Finding Home (19 page)

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Authors: Lois Greiman

BOOK: Finding Home
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She was looking at him as if he'd lost his last marble.
“For . . . for bringing Miss Carmichael into our lives,” he explained and turned back toward her.
Casie remained mute for far too long, then managed, “I . . .” She glanced at Emily, but the girl was grinning like a goon. “I'm, umm . . .” She looked back at Jaegar. “. . . grateful for you, too.”
“You look . . .” He shook his head. She'd never seen Philip Jaegar at a loss for words, and she scowled in confusion. “Great. Really great. Doesn't she look—”
“Where do I put my stuff?” Sophie interrupted.
“Oh,” Casie said, yanked back to reality and already reaching for the girl's suitcases. “I'll take—”
“I'll show you,” Emily interrupted, game face firmly back in place. “Grab your bags. We'll let them talk business.”
Sophie remained absolutely still for a second, but finally she hooked her fingers through the handles of her designer suitcases, yanked them off the floor, and followed Emily out of the entry. The stairs creaked on their way to the attic.
Casie turned back to Jaegar, heart thumping.
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat and pulled his gaze from her with an obvious effort. “I can't tell you how grateful I am to you. This is just what Sophie needs.”
Casie fought every urge she had to disagree, to question, to ask him how long he'd been delusional. “Well, she seems like an extremely . . .” What? “. . . well-groomed young lady.” Well groomed? Young lady? Holy crap. Where was Emily?
“Oh, she is that. But hey—” He laughed, looking happy as a songbird. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
Clean up? Was he crazy? She hadn't had time to clean up. Underneath the new clothes she wore a fine patina of horse manure and cobwebs.
“Well . . .” She wasn't cut out for this, but for the life of her she wasn't sure what she
was
cut out for. “I can't wear duct tape all the time. Gotta shower Sundays and Wednesdays, whether I want to or not.”
He laughed . . . as if she was kidding. Then sobered and scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, speaking of Sunday . . .”
She watched him, waiting to hear that he'd decided to only leave his daughter there until the weekend when he would wise up and yank her out of their clutches like an airsick skydiver on a rip cord.
“Amber and I have been talking. I mean . . . we haven't had much time alone together, what with . . .” He wobbled his head a little. “Business and, well . . . we really didn't expect Soph to move in with me so soon, like I told you before. But with my ex in Europe . . . I mean, I'm thrilled to have Soph,” he rushed to say. “Don't get me wrong. But Amber's been feeling kind of neglected, and I thought . . . well, with this spring still being colder than a polar bear's butt, it'd sure be nice to spend time somewhere warm, and I thought maybe she and I would take a couple weeks alone together. Get to know each other again. You know. I mean . . . I'm going to pay you ahead of time. You won't need to worry about that. I just—”
“Won't be able to take me to the Bahamas.” Sophie spoke from the doorway.
Jaegar looked like he'd swallowed a lemon as he turned toward his daughter. “I know I told you we'd go snorkeling, honey,” he said, “but that was before this wonderful opportunity arose. I'm sure you'll be much happier here with the horses than with some old jellyfish. Remember that time you were stung—” he began, but she had already left the room.
The silence was stifling. Casie felt it like a weight on her chest and scrambled for something helpful to say.
“She'll be all right,” Emily said. She'd followed Sophie silently down the steps and stood now, somber and self-assured, in the doorway of the newly cleaned entryway.
The adults turned to her as if grasping for a lifeline.
“Don't worry about it,” Emily said, but her eyes were flat and her expression unreadable. “Kids are very resilient,” she added and left the same way she'd come in.
 
“What do you mean she doesn't want supper?” Casie asked. It was nine o'clock at night. They had intended to eat earlier, but one of the calves had gotten through the fence and couldn't seem to figure out how to shimmy back through to be reunited with his mother. It had taken them most of forty minutes to shoo him toward the gate, then another thirty to get the pair back into the pasture after the cow escaped to be with her baby.
Emily shrugged. “She says she's not hungry.”
“She has to be hungry,” Casie said. “She hasn't eaten since she got here.”
“Maybe she brought some snacks.”
“Like granola bars?”
“Like filet mignon. I don't know,” Emily said and stirred the stew. It smelled hearty and heavenly. Casie's stomach rumbled. She was hungry enough for all of them. “Set the table, will you?”
Casie got down a trio of bowls. Two of them matched. “I'll take something up for her,” she said.
Emily gave her a look but ladled up a steaming bowl. Casie put it on a plate with a slice of fresh-baked cornbread, added a glass of milk, and headed upstairs. Once there, she knocked tentatively, wondering about Sophie's feelings. Clayton's casual disregard for her had been damaging enough. What would it have been like if he had simply carted her away and left her with others?
“Sophie, open up, will you?” She could hear music playing from inside the attic room.
“What do you want?”
“I brought you some stew.”
“I don't like stew.”
She thought about that for a moment. “I'm sorry about that. Is there something else I can get you?”
“No.”
“I think we have some peanut butter. Do you want a sandwich or something?”
“I said no.”
“Okay, well, if you change your mind, come on down. You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
Not knowing what else to do, Casie slunk back down the stairs. “She won't eat,” she said and set the plate on the table.
Emily was
already
eating, cheeks full as a starved squirrel's as she chewed. “I heard.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don't know.” She shrugged as she dripped honey onto her cornbread. Colt's mother, Cindy, had a few hives behind their alfalfa field and had delivered two amber-colored mason jars to the Lazy shortly after Clayton's death. “I guess we could try an IV.”
“I'm serious,” Casie said.
“I've noticed.”
Casie snorted and pulled out a chair, lowering her voice. “We can't let her starve.”
Emily stopped chewing for a second, eyes dead serious, voice monotone. “Are you messing with me?”
“No. From what I hear, the authorities kind of frown on starving kids to death.”
“Casie,” Emily said, staring at her through eyes too old for her meager years, “that girl's been given everything she wants before she even knows she wants it. Believe me, once she figures out what she wants next, we'll hear about it.”
C
HAPTER
18
“D
on't you feed
them,
either?”
Casie jerked like a puppet. Ty turned more slowly. They'd just slipped her mother's barrel saddle onto Angel's spiny back. The old mare turned her neck to stare at a stirrup as if she'd never seen one before in her life. It was not necessarily a reassuring sign.
“Holy Hannah, Sophie, you scared the life out of me,” Casie said.
But the girl showed no expression, except possibly disdain. That seemed to be fairly well stamped on her perfect features. Although, Casie had to admit, she hadn't seen much of those features. Since arriving two days earlier, Sophie hadn't come down for a single meal. There was evidence, however, that she was raiding the kitchen when no one was looking.
“Sophie, this is Tyler Roberts. Ty, this is Sophie Jaegar. Sophie's going to be staying here at the Lazy for a while. Her dad's in real estate. He thought Soph might enjoy life on the ranch.” The barn fell silent. She cleared her throat. “Ty lives just down the road a few miles. His family has a farm.” She was babbling. She knew she was babbling. She just couldn't seem to stop babbling. “His dad's—”
“You know, it'd be kinder to just put him down.”
Casie froze, felt her brows jump into her hairline. “What?”
“The grullo,” Sophie said, nodding toward the pen where the weanlings lived. “It'd be better just to put a bullet in his brain than starve him to death.”
Casie smiled, hoping to hell the girl was making a joke. “I know he looks rough, but we're doing our best to—”
“Well, your best sucks,” she sneered. “He needs to be dewormed. He needs supplements. He needs—”
“She's doing everything she can,” Tyler said. His voice was low and confrontational as he stepped away from the gray mare.
Sophie narrowed her eyes at him. Her hair shone straight and smooth in the overhead lights. Her eyes were narrowed with animosity. She wore thigh-hugging riding breeches and a fitted zip-up sweatshirt with a horse embroidered on the collar. “Well, then everything she can isn't much, is it,
Tyler?
” she asked and took a half step toward him. She exceeded his height by a good three inches, but he tightened his hands into fists and didn't back down.
“Just cuz your daddy's got money don't mean you can treat her like crap,” he said.
“I'm not treating her like crap,” Sophie said. “I'm not even treating
you
like crap.” She scanned him from battered cap to dehydrated work boots. “Even though you obviously
are
—”
“That's enough!” Casie said. She felt shaken to the core, rocked to her roots. This was just the kind of thing she had spent her entire life trying to avoid. But it had found her again. She drew a deep breath. “Listen, Sophie, I know we need to worm the colt. But he's not even halterbroke yet, and I didn't want to traumatize him further by wrestling him into submission.”
“Well, you wouldn't have to wrestle him if you'd done your job in the first place and imprinted him from birth like you should—”
“You don't know nothin',” Ty said.
She raised one haughty eyebrow at him. “I've forgotten more about horses than a redneck like you will ever know. Look at you, saddling up that poor excuse of a nag. Jesus!” She laughed. “Even if she didn't look half dead, you can't ride her. She's got splints.”
“They're old,” Ty said. His face was red, his fists tight. “Calcified. They don't bother her none.”
“Sure, just like malnutrition
don't
bother the grullo.”
“You think you're so smart, you go ahead and worm 'im,” Ty said. “I'll buy a tube of Ivermectin my—”
“All right. I—”
“No!” Casie said, breaking into the fray. “Let's just . . .” She took a deep breath, steadied herself. “Let's just all relax a little. I know the colt's too thin. But he's wild and until—”
“Then I'll gentle him.” Sophie shrugged, expression bored, as if she tamed rank weanlings every day of her extremely well-groomed life.
“I appreciate your offer, but I can't have you risking life and limb just to—”
“It's
my
life and
my
limb,” Sophie said. “And my dad's paying you a fortune to keep me on this godforsaken place. So I'll do what I want.” She turned on a well-polished heel to stalk away, but pivoted back in a moment. “And you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Ty. “I don't want you laying one filthy hand on that colt. I know all about you and your derelict family,” she added and walked away. Casie stood frozen in place, torn between a thousand unwanted feelings.
But Ty was feeling even worse. She was sure of that.
“I'm sorry,” she said, turning toward him. “She's hurting. Her father left her here, and she's just trying to figure out—”
“Don't worry about it. It ain't nothin',” he said, and turning in the opposite direction, left her alone.
 
Nearly twelve hours had passed by the time Casie reentered the cattle barn. It had taken her and Emily several hours to repair a half mile of fence in preparation for the horses. Of course, a fair amount of that time had been spent sitting in the cool fragrant grass watching Chili run circles around her adopted mother. The grisly hide had long ago been discarded. The calf's chestnut coat shone bright with health and wavy from adoring licks. When she'd venture too far afield, Curly would raise her head and rumble a warning. The warmth and tenderness of the sound never failed to fill Casie with a sense of wonder. In some ways, humans were not so different from—
A noise distracted her. Turning abruptly, she glanced toward the weanlings' pen just in time to see Sophie rise to her feet inside their enclosure.
“Sophie . . . what are you doing here?”
The girl tugged out a pair of bright blue earbuds and let them dangle from the breast pocket of her lightweight jacket. Her face was pale and her eyes red, but she pursed her lips and managed to look angry. “You're never going to get him halterbroke if he's scared of people.”
“Well, I know, but . . .” Casie glanced at the grullo. “Have you been in there all day?”
She shrugged and Casie winced.
When Sophie hadn't come down for lunch, she'd just assumed the girl had decided to remain in her room again. Guilt stirred up like old dust. For two thousand dollars a week, maybe she was expected to know if her guest was dead or alive.
“You must be starving.”
“
He's
starving,” Sophie said, jerking her head toward the colt behind her.
Oh boy.
“Well . . . come on in the house now. Emily's making supper.”
“I'll stay out here.”
Casie stifled the urge to flee toward the house like a scared bunny. “If you come in and eat, I'll help you get a halter on him in the morning.”
“I can do it myself.”
Really?
Well, then, she should definitely do that, Casie thought. But she remained carefully diplomatic. “I'd prefer you didn't try by yourself,” she said. “Come in. We'll work with him together later.”
Sophie pursed her lips and for a minute Casie was sure she'd refuse, but finally she shrugged and stepped out of the pen.
Ten minutes later they were sitting across the table from each other. Emily slid a pair of heaping plates in front of them. Steam wafted lazily into the air, emitting the soulful fragrance of home cooking.
“This looks great, Em. What is it?” Casie asked. Across the table from her, their guest poked her meal as if she thought it might be plotting revenge.
“Shepherd's pie.”
Sophie exhaled a snort. They glanced at her in unison.
“Shepherd's pie doesn't look anything like this.”
For a moment Casie wondered if Em was going to reach across the table and whack her on the head with a wooden spoon, but instead she said, “It's my own version.”
“Well, your version looks like—”
“Your dad loved Em's cooking,” Casie blurted. “Said it was the best meal he'd had outside his mother's kitchen. Try it, Soph. I think you'll like—”
“No,” Emily said, and sauntering around the table, reached past Sophie's shoulder for her plate. “Don't worry about it. She doesn't have to eat it if she doesn't—”
But Sophie snatched it back. “I didn't say I didn't want it,” she snapped.
There was a moment of tension as both girls gripped the plate.
“I don't want you to feel that you're being forced to eat just to spare my feelings,” Emily said and gave it a tug.
Sophie tugged it back. “Believe me, I wouldn't bother to spare the feelings of a—”
She stopped. Their gazes locked. Brown to green, shooting sparks on contact.
“Of what?” Emily asked. Her voice was level, her eyes perfectly calm, but her knuckles were white where they gripped the plate. “What wouldn't you bother to spare the feelings of?”
Sophie's face reddened. She narrowed her eyes. “Let go,” she insisted, but just then Emily won the battle and snatched the meal out of her hand.
Sophie tilted toward the floor, righted herself, and glared.
“Jack's hungry anyway,” Emily said and turned toward the entry.
“Give it back,” Sophie demanded and rose to her feet.
Emily glanced at her, brows raised above dead calm eyes. “What'd you say?”
“I said . . .” She was impressively accomplished at enunciating between clenched teeth. “Give it back.”
“I'm sorry.” Emily tilted her head a little. “I don't think I heard you. What'd you say?”
“I said . . .” She paused. A muscle jumped in her jaw. “Please . . .” She looked as if the word was going to make her physically ill. “Give it back.”
“Are you sure you—”
“Emily!” Casie warned and made a conscious effort to loosen the grip on her fork.
Emily sent her one questioning glance, then smiled at Sophie and eased the plate back in front of their guest. “Of course,” she said, tone pleasant.
“Bon appetit.”

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