Finding Home (25 page)

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Authors: Lois Greiman

BOOK: Finding Home
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C
HAPTER
25
C
asie did all the cattle checks herself that night. Even though she was exhausted, thoughts kept racing through her mind like movie trailers on speed. Memories, worries, fears, hopes. She couldn't seem to hold back the barrage of sensations. By dawn she was wound up like a top. In an effort to slow her thoughts, she spent some time with Angel, rubbing her down with a rubber curry, sharing her worries. But even that ancient therapy lacked effectiveness.
Saddling Tangles finally, she rode alone into the cattle pastures. Seeing the calf-littered hills unroll like magic beneath the gelding's long-reaching strides made her feel both relieved and increasingly anxious. Her parents had given up so much for this land. But surely they would understand why she had to leave. Why she had to move on. Her father hadn't been shy about saying a woman couldn't work this place alone. But had he been right? Or was assuming it was true nothing more than a cheap cop-out?
Both girls were awake and occupying the kitchen by the time she'd unsaddled the dun and climbed the hill to the house that nurtured her oldest memories.
“So you're selling the ranch now?” Sophie asked. She glanced up from the table where she had just been buttering a slice of homemade oat bread.
Emily's hands stilled over the kettle she was stirring. She turned slightly, dreadlocks hiding her face.
Casie glanced at her. It didn't matter that she couldn't see Em's expression. She still felt the girl's worry and, consequently, her own shame. “I always planned to sell,” Casie said. “I never said otherwise.”
“And what's going to happen to . . .” Sophie jerked her gaze to Emily but stopped and pursed her lips. “To Blue?”
“You don't have to worry about him.” Casie glanced once more at Emily, gut clenching. “I'll make sure he gets a good home,” she said, but Sophie laughed.
“Yeah, because everyone's looking for an undernourished weanling with little training and less pedigree.”
Shame congealed into hard-core guilt in Casie's gut, but she fought it back. “I know he's got some strikes against him, but he's such a cutie and he's coming around. I'll find somewhere for him.”
“Sure. Just like you'll find somewhere for us,” Sophie said, and standing, scraped her chair away from the table and stormed out the front door.
Casie stood in numb silence for a second, then shook her head and forced a laugh as she glanced at Emily's back. “What was that about?” she asked, but the girl turned off the stove and left through the same door.
 
Two days later, things had returned to normal, or what passed as a fair facsimile of it. No major catastrophes had taken place in nearly forty-eight hours. Emily had hitched a ride into town with Colt. Sophie had spent most of the day grooming horses. She'd gotten a rope attached to the grullo's halter and was making some strides toward teaching him to lead.
Ty showed up a couple hours before dusk. As solemn and quiet as a dirge, he saddled Angel by himself. Wanting to give the boy some space, Casie had announced her intentions of doing a livestock check, but on her way to the pasture, she'd stopped in the whispering shadows of the cottonwood and watched as he ran the mare through the cloverleaf pattern. Angel jolted and jerked around every bend, ended up knocking down the last barrel, then lunging away as if it were about to devour her whole.
Casie sighed as she watched. What the hell was she going to do with these horses? There was barely one of them worth a dime. And what about the kids? Not that they were
her
problem, but . . . She watched in silence as Ty calmed the mare. His hands were lovingly gentle, his voice soothing, but finally he straightened and tried the pattern again. It was no prettier the second time around.
Unnoticed in the late afternoon shade, Casie winced at his attempt. She wasn't well versed in gymkhana, but a few things were obvious; he should lift the inside rein going around the barrel, bend the mare's spine in the direction of the turns. But giving him advice on riding was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. What he needed was a change of life. Maybe that's what they all needed.
As Casie watched Ty's third run, her emotions were whirling wildly. While Brad had been there, everything had seemed clear and concise, but now with him gone, memories of their past together were creeping back in like dark shadows. He was right, of course, his infidelity was past history. Everyone made mistakes, and she was engineered to forgive. But did she really know how he'd spent his endless hours at the hospital since then? And why hadn't she heard a word from him since she'd handed him the rent check? It wasn't as though she didn't trust him . . . exactly. He had always been good to her. But maybe that was a little bit like being good to a lost puppy. It was easy to love as long as it refrained from barking and didn't pee on the carpet.
What would happen if she peed on the carpet?
The problems of their past together were circling like angry vultures. And the present didn't look a whole lot more tranquil. It included an awful lot of baggage . . . and teenagers. How did there get to be so many teenagers?
From the corner of her eye she saw Sophie try to convince the knobby-kneed grullo to follow her through the barn's wide-flung doors. The colt hadn't left the building since they'd first chased him inside weeks before, and though he had originally been terrified of the confinement, he now seemed to think of it as a sanctuary. His eyes were rimmed with white and his ragged little hooves were braced against forward motion. But Sophie had draped a rope around his haunches, which helped to coax him along. With patience and a steady hand she was able to guide him toward the makeshift arena where Ty rode.
“Well . . .” Her voice was cool. Her hair shone like a new penny in the sun. “I guess we can rule out champion barrel racer.”
From atop old Angel, Ty scowled, glanced at the cattle pasture, and said nothing.
“You might as well quit mooning after her,” Sophie said. “She'll be gone soon.”
Patting Angel's bowed neck, Ty threw a leg over the cantle and stepped down. “What are you talking about?” he asked, and slipped the reins over the mare's long ears.
“She's leaving,” Sophie said.
He still didn't look at her. “You ain't making no sense.”
“Everybody knows she's selling the Lazy.”
He snapped his attention to her and froze. Time marched on in silence before he spoke again. “You don't know nothin',” he said finally. His voice was hoarse, but it was the look on his face that hurt most, the abject betrayal that forced Casie to turn away, that made her slink unnoticed through the shadows toward the relative peace of the pastures. But even as she made her escape, she could hear Sophie's laughter follow her like a haunting dream.
C
HAPTER
26
“C
ase!”
Casie jerked awake, mind tumbling as it tried to make sense of things. Grass. Sheep. Evening.
“Casie!” Colton Dickenson was squatting nearby, his long shadow swallowing her.
She calmed her breathing and ran a hand over her eyes, embarrassed that she had fallen asleep in the sun-drenched pasture. “Do you get some kind of thrill out of scaring the life out of me?”
“Case,” he said again, and there was something in his eyes that made her breath lock in her throat, made her heart all but stop in her chest.
“What? What is it?” She stumbled to her feet, feeling woozy with fatigue. He steadied her with one hand on her elbow as he rose beside her. “What happened?”
“You better come with me,” he said.
She shook her head, as if her refusal to cooperate could change the course of things. Could turn back the clock on something she knew would be ugly. “Why? What's happened?”
“It's Sophie.”
“Sophie?” She laughed, glanced toward the farmstead. It looked quiet and pastoral across the rolling hills. “You're crazy. I just saw her. She's—”
“She's in the hospital.”
“What?”
“Come on,” he ordered and tugged at her elbow.
She went then, stumbling through the pasture like one in a trance, sliding onto the passenger seat of his truck, numb to the marrow, just as she had been when she'd heard of her mother's death. She made her lips move with the greatest of efforts.
“What happened?”
“I don't know. I guess it's a head injury.”
“A head injury . . . how—” she began, but the memory of the girl urging the colt from the barn struck her suddenly. Her hands felt numb, her limbs heavy. “Is she going to be all right?”
“I don't know.”
“I mean, it's just a bump, right?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Well, what happened? How'd she get hurt? How'd she get to—”
“I don't know, Case!” His tone was sharp, his dark features hard with worry. He drew a deep breath, loosened his fists on the steering wheel. “She's been unconscious for a couple hours at least.”
“How do you know that?”
“Lindsay Wills saw me at the gas station, asked if I could find you.”
“Lindsay . . .” She shook her head.
“A nurse at St. Luke's.”
“If Sophie's unconscious, how did they know to contact
me?
”
He shrugged.
“Ty,” she said suddenly and felt her heart constrict painfully. “Ty must have taken her in.”
His expression darkened even further. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” Premonition struck her like a hard blow to the stomach. “What did Ty say?”
“I haven't talked to him.”
“But he brought her in, right?”
“Someone did.” He exhaled. “It was probably him. It must have been him.” His scowl deepened. “Whoever it was didn't stick around.”
“What?”
“He's gone. And so is your truck.”
“Puke? He took Puke?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Must have.”
“You don't think . . .” A new thought struck her suddenly. “You don't think
he
hurt her.”
“I don't know what to think.”
“He wouldn't hurt her.” She shook her head, panic rising. “I know he seemed angry . . . I mean, she irritated him, but he wouldn't do anything—”
“Just . . .” He raised one hand toward her as if to ward off his own blistering thoughts. “Just simmer down, Case. We don't know what happened.”
She forced herself to remain silent, to breathe. But the thoughts flowed like battery acid through her mind.
It seemed to take a lifetime to reach the outskirts of town. Longer still to pull up to the hospital doors. Once inside, the caustic scents of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol struck her like a blow. Her mother's face, bloated from medication, furrowed in pain, swam before her eyes. She swallowed bile and forced herself up to the front desk.
Two women stood behind the counter, laughing at some unheard joke. They stopped long enough to face her. One was tall and dark. The other was blond and chubby.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes.” Casie steadied herself on the desk. “A girl was checked in a while ago.”
“A girl?” said the blonde. Her roots were dark. The brunette was chuckling again.
“I'll see you later, Lou,” she said.
“Yeah, see you,” said the other and subdued her smile as she turned back to Casie. “Now, what's the patient's name?”
She felt sick to her stomach, physically weak, but she forced herself to speak. “Sophie,” she said. “Sophie Jaegar.”
“Sophie . . .” She bent, narrowing her eyes as she scowled at her computer screen. “Sorry. We don't have anyone here by that name.”
“But—” Her head felt light, her fingers tingly.
“Maybe she wasn't identified,” Colt said.
Casie turned to her right. He stepped up beside her, expression somber.
“She was unconscious when she came in,” Colt said.
“Oh . . .” The woman scowled at her screen. “Our Jane Doe.”
“Jane . . .” Casie felt her knees buckle, but he slipped his arm around her waist, holding her up. “She's not—”
“Casie,” Colt said, turning to face her. “Why don't you go sit down?”
“She's not dead,” she said, but the words were more of a question.
“Here,” he said, and guiding her to a bank of bleak windows that overlooked the parking lot, lowered her into a plastic chair. “Sit. Just for a while. I'll be right back.”
“She's not dead,” she said again.
“I'll find out what I can.”
Casie sat in numb silence, mind blank. People chattered around her. Colton returned to the reception desk, expression closed, body language quiet. Her hands felt cold in her lap. She turned her head. Outside, the sun was still shining, casting its warm brilliance on an asphalt world.
“She's alive.”
Her stomach jolted. For a moment she thought she might throw up, but she managed to turn toward him, to speak almost as though it was just another day. “What'd she say? What happened?”
He squatted in front of her and took her hands in his. They felt warm, his thumbs rough on her knuckles. “She's still unconscious.”
She shook her head. “But Ty must be here. What'd
he
say?”
He stroked her knuckles again, like a horse whisperer calming a skittish colt. “I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know? Where—”
“A boy matching his description dropped her off.”
“Dropped her off . . .” She breathed a laugh. “He didn't just roll her out of the truck, did he? I mean . . .” She paused. The world felt fuzzy. “Did he?”
He smiled at her, lifted one hand, and pushed a lock of stray hair behind her ear. His fingers felt infinitely gentle against her skin. “He came in. Said a girl had been hurt. They asked him to fill out paperwork . . . but he didn't stick around.”
“You don't think he . . .”
“I think he's a smart kid . . . decided to get out of here,” he said. “Damn hospitals will drown you in red tape.”
She glanced at his right hand. The cast, she realized, had finally been removed. His fingers looked weak and pale compared to the digits on his other hand. She wondered suddenly how many times
he
had been admitted. Wondered if he'd ever arrived unconscious. And suddenly she wanted quite desperately to reach out and stroke those fingers, to squeeze them gently between her own. To comfort and be comforted. Instead, she drew a careful breath, trying to steady herself.
“Can we see her?” she asked.
“We have to fill out that paperwork,” he said and grinned. “No way around it. Ty outfoxed us. We'll finish that up and then we'll see her.”
She nodded. He lifted a plastic clipboard from the floor next to him.
In the end, there weren't many questions she could answer. Though she'd called home to obtain Sophie's information, no one answered the phone. She didn't know Mr. Jaegar's number by heart, making it impossible to contact him. But she filled out the form the best she could.
What seemed like an eternity later, they were led down the hall by a blue-smocked nurse. A curtain was scraped open. Sophie Jaegar lay on the bed. The mattress was narrow. Still, she seemed to barely make a dent in it. Her hair was messy, her eyes closed. Tubes ran from her wrist and her nose. Monitors beeped and bleated above her head.
Casie clasped her hands and exhaled carefully. A man in a white lab coat and narrow gold-rimmed glasses glanced up from his clipboard as they walked in.
Jacob H. MD
was written on his brass name tag.
“How's she doing?” Colt posed the question.
The doctor glanced down at the girl, eyes somber. “As well as can be expected with the kind of trauma she sustained.”
“What . . .” Casie swallowed. “What kind of trauma?”
He turned his gaze on her. “How are you related to Ms. . . .” He glanced at her chart.
“Jaegar. Sophie Jaegar,” she said. “She was staying with me at the ranch.” She swallowed. Her stomach roiled. “Kind of a paying guest.”
“But you don't know what happened to her?”
“No. I was . . .” She squeezed her hands into fists. “I was out in the pasture. The ewes are almost done lambing, but there are still a few stranglers. It's supposed to rain again.” She was blathering. “I was worried that—” She paused.
Colt squeezed her fingers. She didn't know when their hands had met.
“I'm sorry,” she said and shook her head. “No, I don't. I don't know what happened to her.”
“So you weren't there when it happened?”
She blinked. Was there an accusation in his tone? “I was out with the lambs.”
“Well, someone was with her,” he said.
“Yes. I know. Ty must have brought her in. He was—”
“Do you think he was the one who struck her?” he asked.
“Struck her . . .” She was shaking her head again. “No. He wouldn't—”
“Or perhaps she fell down the stairs.” He watched her over the top of his narrow lenses. “That's the story we usually hear.”

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