Holiday in Stone Creek (10 page)

Tanner sat down and ate, but his brain was so busy, he barely tasted the eggs and toast. Which was probably good, since he wasn't the best cook in this or any other solar system. Then again, he wasn't the worst, either.

"You know what I want for Christmas?" Sophie asked, half an hour later as she washed dishes at the old-fashioned sink and Tanner sat at the table, tapping at the keyboard on his laptop. "And don't say, 'Your two front teeth,' either, because that would be a
really
lame joke."

Tanner grinned. "Okay, I won't," he said with mock resignation. "What do you want for Christmas?"

"I want you and me and Aunt Tessa to live here forever," she said. "Like a family. An aunt isn't the same as a mom, but we're all blood, the three of us. It could work."

Tanner's fingers froze in midtap. "Honey," he said quietly, "Aunt Tessa's young. She'll get married again eventually, and have a family of her own, just like you will when you grow up."

"I want to have a family
now,
" Sophie said stubbornly. "I've been waiting long enough." With that, she turned back to the sink, rattling the dishes around, and her spine was rigid.

Tanner closed his eyes for a long moment, then forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand--transferring a chunk of money to Tessa's bank account.

He'd think about the mess he was in later.

O
LIVIA MIGHT HAVE DRIVEN
right past Starcross Ranch on her way to town if Ginger hadn't insisted that they stop and look in on Butterpie. In the cold light of a new day, Olivia wasn't eager to face Tanner Quinn.

Last night's wanton hussy had given way to
today's
embarrassed Goody Two-shoes.

And there were other things on her mind, too, most notably Ashley's statement on the phone the night before, that she thought she'd found their mother. No matter how Olivia had prodded, her sister had refused to give up any more information.

Olivia had already called the clinic, and she had a light caseload for the day, since another vet was on call. Normally that would have been a relief--she could buy groceries, get her hair trimmed, do some laundry. But she needed to check on Rodney, and Butterpie wasn't out of the woods yet, either. Yes, Sophie was home, so the pony would be ecstatic.

For as long as Tanner allowed his daughter to stay, that is.

For all Olivia knew, he was already making plans to shuttle the poor kid back to boarding school in a black helicopter.

And that thought led full circle back to her mother.

Had Ashley actually found Delia O'Ballivan--the
real
Delia O'Ballivan, not some ringer hoping to cash in on Brad's fame and fortune?

Olivia's feelings on that score were decidedly mixed.
She'd dreamed of a reunion with her lost mother, just as Ashley and Melissa had, and Brad, too, at least when he was younger. They'd all been bereft when Delia left, especially since their father had died so soon afterward.

If she hadn't been driving, Olivia would have closed her eyes against that memory. She'd been there, the tomboy child, always on horseback, riding with her dad after some stray cattle, when the lightning struck, killing both him and his horse instantly.

She'd jumped off her own panicked mount and run to her dad, kneeling beside him in the dirt while a warm rain pelted down on all of them. She'd screamed--and screamed--and screamed.

Screamed until her throat was raw, until Big John came racing out into the field in his old truck.

For a long time she'd thought he'd heard her cries all the way from the house, the better part of a mile away. Later, weeks after the funeral, when the numbness was just beginning to subside, she'd realized he'd been passing on the road, and had seen that bolt of lightning jag down out of the sky. Seen his own son killed, come running and stumbling to kneel in the pounding rain, just as Olivia had, gathering his grown boy into his strong rancher's arms, and rocking him.

No,
Big John had wailed, over and over again, his craggy face awash with tears and rain.
No!

All these years later Olivia could still hear those cries, and they still tore holes in her heart.

Tears washed her own cheeks.

Ginger, seated on the passenger side of the Suburban as usual, leaned over to nudge Olivia's shoulder.

Olivia sniffled, straightened her shoulders and dashed her face dry with the back of one hand. Her father's
death had made the local and regional news, and for a while Olivia had hoped her mother would see the reports, on television or in a newspaper, realize how badly her family needed her and come home.

But Delia
hadn't
come home. Either she'd never learned that her ex-husband, the man to whom she'd borne four children, was dead, or she simply hadn't cared enough to spring for a bus ticket.

Fantasizing about her return had been one thing, though, and knowing it might
actually happen
was another.

She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out hard, making her bangs dance against her forehead.

Maybe Delia, if she
was
Delia, still wouldn't want to come home. That would be a blow to Ashley, starry-eyed optimist that she was. Ashley lived in a Thomas Kinkade sort of world, full of lighted stone cottages and bridges over untroubled waters.

The snow was melting, but the ground was frozen hard, and the Suburban bumped and jostled as Olivia drove up Tanner's driveway. She stopped the rig, intending to stay only a few minutes, and got out. Ginger jumped after her without waiting to use the ramp.

The barn, alas, was empty. Shiloh's and Butterpie's stall doors stood open. Tanner and Sophie must have gone out riding, which should have been a relief--now she would have a little more time before she had to face him--but wasn't. For some reason she didn't want to examine too closely, nervous as she was, she'd been looking forward to seeing Tanner.

She came out of the barn, scanned the fields, saw them far off in the distance, two small figures on horseback. She hesitated only a few moments, then sum
moned Ginger and headed for the Suburban. She was about to climb behind the wheel when she noticed that the dog had stayed behind.

"You coming?" she called, her voice a little shaky.

"I'll stay here for a while,"
Ginger answered without turning around. She was gazing off toward Sophie and Tanner.

Olivia swallowed an achy, inexplicable lump. "Don't go chasing after them, okay? Wait on the porch or something."

Ginger didn't offer a reply, or turn around. But she didn't streak off across the field as she had the morning before, either. Short of forcing the animal into the truck, Olivia didn't know what else to do besides leave.

Her first stop was Stone Creek Ranch. As she had at Starcross, she avoided the house and made for the barn. With luck, she wouldn't run into Brad, and have to go into all her concerns about Ashley's mother search.

Luck wasn't with her. Brad O'Ballivan, the world-famous, multi-Grammy-winning singer, was mucking out stalls, the reindeer tagging at his heels like a faithful hound as he worked.

He stopped, leaned on his pitchfork and offered a lopsided grin as Olivia approached, though his eyes were troubled.

"I see Rodney's getting along all right," Olivia said, her voice swelling, strangely thick, in her throat, and nearly cutting off her breath.

Brad gave a solemn nod. Tried for another grin and missed. "I'll have a blue Christmas if Santa comes to reclaim this little guy," he said. "I've gotten attached."

Olivia managed a smile, tried to catch it when it
slipped off her mouth by biting her lower lip, and failed. "Why the sad face, cowboy?"

"I was about to ask you the same question--sans the cowboy part."

"Ashley thinks she found Mom," Olivia said.

Brad nodded glumly, set the pitchfork aside, leaning it against the stable wall. Crouched to pet Rodney for a while before steering him back into his stall and shutting the door.

"I guess the time has come to talk about this," Brad said. "Pull up a bale of hay and sit down."

Olivia sat, but it felt more like sinking. Bits of hay poked her through the thighs of her jeans. All the starch, as Big John used to say, had gone out of her knees.

Brad sat across from her, studied her face and said--nothing.

"Where are Meg and Mac?" Olivia asked.

"Mac's with his grandma McKettrick," Brad answered. "Meg's shopping with Sierra and some of the others."

Olivia nodded. Knotted her hands together in her lap. "Brad, talk to me. Tell me what you know about Mom--because you know
something.
I can tell."

"She's alive," Brad said.

Olivia stared at him, astonished, and angry, too. "And you didn't think the rest of us might be interested in that little tidbit of information?"

"She's a drunk, Livie," Brad told her, holding her gaze steadily. He looked as miserable as Olivia felt. "I tried to help her--she wouldn't be helped. When she calls, I still cut her a check--against my better judgment."

Olivia actually felt the barn sway around her. She
had to lean forward and put her head between her knees and tell herself to breathe slowly.

Brad's hand came to rest on her shoulder.

She shook it off.
"Don't!"

"Liv, our mother is not a person you'd want to know," Brad said quietly. "This isn't going to turn out like one of those TV movies, where everybody talks things through and figures out that it's all been one big, tragic misunderstanding. Mom left because she didn't want to be married, and she sure as hell didn't want to raise four kids. And there's no evidence that she's changed, except for the worse."

Olivia lifted her head. The barn stopped spinning like the globe Big John used to keep in his study. What had happened to that globe?

"What's she like?"

"I told you, Liv--she's a drunk."

"She's got to be more than that. The worst drunk in the world is more than just a drunk...."

Brad sighed, intertwined his fingers, let his hands fall between his knees. The look in his eyes made Olivia ache. "She's pretty, in a faded-rose sort of way. Too thin, because she doesn't eat. Her hair's blond, but not shiny and thick like it was when we knew her before. She's--hard, Olivia."

"How long have you been in touch with her?"

"I'm not 'in touch' with her," Brad answered gently, though his tone was gruff. "She called my manager a few years ago, told him she was my mother, and when Phil passed the word on to me, I went to see her. She didn't ask about Dad, or Big John, or any of you. She wanted to--" He stopped, looked away, his head slightly
bowed under whatever he was remembering about that pilgrimage.

"Cash in on being Brad O'Ballivan's mother?" Olivia supplied.

"Something like that," Brad replied, meeting Olivia's eyes again, though it obviously wasn't easy. "She's bad news, Liv. But she won't come back to Stone Creek--not even if it means having a ticket to ride the gravy train. She flat out doesn't want anything to do with this place, or with us."

"Why?"

"Damn, Liv. Do you think I know the answer to that any better than you do? This has been harder on you and the twins--I realize that. Girls need a mother. But there were plenty of times when I could have used one, too."

Olivia reached out, touched her brother's arm. He'd had a hard time, especially after their dad was killed. He and Big John had butted heads constantly, mostly because they were so much alike--strong, stubborn, proud to a fault. And they'd been estranged after Brad ran off to Nashville and stayed there.

Oh, Brad had visited a few times over the years. But he'd always left again, over Big John's protests, and then the heart attack came, and it was too late.

"Are you thinking about Big John?" he asked.

It was uncanny, the way he could see into her head sometimes. "Yeah," she said. "His opinion of Delia was even lower than yours. He'd probably have stood at the door with a shotgun if she'd showed her face in Stone Creek."

"The door? He'd have been up at the gate, standing on the cattle guard," Brad answered with a slight shake
of his head. "Liv, what are we going to do about Ashley? I think Melissa's levelheaded enough to deal with this. But Ash is in for a shock here. A pretty bad one."

"Is there something else you aren't telling me?"

Brad held up his right hand, as if to give an oath. "I've told you the whole ugly truth, insofar as I know it."

"I'll talk to Ashley," she said.

"Good luck," Brad said.

Olivia started to stand, planning to leave, but Brad stopped her by laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Hold on a second," he told her. "There
is
one more thing I need to say."

Olivia waited, wide-eyed and a little alarmed.

He drew a deep breath, let it out as a reluctant sigh. "About Tanner Quinn," he began.

Olivia stiffened. Brad could not possibly know what had happened between her and Tanner--could he? He wasn't
that
perceptive.

"What about him?"

"He's a decent guy, Liv," Brad told her. "But--"

"But?"

"Did he tell you about his wife? How she died?"

Olivia shook her head, wondering if Brad was about to say the circumstances had been suspicious, like in one of those reality crime shows on cable TV.

"Her name was Katherine," Brad said. "He called her Kat. He won the bid on a construction job in a place where, let's just say, Americans aren't exactly welcome. It was a dangerous project, but there were millions at stake, so he agreed. One day the two of them went to one of those open-air markets--a souk I think they call it. Tanner stopped to look at something, and Kat either
didn't notice or didn't wait for him. When she reached the street..." Brad paused, his eyes as haunted as if he'd been there himself. "Somebody strafed the market with some kind of automatic weapon. Kat was hit I don't know how many times, and she died in Tanner's arms, on the sidewalk."

Olivia put a hand over her mouth. Squeezed her eyes shut.

"I know," Brad muttered. "It's awful even to imagine it. I met him a couple of years after it happened." He stopped. Sighed again. "The only reason I told you was, well, I've seen Tanner go through a lot of women, Liv. He can't--or won't--commit. Not to a woman, not to his daughter. He never stays in one place any longer than absolutely necessary. It's as if he thinks he's a target."