A Family Kind of Gal (20 page)

“No. Just please have Miles call me when he gets in.”

“Will do.” She shut the door, and Tiffany walked back to the car, convinced that the boy would never get the message.

“Friendly,” J.D. observed sarcastically.

“She doesn't like me. Or Stephen.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Not that I know of, but I don't take it personally. She doesn't get along with many people. Her husband, Ray, is a guy who hires on at local ranches, and he's been in and out of jail since he was nineteen. Right now he's out, but no one thinks it'll last.”

“You know a lot for a newcomer to Bittersweet.”

“It's a small town. Everyone has his nose in everyone else's business. I hear it all day long—down at the insurance office or when I'm having coffee down at Millie's or, if all else fails, from my renters.”

They drove toward town as the stars winked in the dark sky. Tiffany leaned her arm out the open window and tried to imagine where her son had gone. Was he with Miles, and more importantly, was he safe? Oh, dear God, she prayed, please, let him be all right.

“I have an idea,” J.D. ventured as he slid her a glance.

“About Stephen?”

“Mmm.” He drove through town but didn't head toward her house. “Remember this morning at breakfast? Stephen seemed pretty determined to go to the Cawthorne wedding.”

She felt her shoulders sag as she remembered the conversation about her father. “It was just talk.”

“Was it?” J.D. asked as they passed the post office.

“It's his new thing—try to argue Mom into a corner.”

“Or he could have been serious.”

“Why?”

J.D. lifted a shoulder. “Curiosity. Or a need to connect with his mother's family. Who knows?”

Tiffany didn't want to believe that Stephen would openly defy her. Not this way. “He…he wouldn't have gone to the wedding. No way. Same goes for the reception.”

“A few days ago you were certain he knew nothing about Isaac Wells's disappearance. Now you're not so sure.”

“He must be somewhere else.” She didn't want to believe that her boy would lie so blatantly—especially about this—and yet, she couldn't overlook any possibility. Staring out the bug-spattered windshield, she realized that J.D. wasn't listening to her arguments anyway. He was driving out of town in the direction of Cawthorne Acres, John's ranch. The thought hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. “You're not really going to take me to the wedding reception, are you?”

He lifted a dark brow. “Seems as if you were invited.”

“I know, but—”

“We'll just see if anyone's seen Stephen.”

“No!” She was emphatic.

“Got any better ideas?”

She wanted to come up with something—anything other than her estranged father's wedding—but she couldn't. Her stomach twisted into tight little knots. “All right, we'll check,” she finally conceded because she couldn't think of another place Stephen would have gone. “Discreetly,” she said, hating the thought. “We'll inquire discreetly. I don't want to cause a stir.” Then she looked down at her attire. Jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. Everyone else would be dressed to the nines for the wedding. Not that it mattered. She'd suffer any kind of humility, just as long as Stephen was okay.

“There won't be a stir,” J.D. assured her as he slowed at the lane leading to John Cawthorne's place. The gate was open, and the curved sign that spanned the lane read Cawthorne Acres. A black ribbon of asphalt sliced between moon-washed fields of cut hay. In the pasture on one side of the road a few bales had yet to be hauled to the barns. They stood like unmoving, rectangular sentinels in the dry stubble. On the other side of the lane, long-legged foals romped and bucked around a small herd of serene older horses. Silvery moonlight played upon their white markings, making them appear ghostlike.

At the end of the lane, the ranch house and grounds were ablaze with lights.

Tiffany's stomach tightened, and her fingers curled into fists of anxiety as she saw dozens of cars parked in the lot between the house and barns. More vehicles had been directed into one of the fields while still others were parked along one side of the lane.

Dear God, what am I doing here?
she thought as J.D. eased his Jeep behind a sports car nearly a hundred yards from the house.
You're only here to find your son. Nothing more. Remember that.

“It's now or never,” J.D. said, and Tiffany steeled herself. She climbed out of the Cherokee and was hit by the strains of “The Anniversary Waltz” being played by a small dance band. The notes carried on a breeze tinged with the scents of cut grass and honeysuckle. A faint odor of cigarette smoke wafted through the summer air, and the hum of conversation grew louder as they approached the single-story house.

Millions of tiny white lights decorated the trees and fence line, as if it were the Christmas holidays instead of the beginning of August.

Guests, dressed in everything from silk and diamonds to denim and rhinestones, wandered the grounds. But no Stephen. “This is insane,” Tiffany muttered under her breath as she followed a path that led behind the house. Rounding the corner by the back porch, she nearly slammed into a woman walking in the other direction.

“You decided to come after all!” Bliss, dressed in a shimmery silver-blue dress, smiled widely. Her blond hair was pulled into a French braid and her eyes sparkled as brightly as the thousands of tiny bulbs. Beside her was a tall man with light brown eyes and sun-streaked blond hair. His hand was placed firmly in the middle of Bliss's back.

“I don't know if you've met Mason,” Bliss said. “My fiancé, Mason Lafferty. This is Tiffany Santini, my half sister.”

Somehow, despite the worry congealing her insides, Tiffany managed to make the appropriate noises as well as introduce J.D. as her brother-in-law and explain why they'd shown up. “We decided to come here because I'm worried sick about Stephen, and he isn't at any of his friends' houses. No one knows where he is, but he was interested in coming to the wedding today, and I thought... I mean, J.D. thought he might have shown up here.”

Bliss's smile had slowly given way to a frown of concern. Tiny lines of anxiety etched her forehead. “I wish I could help out, but I don't remember seeing him,” she said, looking to Mason for support.

“Don't ask me, I've never met him.” Mason glanced around the crowd that had collected around the rim of a temporary dance floor in the backyard. “There are a lot of kids here, though.”

“It's true.” Bliss's eyes clouded with genuine worry. “There were a few boys about Stephen's age at the ceremony, and more here.” Her gaze swept the area. “But it's easy to get lost in this place.”

Tiffany's stomach, already tense, tightened another notch. “You don't mind if we look around?”

“Of course not. Dad will be thrilled that you're here,” Bliss said.

“Not if he found out I came here because I lost his grandson.” Why did her tongue still trip over the word?

Bliss nodded. “But you should let him know. He does care about you and your kids. I know that sounds weird, considering all that's gone on and how he dealt with you in the past, but I've seen firsthand the pain he's been going through, the struggles. He would want to help find Stephen, and he'd be mad as a hornet if we didn't let him know Stephen was missing.”

Tiffany's heart was drumming, her pride dissipating by the minute. “I'll take all the help I can get,” she said fervently. When J.D. had suggested coming to this party, she'd been reticent, but a part of her had hoped that she would locate her rebellious son, stay long enough not to offend anyone, then hightail it back to her house. Now, all she wanted was to find Stephen.

“He's not here,” she whispered to J.D.

“We don't know that yet.”

Again, Tiffany searched the faces of the people talking in small clusters. She recognized a few of the townspeople, and several of the kids, but she didn't see any sign of her son. Music filtered through the throng. On the dance floor Brynnie, dressed in a lacy creamy-white gown that showed off her ample cleavage, smiled radiantly up at her new husband. Her flame-colored hair was pinned in curls to her crown and decorated with tiny rosebuds and sprigs of baby's breath. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, merriment fairly oozing from her expression.

For a second Tiffany forgot her worries and watched as John Cawthorne twirled his bride around the makeshift floor, dancing as if he were a man twenty years younger, a man who didn't fear another heart attack or facing the Grim Reaper. Dressed in a gray tuxedo, he swirled and dipped, causing Brynnie to laugh out loud.

They stared into each other's eyes as if they were high-school sweethearts about to embark upon a new adventure instead of two older people who had kept up a clandestine love affair for years; a man and woman who had brought an illegitimate daughter into the world and let another man claim that child as his own. Katie had grown up thinking Hal Kinkaid was her father. Neither her mother nor her biological father had discouraged the lie—until a few months ago.

John was an adulterer, a cheat and a liar. Brynnie was a loose woman who had married a string of men before finally claiming the love of her life as her husband. There had been lies, neglect, dishonor and betrayal; but tonight, under a kind, pearlescent moon, with romantic music filling the air and champagne flowing from a silver fountain, Brynnie and John looked for all the world like a couple in love.

Like they belonged together.

Tiffany's heart tore. She would never be a part of her father's life. It had been his choice when she was a child, it was hers as an adult. Her throat was hot, her eyes burned a little as she turned to J.D. “I don't see Stephen.”

“Neither do I, but I'm going to start asking some questions. Why don't you walk around, see if there is anyone here he might hang out with?”

“Okay,” she said and started working her way through the crowd. She smiled at people she met, managed a few words to those she knew, but her eyes were forever moving, hunting, seeking a glimpse of her child. She paused beneath the branches of a large locust tree in the backyard and silently prayed that Stephen was all right.

“The bride has requested a snowball dance,” the bandleader said over the microphone before the melody of “The Blue Danube” filled the air. Tiffany was vaguely aware of John and Brynnie dancing as she wended her way through the guests gathered around the dance floor. She saw several boys she recognized but didn't know their names, and when she questioned one lanky, pimply-faced kid, he said he hadn't seen Stephen since the end of the regular school year.
This is a wild-goose chase. He isn't here! Dear God, where is he?

“Switch,” the bandleader instructed, and Brynnie and John broke up to pull two unsuspecting people on to the floor. Brynnie nabbed her eldest son, Jarrod, who eased his mother around the parquet as if he'd done it all his life, while John took hold of Bliss's hand and led her to the middle of the temporary dance floor. Tiffany, though she fought the urge, couldn't help but watch her father and half sister, smiling, laughing, gliding easily in front of the crowd. To her absolute horror, she experienced a little nudge of envy.

Don't do this,
she warned herself as she edged closer to the dancers.

Bliss looked as though she belonged on the dance floor. She was in perfect step, smiling and laughing, tossing back her head, her cheeks tinged a deep pink, her eyes glimmering as she danced with her father.

As if they've done it a hundred times before.

They probably had. Not that it mattered. Tiffany didn't care. The past was long gone, and right now, her only purpose was to find Stephen. That was why she was here. Nervously she scanned the crowd. Oh, this was getting her nowhere.

“Switch.”

She barely heard the bandleader's command as she started toward the back door of the house. There was a chance, though slim, that Stephen, if he had come here, was inside.

“Dance with me.” Strong fingers surrounded her arm.

Oh, no.

Her heart sank as she whirled around and faced the man who had sired her. Reflexively, she jerked her arm away. She was about to tell John Cawthorne to leave her alone, just as he had for most of her life, when she realized that over fifty pairs of curious eyes were trained her way. This was her chance. If ever she wanted to pay him back, to mortify him for all those years of neglect, she could simply stomp away and show her utter disdain for a selfish son of a bitch who'd never so much as sent her a birthday gift or a card at Christmas. She could not only personally belittle him but publicly embarrass him at his own wedding reception. If she had the guts.

“I—I—”

“Come on, Tiffany. You're here. Let's get to know each other.” His hint of a smile belied the inner torment she saw in his eyes.

“But—” She blushed and bit back all the angry words that wanted to leap to her tongue. What satisfaction would she get out of ruining his day or his bride's party? “Okay,” she finally acquiesced. “Why not?”

Brynnie was already dancing with one of her twin sons, Nathan or Trevor McBaine, Tiffany didn't know which. Jarrod had found Patty Lafferty, Mason's willowy sister, and Bliss was molded to her fiancé. Stiffly Tiffany took the floor, feeling self-conscious and out of place. Unlike Bliss, she hadn't been trained in dance, but she'd grown up with music, through all the years her mother had taught piano. Rose Nesbitt would die, would absolutely have a heart attack, if she suspected that Tiffany was turning coat and waltzing with the enemy.

“I'm glad you came,” John said as he maneuvered her past Bliss and Mason. “I really didn't expect you to.”

“It—it wasn't planned.”