Heat of the Moment (26 page)

“Sisters?” Owen asked. Plural? Where had that come from?

“Whatever.” Becca kept her eyes on her parents.

“You weren't adopted,” Dale said.

“Dad, come on.”

“You've seen your birth certificate.”

“What does it say?” Owen asked.

“It lists Dale and Pamela as my birth father and mother.” She tilted her head. “How'd you do that?”

“Wasn't easy,” Pam muttered, and Dale snapped, “Honey!”

Becca's mom threw up her hands. “She knows. I'm not going to keep lying about it.”

“Why did you lie in the first place?” Becca asked.

Pam's eyes filled with tears. “I didn't want to lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?”

“Maybe you better start from the beginning,” Owen said.

*   *   *

“I lost several babies.” My mom's voice was so broken I ached. “Over and over, they died.”

“You never said,” I began.

“I couldn't. I … I…”

My father set his hand on her arm. “Don't.”

“She needs to know. It's time.” She drew in a breath and laced her fingers with his. “I was only a few weeks from delivering. I'd never gotten that far along, so I didn't realize. How could I? The baby didn't move like babies do.”

I didn't like the way this story was headed, but I had to know. As she'd said, it was time.

“I went into labor at home. It was hard, fast. I had her here. She was—” Her voice broke.

“Stillborn,” my father said. “I suppose we should have called the doctor, the hospital. I don't know. We didn't. I … couldn't. We buried her near the others.”

I didn't realize I'd taken Owen's hand again until his fingers tightened around mine, and I clung. “And then?”

“I would visit the grave every day,” my mom said. “Then one morning I heard a baby crying.”

She paled and her lips trembled. I understood. She'd thought she was crazy. Who wouldn't?

“I followed the sound and—” She swallowed, smiled. “There you were. Naked, without even a blanket. It was July, but still.”

Raye's words—almost exactly.

“You were in the woods alone. No note. Nothing.”

“They didn't deserve you,” my father said. “So we made you ours.”

I saw how it had happened. My mother had been expecting, then she had a baby. Why would anyone doubt that the child Pam Carstairs presented to the world as hers wasn't?

“No one ever came asking questions? No news reports of a missing baby?”

“No,” my mother said.

In a normal world, someone should have been searching for me. But if I'd time-traveled from the past, not so much.

“It never occurred to me that you were a twin,” my mother continued.

Triplet, but who was counting?

“Where was the other girl…?” Mom tilted her head. “What's her name?”

“Raye.”

“Where was Raye found?”

“Side of the interstate between Madison and Eau Claire. Near New Bergin.”

“That's a hundred and fifty miles from here. Why would they separate you like that?”

“The farther apart the babies were left, the less likely anyone would connect them,” Owen said. “It's a lot harder to find two separate mothers of unrelated children than it is to find one mother of twins. Even harder to find a dumped baby that was never reported as dumped.”

“So how did Raye find us?” my father asked.

I wasn't touching that question. Not now. Hopefully not ever.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I glanced between the two of them. “I was teased all my life for being adopted.”

“Would it have made things better if I'd told you that you were?” my mother asked. “You didn't feel as though you belonged already.”

“Because I didn't.”

“You did,” she insisted. “You do. You're my child. My firstborn. I waited years for you.”

Had my mother kept the truth from me because she couldn't accept it herself? Had she replaced that dead child in her heart and mind with me and in so doing made what had happened fade away?

“I'm not her,” I said softly. “You buried her in the woods.”

“I know who you are. Just because I didn't give birth to you myself doesn't make you any less mine. Once I had you, I was…” She made a motion with her hands, looking for a word to describe that feeling. “Whole. Healed. You used to pat my stomach and call for a brother or sister. Every pregnancy after you came to live with us went to term. It was a miracle.”

Or magic.

What could I say? Maybe I had healed her.

“You still should have told me.”

“Why?” My father spread his big, hard hands wide. “Someone tossed you away to die in the forest.”

“That makes it all right to lie, commit fraud, and kidnap a child?” Owen asked.

“I told you he shouldn't hear this,” my father said.

“Owen won't tell anyone.” I squeezed his hand. “Right?”

“Don't you want to know who your real parents are?”

I already did, but I wasn't going to share.

“That's a problem for another day. I'm a little preoccupied with figuring out who tried to kill me.”

“Shouldn't the police be doing that?” my mother asked.

“Deb has a lot on her plate.”

Animal mutilations. Peggy's murder. Owen's mom running amok.

“How is it that your twin sister shows up in town the same day someone tries to kill you?” my dad asked.

“It wasn't her.”

“You're sure?”

“Raye is the same height and weight as me. Whoever put the pillow over my face was a lot bigger.”

Mistress June size.

“Still wouldn't trust her. Just because she's your blood doesn't make her blood.”

That might sound like gibberish, but I knew what he meant. There was a bond in a family that went beyond DNA. I'd shared everything with the Carstairs, and I loved them. But, oddly, or maybe not now that I knew the truth, I'd never felt related to them. Yet the instant I'd seen Raye Larsen, I'd known we shared more than the same nose and mouth. We shared parents and a past.

“I have to go.”

“Don't,” my mother said. “Not yet. Please.”

“Mom, I have to think.”

Her eyes filled. “You called me ‘Mom.'”

“You are my mom. Nothing will change that. But I have to go back to town.”

“With him?” My dad's gaze was on Owen.

“He brought me,” I pointed out. “I don't have much choice.”

“You do, Becca. You always had a choice.”

I was starting to think I'd never really had much choice at all. I'd been born a witch. Just because I hadn't known it hadn't made the magic go away.

My parents claiming me as theirs hadn't changed who I was. My name might be Carstairs on paper, and in my heart because of my love for them, but deep down, where blood boiled and the soul lived, I was a Taggart.

In the same way, Owen's leaving hadn't changed a thing. I still loved him. Always had, always would. Couldn't stop. There was such a thing as destiny, and I had found mine. Or maybe it had found me.

“I'll call you.”

The tears in my mother's eyes spilled over. I felt awful. I didn't want to hurt her. There were far greater crimes than love. But right now, I had to go.

Outside, Owen whistled and Reggie came running. I opened the car door; he jumped in. It wasn't until I followed that I saw a tuft of fur hanging out the side of his mouth.

“He's got something,” I said as Owen slid behind the wheel.

Before I could open the door and bail, Owen ordered,
“Aus.”

Reggie opened his mouth. I let out a tiny squeak as what I really hoped was not a rodent fell into my lap. It had been thoroughly drooled upon and would have resembled a drowned rat if it hadn't been calico.

“Kitten,” I said.

Mine.

I glanced at Reggie. He didn't seem the type to have a pet or a pal.

“Did he hurt it?”

I picked her up. “Not a mark on her except for the drool. He was carrying her very gently, almost as if he were afraid she might explode.”

Splode
.

Aha.

“She is about the size of a grenade,” Owen said. “She kind of looks like a camo cat too.”

Soaking wet, she kind of did.

“I should put her back with her mom.” I got out of the car. Reggie went wild.

No! Mine!
Granate!

My father stepped onto the porch. “What in blue blazes is going on out here?”

“Reggie had a kitten in his mouth.” I held her out.

“Ah, her. That one's mama died. There were only two in the litter and another cat took in the brother. This one…” He shrugged. “She's weaned and on her own. Haven't seen her in a while. Thought she might be hawk food. She will be if she keeps wanderin' off.”

This was usually the way I ended up with fosters. It was me—or the hawk.

I took her with me to the car. Reggie immediately stopped barking and nosed the kitten. Instead of lifting her back like a Halloween cat, she licked his nose.

Mama.

I bit back my laughter as Reggie preened.

Mine
. Granate.

“What does
granate
mean?”

Owen cast me an odd glance. “Where'd you hear that?”

I glanced at Reggie, who was now licking the kitten like any good mama would. “Around. Why?”

“
Granate
is German for grenade.”

 

Chapter 21

Owen wasn't sure what to say to Becca. It wasn't every day you discovered you were abandoned in the forest.

“Is that your cat now?” he asked.

“I think she's Reggie's.”

The dog did appear obsessed. Or in love.

“He isn't going to be able to keep her.” Owen couldn't imagine trying to smuggle a cat into Afghanistan. It would probably be easier to bring in some dope.

“You tell him,” Becca said. “I don't have the heart.”

“Are you sure you don't want to stay at your parents'?”

“I'm sure.” She cast him a sideways glance. “I'd rather stay with you.”

He'd rather she stayed with him too.

The crazies were still out there. A lot of them, his mom included. He hadn't been kidding when he said he didn't want to let Becca out of his sight.

Owen started the truck, drove up to the main road, paused. “Do you want to stop at your place first?”

“For pajamas?”

He snorted, and he could have sworn she blushed, but it was hard to tell in the blue-gray of approaching twilight. He pulled onto the road and drove toward town.

“What about the wolf?”

“Pru.”

“Pru,” he repeated, and Reggie sat up and looked out the window with interest. The kitten tumbled off Becca's lap and began to chew on the dog's foot. Reggie didn't seem to mind. “What does that mean?”

“Short for Prudence.” She shrugged. “Gotta call her something.”

“So you chose Prudence?”

Of all the names to choose for a wolf, that would not have been one of them. Then again, the kitten appeared to be named Grenade.

Reggie woofed, low, a bit startled.

“Deer,” Becca said, but she was staring at the dog and not the road.

Owen followed Reggie's gaze and hit the brakes as a deer bolted in front of the truck.

He hated it when Becca did stuff like that. Sometimes he swore she was psychic, would have believed it too, if he were the sort to believe in things like that.

“Do you need to check on Pru?”

“No.” Becca peered out the passenger window. “The anesthesia should make her dopey enough to knock her out for the rest of the night.”

“And in the morning?”

“In the morning, we'll see.”

“What about your sister?”

“Which one?”

He didn't answer. She knew which one.

Instead of taking Carstairs Avenue through town, Owen skirted Three Harbors altogether. Lights blazed in the tavern; the scent of food made his stomach rumble. When was the last time he'd eaten?

He parked in front of his cottage and handed Becca his key. “You go in. I'll get us some dinner.” He contemplated the kitten. “What about her?”

“Order me a chicken sandwich. She can have some of that.”

“Any other requests?”

“Wine,” she said. “Bring the bottle.”

*   *   *

I juggled Grenade as I opened the door. At least she wouldn't explode if I dropped her.

Reggie pushed past me and I let him. If anyone or anything waited within that shouldn't, he'd know about it.

Something creaked. I flicked on the light. Reggie stood on the bed. He twirled once and lay down. I deposited his kitten next to him, and she crawled between his paws. Within seconds the two of them had crashed.

I wished I could. When was the last time I'd slept? Would I be able to sleep tonight with all that swirled in my head?

My parents weren't my parents. My brothers weren't my brothers. My sister wasn't my sister. My name wasn't my name. I should be more upset about that than I was.

I'd always known I didn't belong. Having it confirmed made me kind of Zen for the first time in a lifetime.

Eventually I'd have to decide what to do, what to say, if anything, to the rest of the world. For now, I had to let it all settle in.

A fire had been laid in the fireplace. The idea of sitting on the faux-fur rug, staring into the dancing flames with Owen, had me striking a match. I went in search of wine glasses, had to settle for juice glasses instead. By the time he returned with the food and that wine, I was dozing. The sound of the door, the rush of cool air brought me back.

I accepted the bag of food and the bottle of wine. We didn't even have to search for a corkscrew. Kyle, or whoever was working tonight, had already done the honors. He'd also provided a litter box and litter.