bright, tension-easing conversation, with another part of her mind she was gnawing and nibbling at the problem—the enigma—of their son, like a dog with a thorn in its paw.
I need to find out more. I have to get to know him.
Footsteps thumped on the stairs, making no effort to be stealthy. Devon’s heart lurched, and so did her hand; she swore under her breath as hot coffee slopped onto the front of the flannel bathrobe. Again Lucy started to get up, and again Mike held her where she was. The footsteps clumped down the hallway; a bulky shape flashed past the service room, past the open kitchen doorway. The door to the back porch opened, then banged shut. A moment later the outer door did, too. Three pairs of eyes jerked toward the windows, as if pulled by the same string.
“Chore time,” Lucy announced. And this time when she pushed back her chair, her husband didn’t try to stop her.
The windows were filled now with a swirling, milky light. Dawn had come, and no one had noticed.
Devon retreated to her room while around her the farmhouse awoke to the routines of a snowy winter morning. Footsteps clumped up and down stairs, doors banged, buckets rattled—activity as incomprehensible to Devon as some mysterious ritual performed by aliens. She wished she could be interested in, or at least curious about what was going on. When, after all, was she ever again likely to find herself on a farm? But all she felt was frustrated. Thwarted. Boxed in. She had things to do, important things. But right now none of those objectives seemed achievable. Without the means to accomplish her purpose, without the ability to change her circumstances, she felt powerless—and Devon O’Rourke did not like feeling powerless.
She’d have to call her office, at least—let them know what had happened. Still too early for that, though; the offices in L.A. wouldn’t be open for hours. Even if she’d had her cell phone with her, which she didn’t. What had she been thinking of, to leave it in the car? And where, exactly, was the car?
Pacing to the windows did nothing to soothe her restlessness. In fact, it made her feel even more as if she’d been shut into a box—all she could see out there was a wall of swirling white. Now and then the snow thinned enough to unveil shadowy shapes—nearby, the gnarled skeletons of great oak trees, and farther away, the hulking mass of a huge old barn, the kind she’d heretofore seen only on the pages of calendars and in children’s picture books. She couldn’t see any sign of the rented Lincoln Town Car complete with GPS—though she knew it had to be out there, somewhere, under all that snow. She hoped it wasn’t in the road, at least. She hoped it wasn’t—though she suspected it might be—in a ditch.
Someone, a bulky and indistinguishable shape in a parka, was crossing the snowy swath between the house and the barn, accompanied by two smaller shapes which romped and frisked in excited circles around the bulky one. Mike, apparently, because a moment later there was a soft tapping at Devon’s door, and Lucy put her head in.
“Hi—” her voice was scratchy-soft, her smile strained. “I just wanted to check and make sure…Mike and I have to go out and do chores. Since Eric’s not…uh… Can you keep an ear out for the baby in case she wakes up?”
Suppressing panic, Devon gulped and said, “Oh—sure, yeah, that’s fine. No problem.”
“Eric’s gone out.” Lucy gave an embarrassed little shrug and left it hanging.
“So I gathered. But, if you don’t mind my asking—” Hell, she’d ask it anyway, in utter exasperation. “Where could he possibly go, in this?”
Lucy’s smile slipped, became gentler, less strained. “Oh—the barn, I imagine.” She stepped into the room, still holding the doorknob, and leaned against the partly open door. She was wearing quilted snow overalls, Devon saw, over a thermal turtleneck pullover. “It’s where he always used to go when he was upset about something…or mad at us.” Devon hadn’t said a word or changed her expression, but Lucy suddenly shrugged and looked uneasy. “Well, you know how kids get.”
“Not really,” said Devon in a companionable sort of way. “Never having had any myself.”
Lucy made a sound like swallowed laughter. “Well, you were one—and not so very long ago, either. You must remember what it was like.”
“Not really,” Devon said dryly.
Lucy looked at her for a moment as though she didn’t believe her, then smiled again, that same soft little smile, and for some reason this time it seemed almost unbearably poignant. “You said your sister was headstrong and rebellious? That pretty much describes Eric, when he was growing up. Maybe that’s part of what drew them to one another, do you suppose? Kindred spirits….”
Her eyes flew to the windows and she drew herself up, looking fierce and faintly embarrassed. “I’ve got to see to my animals. Sorry to bother you—just wanted to make sure—”
“Go ahead. I’ll look in on the baby, no problem.”
“Okay…well…shouldn’t be long…” Halfway out the door, Lucy turned back to sweep Devon with a quick, appraising look. “If you need any warmer clothes, help yourself to whatever’s in the closet. It’s mostly just things I haven’t gotten around to giving away, anyway.”
“Okay, thanks.” Devon stepped quickly forward when Lucy would have closed the door. Wedging herself into the open space she said in a low voice, terrified that she might wake the sleeping baby, “Uh, you said Eric’s in the barn? I really do need to talk to him. Do you think it would be okay if I…”
“I’d wait a little while,” Lucy said, and her smile was more wry, now, than sad. “Give him time to work it off.”
Thwarted once more, Devon gave a little huff of frustration. “Work what off?”
“Whatever it is,” Lucy said softly, “that’s eating him up inside.”
Chapter 4
After Lucy had gone, Devon went back into her room and for a few minutes stood with her toes curled up inside her oversized slippers, frowning at nothing and dithering over her choices. Her choices seemed annoyingly limited.
She needed to talk to Eric—that was absolutely number one on her priority list. But Lucy had asked her to wait awhile, so she couldn’t do that. At least, not right this minute, which was when Devon preferred to do things.
In the meantime, though, she could get dressed. Should get dressed. But the clothes she’d taken off last night were still unpleasantly damp, and neither they nor anything else she’d brought with her for what she’d expected would be an overnight stay in a nice hotel seemed remotely appropriate for an Iowa farm in a blizzard. Lucy had invited her to help herself to whatever she might find in the closet, and as unappealing as that prospect was, she supposed she’d have to take her hostess up on her offer unless she wanted to spend the entire day in borrowed pajamas and an old flannel bathrobe.
Perhaps she could take a shower. Oh, she longed to take a shower; not only could she have used the morale boost, her hair was also sorely in need of the taming only a good shampooing could give it. And no time like the present, when she had the house all to herself.
But then she realized—if she took a shower, she wouldn’t be able to hear the baby if she cried.
That was when it hit her—she was alone in the house…with a baby! An extremely tiny baby, moreover. A helpless infant
