Leftover Love (22 page)

“Yes.”

Hurt anger raged in Mattie’s expression. “Who else have you told? Stoney? Hoyt? Who else?”

“Only Creed.” Layne’s dark head was bent in abject regret. “Please try to understand, Mattie,” she said tightly. “I never intended for you to be hurt by my coming here. For all I knew, there might have been a lot of unpleasant memories associated with my birth.”

“You never cared one whit about my feelings,” Mattie snapped. “You came here to satisfy your own curiosity about me. You lied, and you used me—and Creed and Hoyt—everyone.”

“No,” Layne protested.

“No? We took you in and accepted you for what you said you were,” Mattie harshly reminded her. “We believed you.”

“I’m sorry,” Layne murmured helplessly.

“Now you’re sorry,” Mattie scoffed derisively. “Well, your cruel and selfish curiosity has been satisfied. So get out of my house and out of my life. I gave you away twenty-six years ago, and believe me, I don’t regret it.”

“Mattie.” It was a softly anguished cry, and the baby blanket was cast at her feet in answer.

“If you aren’t packed and out of this house within an hour, I’ll have you thrown out,” Mattie warned in a voice that was taut and shaking.

For several minutes after the door shut, Layne was frozen in place. Then she bent and picked up the blanket and held it gently against her. The back of her eyes burned with tears and she sniffed at them to keep them at bay.

With a slow awakening from her pain, she realized that she deserved some of the things Mattie had said. Some of her motives had been selfish, only she hadn’t seen them that way at the time. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, she laid the baby blanket on the bed and went to the closet to haul out her suitcase.

Her recent purchase of workclothes left her with more
garments than she had room for in her suitcase. Layne went downstairs to the kitchen for some paper grocery sacks so she could pack the extra clothing in them. There was no sign of Mattie anywhere about.

Wondering if she’d get the chance to speak to her again, Layne chewed anxiously at her bottom lip as she reached to take two of the sacks from the cubbyhole between the refrigerator and the cupboards. The back door opened and Creed walked in. He came to a stop when he saw her and seemed to draw himself up to his full height, eyeing her distantly.

“Creed.” She breathed his name in a kind of relief, a smile breaking across her tense lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She was unconsciously propelled across the room by the need for his support. “Mattie knows.” It crossed her mind that maybe Mattie would listen to him.

Something flickered across his tough face. “How? Did you tell her?”

“I was going to,” Layne admitted, overwhelmed and agitated by that sense of frustration again because she had been denied the opportunity. “Mattie saw my baby blanket before I could tell her the truth. She thinks. … She was upset, Creed. She’s ordered me to leave.”

“What do you expect me to say?” His face could have been chiseled in stone for all the emotion it showed.

Layne drew back slightly to frown at him while she searched for some hint of regret over her imminent departure. “Maybe if you talked to her,” she suggested carefully, “you could convince her to reconsider if you tried.” She felt chilled by the aloofness in his dusky brown eyes.

“Mattie hired you. If she chooses to fire you, that’s her business.” His graveled voice was cutting in its indifference. “Did you think I wouldn’t back my partner’s decision?”

“I don’t want to leave,” Layne said and watched him with tense reserve. “And I didn’t think you’d want me to go.”

A long silence ran between them before Creed finally asked, “Will you need any help carrying your suitcases to the car?”

Her chin started to quiver, and Layne could feel her control breaking. “No,” she said, stiff with a deep, wounding hurt, and swung away from him before he could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I can manage.”

Carried by pride, she left the kitchen and raced up the stairwell to her room. There wasn’t time for tears as Layne hurriedly finished her packing, throwing the last of her things into the sacks. It took two trips to get everything in her car.

At the door she took one last look around the room. Her glance lingered on the baby blanket, folded in a neat square atop the bed. All through her childhood it had been one of her most precious possessions. Leaving it behind was like leaving a part of herself. But she wanted Mattie to have it. In some small way the gesture was meant to convince Mattie that she had no wish to lay claims on her. Slowly Layne shut the door and walked to the stairs.

The pumpkin-colored tomcat blocked her path to the front door. It seemed to look at her with a puzzled expression. The lump in her throat was so big, Layne thought she would choke on it. She crouched down and the cat arched its neck against the stroke of her fingers.

“This is a fine time to finally make friends with me,” she said thickly.

The cat blinked indifferently and turned its head to look elsewhere. With a flick of its tail, it walked stately away from her. As she glanced after it, Layne noticed Mattie sitting in a corner of the living room, staring at the gold-
framed photograph in her lap. Layne straightened with a smooth turn, observing that Mattie seemed not to have seen her.

“Mattie, I’m leaving now.” She had a glimpse of the photograph before Mattie covered it. It was a picture of her late husband. There was a vacantly staring look in Mattie’s pain-dulled green eyes. “You were right when you said I was selfish. And I am very sorry for that.”

“Just go away,” Mattie said.

Layne hesitated, then turned and walked to the door. The ranch yard seemed as deserted when she drove out of it as it had been the day she’d arrived. But the surrounding hills looked different; traces of green showing instead of the snow that had covered them on her arrival at the Ox-Yoke. New life was bursting forth and growing. A wet tear slipped over an eyelash and trickled down her cheek.

At the highway intersection she let the car motor idle. There wasn’t any traffic on the isolated section of road. Her blurring eyes would have had trouble seeing it anyway. The longer she sat there, the more aware she became that it wasn’t in her to give up so easily. Turning the wheel, she headed the car in the direction of Valentine.

The same wispy-haired man was on duty at the motel desk when she walked in. His flash of recognition quickly became a vaguely pleased smile as he pushed a registration slip toward her.

“Back again, I see,” he observed brightly. “Be staying with us long this time?”

“I’m not sure. A couple of days maybe.” Layne picked up the ballpoint pen attached to the chain to fill out the form and sniffled to clear away the tears that edged the corners of her eyes.

“Sounds like you’re catchin’ one of those nasty spring colds,” the man said as he turned to take a room key from its slot.
“Better see that you get yourself some rest. It’s the best thing for it.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t bother to disabuse him of the idea that she had a cold.

“Same room as before,” he said and gave her the key.

It was all so different, Layne thought when she let herself into the room. The last time, she’d been filled with so much expectation. Now she experienced a gnawing ache over the loss of something very precious, although perhaps not completely. That was the thing she still had to find out.

The small café was teeming with morning patrons, a collection of farmers, ranchers, and stock-truck drivers. It had become a familiar scene to Layne over the last three days. There was a tumbling of voices, cigarette smoke, and coffee cups clanking. She sat alone in a corner booth, positioned to watch the door and observe who came in.

Both hands were wrapped around her coffee cup, absorbing its warmth. It was tension that made her feel cold and tied her nerves up in knots. Yet so much of it was directed to an inner awareness that she could feel the blood pumping through her veins and hear the rush of air in her lungs.

“More coffee?” The waitress stopped at her booth, a half-full pot of coffee in her hand.

“Please.” Layne pulled her hands away from the cup so the waitress could fill it.

“Sure I can’t get you anything to eat? A homemade roll? Toast?” the waitress inquired, darting an almost concerned look at Layne’s pale and drawn features.

“Nothing. I’m sure,” Layne insisted, aware of her violently churning stomach. In its present state, it wouldn’t tolerate the introduction of food. The waitress shrugged and moved on.

The café door opened, and her glance sprang at the man who entered, dressed in a cowboy hat and a jeans jacket. But it fell just as quickly when Layne failed to recognize him. She stared at the coffee in her cup and tried not to give in to all the assailing doubts. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her, but Layne refused to let it get her down.

When the door rattled open again, Creed walked in. A lump swelled in her throat as she watched his gaze sweep the interior of the café and stop on her. There was the smallest hesitation before he made his move toward the booth where she was seated.

Big and lithe, he folded his frame into the seat opposite her. His hat stayed low on his head, shadowing the hard impatience of his expression. She received no more than the briefest glance, but she felt the ripple of strong emotion come into play just at seeing him again.

“I got your message that you wanted to see me.” His attention centered on the cigarette he took from his shirt pocket.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Layne admitted with forced calm as she watched him bend his head to touch the end of the cigarette to the match flame cupped in his hand. The light glared on the outlaw-harsh angles of his face.

“Well, I’m here,” Creed replied shortly and shook out the match, still not looking at her as he tossed it in the ashtray. The waitress came with a water glass, menu, and the ever-present coffeepot. “Just coffee.” He shoved the menu back to her and righted the cup on the table so she could fill it.

“How’s Mattie?” Layne couldn’t keep her eyes off his face. It was so achingly familiar to her that it hurt not to see that special glow.

“Moody and quiet—about what you’d expect.”

He thrust a look at her. “Did you bring me all the way into town just to ask me that?”

“No.” She lowered her gaze and struggled to keep a grip on her composure.

“What did you want to see me about?”

“I think—” Layne hadn’t expected it would be so difficult to tell him. She thought it would come out naturally; instead she was nervously tripping over it. “There’s a possibility I’m pregnant.” She looked at him to see if there was even a glimmer of the deep pleasure she felt.

“My God, Layne.” The disgust and contempt in his expression nearly made her cry out. “I knew you were desperate to worm your way back onto the ranch so you could get in good with Mattie, but you don’t really expect me to believe this phony pregnancy business?”

It was more than she could take to have Creed accuse her of lying about something like this. Blindly, Layne grabbed for her purse and shot out of the booth. She ran out of the restaurant, straight to the motel, and packed her things in a blur of bitter tears. Twenty minutes later she was driving down the highway, heading out of the Sand Hills toward Omaha.

There was a crash of lightning as Layne darted out of her car and ran through the pelting rain to the roofed entrance of her parents’ home. She hugged close to the door while she closed her dripping umbrella, then pounded at the door to be let in.

“I didn’t know if that was you or the thunder,” her mother declared as she opened the door and Layne dashed inside.

“It’s pouring out there.” Layne shrugged out of her dripping raincoat and left her wet shoes on the rug inside the door. When Layne spied her father sitting in his easy chair in the front room, she added, “And don’t you say ‘April showers bring May flowers.’”

“That’s not fair.” He smiled a mock protest. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“I know,” she chided him.

The umbrella and raincoat were taken from her. “I’ll put these out in the kitchen for you,” her mother said. “Go have a seat in the living room with your father.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Layne went straight into the living
room and stopped by her father’s chair to drop a kiss on his forehead. “What have you been doing?” It was a general inquiry of interest.

In his middle fifties, Keith MacDonald was a slim, distinguished-looking man. His dark hair was silvering at the temples in such an attractive way that Layne had threatened to ask his barber if he bleached it.

“I just finished reading a very good article by my favorite reporter,” he said and indicated the newspaper on his lap.

“Now I wonder who that could be?” Layne replied with mock innocence as she sat down on the sofa and curled her legs onto the cushions.

His expression sobered slightly. “It’s good to pick up the paper again and finally see your name on some of the bylines. While you were gone, I hardly looked at it at all. It just wasn’t the same.”

“I’ll tell Clyde that. Maybe he’ll give me a raise.” Her old job had been waiting for her when she got back. It had been a relief to plunge right back into work again. That way her conversations didn’t have to dwell solely on her experiences of the previous two-plus months.

“I imagine this rain has really slowed the traffic,” her mother remarked as she joined them in the living room.

“It’s just beginning to back up on the interstates,” Layne admitted. “Luckily I missed most of it.”

“Oh?” Her mother glanced at her in surprise. “But when I called the newspaper, they told me you’d left over two hours ago.”

“I did, but I had an appointment along the way,” she explained. “How long before dinner’s ready?”

“Another half hour. I thought we’d eat late.”

“Good. I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk without sitting down at the table right away,” Layne replied, since there was much she needed to tell them.

“How about a drink before dinner?” her father suggested, rising out of his chair.