fortunes.
H.J.—as well as his son, Hank, and grandsons Mitchum and Howard—had long been accused of ruthless and unscrupulous practices. H.J. had gone to his grave denying all accusations, but apparently his journals told a different story.
Beau had been in Afghanistan when the journals were found, but he’d been told about the information they held. Many things were done that shouldn’t have been.
Underhanded deals, backstabbing, string pulling, sabotaging, payoffs, lying and cheating that had cost other people property or livelihoods, that had wrongly altered and sometimes destroyed lives and futures, and even had ripple effects on later generations.
Since finding the journals and realizing the truth, the current Camdens were endeavoring to make amends where amends could be made. It was being done quietly to avoid scandal or lawsuits against Camden Incorporated.
But if Beau was facing the prospect of one of these missions, he was more eager for it than his brother suspected. A mission with a direct target, a plan of action he could devise and put into effect—it was all actually familiar territory to him. And it felt good to have a purpose again.
“Whatever you need, ma’a—” He caught himself when he saw his grandmother reach into the bowl in her lap. “Whatever you need, GiGi,” he corrected himself with a wry laugh.
But his grandmother’s expression remained solemn as she removed her hand from the bowl and went on.
“I’m sorry, Beau. It’s been bad enough reading what I’ve read in H.J.’s journals and learning that some of the worst that’s been said of him, of my own husband, of my sons—your dad and your uncle—is true. But this...”
Another sigh. Another shake of her head. Her brow furrowed and she clearly didn’t want to reveal whatever it was that she’d discovered.
“It didn’t occur to me as I was going along,” she said in a quieter voice, “that H.J. had wronged one of his own family...”
Beau watched his grandmother purse her lips and she seemed to age right before his eyes.
But then she bucked up like a good soldier and opened the book she’d taken from the drawer, turning to a page marked with a paper clip.
“I’m going to let you read this for yourself. And all I can do is apologize to you on behalf of H.J. and say that—mistaken or not—he honestly thought he was doing what was best for you...”
She shook her head again. “It’s still inexcusable, but that’s what was behind it. And I would never—ever—have let it happen if I’d have known,” she added remorsefully. “When you’ve finished reading I have to tell you why this is information that couldn’t wait even a day longer.”
Kyla Gibson moved gingerly to one of the truck-stop motel room’s two beds and eased herself onto it to sit with her sore back against the headboard. She couldn’t settle into place without flinching at multiple aches, pains, bruises and cuts. Then she pulled a pillow to her lap to prop the sprained wrist that was also throbbing from the strain of using it more than she was supposed to.
It was only eight o’clock on Tuesday night. Even though she was completely worn out it was too early to go to sleep. But she didn’t dare turn on the television for fear that it might wake up the two-month-old infant finally asleep in the crib a few feet away.
Immy. Who had been crying since they’d both been released from the hospital and arrived at the motel a little after five.
Having no real experience with babies, Kyla didn’t know why Immy had been so unhappy. She had received a clean bill of health from the hospital, where she’d behaved normally.
But now, at the motel, in Kyla’s sole care, Immy hadn’t wanted to eat or sleep.
Was it possible for such a tiny baby to understand that something awful had happened? To miss her parents? To realize on some level that she’d lost them?
But if that was the case, wouldn’t she have also been inconsolable at the hospital?
It was only since Kyla had taken over tending to the baby that Immy had become so unhappy.
Maybe she knew...
That’s what Kyla kept thinking. Maybe Immy sensed that she was now in the hands of someone inept at caring for her, someone who didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was doing or how she was going to do what needed to be done from here on.
Or maybe Kyla’s own fears and insecurities about this job that was now hers were somehow infecting the baby.
But regardless of the cause, the baby had just gone on crying and crying and crying and Kyla had been useless—too battered, too weak, too afraid she might drop Immy to walk and jiggle her the way her parents had when Immy was upset.
So Kyla had been at a loss. And tired and hurt and frustrated and sad.
And at one point Kyla had just cried right along with Immy.
But she’d finally persuaded Immy to take a few ounces of formula—much less than she was supposed to be eating, but still, something—and then Immy had fallen asleep.
And now here Kyla was, afraid to even breathe.
Terrified, actually, of everything she was facing.
Terrified and terribly, terribly worried that she wasn’t going to be able to handle what was now on her plate even once she was well again.
Before this, Kyla had been a childless kindergarten teacher who shared an apartment in the small Montana town of Northbridge with a roommate. She came and went as she pleased. She dated now and then. She and Darla—her roommate and best friend—got along well and had a good time together. She enjoyed the community she’d become a part of. And she lived a simple, uncomplicated life.
A simple, uncomplicated life that she’d left behind a week and a half ago in order to spend the end of her summer vacation in Denver. Rachel—her cousin and only living relative—had invited her, asking her to become the godmother of Rachel’s daughter, Immogene.
Kyla had been enjoying her time with the small family that also included Rachel’s Australian husband, Eddie Burke. She’d been enjoying watching Rachel with Immy. Enjoying holding Immy herself for a few minutes here and there, awkwardly giving Immy an occasional bottle, then handing her back to one of her parents if Immy fussed.
Kyla had been honored to become Immy’s godmother, and had even offered to take Immy to sleep in the guesthouse with her after the christening.
She’d been happy to give Rachel and Eddie a night of romance rekindling and uninterrupted sleep. Immy was down to needing only one feeding during the night, and with the prepared bottle in the fridge and the bottle warmer on the counter, Kyla had been confident she was up to the task. After all, the guesthouse had occupied the top half of the garage just behind the main house and one call over the intercom would have Rachel or Eddie there in minutes if there were any problems.
But instead of Kyla
