Almost Home (41 page)
She stopped the car in front of the hotel, dropped off
the keys to Maggie, then headed over to Golden's. She didn't just need a drink,
she needed a friendly face, and Justin Blakemore was the only one she hadn't
offended in some way. Although there was still time, she thought with a heavy
heart and a bitter smile.
She'd been a fool to tell Zach she loved him, to put
her heart out on the floor where he could stomp on it. He couldn't trust
himself, much less anyone else. He'd never be able to love a woman until he
found a way to love himself. Obviously she couldn't convince him.
"Hey there, Katherine," Justin said with a
cheerful smile as she walked up to the bar and slid onto the stool. "What
can I get for you?"
"A bourbon on the rocks."
"You're starting to sound like a real
"I'm starting to feel like one, too."
"Any new clues on your father?" Justin asked
as he fixed her a drink and pushed it across the counter.
She started, suddenly realizing how much had happened
since she'd gone through the photographs in his back room. "As a matter of
fact, I did find out something."
"No kidding? What?"
"Well
…"
She
hesitated, then took a sip of her bourbon. The strong liquor sent a shock wave
through her system, and she had to cough.
Justin smiled, waiting for her to compose herself. He
got her a glass of water and removed the bourbon. "Somehow I think you'll
like this better."
"It just went down the wrong way," she lied.
"I'm sure it did."
She took a grateful sip of water and smiled at him. "You're
a nice man."
"Thank you. I know a drinker when I see one, and
you're not one. So why the bourbon?"
"I've had a lot of shocks lately."
"You were saying…"
he prodded.
"I found out that my mother is—was Margaret
Stanton."
Justin's eyebrows shot up into two mountain peaks of
surprise. He blew out a long, wondering whistle. "No kidding. Margaret
Stanton?" He shook his head again. "That's unbelievable."
"To me, too. I didn't know. Not until Claire came
to see me yesterday and recognized my mother's things. I always knew my mother
as Evelyn Jones. I guess she took that name when she left
Katherine paused, watching the emotions flit through his eyes. "Did you
know my mother? Did you know Margaret?"
"Everyone knew Margaret. She was a couple of
grades behind me in school, but she got around."
"Are you saying that in a good way?"
"Margaret marched to her own drummer. She was
impulsive and didn't light too long in one place. But everyone liked her. She
was pretty and imaginative and had a great sense of adventure. I remember one
time we went on this church camp-out, and Margaret set up a ghost in the middle
of the night to scare the dickens out of the rest of the kids. She was
something else." Justin shook his head. "I never knew why she left
town. All kinds of stories went around. But no one seemed to know for sure, and
the
"But Margaret was buried—"
"She's not buried there." Katherine cut him
off. "That was just Mr. Stanton's way of calling off the search."
"Claire must be beside herself."
"She's not too happy with Harry, I don't think."
Katherine took another sip of her water. "But she stuck by him all these
years, so they must be two of a kind."
"So who's your father?" Justin asked,
resting his elbows on the bar.
He seemed casually curious, nothing more, but still
there was a note in his voice, a wariness that Katherine couldn't overlook. Was
Justin hiding something behind his easygoing manner?
"I don't know yet," Katherine replied. "Claire
and I need to talk some more and go through the things in the hope chest."
Justin nodded. "Do you have any other clues?"
"Not really. A cuff link," she said,
watching his face carefully. She felt a tingle run down her spine that couldn't
be explained.
Justin picked up a cloth and wiped down the bar. "What
kind of a cuff link?"
"Gold and black. But it doesn't matter. I can
hardly go around checking everyone's cuff links."
"Now, that
would
raise some eyebrows,"
he said with a smile.
"Margaret must have come in here with my father.
She had so many napkins from the bar, dates scribbled on them."
"Margaret came in here all the time. She was a
regular."
"Then why wasn't she in any of the photos?"
"She didn't like having her picture taken. She
said she wasn't photogenic, but I think she didn't want any records of her
trips to town that Harry might stumble over."
"Did you ever see her with any man in particular?"
"I don't remember, Katherine. It was a long time
ago. And even if I told you that Margaret was in here with some guy, that
wouldn't mean he was your father."
"It might give me someone else to talk to. What
about J.T.? Was he friends with Margaret?"
"Margaret knew J.T.," Justin conceded. "But
didn't you hear he had a heart attack yesterday?"
"What?" Katherine felt another shock wave
rip through her body. "Is he all right?"
"I think he will be. Just a warning this time."
"Wow." She sat back in her chair. "I
thought this was a quiet little valley."
"It used to be," he said with a pointed
smile.
She looked into his eyes, pleading with him to understand.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"Like I told you before, you're asking about a
very personal part of someone's life. Bound to get sticky."
"Jimmy Callaway hasn't ended up in the hospital,
has he?"
"Not yet."
She finished her water and set down the empty glass. "That's
something anyway."
"Have you seen Zach lately? I expect he's
starting to get twitchy about the
Only a little over a week to go."
She'd almost forgotten about the
"I sure hope that horse can give Zach what he
wants," Justin added.
"Me, too," Katherine said as she got up to
leave. Obviously she couldn't come close to giving Zach what he wanted. It was
up to Rogue now. A man and his horse. She smiled to herself. That was the way
it had all started, Zach and his horse, and her bursting in on them, upsetting
everything.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that they'd first met,
that she'd first come to
reckless heart and high hopes. Zach had warned her that the truth might hurt.
She just wished she'd listened to him.
* * *
It
was after
on
Thursday when Jimmy finally returned home. Leeanne had just about driven
herself over the edge waiting for him, wondering if she had the guts to
confront him.
When he walked through their living room door and set
his briefcase down on the hall table as he'd done every day of their lives for
the past twenty-six years, she had the strange sensation that everything was
normal. Then she looked at him and saw the weary lines pronounced in his face.
Definitely not normal.
"Leeanne," he said quietly as he walked into
the living room and stood across from her. He tugged at the knot in his tie. "I'm
glad you're here."
"Are you? Why?"
He pulled the tie off of his neck and tossed it over
the back of the chair. "I have something to tell you."
Leeanne wanted to stand up, so he wouldn't be looking
down at her, so she wouldn't feel so small. But she was afraid to be standing
when he told her whatever he had to tell her. She swallowed back a thick lump
of worry. "Would you sit down?"
He hesitated, then sat in the chair next to her. "I
told you the other day that I'd never heard of an Evelyn Jones. But I was
lying."
"You were?" Her heart started beating so
fast, she was afraid she might wind up in the hospital with J.T.
"Yes. We dated years ago. We broke up when I met
you. In fact, you were the reason we split up."
"You never told me you were seeing someone else
back then."
"She was living in
I used to go in on weekends after I graduated. Margaret and I used to share the
drive."
"I remember. Is that why you thought Katherine
Whitfield might be your daughter?" she asked boldly. "Don't try to
deny it, Jimmy. I followed you."
Jimmy looked at her in shock. "You followed me to
were there?"
"On the porch. I heard you ask that woman if she'd
had a baby, your baby."
Regret filled his eyes. "There was a chance,
especially with the name. And the way Katherine looked, blond hair, blue eyes
…
But Evie assured me that she'd never had a baby, that
she would have told me."
"Who were those other kids?"
"They were her kids. Evie's. She got married ten
years ago. I hadn't seen her since before our wedding until yesterday. You have
to believe that."
She searched his eyes for the truth, and as always,
she found it. This was Jimmy, practical, dependable, trustworthy Jimmy. This
was the man who had never lied to her. But
…
Her mind ran off in
another direction. Jimmy didn't know. He thought Evelyn Jones was Evelyn Jones.
"Jimmy," she began. "Did you know that
when Margaret left town, she took the name Evelyn Jones?"
Jimmy looked at her in bewilderment. "Excuse me?"
"She took the name of Evelyn Jones. Margaret is
Katherine Whitfield's mother."
"That's impossible."
"It's not. Claire told me and Mary Jo the whole
story. See, Mary Jo thought that J.T. might be Katherine's father as well,
seeing as how his name starts with a
J
just like yours. But now that we know that Evelyn is really Margaret, it puts a
whole new twist on things." She watched his face carefully, noting his
nervous agitation, his disbelieving eyes. "Maybe it puts a new spin on
things for you, too."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because." She paused, feeling like she was
poised on the edge of a sheer cliff. She didn't want to jump, but she had to. "If
you were driving into
"Leeanne! How can you say that?"
"How can I say that? I followed you into
caught you in a lie. Why shouldn't I believe there's another lie, another
secret?"
"Because there isn't."
"Oh, come on. Why would Margaret take Evelyn's name
when she left town?" She didn't wait for him to answer, imagination taking
flight. "My guess is, she wanted to remember you. Maybe she wanted you to
come looking for her. Maybe you're the only one who knew where she was. Can you
really sit here and tell me there is no way you could be Katherine Whitfield's
father?"
Chapter
22
F
riday and Saturday passed
in a blur for Katherine.
She spent hours with
Claire in Margaret's old bedroom, looking through scrapbooks, listening to
stories, glancing through books and old record albums, watching home movies,
and even trying on some of Margaret's clothes. Katherine didn't just talk to
Claire. She spoke to the aging housekeeper who'd kept Margaret's room clean for
forty years. She spoke to the handyman who'd adjusted Margaret's bike. She even
spoke to Harry a few times, although those conversations had been kept to a
minimum.
