Big Sky Summer Part 13

And Clare's ambition had never wavered since.

"You take good care of Doris for me," Casey said, and Joe nodded, executed a little salute and returned to the plane.

Once he was inside, the metal steps whirred their way back into the underbelly of the craft, and the door closed, sealing itself with a familiar hermetic sound, like a lid fusing itself to one of Lupe's jars of canned peaches.

Standing there on the tarmac, hands in the pockets of her lightweight jacket, even though it wasn't cold, Casey waited, smiling and waving when she saw Doris's face at one of the portholes.

After the plane lifted off, she drove home, and seeing that every light in the whole place was on, she knew Brylee must have dropped Clare and Shane off after the horseback ride and the restaurant meal.

Casey parked in the driveway-she only used the garage in bad weather-and steeled herself to go inside and face her children.

Shane was in the backyard, with the dogs, when she came around the side of the house on her way to the sunporch entrance.

Casey paused, gazing at him, trying to memorize the way he was right then, at that moment, poignantly aware that her son would be different tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Look away from the boy, look back at the man. Her throat thickened.

"Hey, Mom," he said, as though it had been an ordinary day, with no mind-boggling revelations. Would there be a backlash at some point? Probably, Casey thought. She'd look into family counseling in the morning, though she knew both children would resist the idea.

"Hey," Casey answered when she could trust her voice.

"Where've you been?" Shane inquired. She detected a vaguely wheedling note in the question, knew he was about to make some kind of pitch-resuming the campaign to change his last name to match Walker's, most likely, or announcing that he wanted to live with his father.

"Doris's sister is in the hospital up in Seattle," she answered, sounding normal, even if she didn't feel that way. "I drove her to the plane."

"Oh," Shane said, absorbing that. At his age, Casey figured he was still largely preoccupied with the items on his own agenda, but Doris was practically a member of the family, and he was concerned. "Will her sister be okay?"

Casey was facing him by then, and her smile, though wobbly, was genuine. "I think so," she said. "Doris says Evelyn broke her hip, though, and that can be serious for an older person."

Shane nodded thoughtfully, ignoring the trio of dogs competing like silly jesters for his attention. "Yeah," he said.

"How about you?" Casey asked carefully after waiting out a few heartbeats. "Will you be okay, Shane?"

He sighed, and his expression remained pensive, even solemn. "I guess," he said. Then, "Do you think Walker wants me to have his last name, Mom?"

Casey's heart ached, but she'd had a lot of practice when it came to putting on an act, whether professionally or personally, and her facade didn't waver. "I'm sure he does," she said, very quietly. "Is that what you want, Shane?"

Rhetorical question. Of course it was-he'd already made that clear.

Shane searched her face, and, as so often happened these days, she caught a glimpse of the man he was turning into. "Will you feel bad if I do, Mom?" he asked earnestly. "I mean, Elder is a good name, too, and it's not like I'm ashamed of it or anything."

Casey wanted to hug her son just then, fiercely, the way she'd done when he was little and still receptive to mom moves, but she restrained herself, knowing that the moment was fragile, and the boy might be, too. "I won't feel bad," she told him. "I promise."

Shane looked relieved, but not completely satisfied. Night sounds were all around them, and somewhere nearby, an owl hooted, waking up after a long day's sleep in some hidden place. "When I asked if I could go and stay with Walker-Dad-for a while, it probably sounded like I didn't want to be with you anymore-"

He fell silent, shook his head once.

Casey stepped into the breach, the way she always did. In a one-parent household, a person had to be ready be both father and mother at a moment's notice.

"You want to get to know your dad. That's natural, Shane." She paused, glanced up at the lighted windows lining the back of the gigantic house. Weary wistfulness overtook her for a second there, but she was quick to shake it off, because she had to be strong. "How's your sister doing?"

Shane sighed, shoved his hand through his hair in a way that was so like Walker that Casey's breath snagged in her throat. "She was okay while we were with Brylee, riding horses and eating supper at the burger place and stuff, but now she's all revved up in another major snit." He paused. "Why isn't Clare happy about this, Mom?" he asked, plaintive in his confusion. "We've always wanted a dad, and a kid couldn't have a better one than Walker, so why is Clare acting like somebody just detonated a nuclear bomb?"

Casey laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezed lightly. Maintaining her smile took more of an effort than before but, then, everything did. "I think she's confused, and maybe feeling cheated, too." That was a hard thing to get out, opening the door as it did to similar things that Shane might be feeling.

"I agree that you should have told us the truth, Mom," Shane said manfully. "But I know you must have had your reasons."

Casey stood on tiptoe and kissed her son's smooth cheek, blinking back tears. "I did have reasons, honey," she told him. "Lots of them. But I was still wrong, and I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Mom," Shane said, awkwardly gracious. "Everybody does things they wish they hadn't."

"You know what?" Casey asked, mock-punching him in one shoulder, the way she did when she was proud of him, which was often. "You're sounding pretty grown-up, all of a sudden."

He beamed. Like most kids, few things pleased him more than being told that he was behaving like an adult. Why was that? Why were children so anxious to stop being children?

"Thanks, Mom," he said.

They went inside together, mother, son and dogs.

Clare wasn't in the kitchen, of course. That would have been too easy, made her too accessible to her worried mother.

"Get some rest," Casey said to her son as she locked up and set the alarm. "This has been a big day."

Shane grinned indulgently and went up the back stairway, surrounded by dogs.

Casey waited awhile before heading upstairs herself, debating whether she ought to make another attempt to talk to Clare tonight or wait until morning.

Either way, she supposed, the girl would still be furious with her, and not without reason. This wasn't a brat fit, or teenage angst, after all-Clare had a legitimate gripe.

Five minutes later, Casey rapped lightly at her daughter's bedroom door.

"Go away," Clare called immediately-and predictably.

"Sorry," Casey chimed in reply. "No can do."

She waited, by no means certain that she wouldn't have to barge in.

After a few moments and a lot of bustling around, Clare opened the door a crack and peered out, none too pleased at the interruption. "I'm serious, Mom," she said. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well," Casey replied evenly, "it just so happens that I have a few things to say to you, Clare Elder."

"That's Clare Parrish, if you don't mind," Clare snapped. She wasn't giving an inch, but she didn't shut the door in Casey's face, either.

"I don't mind, actually," Casey said. "That's up to you and Walk-your father."

"Elder is just a made-up name anyhow," Clare pointed out, staunchly petulant even in the face of peacekeeping forces. "A show business name."

The girl made the phrase show business sound like something to be ashamed of, which nettled Casey a little, but she wasn't about to take the bait. Besides, the part about their surname was true enough; the one she'd been born with was Eldenberry, which was not only a mouthful, but apparently an ample reason for the other girls at boarding school to make fun of her. In retrospect, it was hard to believe such a silly thing had ever mattered to her in the first place.

But it had.

She'd been lonely and homesick back then, admittedly for Lupe and Juan rather than for her grandparents, and even one friend would have made a huge difference in her life.

"Okay," Casey responded, agreeing to nothing, easing her way forward so that Clare had to either body-slam her or step out of the way and let her pa.s.s.

Fortunately, Clare wasn't the type to get physical.

"There's nothing you can say to make this better," Clare warned. Her TV was on, though the sound was muted, and both cats lay curled in the middle of her gla.s.s-and-chrome bed, peering warily over the folds in the comforter in case they had to make a fast exit.

Casey drew back the chair at Clare's desk, sat down. "I know," she said when she was darned good and ready. "But we can't stop talking to each other, either."

Clare plunked herself on her bed, careful not to sit on the cats, and folded her legs, yogi-style. She looked like an angry G.o.ddess about to rain lightning bolts over all the earth until it burned to a cinder and, though she didn't come right out and argue with Casey's statement, her message was crystal clear: maybe you can't stop talking, but I can.

Casey pulled in a deep breath and ratcheted up her smile, the way she did with snarky "reporters" stringing for the tabloids, or condescending interviewers with an obvious prejudice against country music and those who sang it.

"Maybe we could look at this from the bright side," she suggested. "You've always wanted a father, Clare. Now you have one. A very good one, as it happens."

"You lied to me," Clare reminded her stubbornly. "And as for Walker, I wanted a father who wanted me, not somebody who couldn't be bothered to mention that-oh, yes-I just happen to be his daughter."

"Walker had nothing to do with this, Clare. It was all my idea."

"'Nothing to do with it,' Mom? Get real. I might be fourteen, but I know how babies happen." She blushed, her brows still lowered, her lower lip protruding slightly. "Other than when some chemist starts them in test tubes, that is."

"Clare, don't be mean. Lots of very good people can only have children by turning to modern medicine for help, and those children are as precious as any other human being."

Clare seemed to pull in her horns a little then-she wasn't a hard-hearted person-but it was obvious that Casey wasn't off the hook, and wouldn't be anytime soon. "I used to wonder what my donor dad was like," she said. "You know, if he was smart, if his eyes were the same color as mine, if my laugh was just like his mother's, or his sister's-"

Casey kept her chin up, but she couldn't hide her tears, or say a single word.

"And you know what?" Clare went on, remote and withdrawn again, speaking into a s.p.a.ce just over Casey's right shoulder. "People would say I was being silly, because anybody could see that I got my brains from you, that my eyes are like yours, and my laugh is like yours, we have the same hair and even the same voice. No offense, Mom, but it was almost like they thought I didn't even need a father, because you'd conceived me all by yourself. And that, of course, is ultraweird unless you're Jesus."

Casey laughed, sniffled, s.n.a.t.c.hed a tissue from the box on Clare's desk and dabbed at her eyes. So much for that last application of mascara, she thought. And how was a completely human and therefore imperfect mother supposed to react to a statement like the one her daughter had just made? With a sermon on the Virgin Birth?

Casey didn't have a clue, but she wanted to keep the conversation going because she sensed that if they stopped now, a door would close between them.

"Besides being angry with me," she persisted, "what are you feeling, Clare?"

Clare considered the question. "Hard to say," she replied eventually. "Mostly, I feel sad, I guess, and ripped off-like somebody gave a big party and didn't invite me."

She was taking a chance, she knew that, but Casey stood up then, walked over to Clare's bed, sat down beside her and slipped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

Clare stiffened slightly, but she didn't squirm away.

"I love you," Casey said very quietly.

"I know," Clare answered, just as quietly. "But I think I'm going to be mad for a while longer."

Casey smiled, kissed her daughter's temple. "That's okay," she said, choking up again. "We'll work through all this together, no matter how long it takes."

Clare nodded and swallowed hard, but she didn't say anything.

And that was Casey's cue to exit.

CHAPTER TEN.

"WELL, BIG BROTHER," Brylee said peevishly the next morning as she set a coffee cup down on the table in front of Walker with so much force that some of the brew spilled over and burned his fingers, "you sure can keep a secret-I'll give you that."

Walker tried to smile, fell a little short of full wattage. "Why is it," he countered, "that you only wait on me when you're p.i.s.sed off?"

Brylee dropped into the chair directly across from his. Decked out in her usual jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt and sneakers, with her hair twisted into a no-nonsense bun at the back of her head, she was dressed for the warehouse rather than the office, since that was where she spent most of her time. Not for her the high heels and custom-made power suits other lady CEOs probably favored.

Not that there were a whole lot of those running around Parable County, Montana, to provide him with a frame of reference.

"I wasn't 'waiting on' you," she pointed out crisply. "If you must know, my first and strongest inclination was to empty the cup over your head." The flush in her cheeks indicated that she was gathering steam. "All these years," she went on, "I've had a niece and a nephew, and you never bothered to tell me?"

Walker took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, grateful that he wasn't wearing it instead of drinking it. "Casey didn't want anybody else to know," he said reasonably. "And, anyway, I figured you'd guessed it on your own."

Brylee didn't touch her own coffee, nor was there any sign of breakfast, not that he'd expected her to cook for him or anything. Most mornings, though, she whipped up scrambled eggs or pancakes for herself, and shared them with him.

"I didn't have a clue," she said frankly, simmering down a little.

He hoped.

Walker said nothing, since excuses were all he had to offer, and he was having enough trouble with his conscience as it was.

"Why would Casey want to keep a secret like that?" Brylee asked, clearly not ready to let the subject drop, whether her brother had anything worthwhile to say or not.

A man of few words, Walker groped around inside himself for a viable reply. "She was just starting to make it as a singer at the time," he said finally. "I guess she thought I'd drag her to the altar, bring her back here to the ranch and keep her barefoot and pregnant for the rest of her life."

Brylee crooked a smile at that, but it was brief. In that getup, with no makeup on her face, she looked more like a teenager than the head of a company worth millions. "Don't try to put all the blame on Casey, Walker Parrish. You had a say in this, too. You could have spoken up at any time, with or without her blessing." She paused, and her throat worked visibly as she struggled with some private emotion. "Your daughter is devastated," she eventually went on. "And once Shane gets past the whoopee-I've-got-a-father-after-all stage, he's going to wonder why you didn't see fit to claim him and Clare a long time ago."

"I told you," Walker said, "Casey-"

But Brylee held up both palms like a referee, and blew the proverbial whistle. "Bull," she said flatly. "Since when have you ever danced to anybody's tune, including Casey Elder's? n.o.body calls your shots but you, Walker, and that means that, on some level, you preferred to leave well enough alone instead of taking a stand."

"It isn't that simple," Walker said, but the words sounded lame, even to him.

Brylee didn't let up. "Isn't it?" she countered. "Face it, Walker. If you couldn't have things your own way-you and Casey married, living on this ranch, raising those kids according to some sitcom image of what a family ought to be rattling around in that hard head of yours-you were going to stand back with your arms folded and your back molars clamped together."

"That was colorful," Walker observed-once he'd unclamped his back molars so his tongue could function.

"What happens now?" Brylee demanded, cheeks pink with righteous indignation.