Lonestar Angel (12 page)

“If it’s got coconut in it, you’re on your own,” the woman said, placing the tray on the table. “I can’t even stand the smell.” A small pill bottle rolled from her apron, and she quickly retrieved it. She looked a little pale.

“You okay?” Eden asked.

Rita grimaced. “Migraine.”

Allie’s smile faded. “Go lie down awhile. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll do that,” Rita said.

Shannon poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced at Eden. “I saw that handsome husband of yours in the corral with the children. How long have you been married?”

Eden started to answer, then checked her initial response of a year. “Six years. We went out to see the house where he grew up. A Toyota went tearing out of the barn.”

Julia lifted a brow. “Illegals?”

“That’s what Clay thought.”

“We’ve had a lot of problems with that lately,” Gracie said. “Drug-lord wars have spilled across the border nearly every week. You’re lucky they didn’t shoot at you. Where is the house?”

Eden told her. “It was gorgeous once.”

Gracie nodded. “I’ve seen it. Michael showed me when we found out you two were coming. Are you going to live there again?”

Eden glanced at her hands, wishing she hadn’t brought up the house. “I don’t know. It would take a lot of work to repair it.”

“It would be worth it. Lots of room for kids, eventually,” Shannon said.

“It was dark, so we didn’t get a good look. It’s very isolated. Is it safe?”

“With your big husband around, anywhere is safe,” Allie said, smiling.

As the conversation went back to food, Eden leaned against the cushions and wondered if she would ever fit into this countryside as well as these women did.

The little girl was much too quiet. Eden glanced at Lacie sitting beside her, so composed. Her bare feet dangled off the edge of the truck seat, and she didn’t tug at the seat belt the way so many children would have. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she stared straight ahead.

Eden had been glad Clay interrupted the women’s planning with a child’s chewed-up shoe in his hand. Their kind probing had left her uncomfortable. And she wanted to get away from Judge Julia’s inquisitive stare.

“The dog didn’t leave much of your shoe,” Eden said to Lacie. “Shall we look for sneakers or sandals?”

Lacie glanced at her from the corner of her eye and tucked her chin before shrugging. Eden wasn’t sure how to draw the little girl out. She’d hoped to learn more about Lacie this afternoon in a private outing to get more shoes.

“I heard Sister Marjo is coming next weekend to see you,” Eden said.

Lacie lifted her head and her face brightened. “How many days is that?”

“Ten.”

The animation vanished as if wiped away by a giant hand. Lacie dropped her chin again.

“You must really love Sister Marjo.”

The little girl nodded, a bob so slight Eden nearly missed it. Lacie crossed her feet at the ankles and turned to stare out the window. The desert landscape rolled out as far as the eye could see. A gleam of white in the distance caught Eden’s attention. The truck rounded a curve and she made out the tattered remains of a trailer park. Her gut tightened. She hated the reminder of the life she’d led until she was eight. Though she wanted to avert her gaze as they passed the decaying mobile homes, she had to look. She could almost hear her mother yelling at her.

“G
O ON OUT NOW
. H
E
’
LL BE HERE ANY MINUTE
.”

Eight-year-old Eden felt the sting of tears in her eyes and blinked. She was much too old to be whining, according to her mother. “It’s cold, Mama.”

Her mother lined her eyes with black liquid that made the skin look harsh and thin. “Put on your mittens. You can make a snowman.”

“I want to play with my doll.” A lady from church had given Eden the baby doll. It wasn’t new and had ink marks on the cheeks, but it was the first doll she’d ever owned. And there were clothes to go with it. She could spend hours changing outfits on the doll she’d named Sally.

“Your silly games aren’t going to change a thing. Get outside and take the stupid doll with you.” Her mother wheeled to glare at her. “He’ll be here any minute. Get going before I take a belt to your legs.”

Her mother would do it too. Eden slowly went to the only closet in the trailer, a tiny, cramped space in her mother’s bedroom. She barely managed to pull down her coat. There were holes in her mittens, and she had no boots, but she knew better than to complain again. When she turned back toward the room, she lost her balance and toppled to the floor. Her forehead thumped the footboard on the bed, and the force of the blow brought tears to her eyes. She pressed her fingers to the spot that was already beginning to bump out.

“Quit crying. You’re not hurt.” Her mother pulled her roughly to her feet and pushed her toward the door. “You’re going to look ugly when your father comes to see you tonight.”

The last thing Eden wanted was to be ugly, to see her father’s face cloud with anger the way it had when she’d cut her bangs with scissors. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I want to look pretty for Dad,” she said.

“Another reason to go outside and put some snow on your forehead. Now get out of here.”

Her mother was pulling on a blue filmy thing when Eden went to the door. “That’s pretty, Mama.”

Her mother smiled and pirouetted in front of the mirror. “If Mr. Smith thinks so, I might have enough money to get you some pizza tonight. If you’re a good girl and stay outside. Now scoot.”

Even the thought of pizza failed to lift Eden’s spirits. It was scary out at the playground. The big kids threw rocks or made the swing go too high. But there was no persuading her mother, so she put on her coat and went outside.

Snow spit her in the face as she pulled the trailer door closed behind her. As she went down the cracked sidewalk, she saw the car drive up. It was shiny and black. Newer than Eden was used to seeing. The man didn’t get out until she was across the street, and she got only a glimpse of his heavy coat and a hat pulled low on his head.

She still had that image of her mother twirling in the mirror when she returned three hours later to find her mother gone, with no trace other than the scent of her face powder still lingering in the bedroom.

E
DEN BLINKED AND PUSHED THE MEMORY AWAY
. S
HE GLANCED AT
L
ACIE AND SAW THE CHILD
staring with rapt attention at a trailer near the road. Its green shutters hung askew. Through the gaping front doors, she glimpsed the tattered remains of an orange sofa.

“No one lives there,” Eden said.

“It looks like the other one,” Lacie said.

“Other one? Did you live in a mobile home once?”

Lacie shook her head. “Sister Marjo takes me to see her niece sometimes. But I’m not supposed to tell the other sisters.”

“Why not?”

“Mother Superior doesn’t like Sister Marjo’s niece. She says she’s loose. Does that mean her joints might fall apart?”

No way was Eden going to answer that one. “Where is this trailer park you visit? In Dallas?”

Lacie nodded. “By the park.”

Seeing the mobile homes seemed to have unlocked Lacie’s tongue. Whatever these visits were, they’d impacted her mightily. “How often do you go?”

Lacie twisted in the seat for one final glimpse of the trailer. “I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“What’s the niece’s name?”

“Taylor. She’s nice. She kisses my cheek and calls me her little darling.”

Was it possible that Lacie was this Taylor’s child? “You don’t live at the convent, do you?”

Lacie shook her head. “I visit lots. Sister Marjo saved me, so she’s ’sponsible for me.”

A strange situation. The nun had found her five years ago yet had stayed involved. So maybe Lacie wasn’t Brianna.

12

T
HE SWEET SCENT OF HAY
,
VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE SMELLS OF EXHAUST AND SMOG
C
LAY
was used to, filled his lungs as he showed the girls how to feed the horses. They giggled and threw flakes of hay at one another. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the window opening.

He glanced at his watch. Eden had been gone for an hour. Surely she’d be back with Lacie soon. When the horses were fed, he led the girls back to the house to wash up for the meal. He sniffed the air. “Chili for supper, I think.”

“Yay!” Madeline said. When the other girls ran on ahead, she slipped her hand into his.

Her fingers closed around his in a confidential way that warmed his heart. Her blond hair bouncing, she skipped along beside him. He thought she looked a little like the pictures he’d seen of Eden when she was a child, but maybe all little girls were similar.

Her fingers tightened on his when a dented Ford came rolling up the drive. The sun had turned the red paint to a rust color. The back window on the passenger side had been busted out, and a black plastic bag fluttered in the opening. He glimpsed a woman behind the wheel.

Madeline stood stock still, her smile gone. “It’s my mother,” she whispered. “She’s not supposed to come here.”

Clay searched his memory. Rick had said Madeline’s mom was filing for custody. “She was in the hospital, right?”

Madeline nodded, watching as the car lumbered to a stop. “She was in the loony bin,” she said in a confidential tone.

He winced. “She has some mental illness she’s fighting,” he said gently.

“She scares me. Mom doesn’t like her.”

“Your foster mom?” Clay watched a woman get out of the car. Even from here he heard the door screech. That old rust bucket was bound for the junk heap soon.

Madeline nodded and hid behind his leg. “Mom said I don’t have to talk to her.”

“You run ahead inside. I’ll talk to her.” He watched the little girl run up the porch steps like someone was chasing her. And maybe someone was. He didn’t know all the background. Just that the woman had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. If the doctors deemed her well enough to function, there should be no real danger.

He intercepted her determined stride up the walk toward the house. “May I help you?”

About fifty and thin as the fence rail, the woman was dressed in jeans that were stained with what looked like blood but he assumed was red paint. Was that smear of red on her forehead a cross? Her fingers were stained too when she held out her hand to shake his. She was very blond, and it looked natural.

Her grip was strong, almost like a man’s. “I am here to get my daughter, Madeline,” she said. Her accent seemed to indicate she might be Scandinavian. Her gaze wandered over his shoulder toward the house.

He resisted the urge to step away from the unsavory stench that he thought emanated from her hair. “Get her? Camp won’t be finished for another month.”

She leaned in and stabbed at his chest with her forefinger. “She belongs to me. You can’t stop me from taking her.”

“Do you have a court order to allow you to take her? She’s not in your custody.”

A crafty expression flitted across her face before she hid it. “I am her mother. I have rights.” She dug into her pocket. “And I have this.” She handed him a wrinkled paper stained with smears of red, blue, and yellow.

Her name was Else Bjorn, so his impression of a Scandinavian accent was correct. He smoothed out the wadded document and scanned it before handing it back to her. “This just says you are filing for custody of Madeline. It doesn’t say the custody is granted.” Poor woman. He knew the pain of having a child being taken away.

“She is my daughter. You have no right to keep her from me.” The woman attempted to brush past him.

He blocked her path. “I’m sorry. I can’t allow you to see her. You don’t have any visitation rights.”

Large tears pooled in her eyes. “Just for a minute,” she begged. “She needs to know her mama loves her. I am fighting for her. Those people put me in jail and are trying to turn her against me.”

Was that how she saw it? No way should this woman be out on her own. She couldn’t take care of herself, let alone Madeline. Was there someone he could call about this? He’d have to ask Rick or Allie. And as he stared at her, he considered her age. Madeline was five. This woman was at least fifty, unless something other than years had aged her.