One True Heart (9 page)

T
HURSDAY

The noon sun was slicing through the blinds in the waiting room when Beau Yates woke. He lifted his hat slowly, taking his first peek at life circling around him. Several families, huddled in groups, were in the room or just outside the door in the hallway. They were talking quietly like strangers might as they waited for a train. Only the loved one about to leave was beyond the double doors.

Apparently, Beau was as invisible as the silk plant in the corner. No one noticed him. They simply moved around him, sharing their grief with one another with hugs and pats.

Standing, he walked to an empty desk near the entrance to the critical care unit. Any volunteer who might have sat there in the past had been replaced by a single sheet of paper with visiting times printed in bold letters.

Fifteen minutes until he could go in again and stare at his father. Then, Beau promised himself he'd call for a plane to come pick him up. By the time he ate lunch and drove
out to the airstrip, the plane would be waiting. It was time he got back to work.

He leaned against the wall, watching the others. Most looked sad. A few seemed more worried or afraid. All appeared tired, weary of waiting, anxious of what would come next. Something about hospital air sucked hope out of all who breathed it.

Beau wasn't even sure what he hoped for. If his father lived, they'd just go on ignoring each other. If he died, Beau would have to stay a few days and at least offer to help out. Maybe if he survived this heart attack, Beau wouldn't rush home next time.

When a nurse started letting people into the critical care unit, Beau's stepmother walked into the room. She looked smaller than he remembered. A little mouse of a woman void of any joy in life. She'd married his father when she was almost forty. Beau used to wonder how bad her single life must have been if she'd settled for his old man.

“Hello, Ruthie,” he whispered when she was three feet from him.

She jumped, then met his gaze for a moment. “How'd you know, Beau? I didn't know you'd be here.”

Her words told him that she hadn't asked that he'd be called. Which meant what he suspected: His father wouldn't be happy to see him.

“The doc called me. I flew in last night.” He noticed that she was thinner than she'd been when he left years ago. “How you doing, Ruthie?”

He touched her shoulder, letting her know he cared. In truth, she'd always been kind in a quiet, shy way. Even after he was kicked out she left food for him in the fridge on Sunday mornings when he knew his father would be out. He used to sneak back in his room, get clean clothes, and take food packed away in plastic for him. The next week his clothes would be clean and pressed, waiting.

“I'm fine, Beau. Have you seen your father?”

“Not awake.” Beau stuffed his guitar under the desk and followed her through the door. “You mind if I go in with you?”

She shook her head. “I don't mind. He doesn't talk about you like he used to. I don't think he's angry anymore. It's more like he thinks of you as dead.”

“Oh, that's comforting,” Beau answered, wondering if Ruthie was trying to cheer him up. He would bet she'd had to listen to hours of his father raging over a son who had gone bad.

They walked into the room where his father lay and moved to either side of the bed. Beau observed that Ruthie didn't touch her husband. They just stood watching him breathe until the nurse poked her head in and told them it was time to leave.

When they walked out, Beau asked the same question. “How are you doing, Ruthie?”

“I'm . . .” She started to lie, then hesitated and added, “The bank . . .”

He touched her arm. “I'll take care of it.”

She nodded. “He can't know. He'd be mad if he thought I mentioned it to you.”

Beau understood. “He won't.” On impulse Beau leaned in and kissed her cheek. He'd never thought of her as his mother, not even a substitute one, but he did care about her.

Ten minutes later, he was standing in the bank before he bothered to notice his wrinkled clothes. The black tailored shirt, jeans, and boots no longer looked polished and pressed. He'd lost the leather tie that always held his dark hair back, and two days' worth of stubble darkened his jaw. He looked so bad the bank probably wouldn't take his money. In Nashville he was proud to be an outlaw, but here it might not be a good idea to look the part.

“May I help you, sir?” a suit, who could have played Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol
without bothering with makeup, asked in a cold, professional way. While he waited for Beau to answer he rocked onto his toes as if trying to appear taller, more important. There was a nervousness about him. A clock watcher, Beau guessed.

Beau decided to bluff his way through. “Yes, I'd like to see the president of the bank.”

“He's not here, sir.” The suit lifted his chin as if preparing to die rather than give out more information. “I'm one of the loan officers. I'm sure I can help you with any questions.”

Beau stood his ground.

The suit broke first. “I can check with the vice president, if you'll wait here. She's new, but maybe she can be of some help.”

Beau nodded and waited. A minute later the nervous guy came back and pointed in the direction of an open door. He didn't look interested in making introductions and Beau wondered if he'd even notified the vice president that she had a customer.

Beau took off his black hat, raked his fingers through hair far too long for Harmony style, and silently walked through the open door.

For a moment he watched the woman who sat behind the long desk. Though computers banked her on both sides, she concentrated on papers organized in neat piles before her. She was about his age but didn't resemble anyone he remembered from school. Blond hair, tucked up in a tight knot on top of her head. Dark blue suit, slightly too big. Maybe she was trying to look like a banker the same way he felt like he tried to look like a country-western singer.

He took another step, his worn boots echoing off her polished floor.

“How may I help you?” she said as she reluctantly lowered the paper she'd been reading.

Her gaze met his.

The air froze between them. Memories and feelings tumbled over him. The night he'd first seen her drive up in her red convertible. The weeks, years ago, when he'd tried to find the girl who now stood before him. She'd been his midnight ride across the moonlight. A wild, rich girl who'd picked up a struggling singer. Both in their teens. Both too young to understand what they'd felt.

He broke the trance first. “Hello, Trouble.” She'd once said her daddy called her Trouble, and he'd thought the name fit.

In a fluid movement she was around the desk.

He opened his arms, but she stopped a foot out of his embrace. They'd been an “almost was” years ago. Now they were older. No more than strangers with a shared memory. He hadn't known then how she'd haunt his dreams, and looking into her sky-blue eyes he had the feeling she felt the same.

“Beau,” she whispered. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

He wanted to hold her tight, but all he held was the memory of how she used to drop by to hear him play at Buffalo's Bar and how, now and then, she'd take him for a drive in her classic Mustang. When he began to climb, he saw her less and less. Until finally, she vanished like a midnight dream at dawn.

Lowering his arms, he studied the woman she'd become. “You look so good. I miss the ponytail and the red boots, but the lady you've turned into isn't half bad.”

“You look terrible.”

He laughed. “I know. I could explain by saying I spent the night at the hospital. My dad had a heart attack. Which is all true, but Trouble, darling, I don't look much different on any other day.”

He knew he was playing at being Beau Yates, something he'd learned to do when in public. Say what the crowd expected to hear. Play the role of an outlaw. That was what the public wanted. As long as he played the rehearsed lines he didn't fall over words.

“I'm sorry about your father.” Her words sounded rehearsed as well. Maybe they were both playing a part.

The girl he remembered had matured into a beautiful woman. Educated, successful, and totally out of his league. When he couldn't think of anything else to say, he noticed her straightening, pulling away mentally. Maybe she knew he was playing her, or maybe she was simply molding into her own shell.

Beau tried again, but all signs of what they'd meant to each other were gone. “Doc says my father is stable now. I
wouldn't put it past him to be pretending to sleep so he doesn't have to talk to me.” Beau backed a few inches away. “Looks like you're doing well.”

She smiled. “I finished my MBA from UT last year.”

“And became vice president of a bank,” he added.

She grinned, and he saw the twinkle in her blue eyes that he'd always loved. “It helped that my daddy owns several branches. I'm just training here. But you, Beau, you're the shooting star.”

He shook his head. “I'm still doing the same thing I was when you met me. I'm playing my music.”

“Only now, millions listen.”

They stood, a foot apart yet unable to close the distance. Too much had happened in their worlds. They were no longer two wild kids driving through the night dreaming of the life that could be.

“How can I help you, Beau?” she asked in her most professional voice.

“I need to pay off my father's house.”

“Do you know how much he owes?”

“No. It doesn't matter.” He pulled out a card that had no limit. “If he has any other loans here, I'll pay them too.”

She understood. While he waited, staring at the nameplate on her desk, she took care of everything. A
SHLEY
L
.
P
OWERS,
V
ICE
P
RESIDENT.
The name didn't fit her.

When she walked back in, she handed his card back. “He owed thirty-two thousand on the house and had two signature loans out for eleven thousand total.” She hesitated until he looked up, then added, “Everything is in your father's name. It looks like your mother can't even write checks on the account. That might be a problem if he's in the hospital.”

Beau wasn't surprised. “Open her an account with ten thousand in it. She'll just need a debit card. I'll explain how it works. That should get her through until he gets out of the hospital. She's not my mother, but I wouldn't want her to do without.” He almost added that his stepmother had probably always done without.

“I'll take care of it.” She stepped to the door and passed his request along, then returned. While they waited, she sat on the desk in front of his chair, almost close enough to touch. “Are you staying awhile?”

“A few days.” He made up his mind as he watched her, wishing he could see her once more in moonlight. “I'll see if I can get a room at Winter's Inn. It might be nice to look up a few old friends.”

He wanted to ask her if she'd like to have dinner, or go for a drive, but the girl he'd dreamed about for so long, the woman who'd whispered through so many of his songs, wasn't here now. She'd vanished. Molded into someone else.

The guy in the suit stepped in her office and handed Beau his receipts. Beau didn't miss the forced politeness in his stance.

“Thanks,” Beau managed.

“Of course, sir.” The nervous man almost jumped out the door.

Beau smiled at Trouble, feeling sorry for her because she had to work with such a jerk. She lowered her gaze to the floor. Nothing left to do but leave, he realized.

They shook hands like strangers, neither knowing how to climb over the years that separated them. He wanted to hug his Trouble, but she'd disappeared.

He drove over to Martha Q's place and ate lunch with her and Mrs. Biggs. Martha Q was thrilled to go along with his plan to keep his visit a secret. She put him upstairs in her best room and charged him full price.

In the silence of his room, he wondered why he'd even stayed. He'd done what he came to do—see his father, take care of any money they needed—but still he couldn't leave. Not yet. Something wasn't finished here.

Maybe it never would be, but he had to stay a few days and find out.

F
RIDAY
MORNING

Drew waited all week before he decided to drive back to Harmony. The woman he'd called Sleeping Beauty had haunted his every thought. He couldn't figure out what it was about her that pulled him so strongly. She was pretty, but he'd gone out with pretty women before. She was intelligent, well, maybe. He hadn't really talked to her enough to know.

The night they'd gone to dinner together and ended up back at the bed-and-breakfast for a good-night kiss, he thought of tossing her on the bed and taking their evening to another level. Her broken leg, or rather the cast, reminded him that might be a bad idea. Yet the way she'd melted against him had kept his heart running double time for an hour.

Besides, he wasn't some romantic hero. He was simply a man trying to hold his life together. Women went for the adventurous types. They wanted excitement. If the talk around town was true, Millanie was a wounded hero. A
woman like that would find a man like him about as interesting as watching a snail.

So, he argued with himself, how could she feel so good in his arms?

It made no sense. Men and women were naturally attracted to the opposite sex, but not like this. He'd seen her twice and she'd become an addiction. He could stay in his cabin and read or take long walks, or try to write, but it didn't matter. He was addicted.

Logic told him he could shake this need. After all, it was just a kiss. It wasn't like they were lovers. Hell, if they ever were lovers it might be a big enough overdose to kill them both. Drew smiled to himself, thinking it would almost be worth the risk. He'd like to see if the sparks between them exploded when they made love. His logical mind didn't want to accept what his body kept telling him. He wanted her.

He had to be sensible. He didn't have a future to offer a woman, and he had a feeling Millanie wouldn't settle for less. He was at peace with his one-room cabin and simple life of teaching one class and working on a book he'd probably never finish. The class and occasional lectures were his idea of pushing the limits. This existence he'd built from the ashes of his life after the shooting was all he could handle. Too many people around bothered him. Noise bothered him.

His relationship with Kare, his little sister, was the only ordinary thing in his life. Somehow her being a half bubble off plumb made it okay for him to be not quite normal. She seemed wild and crazy, but she had a big heart and cared about people deeply. Slowly, she was pulling him into life again.

He liked to think she'd settle here and be part of his life forever. She'd probably marry one of the locals. He'd see her often. Drew could even see him playing the part of the best uncle in the world.

As he walked through the trees toward the café at Twisted Creek, he tried to remember what it had been like to want something or someone. Once, he'd wanted everything.
Teaching in a school few teachers would have picked was a challenge. He'd wanted to make a difference in the world. He wanted to grow every day. Drew poured his whole life into teaching during the day and working on his doctorate at night. At twenty-eight he'd almost graduated and his dreams were turning toward teaching future teachers. He could have picked any college in the country to move to, but he wanted to finish the year out and watch his high school seniors graduate. Three days before graduation a student smuggled a gun past security and opened fire in the first classroom he encountered. Drew's open room. Drew's class.

Branches began to slap against Drew's face and he realized he was running in the trees by his cabin.

He slowed, pushing the past away, forcing himself to come back to today, not five years ago. Not that day.

When he'd come here, it had been a rebirth. His friend Luke must have seen how close Drew was to breaking. For weeks he didn't see anyone except the locals at the lake. No phone, no TV, no Internet. He read and slept and healed. Dr. Andrew Cunningham turned twenty-nine working on old cars that weren't even his. Andrew, the professional, the educator was dead and Drew Cunningham slowly came to be.

Drew smiled when he cleared the trees and headed up a path to the café. The first night he'd seen this place he thought he'd finally made it to the end of the world. Now, it felt more like home. As he reached the half dozen cars he and Luke had overhauled the past few years, he picked the old van that looked like it belonged in the dump but drove like a race car. Least noticeable. Invisible.

Luke had told him a dozen times to pick any car he wanted and it was his, but Drew didn't want to own anything. Somehow the paperwork would tie him down, make him easier to find.

Only being invisible was another kind of death. Maybe it was time he stepped back into life. He'd stayed under the radar. He'd been careful. Stayed away from crowds. Never got his picture in the paper. Paid cash for everything. It may have been five years, but the last thing Drew wanted was a
reporter showing up now. If the people knew what had happened to him, they'd look at him differently.

He had to continue to be careful. Open himself up to the world one breath . . . one kiss . . . at a time.

A big shadow moved across the back porch of the café.

Drew slowed his steps but forced his body not to tense.

“You heading into town, Drew?” Morgan's low voice sounded sleepy.

“Yeah,” Drew answered, “I thought I'd drop by and check on the McAllen woman that I picked up at the airport last week. Who knows, she might be hungry again and I could talk her into another date.”

He saw Morgan's wide smile. “Or, just in case she needs you to ‘kiss her socks off' again.”

Drew laughed. He'd shared every detail of his evening out with his friend while they were fishing a few nights ago. “I know I rated it the worst date ever except for the kiss, but I figure I'll give her another chance to seduce me.”

Luke Morgan saluted him as if wishing him luck. “Ever figure she might be too much for you, Professor?”

“I'm pretty sure if I catch her when she's not exhausted or on painkillers that handling her will be more than my unused heart can take. Just bury me out here by the lake.”

“Will do,” Luke yelled as Drew climbed into the van and backed away.