Johnston - I Promise (23 page)

“There may not be much time left,” Hattie said quietly.

Delia found herself caught by her mother’s intent, silvery blue gaze. “When you’re completely recovered from your surgery, we’ll talk.” There was so much she wanted to ask and hadn’t, because she was afraid of the answers she might get.

“I don’t want to wait,” Hattie said.

“You don’t have any choice,” Delia replied.

She made a quick escape from her mother’s bedroom. She felt like screaming. Like running and running until her side ached, and she couldn’t run anymore. She arrived at the barn without realizing that was where she was headed.

Her palomino gelding had died several years ago, but there were several quarter horses in the stalls. She picked a sleek chestnut with a white blaze and stockings, saddled the animal, and kicked it into a lope as she headed across the pasture.

She knew where she was going long before she got there.

The live oak was unchanged. Twenty years was the twinkle of an eye to the ancient tree. Delia stepped down from the saddle and let her mount graze as she settled herself on the ground with her back against the immense tree trunk.

She had learned more about her mother this morning than she had known about her in all the years she had lived at home. It was easy to see the demons that had driven Hattie to devote herself to the Circle Crown. Her mother had succeeded in proving Tucker Carson wrong. But at what price?

The similarities between what her mother had done and her own life were shatteringly apparent. She had devoted herself to punishing men like Ray John Carson. And given up her dream of helping kids. And becoming a wife and mother.

Hattie didn’t seem regretful of the choice she had made. Delia wasn’t so certain she had chosen correctly.

Seeing Marsh again had been like pouring alcohol on a raw wound—cleansing, but searingly painful. There was a hole inside her that only he could fill. And she wanted a child—Marsh’s child—so much sometimes it hurt just to think about it.

Maybe it was too late for Hattie to change, but Delia was still young enough to make different choices. The question was, did she have the courage to risk grabbing for the brass ring one more time? And could she handle the disappointment if it once more eluded her grasp?

Aside from the simple question, “Does Marsh still love me?” there were serious logistical problems to a relationship between someone whose work was in New York and a rancher settled in southwest Texas. Were they insurmountable problems?

Delia took a deep breath of fresh Texas air. Life was precious. She wasn’t going to waste another moment living it without love. There just had to be a way to make things work between her and Marsh.

And if he doesn’t love you anymore?

She couldn’t feel the way she did about Marsh if her feelings weren’t returned. He still loved her. She knew he did. It was simply a matter of getting him to acknowledge his feelings.

She hoped.

For the rest of the day, Delia left the tending of her mother to Maria, the housekeeper, while she concentrated on taking care of Circle Crown business.

There was more than enough of it to keep her busy.

Calving would begin any day. Delia saw from the ranch books that her mother had hired extra help to get through the season. It appeared, however, that Hattie usually supervised the help. Which meant that chore was going to fall to Delia.

Unless she could find someone else to do the job. Despite her mother’s objections, she was determined to find someone to take over management of the ranch.

She spent long hours poring over ranching magazines and journals, looking through the advertisements in the back to see if someone was seeking a position in ranch management. She found far more ads looking for help than offering to provide it.

She had put out the word in the surrounding community that the Circle Crown was looking for a manager, but so far no one had come forward. Except Marsh. And she refused to consider his offer seriously. That was a temporary solution at best.

Besides doing all the ranch business, Delia was also keeping a close eye on Rachel. Cliff had been more than perturbed with his wife for being gone an extra day. They had quarreled the evening Rachel arrived home and, according to Rachel’s account to Delia on the phone later that same evening, Cliff had raised his hand to Rachel just once before she leveled him with a vase of cut flowers.

“You should have seen the stunned look on his face, Delia,” Rachel had said with a laugh. “Dripping wet and draped in gladiolas and too stunned to move. I got out of the way before it occurred to him to hit me again.”

That had been the extent of the violence between them, but Delia remained worried that her sister might be forced to do something dire before she managed to get away from Cliff.

Delia usually called Rachel each day right after she called her office and checked on her mother, which allowed her to give Rachel comfort and reassurance and get a little comfort and reassurance herself. She dialed Rachel’s home phone in Dallas from memory.

It rang twice before a child’s voice said, “Hello?”

“Scott, is that you? It’s Aunt Delia.”

“Hi, Aunt Delia. It’s me, Scott.”

“Is your mom around?”

“She’s in the garage saying good-bye to Daddy. He’s going to cut a ribbon. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Sure. When she’s through with your dad.”

Delia heard a loud, “MOMMY! Aunt Delia’s on the phone!” Scott came back on and said, “I’m playing with the Power Rangers you gave me. They’re the best!”

“I’m glad,” Delia said. “Your mom told me that’s what you wanted most for Christmas besides a bicycle.”

“I didn’t get a bicycle,” Scott said, ’“cause Daddy said I’m too little. Mommy said I am, too, big enough. But Daddy said no ’cause—”

Delia interrupted, not wanting to put Scott in the position of telling her things that weren’t her business. “Who’s your favorite Power Ranger?”

“I like Tommy. He’s the white tiger, only I liked him better when he was the green dragonzord.”

“The what?” Scott repeated himself, but
dragonzord
didn’t make any more sense the second time, so she just said, “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s neat. But Kimberly sucks.”

Sucks? Did six-year-olds know what that meant?
“Oh?”

“She turns into this stupid pink bird thing. Oh, here’s Mommy.”

She heard Scott say, “I’m telling Aunt Delia about Power Rangers.”

And Rachel answer, “Go play now while I talk on the phone.” A second later Rachel said, “Hi. Has Scott been chattering your ear off?”

“No, he’s a delight. But Mother’s been driving me crazy. It feels like she’s purposely trying to provoke me every time she opens her mouth,” Delia said.

“You know how much she hates relying on anyone else for anything. It’s what kept her so busy the whole time we were growing up. It must be awful for her to know she can’t do it all herself anymore. I suspect you’re bearing the brunt of her frustration.”

“If you say so,” Delia conceded, twining the phone cord around her finger. She was sitting in her mother’s swivel chair, at her mother’s desk, from which Hattie Carson had run the Circle Crown. What Rachel said made a whole lot of sense. But it didn’t make Hattie’s jabs any easier to handle. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. She’s going to push me too far, and I’m going to blow up.”

“Would that be so awful?”

“I don’t like her, but I don’t necessarily want to give her another heart attack,” Delia said.

“Have you found anyone yet to manage the ranch, so you can go back to New York?” Rachel asked.

“Not yet. You could do it, you know. Once you leave Cliff, that is.”

“I don’t want the job,” Rachel said. “I have other plans.”

“Like what?”

“I want to go back to school and become a veterinarian. There are a couple of good vet programs in Texas, but nothing close enough to Uvalde that I could live at the ranch.”

“I had no idea you had aspirations in that direction.”

“I didn’t before you left home,” Rachel said. “After that . . . I sort of got sidetracked when I married Cliff. Speaking of which, how are things going, Delia? Have you talked to any of your friends? How do things look for me?”

Delia grimaced. She had talked to several judges she knew. None of them were very encouraging about Rachel’s prospects. Unbelievable as it was, Cliff’s abuse of Rachel wouldn’t keep him from getting joint custody of his son if there was no record he abused Scott. That wasn’t the worst of what Delia had discovered.

“The attorneys I spoke with are worried what will happen if Cliff brings up your suicide attempt and the fact you pointed a gun at him—even an unloaded one—and pulled the trigger. That behavior, together with your current use of Prozac and sleeping pills, could be all Cliff needs to prove that you’re unstable and that he should have sole custody of Scott.”

Delia waited for Rachel to say something. “Rachel?”

“I won’t give up Scott. I won’t let Cliff have him. No matter what I have to do.” Rachel’s words were desperate, but her voice was utterly calm.

The hairs stood up on Delia’s arms. “Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for—”

Rachel hung up the phone.

“Damn it, Rachel! Don’t you dare do anything stupid!” Delia tried getting her sister back on the phone. The line was busy.

Delia heard her mother calling to her in a voice that was commanding, even as frail as she was. She ignored her at first, thinking Maria would take care of whatever Hattie wanted. Then she remembered Maria had gone to town for groceries.

“Delia, my water pitcher is empty.”

How could that be possible? Delia wondered. She had seen Maria take a full pitcher of water upstairs before she left. Unless her mother had accidentally spilled it. Or dumped it out on purpose.

“Delia? Bring me a glass of water. Can you hear me? I know you can hear me. Why don’t you answer me?”

Delia desperately punched in Rachel’s number. The busy signal buzzed irritatingly. She hung up and dialed again. Same response. She tried to think what she should do. Whom she should call.

She could call Cliff and warn him his life might be in danger. But there was no way she could betray her own sister. If she didn’t call, and Rachel killed Cliff, her sister might end up in jail for life, or worse. Texas was famous for hanging its villains.

“Delia! Damn you, answer me!” Hattie cried sharply.

There was no sense pretending she couldn’t hear her mother. Hattie’s bedroom door was open, and the sound carried easily down the stairs to Hattie’s office, where Delia was frantically dialing and redialing Rachel’s number.

“Delia!”

“I’m coming, Mother!” she yelled back. She slammed down the phone and hurried to the kitchen to get a glass of ice water, then held it balanced in front of her as she practically ran up the stairs.

No matter what she says, I won’t argue with her. I won’t let her make me angry. I have to remember she’s sick. She’s feeling impotent and angry. I’ll give her this water and listen to whatever she has to say, and then I’ve got to figure out what to do about Rachel.

Delia was halfway up the stairs when she heard a knock at the kitchen door. It was a toss-up whether to go on up to her mother’s room or back down to answer the door.

The thought it might be Maria with her hands full of groceries made her turn around. Maria could take the glass of water to Hattie while Delia unpacked the groceries. It was the coward’s way out, but Delia didn’t care. It would give her a few moments of peace to decide what to do about Rachel.

She yanked open the kitchen door and found Marsh standing there, a folded newspaper wedged under his arm. “What are you doing here? I said I’d call when Mother was ready for visitors.”

“I came to see you.”

Delia was unbelievably glad to see him . . . and wished he hadn’t come. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about Marsh—or Marsh’s suppositions about how Ray John had died—because she didn’t like the conclusions she reached when she did. So she hadn’t called him, even though the doctor had conceded Hattie could have visitors for brief periods if she didn’t let herself get upset.

“You look like you can’t make up your mind whether to let me in or shut the door in my face.”

She grabbed Marsh’s arm and tugged him inside. “Maybe you can help.”

“What’s wrong?” Marsh said.

“Everything!”

Marsh took the glass of water from her and set it on the tile counter with one hand, while he tucked the folded newspaper section in his back jeans pocket with the other. When both hands were free, he gripped her shoulders to steady her. “Is Hattie all right? Has she had another attack?”

“Worse.”

“She’s dead?”

Delia shook her head.

“Something’s wrong with you?” he asked sharply.

“I’m fine.”

“Spit it out, Delia. I’m not a mind reader.”

“It’s Rachel. I think she’s going to kill Cliff.”

“What?”

Delia grasped handfuls of Marsh’s shirt with her fists. “You heard me! I think she’s going to kill her husband!”

Marsh tugged her hands free of his shirt and held them in his own. “What makes you think she’d do anything so drastic?”

She’s put a gun to Cliff’s head before. She’s killed before.
Delia couldn’t say that aloud, but she raised her eyes to Marsh’s face, anxious to convince him of the urgency of the situation. Everything came out in a rush. “I was talking to her on the phone, and I mentioned there was a possibility she could lose custody of Scott in a divorce proceeding, but before I could tell her nothing was certain, she hung up on me.”

“From this you deduced she’s going to kill Cliff?” Marsh asked skeptically.

“You don’t understand.”

“I sure as hell don’t.”

The words had an eerily familiar ring and the two of them stood frozen as they recalled when he had said them before.

Hattie’s voice knifed down the stairs. “Delia! Where are you? What’s going on? I’m getting up!”

“Don’t get up, Mother!” Delia shouted from the kitchen. She pulled her hands free and walked toward the doorway so her voice would carry better. “Marsh North is here to visit. I’ll be right up with your water.”