Firefly Island (24 page)

Daniel released the door handle and came across the room, his chin tilted sympathetically. “Bet that was interesting. What did your mother say?”

“That any woman with a modicum of sense would've known about the antibiotics thing. She's sure that, between the dentist and the pharmacist, someone must have warned me, and I just blew it off. She's convinced that I thought I knew better than everybody else, just like always, which proves her point that I do need to keep my mother in the loop, now, always, and for the rest of my born days, amen. She also made the point that, if I would have told her about the root canal instead of hiding it from her, she'd have warned me to take precautions.” Daniel's cheeks twitched, and I rolled a look at him, warning him not to say anything cute. “I didn't tell her about the root canal when it happened because she was already in such a twist about the wedding. I figured one more thing would push her over the edge. Anyway, now she's back to wanting us to move home and set up housekeeping in the rumpus room.”

Daniel chuckled.

“Don't laugh.” I sighted the gun finger at him. “She's
planning to have my dad use his connections to find the perfect job for you.”

“Eewww, I wonder what I'll be doing.” His wry grin attempted to lighten the moment.

Folding my arms on the table, I hid my face in them like a grade-school kid. “I'm sure my mother will let you know.”

The icky yellow carpet crinkled, stiff and sticky under Daniel's shoes as he came closer. His touch was featherlight, sweeping my hair aside before he kissed the back of my neck. “I love you,” he whispered. “We'll be okay. We're not the only people to ever have a baby before we meant to. Nick wasn't planned, and look at him. I wouldn't trade him for anything.”

I knew he was right. I was overthinking all of this. It wasn't like we'd be having the baby tomorrow. We had months to prepare. But, somehow, knowing that a baby was coming made everything else seem more critical, more pressing. We were on a timeline now. Within just a matter of months, everything had to be perfect.

“You're right. I know you're right.” I was embarrassed, as much as anything. When you grow up being teased by four older siblings, you don't handle public screw-ups well. “So, what else did your mom say?”

“They want to come for Thanksgiving. Dad's excited about seeing the ranch. They're hoping Chad might think about bringing his bunch, so we can all be together.”

“Wow.” Amid the warm, sweet anticipation of a family Thanksgiving, there was panic over the house, the fact that there was no place to sleep that many people, and unless they wanted macaroni and cheese and peach pie, I wasn't sure what we'd eat. “You guys must have talked quite a while. Where in the world was Jack all this time?”

“Otherwise occupied.” Daniel moved to the chair beside me, leaning over it rather than sitting.

“Okay, what's going on? Spill. This is not the usual mood for a day with Jack. How in the world did you have time for a phone call? And how did you get away to come home for lunch?” Usually after a return from Houston, Jack was wound like an eight-day clock, irritable, driven, and suspicious of everyone. He decompressed by patrolling the ranch and berating the ranch hands, complaining about the lab and the test fields, and changing the parameters for Daniel's job.

“Jack's not alone this time.” Tapping his thumbs to his lips, Daniel gave me a look that was somewhere between hopeful and perplexed. “His son is with him.”

“The one he doesn't speak to? That son?”

“They're speaking now, apparently.” Daniel stood and stretched the knots from his back. He looked so good when he did that. “They seemed pretty chummy, in fact. Jack spent the whole morning giving a tour of the laboratory and showing him the growth environments and the test plots. The great thing was, I got to follow along and finally see everything. Jack didn't even seem to care. When he and Mason left the lab, he hung the keys right there on the pegboard by the door, with all the other ranch keys. I helped myself to a full lab tour while they were out driving around the pastures.”

“Okay, you're talking about the son who's the state senator or something, right? Or does he have another son?” Maybe I'd misunderstood something along the way.

Outside, Nick was sitting on the porch of the little house having an intense conversation with Pecos. Daniel smiled at him. “Far as I can tell, this is the son everyone keeps mentioning. Mason West. I didn't ask too many questions. If it keeps Jack off my tail, I'm not gonna breathe too hard on it.” He pointed at Nick. “What do you think they talk about?”

“Nick and the dog? Or Jack and the mystery son?” I wasn't really ready to change subjects. Maybe it was the strange
karma of the day so far, but this new development made me uneasy in some way I couldn't quite define, as if some sixth sense were warning me that disaster was on the way.

“Either one.”

Outside, Nick stood with his hand on one hip, pointing and delivering orders to Pecos.

“Well, right now I'm afraid he might be pretending to be Jack. Scary thought.” As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn't have. There was no sense in raining on Daniel's parade. It was nice to see him feeling good about things for a change. “Sorry. If Jack's happy, I'm glad. Really.”

“I'm just hoping this reconciliation with his son is a long-term thing.” A wrinkle of concern straightened Daniel's smile, then disappeared. “It'll make my job a whole lot easier. Sounds like the son is planning to be here awhile. Apparently he's staying in the cabin on Firefly Island—working on a book or something. I heard him tell Jack he didn't want to bunk at the big headquarters because he needed a quiet place to write.”

“Huh . . .” So someone
was
allowed access to the mysterious cabin on Firefly Island. The place looked pretty primitive, at least from a distance. It didn't seem like the sort of accommodations a man accustomed to hobnobbing in political circles would choose. “Well, considering the plethora of No Trespassing signs and the fact that there's an elephant-proof gate on the causeway, I guess he's not in much danger of being surprised by company.”

Daniel shrugged. “Guess not. Jack knows about the baby, by the way. He heard me talking with my mom.”

My cheeks prickled again, even though it really wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. Women got pregnant every day. I'd just never pictured myself this way—jobless, stay-at-home mom, pregnant. “He didn't get upset, or anything?”
Jack hardly seemed like the type to approve of niceties like paternity leave.

Daniel leaned across the space between us, cupped my chin. “Stop worrying. Jack said congratulations.” Tweaking the end of my nose, he kissed me quickly, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

I sat staring out the window, watching the golden light of midday drench the grass, and thinking that maybe my barrage of awkward prayers yesterday had been answered. Maybe holy lightning had struck after all.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

—Emily Brontë
(Left by Marvin and Gracie, fifty-fourth anniversary in Cabin 3)

B
liss. I don't know what else you'd call it. Life in Moses Lake was suddenly bliss. Jack and his son spent time riding, fishing, tooling around the lake in one of Jack's boats. Daniel worked regular hours . . . well, farmer's hours, anyway. He was up early in the mornings and left at dawn to make his rounds in the test plots and beat the heat. Sometimes he met us at the Waterbird for lunch, and we wiled away the high-noon hour listening to Burt, Nester, and the other fishermen telling stories.

Once, Jack and his son even came to lunch with Daniel. Mason West was a nice-looking man in his mid-forties. He did resemble Daniel in many ways—same build, similar facial structure—although Mason was about ten years older, with forehead lines and a dusting of gray at the temples. Like most politicians, Mason was well-groomed and well-spoken, confident and charismatic. He had just enough of his father's larger-than-life cowboy persona to present the ideal picture of a Texas politician: part charm, part bluster, and a dash of good-ol'-boy thrown in for added measure.

Two weeks passed, and even Chrissy couldn't find a reason to complain, which was saying something. “I woulda got his son down here long ago, if I knew it would, like, turn Jack West into Mr. Happy Pants,” she told me as I stood at the pharmacy counter in Gnadenfeld, picking up prenatal vitamins after my first doctor's appointment. I was bummed that Daniel had stayed home to watch Nick. I didn't know I'd be hearing the baby's heartbeat and seeing a new little life, no larger than my thumb on the ultrasound screen. The doctor had recorded it all on a DVD for me. I couldn't wait to get home and show Daniel and Nick.

“Kind of amazing about Jack, isn't it?” I agreed. Even Chrissy's penchant for finding the worm in every apple couldn't dampen my mood today. I was overflowing with the glory of the moment. “I always wondered if Jack was just really . . . chronically lonely and depressed. It would be hard, losing part of your family in such a violent way, and then never being able to really clear your name, and then being estranged from what family you have left. All the money in the world can't fix something like that.”

I should have known better than to share my new rose-colored view with Chrissy. Glancing left and right, as if the walls might have ears, she leaned across the counter. “Yeah, don't let them fool you. You gotta wonder why a guy who's been trying to stick it to his dad for years is suddenly all buddy-buddy. I mean, really? I've been mad at my daddy since he left my mama and married that witch of a woman, and even when we do talk a little, there's no
way
we'd all of a sudden be hangin' out at the ranch, going fishin'. Pah-lease. Give me a break. If Jack West had half a brain, he'd see through that stuff and wonder why Mason's really here. The only time I call my daddy is when I want somethin'.”

A sting of apprehension pricked my fluffy, floaty cloud of
maternal bliss. A nagging unease had been skulking around for two weeks now, flat, silent, and stealthy, like a scorpion trying to find a way in through the newly sealed closets that Len had just finished for me. Even as day after day passed pleasantly by, worry was looking for an entrance point—just a little crack, a tiny gap.

I wouldn't let it happen. Things were finally good. I wouldn't let Chrissy dim my merry sunshine. “Well, I doubt there's anything Mason needs. He's been pretty successful on his own, from what I can tell.” I'd talked to a couple of former DC coworkers, done a little asking around about Mason West. He was an up-and-comer. After a dozen successful years in state politics, he was in a perfect position to make a U.S. senate bid and, considering his clout on the state level, he'd have a good shot at it. My guess was that, before putting himself on the national stage, Mason had made the wise choice to clean up his family baggage. Solidarity with his father would be politically beneficial. A happy family goes a long way in an election, and deep pockets like Jack West's couldn't hurt, either. I wasn't going to say that to Chrissy, of course. Anything you said to Chrissy was liable to end up on a billboard somewhere.

“Well, hey, at least you're getting new carpet out of it.” A snarky little smile wrinkled Chrissy's pert nose, compressing a fan of girlish freckles. “Smart move, hitting Jack West up when he's in such a good mood. I should try that.”

“Well, the carpet in the house was really bad,” I defended, but in truth, I did feel like I was the lucky beneficiary of Jack's current state of near euphoria. He actually seemed strangely interested in the fact that Daniel and I were expecting a baby. When Daniel had asked him about having the carpet replaced and paying Len for further remodeling work, Jack had given him carte blanche for repairs and for ordering a houseful of
new carpet from the sample books at the hardware store. Claire Anne Underhill was so thrilled that she'd pretty much forgiven me for trapping her into donating to the supper garden program. “I'm not sure Jack had even looked at the house to know what kind of shape it was in, to be honest,” I told Chrissy. I couldn't help it—my opinion of Jack was softening, even as I tried to keep my defenses up.

Chrissy shook her head, her lips puckering. “Just get it while you can, girlfriend. I'll admit he's never acted this nice before, but Jack West always goes back to being Jack West. How'd the doctor visit go, by the way?”

Her smile was genuine then, and we talked for a while about the due date and the ultrasound. Leaving the pharmacy, I couldn't wait to get home and share the DVD with Daniel and Nick. As I drove home along the rural highway, the fields seemed greener, the sunlight brighter, the river more serene, the sky a deeper blue. The world around Moses Lake was suddenly altogether different, more beautiful, more . . . glorious. That's how I felt. Glorious. Nothing could spoil it.

Pulling into the ranch and finding Daniel gone and Mason West sitting on my back porch watching Nick play in the sandpile did put a damper on my happy little world, though. A strange, uneasy feeling passed over me.

Daniel had left Nick here with this man we barely knew? What could possibly cause him to do that?

If I hadn't been in a state of cottony bliss, panic would probably have quickly followed the question. As it was, I pushed the car door open quickly, shifted around to get out, and whacked my head when the door blew shut on me. I had to stand there for a minute catching my breath, and by that time, Mason was making his way through the gate, asking if I was all right.

“Yes, I'm fine. Really. That was dumb.” I blushed and
smiled, and Mason smiled back, lifting his sunglasses and setting them atop his head so that I could see his eyes, hazel like Jack's. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him take his sunglasses off, even indoors.

“The wind out here will drive you crazy.” Holding the gate open, he swished a hand, ushering me into the yard. “Could've happened to anyone.” He held up a finger with a Band-Aid around it and said, “Evidence.”

“Car door?”

“Gate. Yesterday, looking at the cattle with my father. Now I remember how cumbersome those latches are.” He smiled again as he followed me into the yard, and I caught myself looking over my shoulder, flashing a grin. Maybe it was the fact that Mason looked a fair amount like Daniel, or maybe it was that he was clearly good with women, but I needed to watch myself with Mason. I was never sure if he was just being friendly, or if he was looking to flirt.

I wasn't a good one to judge. I wasn't the kind of girl guys usually flirted with—too serious and into the business end of things. Working around politicians, I'd learned to be. I'd also, for years, watched my mother navigate the slippery slope of interest from my father's associates. She was a master at being friendly, but letting them know where the boundaries were.

The first rule in that game—mention your significant other early and often. “Where's Daniel?” I looked around, as if I'd just noticed that his vehicle was gone.

“They're at the lab. My father had some idea, and you know, Jack West's ideas wait for no man.” I caught a hint of something underlying that comment. There was no time to decipher it before it vanished behind the mask of casual amiability. “Your little boy was taking a nap when we came by. I volunteered to wait here until you got in.”

“I'm sorry you had to do that.” Discomfort crept in on
quick, nimble spider legs. I didn't want to go back to the days of Daniel being at Jack's beck and call. He was supposed to be off work this morning, watching Nick.
Jack West's ideas wait for no man . . .
I had a feeling Mason knew exactly what I was thinking.

He inclined his head sympathetically, shrugging off my apology. “They haven't been gone long. No worries. The little guy woke and he seemed to want to come out here, so we did. I think he was a shade worried when he found his dad gone, but we took care of it.” A wink and a shrug directed my attention to the sandpile, where Nick was playing with some antique-looking Tonka tractors, a tiny pickup truck, and a horse trailer. I took a couple steps closer and realized where those things had come from. Jack's little house out back. Those were the toys Nick and Pecos had spirited onto the bedroom floor during their episode of doggie-door breaking and entering.

An alarm jangled in my head like a three-cornered dinner bell. I remembered the expression on Jack's face when we'd found Nick asleep on the floor in the undisturbed little-boy bedroom of Jack's dead stepson.

“Oh, I don't think Nick should have those.” I set my purse on a plastic chair and started in Nick's direction. No doubt, an epic meltdown was on the way, but I had to get the toys cleaned up and put back in their places before Jack returned.

Mason reached out and caught my arm, stopping me as I passed him. The distance between us was suddenly intimate. “It's fine.” He looked down at me, his eyes intense. “The little house needs to be cleaned out. It's unhealthy, don't you think? All those things still in their places, like someone's coming back for them?”

I glanced down at his hand on my skin, feeling cold, then hot, the sensation traveling over me in waves. “I think that's
Jack's decision.” Backing away, I broke the contact between us and crossed my arms over my chest, using body language to signal that I was in no way open to anything Mason might have in mind . . . if he did have something in mind.

“Relax,” Mason assured. “I've already talked to my father about emptying out that house. He knows.” Again there was a flash of something I couldn't read. It came with those two words,
He knows.
Then it was gone.

“Well . . . then I guess . . . it's okay.”

“Look what I got!” Nick came out of his imaginary world long enough to hold up the Tonka truck and livestock trailer. “It gots cows in it!” Opening the doors, he dumped out a load of plastic cows.

For some reason, all I could think about was Jack's stepson playing with those things. The dead boy. He became real to me in an instant. A child young enough to live in a pretend world. Like Nick.

Gone without a trace.

My head pounded and swirled. Sweat dripped beneath my T-shirt.

Mason's hand slid under my arm. I tried to shrug it off, but he wouldn't let go. “I think you'd better sit down.” His voice was smooth and calm, not ruffled in the least by my reaction.

“I'm fine.” But I followed him to the porch and took a seat in the shade. No matter what, I didn't want to end up in the house with Mason. Even more now my nerves were on edge. I couldn't pin it to any one thing—nothing Mason had said or done was in any way a threat.

“Better?” he asked, sitting in a chair beside me, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees, as if he were trying to get a good look at my face. His expression was a model of friendly concern. Compassionate, even.

“Yes, thank you.” Pressing a hand to my forehead, I tried to smooth the tangle of thoughts. “It's just a whole lot hotter here in Texas than I'm used to.”

“Not quite DC, is it?” He sat back in his chair, increasing the distance between us.

“Yeah, not quite.” I decided I was probably being ridiculous. What in the world would someone like Mason West want with someone like me?

“Sorry you left the staffer's job behind?” His question took me aback. I hadn't realized that he knew so much about me. The surprise must have registered on my face, because he explained, “Your husband mentioned that he was afraid you really missed it.”

“Oh . . .” It was a little strange to think I'd been the topic of conversation between Daniel and Mason at some point—that Daniel had been telling them I was having a hard time adjusting. It felt like a tiny betrayal. “Daniel worries too much. Actually, the longer I'm in Moses Lake, the more I discover that it isn't all that different. There's plenty of political controversy here, too. It's just on a different scale.” A connection formed in my mind. Mason was a state representative with strong party contacts and higher aspirations. If he threw a little weight behind the bridge issue in Chinquapin Peaks, local politicos would be likely to fall in line, trying to gain favor. One thing any politician covets is a connection with a politician at a higher level. It's all a game of favors. My father had taught me that.