Reclaimed (17 page)

But he needed to go home. Chuck wouldn’t have been so brazen with him just a mile down the road.

His mind worked over the situation. The calendar would flip to November on Wednesday. Rodney needed to make a hefty payment before then. The sale had to happen this weekend. Cal, Paul’s land manager and trusted employee, was working as well as the two hands Paul kept on full time at the river property. They could probably handle it, but Paul had never been absent when it came to roundup. Didn’t seem like a good idea. Things could go wrong pretty fast, and as owner, he needed to be on site if something went awry with either man or beast.

There simply wasn’t a choice.

“Can you stay with her, Dre?”

“I planned on it.” Andrea’s voice sounded strained. “But I’ve got to go into town to get the kids after school. My bet, Jude will show up ’round about the time I gotta get. I don’t like it. What’s more, I asked her to come stay at our house tonight, but she won’t.”

Paul groaned. He tugged at his collar, turned upward against the chilly northern wind, and rubbed his temples. The little Pickle. Timid and fierce. She wasn’t hard to figure. Scared to death, she was like a filly cornered in a pen. Fight or flight would always kick in.

Suzanna was one to fight.

Even through his righteous indignation and his frustration that Suzanna wasn’t going to do the easy, sensible thing and go stay with his sister, a warm smile of admiration bloomed in his heart. Maybe she didn’t know what she was up against when it came to Chuck Stanton. But Chuck sure didn’t know what he was taking on, either. Suzanna Wilton was most certainly not the inept, wisp of a woman they’d all taken her for.

He knew her better, and she trusted him. Maybe she’d listen.

“I’ll call her, Dre.” Paul put a heel against Bronco, and the horse started forward. “Just hang out with her right now, and I’ll talk to her. I’ll give you a call in a bit.”

She sounded relieved as she wrapped up her call. Paul set Bronco to a lope until he caught up with Justin, his hired hand.

“Everything okay, boss?” The twenty-something bachelor asked.

“No, not really.” Paul sighed as he scanned his cattle again. Why did people—Chuck in particular—have to make life difficult?

Sin. Always the perennial answer. Sin.

Why had Paul made his parents’ life miserable? Sin. Why had he been so awful to Dre growing up? Sin. Why had he been mean to Suzanna when they’d first met? Sin.

Chuck was just another man. Selfish and manipulative because he was sinful. But God’s grace didn’t limit itself to the white-gloved sinners.

Paul’s mind echoed the words of Psalm 103, a favorite of his and one he worked to commit to memory.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins, Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.

Praise God.

Paul branded the words across the forefront of his mind. He needed to keep them fresh as he dealt with the billowing issue of Chuck Stanton.

“Something wrong with the sale?” Justin pulled him back onto the range and into reality.

“No, we’re still on.” Paul shifted in the saddle. “My neighbor is in a bit of trouble, and I need to help her. Listen, I’ve got to make a few calls. Can you finish this push, and I’ll meet you boys back at the yard?”

“Sure, no problem.” Justin heeled his ride forward as though putting a seal on his commitment.

Paul’s frown relaxed. He had good help. And Dre was with Suzanna. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, but God had made provision, even for the things Paul could do nothing about.

He took up his cell again and found
Pickle
in his contacts. She answered on the fourth ring, and Paul didn’t waste time on chitchat.

“Suz...”

Paul’s voice beckoned emotion Suzanna thought she’d locked away.

“Tell me what happened.”

Having had to retreat to her room to find her ringing phone, she dropped to her unmade bed. She gripped the edge of the quilt she’d flung helter-skelter in her panic the night before. Tears suddenly overflowed from the deep.

She sniffed and then wished she hadn’t.

“Oh, Pickle.”

The gentle tone in Paul’s deep voice drew a sob, and Suzanna covered her face as though he were present. He waited, and in the silence she imagined him drawing her against his shoulder as he had after Chuck left her house the week before. The image washed warmth over her, and she felt guilty for clinging to the comfort.

But he was her friend. She shouldn’t have to keep herself closed off from everyone in the world, should she? Certainly, he didn’t carry any expectations as he offered her compassion.

Suzanna wasn’t sure it would change her reaction if he did. Her starving soul couldn’t help but cling to his generous kindness.

“I woke up to something crashing through my front window last night.” Suzanna worked to control her wobbly voice.

“What time?” Paul’s soft tone continued to caress her bruise soul.

“Around two.”

“Were you hurt?”

Suzanna recalled the ache inside. It would have almost been a relief to have been injured; then she’d have something physical on which to blame the throbbing pain in her heart.

“No. I wasn’t hurt.”

“Suzanna... ” Paul drew a breath, and the tenor of his voice took on authority. “I need you to listen to me, because I can’t be there. I want to, but I just can’t. I’m going to call Jude Gilroy so he understands the breadth of the situation before he comes to talk to you. Chances are Dre will have to go before he shows up, so I want you to call me when he pulls in your drive and after he leaves. I want to know what he says and what he plans to do about it.”

Suzanna’s tears dried quickly, and her back set straight. Her whole life, she’d longed for someone to protect her, to take care of her. She’d done most of the guarding and tending in her world.

But now, having Paul take over, she felt threatened.

If she let him be her shelter, she’d get caught defenseless. One time had been one time too many. She’d fortify her own refuge, thank you very much.

“I’ll handle it, Paul.”

He didn’t heed the implication to back off. “I know you can, Suz, but you’re not alone.”

Her determination cracked. How did he know…?

“You don’t have to walk the tough roads by yourself, Suzanna,” Paul continued. “I don’t know what life has dealt you, but it’s time you let someone walk that path alongside you. Dre wants you to go and stay with her. I think it’s a good idea. We’re your friends, and you need to quit fighting us.”

Suzanna swallowed, struggling against the urge to let her emotions spill out again.

Not alone… walk alongside you… friends.

Petitions she’d sent out to a deaf heaven. Could she trust the offer now?

“Suzanna?”

Her eyes slid shut.

“Please let us help you.”

All the fight drained away. “Okay, Paul.”

He exhaled, and she could almost feel the warmth of his breath as she again imagined his arms pulling her close. Was it wrong to tuck the image safely in her heart?

He made her promise, and then the conversation ended. Fingering the fabric star shaped by her grandmother’s hands, she rolled to her side and curled into a ball. The floodgates released, and her silent cries matched those of two years ago. Days when she watched Jason wither into nothing as his body rejected the bone marrow.

“Promise me.” He had rasped against the agonizing pain of death, refusing the morphine so he could talk to her with a clear mind. “I need you to promise me, Suzie. I don’t want you to stay angry with God. His grace will sustain you, even in this. Promise me that you’ll choose to live.”

She pushed her face into the sterile bed linens at his side, afraid to touch him and increase his pain. “I will.” She choked against sobs.

They were words spoken to ease her heartbroken husband as he struggled with the finality of his life. Words she couldn’t mean. How could she not be angry? What kind of god put so many trials in one man’s life and then brought it to a short and bitter end?

Jason wasn’t bitter though. He of all the people she’d ever met had the most understandable reasons to be bitter, but he wasn’t. Though he’d endured more than his fair share of trials, he lived with joy. And though in physical anguish, he’d died with peace.

It wasn’t fair, and Suzanna was not going to let God forget it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Kelsey, it’s your night for dishes, sweetie.” Andrea nodded to her oldest daughter as she pushed away from the table.

Suzanna watched as the girl, bordering on adolescence, dipped her head without a hint of complaint.

“Yes, Mama.” She took up her plate, adding her silverware, and rose from the table. “May I take yours, Miss Wilton?”

Suzanna couldn’t help but smile. She’d assumed such well-mannered children were all but extinct. “You may, but how about if I help you? I can rinse, and you can load. Would that be okay?”

Kelsey looked at her mother, who nodded, and then smiled in her sweet, shy way. Suzanna’s heart puddled. The lovely twelve-year-old drew her in without pretense.

Kelsey cleared the rest of the dishes while the other children scooted off to put their clean laundry away. Suzanna helped Andrea put the leftovers in the refrigerator and then moved to the sink to work beside Kelsey.

“Mama!” Keegan called from the top of the stairs. “My drawer won’t close!”

Andrea shrugged and grinned, moving to the stairs. “Spatially inept.”

Her eye roll tickled a grin from Suzanna. Was this how families were supposed to interact? She set to work at the sink, trying to push away memories of heated outbursts followed by days of cold silence.

“Will you stay with us the rest of the week, Miss Wilton?” Kelsey asked.

“I don’t know, Miss Kelsey.” She handed a dripping plate to her shorter counterpart. “Your uncle seems to think it would be best, at least until my window can be fixed, but we’ll see.”

“I hope so. Mama doesn’t like to be home alone—I mean without Daddy. I could tell she was excited to have you come. Kind of like when I get to have a sleepover with my friend Lizzy. We get to stay up late and watch movies and paint our nails. It will make the time special for Mama.”

Suzanna studied Kelsey while she mulled over her words. She was more than a girl with her polished manners and insights of wisdom. Her mother was raising her to be a young lady, and she was well on her way.

Suzanna had always been told to behave as a proper young lady, but she hadn’t really been raised to be one. Not on the inside, at least. On the outside, however, she was always to act refined. Prim and flawless.

We must present ourselves well at all times, Suzanna. Your father’s congregation will look to us for the example, and we must set the standard.

She and her sister had scrubbed their nails and pressed their clothing. Their shoes were never scuffed and their hair was never disheveled. They sat stiffly on their pew, front row, right side, and never ran in the church.

No wonder the church members were shocked when the ugly truth came out.

Suzanna reset her thoughts. Movies and painted nails. She’d never had a girls’ sleepover. People were not welcomed in their home for any extended length of time. They’d discover how imperfect the Wilton family really was if they’d hung around.

Suzanna shoved the memories back again “Tell you what, Kelsey. If you paint my nails when we’re done here, I’ll pack another set of clothes tomorrow.”

Kelsey grinned. “I’ll check with Mama.”

“Check what?” Andrea dropped from the last of the steps and turned into the kitchen.

“Can I paint Miss Wilton’s nails tonight before bed?”

Andrea’s smile settled on Suzanna. “You bet.”

Kelsey moved her eyes to Suzanna as well, a cheerful glee lighting her smile.

Suzanna gave in to the blissful tide. “One more thing.” She passed another plate. “I would like it so much better if you just called me Suzanna.”

“How’s Suzanna?” Paul pushed down a taste of guilt. He was spying on Suzanna via his sister, but he couldn’t let her struggle through this alone. Even if that was exactly what she wanted.

What made her afraid to let others in? Certainly, it must be fear. She was miserable in her loneliness. She wouldn’t choose isolation unless she had a reason.

“She’s with Kelsey right now. They’re painting their nails.”

“Really?”

Kelsey? His introverted, bookworm niece? That made for an interesting pair.

“Yeah.” Andrea’s smile carried in her voice. “I’ve heard Kelsey use more words tonight than I’ve heard out of her around anyone—including you,
Uncle
Paul.”

“Wow, what are they talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Andrea huffed. “Did you expect me to eavesdrop?”

He chuckled. “No. Just curious. That’s a twist, isn’t it?”

Andrea echoed his laugh. “It is. I don’t have the heart to tell Kels it’s past bedtime.”

“I’ll call Suz when we’re done, and you can tell her then.” Paul sipped his coffee, wishing it tasted more like Suzanna’s. A knot formed in his chest and began to expand. He inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the feeling even while he worked to identify it.

Homesick.

Homesick? For nearly two decades, the river property had been as much of a home to Paul as the farmhouse had been. He’d kept the cracker-box house that had belonged to his great-granddaddy in good repair, and though nothing worth showing off, it served him right well.

Andrea’s voice, louder than it had been before, interrupted his thoughts. “Hello Paul?”

“What?”

“I said, that’ll work, I suppose.”

“Oh, okay.” What will work? Paul’s mind scrambled to remember whom he was talking to, let alone what he was talking about.

Andrea. You are talking to your sister about calling Suzanna. Crazy guy.

The pressure expanded against his chest.
Homesick.

For the Pickle?

Oh boy. He was in trouble.

“Which one is your favorite?”

Suzanna leaned over to take in the loaded bookshelf. Painted a soft pink, it held a variety of titles; some Suzanna recognized, many she didn’t.

Kelsey fingered a horse series whose spines all possessed the telltale crease from multiple reads. “I’ve read all of these at least three times.”

A grin spread across Suzanna’s mouth as she took in Kelsey’s sweet face. Not a trace of world-weary heaviness etched her young skin. Her green eyes sparkled. She was a reserved girl—nothing at all like Kiera, who possessed her mother’s and uncle’s vibrant personalities—but her soft kindness beckoned Suzanna to draw near.

Suzanna sat on the floor with her legs crisscrossed and leaned her back against Kelsey’s green-and-pink quilted bedspread. “Three times each, huh? You must love horses like your uncle.”

“No, that’s Kiera. She and Uncle Paul go riding almost every week.” Kelsey shrugged. “I like them, but I’d rather look at them than ride.”

There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in Kelsey’s voice or expression. Sisters, not set against each other. What a wonderful concept.

“So, what’s your favorite thing in the world to do besides reading?”

“I draw.”

“Draw?”

“Yeah.” Kelsey’s head dipped, but her smile lifted her cheeks. “Mostly pencil sketches, but sometimes I use chalk. My grandpa helps me. Well, he used to, anyway. The stroke took away the use of his right hand, but he still coaches me when I ask.”

“I didn’t know your grandfather was an artist.”

Her head came back up, and her eyes lit with pride. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

She came to her feet and stuck a hand out to Suzanna. Suzanna took it while she pulled herself up and held on as they left Kelsey’s room and stepped down the hall. They passed two doors, Kiera’s room and a bathroom the three kids shared, and stopped short of another doorway at the end of the hall.

“This one is my favorite.” Kelsey pointed to a framed picture—one Suzanna would have sworn was a costly print from a gallery.

The tall prairie grass almost swayed with the subtle movement of color and texture. A wide ribbon of water cut through the lower third of the canvas, the gray-blue ripples interrupted by the reflection of a twilight sky. The soft oranges and pinks echoed in the sky, the colors more intense as they gathered at the horizon. Staring at the scene, Suzanna felt herself there. Drawn into the oil pastel as if she’d stepped into a new reality.

She fingered the frame below the glass. “Where is this?”

“The river property where Uncle Paul works when he’s not here.” Kelsey’s hand squeezed against Suzanna’s. “It’s so beautiful there. I hope you can go with us.”

Longing climbed in Suzanna’s chest. For the beauty captured in pastels. For the serenity that swathed Kelsey’s world. And for the sense of belonging that teased her spirit. The Kents had fully embraced her, wanted her among them, with them. And she wanted to accept their welcome, to slide in as part of their family.

But things that are too good to be true...

And Paul? The man possessed something over her. A charm that promised to soothe the ache she kept buried beneath anger and resentment. A promise that certainly would prove empty.

Suzanna cleared her throat and gently pulled her hand from her young friend. She forced her gaze away from Paul’s paradise.

“Show me your work, Kels.”

Kelsey studied her, her young eyes hinting more understanding than a girl her age should possess. “I’m not as good as Grandpa.”

“You haven’t had as many years to practice.” Suzanna smiled, relieved to move beyond the moment that had stirred the ache inside. “I would love to see, if you wouldn’t mind showing me.”

Kelsey’s easy smile returned, and she nodded. They made their way back to her room, and she pulled an artist’s sketchbook from her bookshelf.

“These are what I do on my own.” She tugged another pad from the ledge. “And these are what I work on with Grandpa.”

Suzanna perused both. Talent sprawled over page after page. A few horses appeared in graphite, well proportioned and realistic. Mostly, though, Kelsey’s drawings took to organic scenes. Her mother’s garden. The trees that lined the creek. A small pond that rested down the gentle slope from the Kents’ farmhouse. And the river. Certainly a favorite subject as it made its way onto many pages.

The pieces Kelsey had worked on with her grandfather showed a more refined touch. The quality of the work spoke of the time she’d spent with a master artist.

“How long have you worked with your grandfather?”

“Forever.” Kelsey’s face wreathed with delight. “I’ve been drawing before I could write. Grandpa would sit and color with me. Our art sessions just grew from that.”