Hidden in a Heartbeat (A Place Called Home, Book 3) Read online

  She started to stumble. Luke thrust out his hip and arm to brace her. She grabbed onto him with both hands and held on as three quick almost dance-like movements brought them safely to rest with her back against the frame of the door, one hand clutching his left arm and the other his right shoulder, while his hands held her securely at the waist.

  “Guess there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there, Rebecca?”

  “What?” His words barely registered. The rhythm of her heartbeat should have been shaking the ground.

  “You’ve got sore legs. After – ” One side of his mouth lifted in a slight grin, drawing her focus. “ – riding.”

  She lost all interest in explaining about pickup seats being high or her legs not being sore. Besides, right at the moment, she did feel noodle-legged.

  He was going to kiss her.

  They were going to kiss each other.

  He lowered his head, his mouth inches away.

  “Scared?”

  “No.” She said it too quickly. Not even she believed it.

  She couldn’t stand to see his recognition of her lie, so she looked away. And caught a motion from the corner of her eye.

  Something moved beyond his right shoulder.

  There it was again – a twitch of the light-colored drapes in Helen’s otherwise dark dining room.

  Luke twisted around to follow her gaze over his shoulder. He held that pose an instant before turning to her.

  “Worried what Helen Solsong will think of you.”

  It held no rise of a question as scared had. He wasn’t asking; he was stating. But it carried a miasma of other elements. Fatalism, amusement, disappointment, regret, they blended together like the dust behind the herd this afternoon – each bit kicked up by an individual animal, but the whole blended so tightly no one cause could be separated from another.

  “I’m a stranger here,” she said, stepping back. “And the good opinion of people is vital to my ability to do my job.”

  “Your job?” It stopped just short of mockery. His hands dropped from her waist. “Get in the habit of makin’ choices to be accepted, and when it comes time to do something that won’t get you accepted, you won’t have the muscles to pull it off.”

  “So your answer is to go off on your solitary way? ”

  “Yup.”

  “What if you need people’s help?”

  He shrugged. “Swap help for help, service for service. Straight up. No good opinion involved.”

  “What if people have nothing to swap? If they need you?”

  “They shouldn’t. Nobody should rely on me.” Before she could do more than note the sharpness in that, he was going on. “What you need, Ms. Dahlgren, is to start telling people to take a flying leap.”

  “You enjoy thumbing your nose at the world, Luke, but I’m in no position to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m – Because I ...” She stood straight, her chin level, her mouth firm. “I have a responsibility to reflect well on the family name.”

  “Family name.”

  There was enough venom in that for her to stare at him. Other than tension in his shoulders, she saw no change.

  “It’s a very old and respected name. The family name is important to my grandmother, whose mother was also a Dahlgren. My mother ... my mother made mistakes, and that was very hard on Grandmother. Respecting the family name is the least I can do to repay her.”

  “Sounds like you should tell Grandma to take a flying leap, too.”

  “I would never do that. My grandmother is all I have.”

  *****

  Still aching from wanting and not having, Luke braked to a stop with the truck’s headlights glaring at the figure of Marti Susland sitting on his front steps.

  “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on Emily?”

  Her only reaction to his irritable greeting was to hold up the powerful baby monitor she used. “I’m keeping an ear on her. But I want to talk to you. If you’d been available more, I’d have talked out this computer thing with you before giving Rebecca the okay. If you’ve got real reservations – serious, logical reservations – then this is the time to spit them out.”

  “What I’ve got reservations about is – ” Luke swallowed the words, burying them down where so many of his words were kept. “What are you up to, Marti?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. A computer program should be – ”

  “Hell, yes, but this isn’t about a computer.” She didn’t say anything, and that was a kind of answer. “Dammit, Marti, I know you. You think I don’t know you had a hand in getting Grif back here after all those years? You think I haven’t figured that you pulled a few strings in getting Daniel settled here?”

  “And look how those have turned out – They’ve answered two parts of the curse. You turn away from your children, so your blood will be alone. You turn away from my people, so your blood will have no home,” she quoted. “There’s only one part left. You turn away from me, so your blood will be lost. Only when someone loves enough to undo your wrongs will the laughter of children live beyond its echo in Far Hills.”

  He’d been afraid of this. “Marti, it’s a story you told us as kids. That’s all. It doesn’t – ”

  She was shaking her head. “Daniel came for his child, changed his life for his child and Kendra. Grif refused to turn his back on Ellyn, the kids, or the people of Far Hills, staying here to turn the closing of Fort Piney into something good. There’s one part left. Only when someone loves enough to undo your wrongs will the laughter of children live beyond its echo in Far Hills.”

  Her eyes dropped to the baby monitor.

  “One part left,” she repeated. She raised her head. “Then the curse will be gone.”

  “Putting aside it’s all nonsense, what could you think would solve that last part?”

  “A Susland who loves enough to not turn away from love.”

  “You?” He jerked his hat off in frustration. “Because you’re the only Susland over the age of five, Marti.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, massaging at the ache at the back of his skull. Women! If they weren’t making one part of you ache, they found another to torment. “But I keep getting this squeeze in my gut that says it’s not your own life you’re trying to meddle in.”

  “Don’t count me out, Luke Chandler. Having gray hair isn’t the end of life – or love – you know. Besides I already told you, there are going to be changes in my life with going to China to adopt another baby. That’s bringing more love here, not turning away from it. That could answer the curse.”

  He’d like to think she thought so. But as they said good-night, he had his doubts.

  * * * *

  Rebecca unlocked her apartment after another evening at the Sheridan library. The session’s one moment of excitement and hope had left her even more drained than all the moments of futility.

  Listed among old birth announcements from Billings over the border in Montana, she’d found a child named Rebecca. The announcement referred to the birth as “last month,” which made it the same as Rebecca’s birth. The parents were listed as Mr. and Mrs. Pryor, though, so it had to be a false lead. Still, she’d checked the name in current phone books.

  When the last one turned up as empty as all the others, she’d forced herself to return to the newspapers until the library closed. All she wanted now was to go to sleep. And to not dream.

  Because she’d dream about him again, and it would be another night without rest.

  “I should have kissed him and got it over with.”

  Automatically, she started to put a hand over her mouth. But no one could hear her. Alone. In private. Not responsible for what anyone else might think if they heard her, because nobody could hear her.

  The light on the answering machine blinked insistently.

  Her heart took a strange skip, and she pressed the button fast, before she had to examine that too carefully.

  Rebecca. The voice on h
er answering machine began, not identifying herself because there was no need. Your correspondence has become unsatisfactory in detail and frequency. I shall expect a phone call, although that will not eliminate your obligation to write complete and intelligible letters.

  She’d found letters increasingly difficult. There were too many things she couldn’t write. Certainly not why she’d sought out the contract at Far Hills Ranch. Also not about the easy friendship offered by members of the Susland family. Not even about the feel of the wind, the smell of the cattle, the sight of the birds wheeling over them. Not about Luke Chandler.

  She could just imagine Antonia Folsom Dahlgren’s response to the foreman of Far Hills Ranch. She’d probably make Helen and Barb seem like leaders of his fan club.

  No, no, Grandmother wasn’t like them. She had strong opinions, but she was fair. And she surely was too smart to entertain any notion as misguided as Helen’s small-minded suspicions about Luke and Marti.

  It was laughable. Luke’s kindness, protectiveness, loyalty and affection for the Suslands were clear to anyone who looked with honest eyes. And impossible not to admire. But as for anything romantic between him and Marti... She almost wished Helen were right. It certainly would make dealing with Luke easier. Less ... all right, admit it. Less tempting.

  If he were involved with Marti – or any woman – surely she wouldn’t have thoughts about kissing him. Or dreams about a lot more.

  Yes, tempted was what she was.

  Maddening, stubborn, difficult, generous ... eyes that gleamed, a slow, deliberate smile that made her ribs suddenly too small for her heart’s pulse, and a big, roughened hand that held her secure and safe while the world turned sideways.

  Saying wild things out loud in private was one thing, but she hadn’t lost all sense. Temptation was meant to be withstood – that’s what made it temptation.

  More important, Luke and everything he did formed an obstacle to her goal. An obstacle to be overcome. Just like temptation.

  * * * *

  She had the job. Not that it was doing her much good.

  Marti had taken Emily and gone with Robert Delligatti for a three-day program in Denver for prospective parents of Chinese orphans. With getting ready and the drive down and back, she was unavailable for a week.

  Walt, Ted and the other hands gave Rebecca as much information as they could – in the few moments they had available between loading their mouths with donuts and heading out to work – but their knowledge was limited to the current running of the ranch. Which was helpful, without aiding her real quest.

  Any time she asked about people who might have worked at Far Hills around the time of the letter, she invariably received, “Don’t know nothin’ bout that. You’d best ask Luke.”

  And Luke Chandler was as elusive as the mythical unicorn.

  The hands reported he’d taken to giving them their next day’s instructions the evening before. As far as she could tell, he was never at home, never answered his phone, never showed up in town. After two and a half days it was time for a new approach.

  The opportunity to put that new approach into action presented itself even sooner than she’d hoped. She was backing her car out of Helen’s driveway, when she spotted Kendra Delligatti across the street, going into the church where the baby-sitting and after-school care co-op was housed.

  Rebecca parked and followed the noise into a large basement room with padded flooring, five play areas, a piano, and nearly a dozen pre-schoolers. The noise level held her rooted to the spot inside the door. The noise and the joy.

  The kids played – drawing with color pens, building orange and green castles with blocks, creating sculpture out of clay – with an intensity, an abandon that robbed Rebecca of breath. And not a single adult was telling them to be quiet or not to make a mess.

  Kendra was putting her purse away in a cabinet. A man Rebecca recognized from the gas station was sitting on the floor assisting the castle-building of two little girls. A young blonde woman was overseeing the sculpture by picking up globs of clay that occasionally went astray. Two other women scanned the room while they kept a conversation going.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Kendra said from beside her.

  “Amazing,” Rebecca repeated, certain Kendra had no idea how amazing to an only child raised by Antonia Folsom Dahlgren.

  “Please tell me you didn’t come to volunteer, because you’re such a nice person, I’d hate to see you have to be committed.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I didn’t come to volunteer. I caught sight of you coming in, and hoped I might have a word.”

  “Sure, as long as it’s a loud word. Let’s go sit.” She gestured to chairs along the wall near the piano.

  “With Marti gone,” Rebecca started, “I was hoping you might help fill in gaps in my information on Far Hills Ranch. In order to provide a foundation for current information, I’m looking at the history. That will, uh, let me get a start on my work.”

  “You’re not talking about that legend, are you? Because I’m the skeptic in the group. Marti’s the true believer. Ellyn leans that way, and so does Daniel.” She tipped her head. “I’m not sure about Grif or – ” She pinned her gaze on Rebecca’s face, “Luke.”

  Rebecca ignored the implications swimming in Kendra’s eyes. “It’s more recent history I’m talking about. Personnel records. The workers hired, say twenty-five, thirty years ago, in order to compare with current hires. I thought since you spent childhood summers here ...”

  “Sorry, other than a couple of the old favorites – Pete used to cook and there was a Sven for several summers who carved us little toys – I’m no help. I doubt Ellyn would know much more. Grif might, because he was a little older, but really, with Marti gone, Luke would be the one to ask.”

  “So I keep hearing.”

  Kendra’s head came up, her eyes bright with interest. “He won’t make time to talk to you?”

  “All he’s made as far as I’m concerned is himself scarce.”

  Rebecca pulled her lower lip between her teeth as if that would stop the words retroactively. Some of her discomfort faded as Kendra’s attention shifted to her son Matthew’s loop-de-loops around the play area with a toy airplane in hand.

  “Ahhh, Luke’s never been much for talking. No, Matthew – no dive-bombing. Even when we were kids, Luke tended to go off by himself. And since we’ve come back as adults, he’s talked very little about himself. He’s just Luke – there when we need him, good with the kids, great with the ranch, and such a part of Far Hills, it’s like he never left. But he did, just like the rest of us. Only ...”

  Kendra continued slowly, seeming to consider the accuracy of each word. “I’d never thought about it before – Luke never talks about his life between the time his family left Far Hills and when he came back as a hand.”

  They lapsed into silence, both watching the kids’ antics.

  All Luke allowed to the outside world were odd fragments that slipped loose from the tight cocoon he kept around himself. Short ends hard to grasp, but perhaps leading somewhere for someone with the patience to follow them.

  “Kendra? Ellyn mentioned something about one time when Daniel was playing music, and Luke recognized Chopin.”

  Kendra’s eyes darkened immediately with old pain.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked – ”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  Kendra’s hand on her arm kept Rebecca from standing. Slowly, she sank back to the chair as Kendra spoke.

  “It was a tough time for Daniel and me. Especially for Daniel. We’d been apart and he ... he’d been involved in something and felt he hadn’t done enough, when he’d already done more than should have been asked of any person.”

  Rebecca suspected there was a great deal more to this story, but it was Kendra’s story to tell, not hers to ask.

  “Daniel’s playing ... well, it was his way of expressing this. Luke heard him, and called me. Until then, I hadn’t realized what Danie
l was holding inside.” She let out a deep breath and straightened. “That’s all there is to it, except Luke recognized what Daniel was playing as Chopin.”

  And, Rebecca thought, Luke had recognized enough of the emotion behind Daniel’s music to call Kendra.

  “Thank you.” She caught a speculative gleam in the other woman’s eyes. “It helps to know as many facets as possible of a client – or a potential user – to maximize the customization of the system.”

  “Uh-huh. And whether Luke knew classical music would be something you’d need to know to set up the computer system for the ranch,” Kendra said in deadpan agreement.

  “Yes, well – ” Rebecca stood. “ – everything helps. Thank you.”

  “Wait, Rebecca. There was something else he said ... I was so preoccupied with Daniel, but something ... Got it! Luke said Chopin wanted people to hear pain in the beautiful music. Something like that – no, wait. He said someone once told him that – that the someone believed that about Chopin’s music. She believed that.”

  “She?”

  “Yes, the someone was a she. I’m sure of it. You get a reporter’s ear, and I’d bet next year’s raise that Luke said she told him that she thought Chopin wanted to hear the pain in the beautiful music. You probably didn’t want hear that – ”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like – ”

  “ – but believe me it’s better in the long-run to know. I finally learned the lesson that you have to know what the past truly was before you can let go of it.”

  The other woman’s obvious sincerity quieted Rebecca’s protests. “Thank you, Kendra. I appreciate your help.”

  “Afraid I wasn’t much help.” The gray eyes surveyed her. “At least not about the hands who used to work at the ranch.”

  Rebecca simply smiled and said goodbye. She had the door open when she heard her name being called once more.

  “Rebecca! Wait a minute!”

  Kendra gestured for her to stay put, while she retrieved a canvas tote and hurried back, making an abrupt stop to avoid a collision with an apparent stagecoach hold-up reenactment, and tip-toeing around a precariously balanced block castle.

  “Rebecca, I do have one thought – about the hands who worked at the ranch years ago. Records are kept in the home ranch office. There’s an entrance off Marti’s office in the house and one from outside.” She slid her hand into her tote, and pulled out a set of keys. She set to work detaching one. “Take the path toward the kitchen, and keep going around to the back. You’ll see it. The records are in a small room off the office. You should find what you want there.”