Accidental Homecoming
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Sabrina York
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13
Chapter One
Of all the reckless things Danny Diem had done in his life, this was by far the most reckless—driving nine hundred miles to the middle of nowhere based on a scrap of a letter, a whisper of hope. But when a guy was as desperate as he was, sometimes reckless was the only option.
Now, here he was, smack-dab in the middle of the most alien landscape he’d ever experienced. And for a guy born and raised in Las Vegas that was saying a lot.
Everywhere he looked—left, right, forward, back—there was nothing. Rolling hills of hay-colored grasses as far as the eye could see. No structures. No towns. No living creatures. Just...emptiness. The cloudless sky arched overhead in what seemed like an endless bowl of blue.
It would have been pretty, he supposed, if wide-open spaces didn’t make him a little twitchy. He was used to the thrum of the city, the glare of neon lights and street noise. Police sirens, boisterous crowds, all-night bacchanals...
There was no noise out here, other than the whistling of the wind.
It was downright eerie.
The only thing that felt familiar to him was the sweltering early September heat as summer refused to quit.
His GPS told him he was only twenty miles or so from his destination, but he had the sneaking suspicion it was lying. That he would never reach civilization again. That he’d be driving through this barren countryside forever. Hopefully, this whole scenario wasn’t God’s way of making a joke.
Hot air blew in through his open windows as he zoomed down the deserted two-lane highway that, in parts, didn’t even bother with lane markers. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and trickled between his shoulder blades. The sun baked the exposed side of his face. He reached for his water bottle and then grimaced as he realized it was empty. He resisted the urge to try the air-conditioning again, because he knew damn well it had conked out somewhere in Idaho.
He’d been foolishly optimistic to think his old ’Vette could make the long trip from Vegas unscathed. But then, when you had few options, it was easy to convince yourself that optimism was realistic. And the letter he’d received had seemed like a lifeline. One he’d never expected. One that made this trip a gamble he couldn’t afford to pass up.
He glanced at the official-looking document on the passenger seat under his duffle bag, the edges riffling in the wind, and once again, his thoughts returned to his father. That big, looming shadow in his life.
Whoever he’d been, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with his son, or the woman who had produced him. Strange that now, at the lowest point in Danny’s life, this man might actually come to his rescue.
No one had ever come to Danny’s rescue before. Other than an on-again, off-again mother and one far-too-short love affair, he’d always been utterly on his own. It had always been up to him to find a way, any way, to wriggle out of his problems. This time, it seemed there was no way out.
And then the letter had come.
As legal documents went, it was frustratingly vague. All it said was that Danny was included in the will of a man named Daniel Stirling I, and he was to present himself at the offices of William Watney, Esquire, in the town of Butterscotch Ridge in eastern Washington State. It didn’t specify how much the inheritance was, or why Danny was included. He could only imagine that the deceased was his deadbeat father, the man his mother had cursed since Danny was small. But even that was conjecture. Hell, everything to do with that part of his past was conjecture, considering he knew practically nothing about the man.
Well, hell. In all likelihood, his inheritance was something useless. Like a grandfather clock or a packet of old love letters. This whole thing was probably a waste of time, but in his dire straits, it was a necessary one.
His life could hardly get any worse. Could it?
A huge ker-chunk shook his car and a plume of steam roiled up from under the hood. The car sputtered and jerked, then slowly rolled to a stop on the side of the road.
Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
He sighed and reached down to pop the hood, which let out a great gasp of vapor. Awesome. He checked his cell phone, but as he expected, out here there was no reception. He was stranded. In the middle of nowhere, in a hellish summer heat wave.
Great. Another disaster. He seemed doomed to find them.
Danny hadn’t seen another car since he’d left the Tri-Cities, and while he’d spotted a solar-powered call box, he couldn’t say how many miles back it had been. He had no idea how far it was to the next town. Too far to walk with no water, for sure.
The car was fast becoming too hot to sit in, as it soaked up the blistering sunshine, so Danny grabbed his baseball cap, which he hoped would protect him from the heat, propped open the hood in the hopes the engine would cool, then settled down in a slender shady spot on the far side of the car and prayed for someone to come along.
If he had to, he’d wait until nightfall and then start the long walk to civilization—a gas station, a far-flung country motel, something. Hopefully it would be cooler by then.
As he settled down to wait, one thought buzzed through his brain. Where on earth had he gotten the idea that Washington State was cold and rainy?
He must have dozed off, because he woke with a start from a familiar dream when he heard the roar of an approaching engine. The dream was alluring—it was the one he had often, where he and Lizzie were together in each other’s arms. His lips sliding over her skin, tasting her. Her scent engulfing him. The sound of her moan in his ears so vivid it seemed she was right there beside him... The dream came to him so often and felt so real that it was hard to shake. It still clung to him as he leaped to his feet and frantically waved his arms.
An enormous crew cab slowed and pulled to the shoulder in front of Danny’s Corvette, and the driver stepped out. His boots were dusty and well-worn, but it was the Stetson that made clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Danny had landed in cowboy country.
The man was about his age, maybe a few years older. His face was weathered and his chin sported an auburn bristle. His eyes were gray and he had a friendly smile.
“Hey there, fella. You need some help?” he asked in a deep, smoker’s rasp.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind.” Danny gestured at his sad little car. “Engine conked out.”
The cowboy sauntered over and gave the ’Vette’s engine a quick glance. “Probably the heat. Did you try adding coolant to the radiator?”
“Uh, I don’t have any.”
“Water, then?”
A rush of heat rose on Danny’s face. He’d never felt more stupid. “I’m out of water.” He’d brought plenty—he’d thought—but apparently not enough. He hadn’t realized he’d be traveling through this searing terrain. In rainy Washington State. In September.
The cowboy didn’t smirk or make a rude comment about city boys. He just nodded, tipped back his hat with a finger and said, “Well, let’s have a look.”
He bent over the engine and fiddled with this or that—Danny had no idea, because, honestly, he knew little to nothing about mechanical things—and then the fellow grunted. “Well, water won’t help. Looks like your whole radiator’s blown. You’re gonna need a tow. Can I give you a ride to town?”
Danny blew out a sigh of relief, took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. “That would be great.” He turned to the cowboy with a grin, only to discover that the guy was staring at him.
As soon as he realized that Danny had noticed his sharp attention, he averted his gaze. “I’m Chase McGruder, by the way,” he said, thrusting out his hand.
“Danny. Danny Diem.”
Chase narrowed his eyes. “Have we met?”
“Ever been to Vegas?”
The response was a snort.
“Then, no. I don’t think so.”
Chase peered at him for a few more seconds and then shook his head. “Huh. You look familiar, but I just can’t place it. Ah, it’ll come to me. Well, we better get movin’. Need to get you out of this heat, I reckon.” He paused and pointed back to Danny’s car. “You may want to bring your things, though. George has the only shop in town, and he tends to start drinking early on the weekends, so he may not get out here for a while.”
Danny chuckled. “Ah...it’s Thursday.”
Chase’s grin was wry. “Exactly.”
Danny nodded and headed back to grab the letter and his duffel bag. Everything he owned was in that duffle. So pathetic. But that was what happened, he supposed, when your dear, sweet mother cleaned out your bank account, then cleaned out your apartment and pawned anything of value before disappearing into the wind.
He could have used those resources—any resources—about now. He was in debt to Mikey Gerardo, Vegas’s roughest loan shark, with interest mounting and another payment looming—all thanks to dear old Mom.
Thrusting all those dark thoughts from his mind, he hooked the bag over his shoulder and followed Chase to the crew cab. He had to wait while his new buddy cleared the passenger seat of empty juice boxes and toys, tossing them into the back. He shot Danny a wry grin. “You have kids?”
“Nope,” he said. All throughout his life, that was a message his mother had pounded into his brain. Children ruin your life. He’d certainly ruined hers. She’d made that more than clear. Naturally, he’d long ago vowed to avoid such a disaster. But then, he thought with a bitter twist in his gut, he’d managed to ruin his life all on his own. With a sigh, he hoisted himself up onto the step and into the truck.
“Married?” Chase asked as Danny joined him in the cab.
“Nope.” He had no idea why Lizzie sprang to mind just then—he had no idea why he still bothered to think about her anymore—but when Chase turned over the engine and the air-conditioning kicked on, he let all thoughts of her waft away in a frigid blast.
“Well, be warned. As soon as you’re married, your truck’ll never be your own again.” Chase chuckled, reached into a cooler behind the seat and handed Danny a cold bottle of water.
He grabbed it with gusto. Damn. Plain old water had never looked so good. He downed the bottle in two gulps, which made Chase chuckle again and hand him another. It occurred to Danny that Chase was a pretty happy guy, judging by how often he chuckled. But why wouldn’t he be happy? He had air-conditioning and a cooler filled with water bottles.
“Thanks,” Danny said after he took a deep draw of the second bottle. “For the water. And the ride.”
“No problem.” Chase set the truck in gear and headed down the lonely road. “We don’t get a lot of visitors in Butterscotch Ridge.”
Danny gave him the side-eye. “How do you know I’m going to Butterscotch Ridge?”
Chase shrugged. “Few folks take this road to go anywhere else. BR is a real small town. Small enough, I s’pose, that the locals figure it doesn’t even deserve all those syllables.”
Danny aimed the AC vent to blow directly on his face. “How does a town get a name like Butterscotch Ridge, anyway?” He didn’t care, but he figured he owed this guy conversation at least.
“Easy.” Chase shot him a wink. “The town founder’s wife thought the grasses looked like butterscotch in the dry season.”
Danny glanced out the window at the passing range—which was, in a word, brown—and shook his head. Whatever worked, he supposed.
“So what’s the town like?” he asked.
Chase shrugged. “Nice. Quiet. Though it can get rowdy at my place on a Saturday night.” He waggled his eyebrows. “See, I own the only bar in town.”
Danny huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure we’ll meet again, then.”
“Yup. In a town like this, gossip is better than gold. On that note...why are you here, anyway?”
Danny turned back to the window. Watched butterscotch-colored weeds flick by. “Need to meet with William Watney.” What else was there to say? He didn’t know much else.
“Bill? You in some kinda trouble?”
“No.” He hoped not. “It’s a legal matter. I’ll get more details when I see him.”
“Yeah. Bill can be vague. But he’s a good lawyer. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you, whatever it is.”
“Yeah.”
They rode for a while in silence and then they passed an enormous gate that made Danny’s heart hiccup. The wood-burned sign swinging above read Stirling Ranch. Seeing the name from the letter made something in his belly curl. “Hey,” he said as casually as he could. “What’s that place?”
Chase grunted. “That’s where the Stirling family lives. Local royalty. Family’s been here forever. They own a successful beef ranch. In fact, they own about half of the town, too.”
A strange feeling needled Danny. It was all he could do to stay focused on the conversation. He jokingly asked, “Who owns the other half?”
Chase didn’t seem amused. His lip curled. “The Cages.” He glanced at Danny. “Just a heads-up, by the way. There’s a huge feud between the Stirlings and the Cages.”
“A feud? Over what?” And who are the Cages? What kind of town is this, anyway?
Chase barked a laugh. “Who the hell even remembers? But it’s been going on for decades.”
“Good to know.” Danny filed away that tidbit and stared out of the window as this all percolated in his brain. Especially the successful-ranch part. Though he had no idea what to expect, no idea what the will actually said. With any luck, he might inherit enough money to pay off his debts and maybe have a little left over to start up life somewhere else. Somewhere far from Vegas. The idea gave him hope. Something he wasn’t used to feeling. Naturally, he didn’t trust it.
He sat up a little straighter as he caught a glimpse of a town on the horizon. It grew as they approached, the image of it waffling in the heat, making it seem like a mirage. As they drove down the main street, Danny caught sight of neatly painted storefronts and a town green with an actual gazebo. Just what you’d think a small town would be like. Where everybody knew your name and folks looked out for each other.
Yeah. A mirage.
Chase pulled up in front of a rather grand facade with William Watney, Esquire, emblazoned on the shingle. He snorted, pointing to a sign hanging on the doorknob. Watney had apparently Gone Fishin’.
“Looks like Bill’s off the clock,” Chase said, backing out of the spot. “Where are you staying?”
Danny blinked. Where was he staying? He had some cash, but not a lot. He’d been planning to sleep in his car, as he had on the way here, to save money. Obviously, that plan was shot. “I... Is there a hotel?”
“Sure. The Butterscotch Inn. Just down the road.”
“Awesome.”
“Listen, I’ll drop you there so you can check in, then come on by the B&G—” he pointed to a rambling, large-windowed establishment, which proclaimed it had the best steak in the Columbia Valley, as they passed “—and I’ll buy you dinner.”
“You don’t need to do that.” The guy had already helped him immensely. He hated to take advantage.
“I know.” Chase winked. “Let’s call it a down payment on the scoop you’re gonna give me once you talk to Bill.”
That sounded like a plan. Besides, Danny’s belly was starting to grumble. Still, after Chase dropped him off at the hotel, and he checked into his—air-conditioned!—room, Danny flopped down on the bed. He needed a moment or two to reflect on everything he’d learned. And everything he hadn’t.
Of course, he ended up thinking mostly about Lizzie. He always did. Even though it was water under a very old bridge.
Even now, more than five years later, he wished he could go back and change things. Wished he hadn’t said or done whatever had made her realize he wasn’t the man she’d needed him to be. He could only imagine that she’d decided she deserved someone better. Someone less...broken. His mother had told him he didn’t deserve Lizzie. Apparently, she’d been right.
If only Lizzie hadn’t changed her cell number. If only he knew where she was, and that she was safe and whole.
But mostly, he wished she was here. That he could talk to her about all this. He missed talking to her. Mostly, he missed having someone he could trust in his life.
With a grimace, he reminded himself harshly that he couldn’t trust her. Couldn’t depend on her.
After all, she’d up and left him. Just like everyone else in his life had done.
Granted, they’d been fighting, but they’d fought before—mostly about his mother, or Darla—and Lizzie had stayed by his side. What had been different about that fight that had driven her away? He’d asked himself that question a thousand times and never found an answer.
It was a damn shame he couldn’t ask her, because after that night, she’d disappeared, and he’d never been able to track her down.
Yep. Somehow, he’d blown the best thing that ever happened to him. What he wouldn’t give to have a chance—any chance—to win her back.
Elizabeth Michaels toyed with her necklace as she stared out of the windows of Seattle Children’s Hospital. She barely noticed the bright and shiny day, or the hint of Lake Washington in the distance, or the snow-capped mountains on the horizon.
When she realized what she was doing, she let the necklace fall. Emma had noticed she fiddled with it when she was worried, and she didn’t want to let on.
Emma noticed everything.
Lizzie glanced back at the bed, where her daughter was solving a maze in a puzzle book one of the nurses had brought by. She’d always been a curious child, and clever beyond her years. Not satisfied to simply color, she needed more of a challenge.
Well, life had certainly given her a challenge. One she might not survive this time. This time, her weakened immune system didn’t seem to be responding to treatment.
As emotion bubbled up in Lizzie’s throat, she turned back to the window.
“What is it, Mommy?” Emma asked, her voice slightly muffled through her Minnie Mouse mask.
“Nothing, hon. I just thought I saw an eagle. But wouldn’t you know? It was just another seagull.”
Emma’s tinkle of a laugh made her smile. Made tears prick at Lizzie’s eyes. “Mommy, we’re in the city. Eagles don’t like the city.”
“Don’t they?” She pinned a smile on her face and moved across the room to plop on the bed. “Who told you that?”
“Everyone knows that.” Emma’s eyes crinkled above the mask, so Lizzie knew she was grinning.
“I think we should ask Dr. Blake. He would know.”
“Mmm. Dr. Blake.” Emma’s eyebrows did a tango. “He’s cute.”
“Yes. He’s very cute.” Also very young. Like, way young. “Maybe you can date him when you get older.”
Emma dissolved into giggles and fell back on her pillow. “He’s too old for me.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah. I thought he would be cute for you, Mommy.”
“For me?” Egads. The thought was a little frightening. Lizzie had been single for so long, she didn’t even think she would remember how things worked.
Well, she probably would remember, but it hardly mattered. She had too much on her plate to even consider romance with her daughter’s doctor, or anyone. Not only was Emma’s illness complicated and deadly, it was also expensive. This stay alone would cost thousands. As a contract employee for a local accounting firm, all insurance and most medical costs were out of pocket. Her pocket.
Lizzie thrust her financial apprehensions out of her head and focused on her daughter. Nothing was more important than Emma. She would do whatever it took to make her well again.
“Ms. Michaels?”
She bolted off the bed and whirled around as Dr. Blake entered the room. And, yes, he was handsome. Tall and dark-haired, with sculpted features. But he was a baby. Practically. “Dr. Blake. Perhaps you can solve a riddle for us?” she said.
He leaned down and ruffled Emma’s hair. “I’d be happy to.”
“It’s about eagles,” Emma said.
“Hmm. Not my area of expertise, but shoot.”
“Do they live in the city?”
He grinned down at Lizzie’s daughter. “Indeed they do.” Emma groaned, and he added, “I saw one in a video from the Woodland Park Zoo just the other day.”
“Zoos don’t count!” Emma insisted.
“Don’t they?” Dr. Dreamboat winked at Lizzie. “I think they do.”
“Oh, brother,” Emma huffed, and went back to her maze.
The second the child looked away, the doctor’s expression sobered. “Ms. Michaels, can I speak to you for a moment?”
Lizzie’s belly plummeted. Those were not words a parent wanted to hear at Children’s Hospital. Not after a week like this. “Um, sure. Emma, honey, Dr. Blake and I are going to have a chat. You know where your button is if you need anything, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She was too engrossed in her maze to even look up.
Dr. Blake took her arm—another bad sign—and Lizzie swallowed heavily. He led her down the sunnily painted hall to a consult room, which was also done up in incongruous cheer. He shot her a conciliatory glance as he waved at a chair.
And she knew.
“It’s not working,” she said. Might as well face it outright.
He eased a box of tissues toward her and she took one, just in case. “It’s not. I’m sorry. We had hoped the bone-marrow stimulants would take before the immunosuppressants began undermining her immune system.”
Lizzie sighed and mangled her tissue. She knew what that meant. Only one option left. “So we need to look for a donor.”
“Yes. I see she doesn’t have any siblings, which are our first choice in these cases. How about close family?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I have a sister, but the minute Emma was diagnosed, we both got tested. Neither of us are compatible.” It was hard to keep her voice from cracking under the enormous weight of such simple words.
Dr. Blake set his hand on hers and squeezed. “Related donors are best, but don’t worry. There are a lot of success stories with unrelated donors. And Emma is a strong girl. She’s a fighter.”
How Lizzie hated those words. They were true, but why should a five-year-old have to fight at all? Why should she have to fight for her life?
“What about...?” The doctor cleared his throat. “On the father’s side?”
Lizzie’s chin came up so fast she bit her tongue. “I beg your pardon?”
“Emma’s father? Would he be willing to—?”
“No.” He wouldn’t be willing to...anything.
“Is there a chance? If he or his family are matches—”
“He doesn’t have any family.” Just a heartless mother. “Besides, I don’t even know where he is.” She hadn’t seen him since—since that awful fight. What was it? Five and a half years ago?
Dr. Blake nodded. “All right. I just thought I’d bring it up. We’ll go ahead and start the process of searching for donors. I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Ms. Michaels.” She wished he’d stop calling her that. “But with Emma’s blood type, it may take some time to find a good match. You do understand what that means.”
She did. A chill racked her. Everything else had failed. Emma had only one slim hope left: finding a compatible donor with an extremely rare blood type.
They both stood, but as Lizzie turned to leave the room, the doctor sighed and scrubbed at his face. “I just want you to know, Ms. Michaels, everyone here is determined to do our best for your daughter. We care deeply about Emma, too.” When his voice broke, it nearly broke her.
“I know, Doctor.” She patted his hand. The irony that she was comforting him was not lost on her.
She watched him head back to the nurses’ station with a heavy heart, confronted with the harsh reality that she’d been able to hold back for months. This time, Emma might not win.
The facts were plain and simple. Emma needed a marrow donor. Blood relatives were the best options. She had no choice other than to track down Danny Diem—and fast—and ask for his help to save their daughter. Which was complicated, because he had no idea he had a daughter. He had no idea that he was a father at all.
