Balancing Act
Автор
Patricia Davids
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Chapter One
Cheryl Steele planted her hands on her hips. “Angie, in order to attend your wedding, I have endured the wrath of my director, risked losing the best role of my career and traveled miles out of my way. At this moment, I’m very close to regretting all that effort.”
In the small dressing room at the back of an old stone church on the outskirts of Wichita, Kansas, Cheryl’s sister ignored her ire. “You will go out to the ranch, won’t you? For me?” Angie coaxed again. “It’s practically on your way.”
“It’s fifty miles out of my way.” Exasperated by her younger sibling’s persistence, Cheryl tried changing the subject. “Your veil isn’t straight. Let me fix it.”
“My veil is fine. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I did. Two dozen times in the past two days. The answer is no! Now, hush.” Cheryl adjusted the veil then stepped back and gazed in poignant wonder at the vision in satin and lace before her.
“Well?” Angie demanded.
“You look…radiant…beautiful…?. I don’t think I can find the right words. Jeff is a lucky man. I hope he knows it.”
A mischievous grin curved Angie’s lips. “He does. I tell him every chance I get.”
Cheryl chuckled. “I bet you do.”
Angie’s smile faded. “Please say you will go out to the ranch before you leave the state. For me. Consider it a wedding present.”
Cheryl sighed. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it’s important.”
“There’s nothing important about a few acres of grass and some rundown buildings in the middle of nowhere.”
“It was our home. Our family is there.”
“No! It was never a home after Mom died!” Cheryl shouted, then realized she was overreacting. She drew a deep breath and tried for a calmer tone. “I’m sorry. That ranch was the place we were stuck at until Cousin Harriet took us away. She gave us a home, and you are all the family I have left.”
Irritated by her sister’s persistence, Cheryl turned away and busied herself with the satin ribbons of Angie’s bouquet of fragrant yellow roses. “I don’t know why you keep harping on the subject.”
“Harriet wanted you to go back, Cheryl. It was the last thing she asked of you before she died.”
“I know.” Cheryl’s anger drained away, replaced with an aching sense of loss. She owed everything to Harriet Steele.
The day their mother’s cousin had descended like a whirlwind to defy their grandmother and whisk both girls away from the ranch had been like something out of a fairy tale. At first, Cheryl had been terrified their grandmother would come and take them back. But after a month in Philadelphia, Harriet had called Cheryl and Angie into her study and told them they were to live with her for as long as they liked. She had granted them an opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to live where no one knew them—where no one looked down on them.
And she gave Cheryl an even greater gift—the opportunity to study ballet. Harriet had passed away five years ago, a month before Cheryl debuted in her first major role, but Cheryl knew that every step she danced, every triumph she achieved in her career, she owed directly to that staunch, remarkable woman. Knowing that she had failed to honor the woman’s last request left a bruised place in her heart.
Cheryl glanced at her sister’s troubled face. This was Angie’s wedding day. She should be happy today. She deserved that and much more.
“Why is it so important to you?”
“Because I see that you need closure, even if you won’t admit it. You’re still hiding. You’re still afraid, and it isn’t healthy.”
“I’m not afraid.” Somehow, her words didn’t carry the conviction she had hoped for.
“Then you’ll go?”
“No.”
“Not even for me?”
With her sister’s disappointment so painfully clear, Cheryl found herself wavering. “It’s not like Doris would welcome me with open arms. Besides, if she didn’t care enough to come to your wedding, why should I make an effort to see her?”
“Grandma Doris is stuck in the past. She can’t…or won’t…move on with her life. Seeing you, perhaps gaining your forgiveness, it could help. As for Jake—”
“Stop it!” Cheryl’s anger came roaring back to life and she cut her sister off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about those people. Not one word!”
Angie caught Cheryl in an unexpected quick hug. “Oh, Cheryl, where we come from is part of what makes us who we are. Changing your name didn’t change that.”
“Now you sound like a psychologist.”
Drawing back with a little laugh, Angie said, “That’s because I’m studying to become one, remember?”
“I thought you were going to treat kids.
I’m twenty-six years old, sis. Four years older than you.”
Sadness settled over Angie’s features. “You may be older, but in some ways you are still a hurting little girl. I would go back and change things if I could. So much of it was my fault.”
Cheryl took her sister’s face between her hands. “Don’t ever say that. The blame belongs to Dad and Jake and Doris. They were the adults. You were a child.”
“You were a child, too.”
“I was old enough to know what I was doing. I don’t regret anything.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have cut yourself off from Grandma Doris and Jake after Dad died. You can’t let unresolved issues from the past ruin your life.”
Cheryl looked at Angie in amazement. “Are you kidding? My life isn’t ruined. I’m the lead ballerina in a fabulous dance company. What more could I want?”
“But are you happy?”
Was she? She was happy when she danced, but after the lights went down…when she went home to an empty apartment alone… Cheryl shook off the troubling thoughts. “Hey, I’m supposed to be asking you that question. You’re the one getting married.”
Angie’s expression softened. “I’m very happy. I am blessed in more ways than I can count. I am thankful every day. I have even found my true love.”
Determined to sidetrack Angie’s questions, Cheryl said, “I do wish you and Jeff could come see me dance. It’s a wonderful production of Alice in Wonderland, and I love the role of Alice. Our performance tonight is a special one for disadvantaged children. That was one reason I really wanted the role. Most of the cities on our tour have at least one performance especially for children. You know I believe kids everywhere should have a chance to see how beautiful ballet is.
“I wish we could have worked it out, too. But that silly man of mine wants to take me to Hawaii for our honeymoon. Who am I to argue with a romantic like that?”
“All right. If I can’t talk you out of marrying the fool, then let’s get started so I can get on the road. The forecast is calling for snow. Snow in April! I’d almost forgotten how unpredictable the weather is out here. I’ll never understand why you moved back.”
“I came back because this is where my roots are. Yours are here, too.”
“No, mine have been transplanted to New York, and they’re thriving, thank you very much.”
Angie studied Cheryl’s face for a long second. “I wish I believed that.”
“Enough with the analyzing.”
“You can’t keep avoiding the subject forever.”
“I can, and I will. Drop it, Angela. I mean it. I don’t have any family except you. That’s the way it is.”
“What if Jake asked to see you?”
“I’d say, ‘Jake who?’”
“He’s your brother.”
“Half brother.”
Angie reached out and took hold of Cheryl’s hand. “Can’t you consider forgiving him?”
“No. He got what he deserved and Eldorado Prison is not on my itinerary—so don’t even ask.”
Angie’s shoulders slumped and she nodded in resignation. A knock sounded at the door and she went to open it. One of the ushers stood on the other side.
“Everything’s ready,” he said. “The guitarist wants to know if he should start playing or if you wanted to see him first.”
Angie looked at Cheryl and sighed. She turned back to the usher. “Tell him to start playing, please.”
Cheryl didn’t understand the sorrow in her sister’s voice. “What’s the matter, honey?”
Angie held out her hand. “Why is it that the people I love are all so stubborn? Never mind. Let’s go get me married.”
Hours later, hunched over the steering wheel of her rental car, Cheryl peered through snowflakes the size of goose feathers as they filled the beams of her headlights. She was driving into a storm and into the middle of nowhere, and for what? Because she couldn’t bear to remember the look of disappointment on her sister’s face.
Tightening her grip on the wheel, Cheryl marveled at her own folly in leaving the turnpike for this deserted stretch of rural highway. She had a major performance later tonight. She should be resting in her hotel room by now. But when the exit sign for Highway 77 had appeared, she had taken it—almost against her will. That had been an hour ago—long enough to regret her decision a hundred times. Still, she had to be close now. She fought down the feeling of dread that rose with the thought. Seconds later, the gray shape of a rural mailbox loomed out of the snowy night.
She braked, feeling the car slide on the slick road as she turned into the barely discernable country lane and stopped.
At least the snow and the darkness hid the desolate landscape of the rolling Flint Hills from her sight. Only a dim gleam, from a porch light or perhaps a window, showed her where the old ranch house stood out on the prairie. She was home.
No sense of nostalgia filled her—only bitterness—a bitterness buried so deep she hadn’t realized she still carried it until this moment. Staring at the flickering light in the distance, she suddenly understood why she had come.
She hadn’t come because of Angie’s pleadings. She had come to prove that nothing remained of the frightened girl who had left so many years ago.
“You can’t hurt me anymore!” She wanted to shout those words in the old woman’s face, but she didn’t move. Her fingers grew ice-cold where she gripped the wheel as the old shame and fears crawled back to replace her bravado.
Coming here had been a mistake. She shifted the car into Reverse. She couldn’t change the past. No one could. Cheryl Thatcher had effectively buried that past. Cheryl Steele didn’t intend to resurrect it. Angie might believe in forgiveness, in healing old wounds, but Cheryl didn’t. There was no forgiveness in this bleak land.
The tires whined as they spun in the snow, then suddenly they caught and the car lurched out of the lane and onto the pavement. Cheryl shifted into Drive, then stepped on the gas and didn’t look back as she headed down the winding two-lane highway that would take her away. This time, forever.
Half an hour later, she raged at her own stupidity and bad luck. The snow came down faster and thicker with every mile. Her side trip had turned into a major mistake. A glance at the clock on her dash showed it was already half-past six. It would be close, but she could still make it. She had to. Her position was too important to risk by missing a performance. She would have to let Damon know she was running late. She dreaded placing the call. He wasn’t an easy man to deal with at the best of times. Reaching down, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone.
“Dumb cow,” Sam Hardin muttered under his breath. “I try to do you a favor and this is the thanks I get. You make me ride home in the dark.”
He glanced across the corral to the long, low shed where his cattle huddled together out of the wind. One stubborn heifer had refused to join the herd and had kept Sam searching for her long after the others were rounded up. He swung the metal gate shut with a clang after she ambled through. Now all his expectant cows and those with newborn calves at their sides were safe from the approaching storm. He dismounted to make sure the gate was secure, then leaned his arms on the top panel.
The truth was he didn’t mind the ride or the time alone. He didn’t have a reason to hurry home tonight. No one would be missing him. His grandfather might be up pretending to watch television while he dozed in his chair, but the twins were spending the night with Sam’s mother, and without the girls’ constant activity and chattering voices, the big house felt empty and lonely. As empty as his heart had felt since Natalie left him.
Beside him, his bay gelding snorted and shook his head. Drops of melting snow flew from his long mane, and his bridle jingled faintly in the cold air. Sam left off his somber musing and gathered the reins as he cast a worried look at the sky.
“I guess that stockman’s advisory is going to be right on the money, tonight, Dusty,” he said in disgust. “When was the last time it snowed like this in April?”
Mounting, Sam turned his horse for home. It was dark and snowing heavily by the time he reached the main pasture gate. He dismounted, opened it and led Dusty out, then he stretched the barbed wire strands taut and lowered the wire hoop over the gatepost. He turned his coat collar up against the rising wind and settled his hat more firmly on his head.
Remounting, he patted Dusty’s neck and spoke to the patient cow pony. “Only a little longer, fella. Then you can bed down in a warm stall with an extra ration of oats—you’ve earned it.”
Dusty’s ears perked at the mention of oats, and Sam laughed softly as he set his horse into a trot along the wide shoulder of the highway and headed for the ranch house. Suddenly, the glare of headlights blinded him as a car sped out of the snowy night and came straight at him.
At the last second, the car swerved, then pitched into a skid on the icy roadway. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw the vehicle fly past as his horse leapt sideways. It missed them by inches as it spun off the road, plunged down an embankment and slammed to a stop in a small group of trees.
Sam reined in his terrified horse. It had been a close call—too close. The thought of his daughters losing another parent sent a chill up his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
With his heart still hammering wildly, Sam dismounted and stared at the car in the ditch. Please, let everyone be okay.
He left his horse at the edge of the road and made his way down the steep slope to the wrecked car. His boots slipped in the wet snow, and he skidded the last few feet to the bottom. He saw the driver’s door was crushed against a cedar tree, so Sam made his way to the opposite side. What kind of idiot drove at such breakneck speed in this weather, anyway? He yanked open the passenger door and the dome light came on.
The idiot was a woman. Her blond head rested against the high seat back with her pale face half turned toward him. A thin line of blood trickled from her left temple, slipped down the slender column of her throat and disappeared beneath the scooped neckline of her red sweater.
Was she dead? The grim thought sent a curl of dread through him. He jerked off his gloves and leaned in to check for a pulse.
He found one, strong and steady beneath his fingers. Relieved, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Her eyes fluttered opened, and she blinked in the light.
“Lady, are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
She lifted a shaky hand to her head. “I don’t think so.”
Bitter-cold air swept around Sam and into the car as he held the door open. Her trembling was probably due to shock and not the freezing temperature, but he wasn’t helping. Easing onto the slanting front seat, he closed the door. The interior light shut off, and the only illumination came from the headlights reflecting off the snow outside. He began to unknot the bandanna at his throat. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m going to be so late,” she muttered and closed her eyes.
Fright and cold made his fingers clumsy. With a jerk, the bandanna finally came loose. He pressed it to her bleeding temple. “Late for your own funeral, maybe. You’re crazy to be driving so fast in this weather.”
She pushed his hand away and turned a fierce scowl in his direction. “I’m not the crazy one here! You were riding a horse in the middle of a highway—at night—in a snowstorm! Do you have a death wish?” she shouted, then winced.
“Lady, I wasn’t in the middle of the highway. I was on the shoulder when you came barreling at me. The road curves here, but I guess you didn’t notice. You were over the center line and speeding toward the ditch. I just happened to be in your way.”
She stared at him a long moment. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh!”
“Well, I missed you, didn’t I?”
The last of his tension evaporated. “You did. You have my sincere thanks for that. If you’d gone off the other side of this curve at the speed you were traveling you might be dead now. There’s a steep drop and a stone wall on that side.”
He offered the bandanna again. “Are you hurt anywhere besides that cut on your forehead?”
“I’m not sure.” Taking the cloth from him, she held it to her head and gave a hiss of pain. After a second, she focused on him again.
Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Is your horse all right?”
“Dusty and I are fine, honest.”
“It all happened so fast. I almost killed you.” A sob escaped as a tear slipped down her pale cheek. “Almost doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades. Hey, yelling I can take, but tears—don’t even go there,” he warned.
She managed a trembling half smile. “I’ll try.”
Sam shot a quick look at the windshield. The wipers had stopped with the engine, and snow already covered the glass.
“We need to get out of this weather, and this car isn’t going anywhere. My ranch isn’t far, but we should get going before this storm gets any worse. Can you move?”
“I think so.” She shifted in the seat, then gave a sharp cry as she grabbed her left thigh with both hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“My foot is caught,” she answered through clenched teeth.
He saw a tremor race through her body. The temperature inside the car was dropping rapidly. He needed to get her someplace warm and soon.
“Here, take my coat while I have a look.” He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. They felt slender and fragile under his large, work-hardened hands. Her hair swept across the back of his wrist in a soft whisper stirring an unexpected awareness of her as a woman. He forced the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting her out of here.
She bit her lip as she tried again to move. “My foot’s wedged under something. I can’t move it, and it hurts when I try.”
Reaching over the steering column, he turned on the interior light. “Hold still while I check it out.” Leaning down, he peered under the dash. “I’m Sam Hardin, by the way.”
Cheryl’s breath caught in a sharp gasp of surprise. He was one of the high-and-mighty Hardins. Her pulse began to pound. Feelings of shame and guilt rose like bile in the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after all this time.
She glanced fearfully at the man beside her. Did he know who she was? Had he seen her family’s pictures plastered across the local papers? Had he been at the trial that had sent her father and brother to prison? Did he know she had been her father’s accomplice and that she’d done time for her crime?
