Texas Redeemed (6 page)

Peyton’s grip tightened on the picture frame. He must’ve
just left Night Sky when the fallout with her uncle had happened. “Why didn’t
you—”

“Try to find you? Seriously, Peyton?” Valerie pounded her
fist on the countertop. “I
did
try.
But your grandfather said you made sure you couldn’t be found. I quit looking
after Anna died. Not sure if your grandfather kept at it, but I … I was done
with you.”

The truth was her weapon, and she wielded it masterfully.
He’d left her behind with everything else that had belonged in his past. And he
had walked away from more than their friendship.

Only, he
hadn’t
made sure he couldn’t be found. Not in the beginning. It was apparent that his
grandfather hadn’t shared with Valerie the letters he’d written home, or the
details of the phone conversation that had ended with Nathaniel growling that
he was the only one left in Night Sky who gave two shits about Peyton, and if
he wasn’t calling to say he was on the next plane home, then he wasn’t welcome
to call at all.

“Valerie, I’m so—”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry. I won’t believe you.”

But he was sorry. She’d been barely eighteen and pregnant
and alone … and he hadn’t protected her.

“Believe this. I should have the chance to be in Lucy’s
life.”

“So in a matter of hours you’re suddenly ready to be a
father? You don’t want the baggage, Peyton. I know in my gut you don’t.”

God, she was right. He wasn’t ready. How the hell could
he be? If he’d had a choice he would never be anyone’s father. The thing of it
was, he and Valerie had thrown their choices to the wind when they came
together without a plan, without protection, and with nothing but uncorked
lust.

“I’ve had too much taken away from me already, Valerie. I
can’t let you take what’s mine.”

“She’s mine, too.”

“Then we need to come to terms. No more hiding her, no
more lies.”

Something that resembled fear briefly flashed in her
eyes. After a moment she said, “She loves Nathaniel. Jasper, too. I don’t want
her to lose the family she knows. Don’t make this into a war, okay? Don’t fight
me. And please, Peyton, don’t force your way into her life if you’re just
passing through.”

Valerie apparently didn’t trust his motives. But after
she’d sent Lucy away tonight without telling him, he wasn’t certain
he
could trust
her.

“Are we done here?” She was already heading for the door.

On the porch he said, “One more thing,” and clasped her
hand. Her fingers were bare, her palm not soft but roughened from years of
working a ranch. Her skin was warm, ridiculously welcoming when she’d put good
effort into being anything but. And because he wanted to hang on to her warmth,
was greedy for it, he curved his other arm around her. His fingers brushed her
hip before settling at her taut waist. The action brought his face near hers,
close enough for him to breathe in her scent. “I—I need to know if there’s some
other man raising my daughter.”

“There’s not,” she said meaningfully.

“Then it’s just us, Valerie, who’ve got to work this out.
Only you and me.”

Silence answered him until she said, barely loud enough
for him to hear, “Let me go.”

He released her. Her eyes had darkened and she flinched
when thunder rumbled in the distance.

In his mind’s eye he could see exactly what she was
recalling right now: wet clothing yanked away, sweat-slicked bodies locked
together, fog rising on the windows of her ancient Grand Prix. He squinted
through the rain at the crossover and truck he’d noticed in the driveway when
he’d arrived. “Bought a new car?”

If she was startled she didn’t show it. But her next
words gave her away. “Don’t think about that night, Peyton.”

“I won’t,” he said, turning to leave. “You’re thinking
about it enough for the both of us.”

H
E’D SAID HE
wouldn’t think about that night.
He
hadn’t
said he wouldn’t dream
about it. It was primitive, basic, unstoppable … how shards of memory slipped
into his subconscious, bringing his senses alive as he peeled away Valerie’s
hoodie and bra as the edgy sound of Poison pounded throughout the car’s
interior.

Peyton jolted awake, finding himself in a room so unlike
the apartment he’d rented in Baltimore. He barely gave his eyes time to adjust
to the predawn darkness before he kicked away the sheet twisted around his legs
and shot out of bed. Being in this room was getting to him, he figured,
dragging a shaky hand through his mussed hair and across the stubble on his
jaw. He flipped on the lamp and took in what he hadn’t wanted to see the day
before.

Nearly everything was how he’d left it thirteen years
ago—despite the certainty that the room had been tossed during a search for
clues as to his whereabouts when it’d first dawned that he’d left. The deep
blue wall coverings and stucco ceiling remained unchanged; so did all the
furniture. The old-fashioned phonograph and classical records he’d inherited
from Estella occupied a table in one corner—it would’ve been impossible to
travel with them. A life-size plastic skeleton stood guard near the door,
wearing the Stetson Valerie had given Peyton one summer at a folk festival in
the Square during Old Towne Days. The desk and hutch were cluttered with textbooks
and notepads and junk from his college days.

He bent to pick up the duvet he must’ve knocked aside
during the night. He flung it across the bed, ditching sleep altogether. On his
way to the bathroom he let his eyes sweep over the photograph of his father
that was arranged among other assorted pictures on his bureau. He wished he
could miss his father, wished even more that he’d known the man who, in his
thirties, had been fatally hit by a car after a fashion event in Milan.

Anthony Turner lived in Peyton’s imagination as a
character—a man with brains, old-Hollywood good looks, talent and charm who had
worked damn hard but played harder. He was the man people had expected his boy
to be, but it hadn’t taken Peyton long to realize he’d be a piss-poor copy of
the original and there was no point in cramming himself into a lifestyle he
didn’t want or fit into.

“What would you say about me now, Pa?” Peyton muttered,
pausing to straighten his father’s photograph. He took in the row of baseball
trophies, the autographed picture of the baseball autographed by the Texas Rangers, academic merit
medals that hung from the corners of frames showing candid shots of family and
friends. He selected the photo taken of him and Valerie together in the Jordan
barn when he’d been sixteen. He’d posed wearing a crooked cowboy hat and was
hugging Valerie, who had a red-and-white-checked tablecloth tied around her
neck like a cape.

It was almost impossible to believe they’d really been
that silly … no,
happy …
once.

He carefully laid the photo facedown and went into the
bathroom. Twenty minutes later he emerged from the hot shower still feeling
groggy and tired to the bone, but knew as he snatched a white tee shirt and a
pair of dark pajama pants from his suitcase that he didn’t stand a chance of
getting any real sleep. Not in this room, with bits of what he’d walked away
from surrounding him like a torch-brandishing mob.

Peyton wound up in his grandfather’s study, hunched over
the chessboard with himself as his opponent. He studied the pieces, testing
himself as he moved them across the board until he’d backed himself into a
corner and gave up on the effort, leaving the match unfinished. By then the sun
had begun to rise and he heard heavy footsteps down the hall.

Jasper, he knew without hesitation. The butler had always
seemed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

“Mister Peyton,” the older man greeted, pausing in the
open doorway, “you’re awake early. And you look like you haven’t slept at all.”

“Guess I’m not used to that room yet.” It still puzzled
him how even at the first hint of daybreak the butler was fully dressed and
polished. “Got a lot to think about—which I’m sure you already know. C’mon,
Jasper, the butler sees all, hears all, knows all.”

Jasper started to continue down the hall, then changed
direction and ventured into the study. “May I speak freely?”

“Always.”

“Things could be better for Valerie and Lucy, but they
could be worse, too. If you put yourself into their lives, do you know which
way that will tip the scales for them?”

Peyton picked up a rook, pretending to mull over where to
place the piece on the chessboard. “Thought you were going to speak freely,
Jasper.”

“I am.”

“No.” Peyton looked at him full-on. “You’re tiptoeing
around what you want to say. Think I should step back?”

“Consider Lucy, that’s all.”

“Absolutely. She needs a father.”

Jasper went over to part the draperies as he said, “When
you were being brought up people used to say you needed a mother.”

Peyton dropped the rook onto the board, shooting to his feet
as it rolled to the edge. “Interesting you made that comment to me with your
back turned.” There was more hurt than anger behind the words, and none of it
really directed at Jasper. Onlookers who’d tsk-tsked over his rebellion had
been quick to throw out commentary. Some had suggested his grandfather handle
things the “old Texas way” with a belt to Peyton’s ass. Others had urged him to
consider overseas boarding schools. And there had been several who’d sworn up
and down that Nathaniel gallivanted too much and Estella was too soft-hearted
to manage him. An out-of-control boy with no mother around would only grow up
to be ruthless with no respect for women.

Thankfully, Nathaniel hadn’t unleashed his mother as a
tactic to force Peyton to conform to the life his father had been suited for,
but hadn’t finished. He’d been glad, because it meant that beyond the thick
coat of disappointment, Nathaniel would try to protect him.

Though his idea of protection included controlling
Peyton’s life, from his career path to the girls he dated, Nathaniel had worked
hard to keep Marin Beck at arm’s length, but money and her bargaining chip of a
son had been reason for her to return to Night Sky over and over again, hurting
Peyton worse each time he dared to trust, forgive and love her just because she
was his mother.

Jasper faced him, closed-mouthed and nowhere near an
apology. Though he wasn’t going to say it, Peyton admired the man for it. He
considered him an equal, not a “servant” like he’d heard some of his grandfather’s
people refer to him. But his words still stung.

“What’s the phrase? ‘Apples and oranges’? Jasper, my
mother was a lying, drunken gold-digger. The first two I might be able to
understand—if I tried really, really hard. The third? Hell, no.” He held out
his hands, palms up. “Then there’s me. I was fucked up all those years ago, all
right? I took a few wrong turns. I had to leave, because if I hadn’t, things
would’ve been worse. But, c’mon, I’d never hurt my kid.”

“What kind of father would you be? You didn’t come here
to stay. If you get close and then leave again, that will hurt her.”

Peyton exhaled hard. He’d heard this speech too many
times in under twenty-four hours. First from his grandfather, then Valerie,
then in his own mind.

“Mister Peyton, I know about your work, Doctors Without
Borders.” There was a plea and a warning in Jasper’s eyes. “Consider Lucy, yes,
but also consider your work and the consequences of forcing yourself to stay in
this town when you want to go. You’ll resent her. You’ll deny blaming her for
killing your independence until, inevitably, the truth crushes you and Lucy—and
Valerie, too.”

“I haven’t signed up for another tour.” But he’d been
planning to even as he drove here from Baltimore. He hadn’t known about Lucy
and Anna then. He’d known only that his grandfather needed him here and that while
in Night Sky he wanted to sharpen his skills and practice medicine at Memorial.
The visiting surgeon position had no long-term commitments attached.
Commitment, the no-way-out kind, came with the whole fatherhood territory,
didn’t it?

Already he was starting to feel the intangible pull in
different directions.

The sound of a cane hitting hardwood alerted them that
Nathaniel was moving about somewhere down the hall. The fact that his
grandfather, who’d for over half a century stood tall and commanding, now used
a cane would take some getting used to. The thought brought a question to mind.
“Jasper, what’s with the fortress gate around this place?”

“Mister Turner found it was the best way to keep unwanted
visitors off the estate.”

Peyton stilled. “Meaning my mother.” At the butler’s
bleak nod, he changed the subject to lighten the atmosphere. “What’s Grandpa
got on the schedule for today?”

“A video conference call with the CFO, then a magazine
interview in San Antonio on the new after-hours line.” Jasper paused as he
headed out of the study. “Mister Turner would encourage you to join him and
Rose.”

“Can’t do that. I have a meeting at Memorial.” Peyton
studied the framed photograph of his father on his grandfather’s desk. Slender
with dark hair, gray eyes and a thin mustache, Anthony Turner had been a
high-roller—one who loved to have women in his bed but never in his heart. The
kind of man to find himself at the right hotel bar at the right time to be easy
pickings for a New York waitress who’d ended up the mother of his only child.

Peyton didn’t belong in his father’s and grandfather’s
worlds any more than he belonged in the countries he’d toured on his mission
assignments. And that left him with the question that had gone unanswered for
thirty-four years: Where
did
he
belong?

“D
ON’T
DO IT
.”

Lucy jumped so quickly she thought she’d turn around and
see her skin left behind next to the row of lockers where she’d been hiding on
all fours, waiting for the sixth-period bell to ring. She jerked her head up to
find her best friend, Sarah Carew, hovering nearby.

“Get down here,” Lucy hissed, her heart still tap dancing
in her chest from being spooked. Any second she could get caught and ratted out
by some kiss-ass student, and she’d have to sit through pre-algebra or be
rushed to the principal’s office to be lectured on the evils of disobedience by
authority figures who foolishly thought they could break her like a horse.

Sarah squeezed into the tight space, also on her hands
and knees with her backpack tucked close. Her black shatter nail polish
contrasted with Lucy’s pale pink. “Are you insane? You’re gonna be
so
screwed if you get caught playing
hooky. Kiss the Halloween party at the orchard goodbye, for one thing.”

“No one says ‘playing hooky’ anymore, Sarah.”

“Then I’m bringing it back.”

“And I don’t care about the party.”

“Do you care about more detention or suspension or your
mom going berserk when she finds out what you’re doing?”

Yes, yes, and yes.
But what I care about more is telling my so-called dad to get lost.
“Chill.”

“I can’t chill,” Sarah protested with a headshake that
sent her auburn hair whipping this way and that. “You’re skipping class and
haven’t even asked what went down at the diner.”      

“So dish.”
Lucy peered around the corner to see a teacher pass a stack of fliers to a
student and then enter a classroom. Maybe this was a crappier hiding spot than
she’d thought. After all, Sarah had been able to find her with no problem.

“Owen asked me for your cell number. Maybe he wants to
text you.”

Lucy nearly swallowed her gum. “Are you serious?” It took
less than a second to picture Owen McNamara in all his blue-eyed, tawny-haired
gorgeousness. She’d first
really
noticed
him last year when he’d accidentally knocked over her lunch tray in the
cafeteria. But this year he was in high school, so outside of tagging along
with her mom to the McNamaras’ feed store, she hardly saw him.

“Uh …” Sarah shifted her big brown eyes away “… he ended
up going to that New Age place with Minnie Hawthorne.”

“Oh.” Of course he did. Minnie was in eighth grade, had
six piercings, filled a C-cup bra and
did
stuff.
“No biggie.”

“Here’s some good news,” Sarah went on. “My parents
didn’t say no about the llama.”

The Carews’ farm was more like a petting zoo, but their
menagerie of cool animals was missing a goat. It only made perfect sense for
Lucy to trade her family’s goat, which didn’t get along well with Battle
Creek’s head foreman’s pig, for Sarah’s llama.

“But did they say yes?”

“Not yet. Did you ask your mom?”

“No, but I will.” Once she convinced Peyton Turner to
leave town. Then stuff would be the way it’d been before, and she could focus
on getting that adorable llama on the ranch and getting on with her life.