okay.
More than okay. Great. Terrific. Super.
*
“Jack’s right behind me,” Matty Brennan Currick announced as she pushed open the door. “He thinks we’ve got something to go over for the Slash-C. Dave’s with him to prevent any last-minute snafus. All set, Valerie?”
“All set,” she lied.
Oh, the arrangements were all made. Everyone who should be here was. The food was ready. The banner hung over the Café’s counter. The camcorder was already running to make sure she caught everything.
So, yes, all the stuff was ready. It was her that wasn’t ready.
Especially her stomach. Which had chosen this moment to imitate those old barnstorming airplanes doing loop-de-loops. Great timing.
Everything would be okay.
So why were her hands slick on the video camera? Why was its “anti-tremor” software working overtime?
Donna Currick placed a hand on her arm, and said quietly, “It’ll be fine, dear.”
Matty Brennan Currick had answered the phone when Val called the Slash-C out of the blue nearly three months ago now with her story about the foreman of the ranch the Currick family owned. And Matty was the person Val had been communicating with regularly. The one whose enthusiasm for all this had carried Val past any and all obstacles. Matty’s husband, Dave Currick, had been as nice as he could be since she and Addie arrived. So had everyone else. In these two days she’d met dozens of people, and liked every one of them.
But the one she felt the most drawn to was Donna Currick, Dave’s mom and Matty’s mother-in-law.
She couldn’t be much younger than Val’s mom, yet she felt almost like a contemporary. Though a contemporary who was really smart and saw through people like glass. Which was almost as scary as it was appealing.
“It’s just … Do you think it’ll be a surprise?” Val asked her now.
“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure it’s a surprise.”
A wryness in her tone caught Val’s attention, but there was no time to pursue it. Matty, still stationed by the door, stage-whispered a stern, “Shh!”
Matty backed up to join the group by the counter, leaving Val’s camera a clear view of the entryway.
The door pushed open, Dave’s easy voice carrying in ahead of him. “…a couple more factors to consider before we place the order. Go on, Jack. Matty’ll have us a booth by now and we can…”
He kept talking, but Val didn’t hear the words.
Jack Ralston.
Jack.
Last night, she’d worried that she wouldn’t recognize him. It had been years, after all. Not to mention that, at the beginning, he’d mostly had on coat, hat, and mufflers. And by the end, she’d had other things on her mind.
She recognized him.
Recognized the way he moved, even with the sunlight from outside back-lighting him. Which made no sense, because she’d hardly seen him walking at all.
And now he wasn’t moving, either.
He’d stopped dead in the doorway.
His eyes — oh, yes she remembered his eyes — scanned the group and stopped on her.
“Surprise!” rose as a roar around her.
It startled her into breathing again with an indrawn uhh, which was when she realized she hadn’t been breathing for some unspecified amount of time.
Then her breathing stopped again.
Jack didn’t so much jolt, as recoil for a fraction of an instant.
Surprise. It must be the surprise.
Immediately, his hand came up and she thought he was going to take his hat off. She prayed fast and fervently that he would smile. That everything would be okay. That this wasn’t a stupid, stupid, stupid idea.
Because in that first instant she’d seen something in his eyes…
He tugged the hat lower, hiding more of his face.
He didn’t smile.
Dave Currick clapped a hand on his back in would-be congratulations, but Val didn’t miss that it was mostly a push forward, bringing Jack inside the door. The door swung closed behind them, and while her eyes adjusted, Jack Ralston became a still, shadowy figure.
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