style="font-size:15px;"> The promise was enough to pacify Jake, and it bought her some time…time to ask questions, time to brace herself for the possibility of running into Jake’s father.
Time to get used to the increasingly likely possibility that this was going to be home again.
Cole was mending fences near the highway when the old blue sedan sped past. It said a lot about his state of mind that he even looked up. Usually his concentration was intent on the task at hand, but ever since his father’s sly comment about Cassie’s return, passing cars had caught his interest.
This time there was no mistaking the thick brown hair caught up in a ponytail and pulled through the opening of a baseball cap. Cassie had worn her hair exactly that way on too many occasions, making his fingers itch to free it and watch it tumble to her shoulders in silky waves. His belly tightened and his hand trembled unmistakably, either at the memory or the glimpse of her. Maybe both.
He forced his attention back to the fence, aimed his hammer at the nail with too much force and too little concentration and caught his thumb instead. His muttered expletive carried across the field to his father, who stared at him with that smug expression that had become increasingly familiar lately.
“See something interesting?” his father inquired tartly.
“Not a thing,” Cole insisted, though the image of Cassie with the breeze stealing wisps of hair to tease her cheeks was firmly planted in his head. If a glimpse could tie him up in knots, what would seeing her up close do to him? He didn’t want to find out.
He just needed to make himself scarce for a few days and she’d be gone again, back to wherever she lived, taking that mysterious boy of hers with her. Then his life would return to normal. His days would be uncomplicated. His nights…well, they might be boring from a social perspective, but they would be rewarding financially. He did his best work in the middle of the night when the day’s stresses faded and his mind could wander.
“You going into town this afternoon?” his father asked, his expression neutral.
“Hadn’t planned to.”
“We could use an order of feed.”
“Then pick up the phone and order it,” Cole retorted, refusing to take the less-than-subtle bait.
“Just thought you might have other business to see to.”
“I do,” he agreed, tossing his tools into the back of the pickup. “If you need me, I’ll be at the house.”
His father stared at him with a disgusted expression. “Working on that blasted computer, I suppose.”
“Exactly.”
With any luck he could create a computer game in which the meddling owner of a ranch was murdered by his put-upon son and nobody caught on.
From the moment she drove into the driveway at her mother’s place, Cassie was taken back in time. Nothing had changed. The little white house, not much more than a cottage, really, still had a sagging porch and needed paint. As always, there was a pot of struggling red geraniums in need of water on the steps. A swing hung from a sturdy but rusting chain. The white paint had long since chipped away, leaving the swing a weathered gray.
Inside, the walls were a faded cream, the drapes too dark and heavy, as if her mother was determined to shut out the world that had never been kind to her. A sewing basket, overflowing with colorful threads, sat beside the worn chair where her mother liked to work under a bare hundred-watt bulb.
They left Jake glued to the TV and went down the hall with the luggage. Cassie discovered her room still had posters of her favorite musicians on the walls and a Denver Broncos bedspread on one twin bed. She’d bought that navy-blue and orange spread as a rebellion against the pink paint and ruffled curtains her mother had insisted on. The second bed still had a frilly, flowered spread on it. Cassie suspected its mate was still shoved in the back of the closet, where she’d put it years ago.
“I haven’t changed anything,” her mother said, twisting her hands nervously. “I thought you’d like to know that home was always going to be the way you remembered it.”
Cassie didn’t have the heart to say that some things were best forgotten. Instead she gave her mother a fierce hug. For all of her flaws this woman had done her best to give Cassie a good life. She’d lost her husband in a freak accident at a grain elevator when Cassie was little more than a toddler, but she’d found a way to be a stay-at-home mom and keep food on the table. And despite her private disapproval of her daughter’s behavior and the occasional long-suffering sighs, she hadn’t turned her back on Cassie, not ever.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, finally acknowledging what was long overdue.
Her mother looked startled and faintly pleased, but her face quickly assumed its more familiar neutral mask. “Will you and Jake be okay in here? You won’t mind sharing a room?”
“Of course not. This will be fine. We’re just glad to be here.”
“Are you?” her mother asked, peering at her intently. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” Cassie agreed, studying her mother’s face and seeing new wrinkles. There was more gray in her hair, too. “Jake and I have missed you.”
That pleased look came and went in a heartbeat. “Will your friends be home for the reunion?” Edna asked, retreating as always to a less emotional topic.
“I haven’t spoken to any of them recently. I hope so. It would be wonderful to see them again.”
Her mother shook her head. “I can’t imagine what Lauren must be like. Do you suppose all that fame has gone to her head? She certainly hasn’t spent a dime of the money she’s making on her folks. That house of theirs is tumbling down around them.”
“Don’t blame Lauren,” Cassie said. “Her parents wouldn’t take anything from her. They said an acting career was too precarious and she needed to save every last cent in case it didn’t last. Lauren hired a carpenter and sent him over, but her parents just sent him away.”
“That father of hers always was a stubborn old coot,” Edna said. “Still, all the attention she gets from TV and the newspapers must have changed her some.”
Cassie chuckled. “Lauren never cared about fame or money. I’m sure she’s as surprised as the rest of us about the turn her life has taken.”
“Well, Hollywood has a way of changing people. That’s all I’m saying,” her mother replied, disapproval written all over her face.
“Not Lauren,” Cassie said with absolute confidence. If any of them had her head on straight, it was Lauren. She was always the one to express caution when a prank threatened to get out of hand, always the one who came up with a thoughtful gesture to make amends when someone’s feelings were hurt.
“I suppose you know her better than I do,” her mother said, though her doubts were still evident. “Are you hungry? I’ve made some sandwiches, and there are cookies. Mildred brought them by this morning. Oatmeal-raisin. Your favorite, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Mildred’s oatmeal-raisin cookies were always the best,” Cassie enthused. And their
