I never lost my affection for her. And she did love you, Sarah. I’ve never felt that kind of love.”
“No. You just have to get along on idolatry.” She spoke without thinking, her words dredged up from that deep well of bitterness.
He stood looking down at her, knowing this yearning to do so would never stop. “If that was said to hurt me, it missed the mark. Idolatry, as you put it, isn’t something I crave. It’s not easy living up to a million expectations, either.”
“But you do. I’m sorry, Kyall. I know you wanted none of it. But your grandmother’s and your mother’s fixation on you left your father and Chris out in the cold. How is Chris?” Sarah had a lot of affection for Christine, who was three years younger, feelings that were reciprocated. But she’d never been tempted to confide in Chris. That really would have started something.
Kyall turned toward the cool breeze blowing in the window and fluttering the filmy lace curtains. All in keeping with the house, except that the windows were flanked by two pretty-scary wooden witch doctors from New Guinea. “Chris is in the States at the moment. She gets plenty of work.”
“She’s stunning,” Sarah said, carefully pushing a few tendrils of hair away from her face. “I always said she would be. She’s got a ton of grit. She paid me a visit the last time she was in town—it has to be a year ago now.”
“She told me.”
Sarah nodded, knowing how much Christine loved and confided in her brother. “It says a lot for Chris that she never resented you because of your mother’s attitude—endlessly, openly criticizing Chris while lauding you. Chris would’ve given anything for some love and encouragement.”
Fire sparked in his brilliant blue eyes. “She got it from me. And Dad. It wasn’t all terrible.”
Sarah started to apologize. Stopped. It was much too late to forgive the McQueens. “No, I suppose not.” Sarah sighed deeply, knowing she was only doing damage to herself by standing there talking to Kyall. Their problems would never be resolved. “I’ve spoken to your father. I always liked him. But I find it difficult to speak to your grandmother and your mother. You know that.”
“So nothing’s changed?” What was that expression flickering in her eyes? She wasn’t as indifferent to him as she pretended.
“Nothing can change, Kyall.”
“Why is that?” he challenged, desperate to get somewhere near the truth. “You’ve never had the guts to tell me.”
She lifted a hand, let it fall. Wordlessly.
Somehow that broke his heart. “Forgive me.” Swiftly he reined himself in. “This is hardly the time.”
Someone else, a male mourner, was approaching. “Sarah, are you willing to spend a few hours with me?” he asked urgently. “There are so many questions you’ve never answered. I know I made one terrible mistake, God forgive me. But, Sarah, I loved you. I shouldn’t have touched you until you were a woman. I’ve had to live with that. Excuses are no good. I know that. When are you leaving?” He held up a hand to stay the other man—he didn’t know him—who appeared determined to speak to Sarah.
“Two or three days. I have things to attend to.”
“Tomorrow. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Kyall, there’s nothing more to say. You’re wasting your time.” Was she a total emotional coward? Simply that? Loving Kyall McQueen was like a terminal illness.
“Look at me.” He knew his demeanor was pressing, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re not looking at me. Why? Does my face upset you? Do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you at all.” Her voice was low and stricken.
“But apparently you’ve got so much against me.”
“Kyall, please don’t.” Being with him, within touching distance, was so disturbing she was afraid of it. Even on this day of sorrow, her flesh was responding the way it once had.
“How can I when there’s something in your eyes that…” He lowered his dark head. He wanted to lift up her chin with its ravishing dimple, force her to look at him. “I’m not a fool. Don’t treat me like one. Tomorrow?”
“So I can be cross-examined?”
“It’s a sad thing, Sarah, to be left completely in the dark,” he said, the severity of his hurt never forgotten. “It’s like being blind. If you despise me for what I did, you must tell me.” He broke off, glancing over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you think that guy would go away?” he said in frustration.
“People want to speak to me, Kyall,” Shockingly Sarah felt like laughing.
“Okay, but you can’t shelter behind your wall of silence forever. I’ll be back in town tomorrow afternoon. Say, around three,” he said, looking every inch the arrogant, always-gets-what-he-wants McQueen. “I’ll come and fetch you at the shop.”
“Kyall. I thought I made it clear—”
“That’s just it.” He mocked her with the merest flash of his marvelous smile. “You never have. To this day. I almost have to wonder if you were part of some conspiracy.” He strode away.
MURIEL DEMPSEY’S FUNERAL was, in every way, an event no one was destined to forget. It brought Sarah back to town, the one place she’d planned never to go again. It brought her back into Kyall McQueen’s orbit with its powerful emotional pull. It struck fear into Ruth McQueen, watching their intense conversation from across the room. Sarah had never spoken out in all these years. Neither had Muriel. Now with Muriel gone, what would happen? Sarah might think she could tell her story with impunity. As always, Ruth would be ready to step in. Nevertheless, fear pounded forcefully through her veins, raising her already elevated blood pressure.
There were anxious stirrings inside Harriet Crompton’s breast, as well. Harriet had once believed young Sarah was pregnant when she left town. She would’ve done everything in her power to help, but Sarah had gone off with Ruth McQueen in the unlikely guise of benefactor and protector. Harriet couldn’t dispute the fact that McQueen money helped many. The child had gone willingly, seduced by education. Lord only knows, she’d been the one to encourage Sarah. Sarah had written to her frequently over the years, sounding fulfilled and happy. Why, then, did she continue to think there was some mystery? Obviously it hadn’t been a pregnancy, after all. Harriet was certain Sarah would never have given up her baby. Muriel, too, would never have given up a grandchild. And Sarah wouldn’t have kept such momentous news to herself. She would’ve told Kyall. For surely Kyall McQueen was Sarah’s first and only lover. Both of them so young, so beautiful, so radiant and careless, suddenly thrust into adult love.
It was a puzzle Harriet often brooded about. Both of them had locked up their hearts. And Muriel…
Harriet didn’t want to consider whether poor Muriel had died of a broken heart.
CHAPTER THREE
LATE THAT AFTERNOON Sarah drove into the desert to scatter her mother’s ashes. Harriet sat beside her in the passenger seat, her mother’s friend Cheryl in the back.
Red sand streamed
