but for some reason, Willa had felt folded in, protected. Nothing on the farm had been damaged. The house, with all its aged faults, had held its ground, while the building in town where she and Birdie had rented an apartment, had crumbled. She had come to this house at just the right time, and the house had saved her. She knew that was fanciful dreaming, not anything supernatural, though. And those moments when she got a little creeped out? That was just the insidious whispers in town about strange happenings getting to her…and the dark, sometimes lonely nights.
The house breathed history, history she didn’t have on her own, and to her, it also breathed the future. It was hers! Penn and his cousins had been treated fairly in the will. They had nothing to complain about.
Where had any of them been during Otto Ramsey’s dying days?
Who had cared for him out of love, not money?
Not a one of his grandchildren. And she had loved the old man, despite his sins. He had been like her own grandfather, the one she’d never had in her own, torn-up, far-flung, dysfunctional family.
She called Birdie again, headed through the dark house for the kitchen, Flash at her heels. Maybe Birdie was sleeping. She needed a flashlight. And she didn’t even want to think about Penn Ramsey, much less how much trouble she was going to be in if she had to come up with the cash to fight for what she’d been given. She didn’t want to think about how awful it had felt right down to her bones to see him, either. What he’d said about the house being left to him in the will…
Total crap.
Maybe he had an old will. Otto Ramsey had written a new one, and left the farm to her. He’d left investment money to his niece Jess, and the same to Penn. Another old family property had gone to his other grandson, Marcus, who’d moved into a house out there years ago and didn’t care about Limberlost any more than Penn and Jess ever had.
What if she was the one with an outdated will, and Penn had a newer one? No, no, she was so not going to think that way. She couldn’t believe Otto Ramsey would do that to her.
Not after what had happened. Not after how he’d promised her to make up for it.
She owned this farm. She and Birdie. He’d promised it to Birdie as much as he’d promised it to her. He’d doted on the girl. He wouldn’t do this to Birdie.
Willa reached the kitchen, called Birdie and held carefully still, listening to the old house breathe. Birdie was a light sleeper. Surely she would wake up as she’d called her. But…
No patter of little socked feet. No, “I’m in here, Mama.” She felt an anxious tightening in her stomach.
What if…?
She dropped the pickup keys on the scarred farmhouse table in the kitchen where she now stood. She pulled open a drawer where another flashlight was kept, then headed for the stairs, ordering herself not to panic. Birdie wouldn’t have gone anywhere….
Would she? She’d told her to stay put. Willa’d looked out the window a few hours ago, seen through the leaf-barren trees in the dusky light that cows were in the road below. By the time she’d rounded up all but the one recalcitrant calf and gotten the fence fixed, it’d been long past dark.
She’d left Birdie watching TV. Birdie always got scared when the lights went out. Storms scared her, too. Birdie was like her. Or like she had been, once: timid, innocent, often shy. She hoped her daughter wouldn’t have to toughen up the way she had. She wanted so much for Birdie, so much more than she’d had.
Willa pushed down the lump that swelled in her throat and took the stairs in bounds. The house was filled with old, original wood paneling that made dark corners everywhere in the dead of night, though it could be beautiful by day. The flashlight bounced gold globes of light as she raced up, Flash right behind her. The wall was lined with old photographs, some in sepia, some in black-and-white. It was a wall of eyes, and sometimes she thought it was the creepiest part of the farmhouse.
Birdie’s room was the first one to the right. Bed, empty. She whirled, ran to her own room to see if Birdie had gone in there.
“Birdie!”
Her bed—empty, too.
She called her daughter’s name again. Flash barked, as if picking up on her distress. No response. Dammit, dammit, dammit! And she’d been down there in the road, worrying about a calf.
Willa flew back down the hall, down the stairs, past all those eyes, back into the front parlor, nearly tripping over Flash in the process. No Birdie.
She could hear the boom of her heart.
Birdie’s favorite stuffed horse lay at the foot of the antique rocker in one corner. Interlocking blocks scattered across the green and blue-rag area rug between the stone fireplace and the old, brown suede sofa. Crayon drawings and worn-down colors occupied an old camp box that served as a coffee table.
Panic shifted to full throttle.
What if Birdie had gone outside to look for her—fallen down, gotten hurt? Maybe she was even unconscious. Dead in a ditch. Her mother’s mind leaped to every worst-case scenario. She wanted to call the police, but surely that was silly. She hadn’t even looked outside yet.
And the phone was dead anyway.
She could drive out for help; but what if Birdie came back? She had to be here for Birdie. She had to find Birdie. Alone, in the storm. Oh, God. She ran for the door.
A sudden, heavy pounding on the front door nearly had her jumping out of her skin. She stopped short. Penn. She’d totally forgotten about Penn.
“Willa! Open up!”
She didn’t want to talk to Penn. She didn’t want to see Penn. No way was she opening that door. There was no pretending she was all big and bad, when she was in a total panic.
Tears, absolutely unallowable, pathetic, weak tears burst right down her cheeks. She swiped at them roughly. Birdie. She had to think about Birdie.
She forced her feet to eat up the last few steps, flung the door wide.
“Willa—”
“My daughter’s missing,” she interrupted him.
“What?”
“My daughter is missing! I’m afraid she went outside. I’m afraid she went looking for me. I’m afraid…”
Tears, clogging her throat. She didn’t want Penn Ramsey’s help. She didn’t want anyone’s help, but least of all his. And he was staring at her like she was out of her mind.
Which, of course, she was.
She pushed past him. Screw him. Stupid of her to think he’d help.
Powerful arms hauled her back. Back against a chest so hard, so warm, so…Oh God! So capable—so what she needed right now. A strong, capable man, when she was in a panic.
What was wrong with her? A man was the last thing she wanted ever again, for the rest of her life. Stop falling apart, she ordered herself.
He turned her in his arms and he was right there, a breath away.
