A McKaslin Homecoming

“My dear, why of course I know you.” Mary stood, coming after her, with her hands held out. “I’ve loved you forever.”

Mary brushed her free hand over the wisps of Lauren’s hair and tucked them behind her ear, as one would do to a small child. “I hope that you and I can get to know each other well before you head back to your life. I want you to find what you’ve come for.”

Pain jerked through the core of her being. “I haven’t come for anything. I’m not like my mother. I vowed long ago not to be like her. You don’t know that, I know, but it’s true. I didn’t come here to get something.”

“Oh, yes you did,” Mary said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And it’s what I need, too. God bless you for coming when I asked. Forgive me, but it’s getting late and my old bones are tired. Thank you for coming all this way. I wanted to meet you while I can remember.”

This she said with a smile. Shadows clung beneath her vibrant eyes and cut deep brackets around her mouth. In this light, it would be easy to believe Mary wasn’t well. Affection for this dear lady warmed Lauren through, but she also felt concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, dear. I’m as right as rain. But I’m not getting any younger.” Mary turned to the stove to check on the boiling kettles. She poked a fork into a potato inside one of the pots. “I guess none of us are. I gathered up a few family photo albums. They’re on the edge of the counter, right by the table. You missed so many good years, maybe this will help you understand when you meet your brother and sisters tomorrow.”

Okay, that idea made her seriously anxious. So much could go wrong. She tried to remind herself that so much could go right, too. She would be the outsider either way—and that was a role she was used to.

But this feeling of, well, connectedness was new.

There was understanding bright in Mary’s eyes. “Well, the potatoes are done. Let me get them drained and the pot roast on the table, then you and I will catch up. I want to hear all about your life. Your college classes. Your drive here. Meeting Caleb. Everything.”

It was hard to say no to that. Lauren went to help put the meal on the table.

Chapter Four

There was nothing like a Montana morning. Caleb liked to watch the sunrise come as quietly as an answered prayer. The webby shadows of darkness giving way to the gray-purple that came before dawn. By the time the promise of the sun was aglow, backlighting the rugged peaks of the Bridger Range, Caleb was climbing out of his truck with his travel mug of hot tea in hand and greeting the horses at the gate. Malia was the alpha horse, first to the rail and nipping to keep the others in line.

“Be nice,” he reminded her as he hauled the bucket of oats with him. Leaving his mug on a fence post, he spread out the molasses-sweetened oats in the long feed trough and the horses dug in. The sound of their crunching drowned out the lark song sweet in the fresh air. He gave Leo a welcoming pat and reached for his steaming mug.

As he took a sip, he scanned Mary’s spread—the home, gardens, pool, patios and carriage house. He didn’t really mean to notice, but the little guest home’s windows were open and the curtains drawn back, as if welcoming the day. Lauren was up? He couldn’t put his thumb on why that surprised him, but it did.

It was Jayna, that’s why. He knew better, but he’d painted city girls with the same slightly bitter brushstroke, mostly because it hurt less that way. Wounds of the heart took a long time to mend and sometimes they didn’t heal over as completely as one might like. Still, he had to get over it. It had been almost two years, long enough to put all of it, even the scars, behind him.

He savored the crisp taste of the cinnamon tea and tried to let the morning’s peace spill into him. But he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from Lauren’s cottage. Maybe it was her presence he sensed, since a few moments later there she was, wading toward him through the knee-high grass.

Dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt, she looked as refreshing as the morning and as innocent as the wildflowers at her feet. Not that he ought to be noticing those things, either.

“Good morning, Caleb.” Her soft alto was hushed as she came nearer. “You’re a very early riser, too?”

“Guilty. Besides, the horses appreciate being fed first thing in the morning. How’d the evening go with your grandmother?”

“Wonderful.”

“You say that with relief. Like you were really worried.”

“In my experience, you can never tell about people, especially right when you meet them. I’m not the most trusting person, I guess. But we had such a good time looking through old photo albums. It was past midnight before we knew it.”

“I reckon Mary loved sharing those photographs—and the time—with you.”

“Oh, I’m the lucky one. She is nothing short of a blessing. I don’t know how Mom stole money from such a nice woman. And the family jewelry and heaven knows what else.”

“You figure everyone looks at you and sees her?”

“I would. I never answered birthday cards or sent a thank you for Christmas gifts. I didn’t know I’d gotten them.” Her unconscious shrug seemed to dismiss the issue.

He could tell there was a lot of pain there. “I suppose there was money in those birthday cards and pawnable items in those Christmas boxes?”

“That’s my guess, too. I was too little to know the difference and when I was older, everyone here had written Mom off for good and me along with her. Not that I blame her. Mom has a real destructive streak.”

“That’s why you don’t have much to do with her?”

“I left home for the college dorm and didn’t look back. There wasn’t anything to go back to. Just a basement apartment with security bars on the windows. Nothing like what you’re used to here.”

There it was, he saw the shadows darken her eyes. Past hurts. He knew how that was. Yet she waved them away with an unconscious gesture.

He couldn’t help liking her. She was nice. And she’d been on his mind through the evening. Here she was standing before him with a wistful expression, looking at the mountains and pastures and horses. The promise he’d made stood between them and he felt it sorely. “Are you ready for your riding lesson?”

“Now?”

“Sure. I usually saddle up before I have to head in to work. Nothing like a morning ride to start your day off right.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a town cop.” He watched her eyes widen and she took a step back. “What, you don’t like policemen?”

“I don’t have the best association with them.” Great, now he thinks I have a record. Lauren rolled her eyes. She was getting off on the wrong foot with this man. One thing she really didn’t like was looking back into the past. “When I was little, Mom had a hard time keeping up with the rent. We were given notice of eviction a few times. Court ordered.”

“That’s rough.”

When he could have been judgmental, he sounded kind. Somehow that was harder to accept. “There are worse things in the world. Like pandemics. Wide-scale starvation.”

“Those things would be rougher.”

“Exactly. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t so bad.”

The compassion in his eyes and—again—the kindness in his voice made her like him even more. Against her will, apparently. “A cop, huh?”

“Yep. I try to be one of the good ones.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She could see him in her mind’s eye, all suited up in his uniform, upholding the law with that kindness of his. And compassion. Her heart tugged with an emotion she would not acknowledge. Back to the horses, which were a much safer subject. “Can you really teach me to ride in five minutes?”

“Absolutely.” He’d parked his truck nearby and he was already reaching into the back. “See the brown mare?”

“You mean the tallest horse?”

“That’s the one.”

“You’re going to give me the biggest horse, knowing that I’ll probably fall off and land on my hind end in the dirt?” She was laughing, though. He had to be teasing her. “You’re going to give me the short one to learn to ride on, right?”

“Oh, I see what you’re saying, city girl. You’re worried about falling off a horse. Well, falling is certain. Getting back up is what separates the men from the boys. Or, in your case, the women from the girls. But that doesn’t sound right.”

“No, it doesn’t. I think you’re making fun of a city girl, Mr. Stone.”