She had ridden out to where he was working with a thermos of iced tea in an attempt to make peace, but he’d been stewing all morning that fateful day. “How,” Jack had demanded, following her back to her horse, “could knowing my father’s full name not make any difference?”
“Jack, drop this,” Belle had pleaded. “Trust me when I tell you that you’re better off not knowing.”
“How can I be better off not knowing my father or my grandparents?”
“Your grandparents are dead, Jack. You can’t blame me for not knowing them!”
“But there has to be other family,” Jack had insisted.
Belle had blown up at him then, throwing up her arms and bawling at him. “All I’ve ever done is protect and provide for you and your sister! Don’t you think that if I could give you more than I have, I would?”
“I don’t know, Mother,” Jack had responded coldly. “Would you?”
He had seen that he’d hurt her, but he’d closed his heart to her pain, determined to get some concrete answers for once.
“How dare you?” she’d breathed, gathering her reins into her hand. Sensing her distress, her grulla mare, Mouse, had shied, but Belle, an experienced horsewoman, had ignored the animal’s nervousness. “I gave up everything for you and your sister!” she’d declared. “And all you can do is complain that it isn’t enough!”
“So tell me, Mom,” Jack had harangued, “what exactly did you give up? And why?” She hadn’t answered him as she’d calmed the horse with a quiet touch. “Has it occurred to you that whatever you gave up, Violet and I were forced to give up, too?” he’d shot at her.
“Yes!” Belle had cried, throwing herself up into the saddle. “Of course I’ve thought of that, but I had no choice except to let it happen that way.”
“But why?” he’d demanded.
“I can’t tell you that,” she’d insisted.
He’d watched helplessly as she’d wheeled the horse and ridden away. Grinding his teeth, he had stamped his foot like a spoiled child as Mouse had stretched out with her long, graceful legs, racing across the ground. Belle and the horse were just tiny figures in the distance when suddenly the horse had stumbled, going to its knees. Jack remembered all too well the horror he’d felt as Belle had sailed over the horse’s head. He’d yanked out his cell phone and called for help even as he’d begun to run toward her. Thankfully, Doc had been close by that day, but Jack would never forget seeing his mother lying there in a crumpled heap, her head bent forward beneath her. She’d been in a coma ever since.
God, forgive me, and heal my mother. Please, please bring her back to us. I’ll never ask her another question about the past, I promise.
Sucking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes—and saw Kendra slip out of the living-room door into the courtyard. She wore the same shoes and jeans as the day before, but this time she wore a dark blue tank top beneath one of Violet’s chambray work shirts, the tail of which she’d tied in a knot at her waist. She’d rolled the sleeves, which were probably too short for her, to her elbows. Her long, golden hair waved buoyantly from a casual center part to flow across her shoulders.
She looked beautiful, achingly so, without a bit of makeup or artifice. Glancing around at the cool, terra-cotta tiling and outdoor furniture scattered about in groupings beneath hanging plants, she jammed her hands into her pockets and wandered deeper into the courtyard. Jack kept expecting her to spot him, but he must have sat too deeply in the shadow of the oak.
Drawing to a stop, she turned her face upward and prayed, “Father, I’m so confused and frightened. I have nowhere to go, nothing to do, not a cent to my name... What is to become of me?”
Jack didn’t have answers for her, but he felt compelled to let her know of his presence, so when she said nothing more, he chose an obvious topic and spoke up.
“Sleep okay last night?”
She jerked, her gaze targeting the tree. After a moment, she began to saunter slowly toward him. “Actually, I did. I had some weird dreams, but I can’t recall much about them now, and I do feel rested.”
“That’s good,” he said, adding offhandedly, “are you usually such an early riser?” Too late, he realized the futility of asking such a question.
Wincing, she sighed. “I wish I knew.”
“Sorry. Should’ve thought before I spoke.” That seemed to be a real problem with him lately.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him.
She, of course, didn’t know about his temper, and he found that he didn’t really want her to know. He decided to change the subject.
“How’s your head?”
“My head?” Her hand lifted to the bandage on her forehead. “It’s fine. I don’t even remember it’s there most of the time.”
“That’s good.” Lifting his mug, he said, “Lupita won’t start breakfast for another hour or so, but there’s coffee in the kitchen, if you’re interested.”
“Maybe later,” she told him, gesturing at a chair near his. He waved a hand and shrugged to let her know that she could sit anywhere she liked. She sank down, rubbing her hands over her thighs and knees. “Your sisters are wonderful.”
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