Baby Enchantment Page 11
“You go right ahead and make yourself comfortable. You know where I keep the cups.” Mattie added a pair of neatly folded overalls to the stack.
Once he had a hot mug of coffee in hand, Cord dialed the number that he knew by heart from when Hank had lived in the apartment that Brooke now occupied. The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer. This didn’t surprise Cord. By this hour the spa would have opened and she was probably availing herself of some of Rancho Encantado’s well-touted amenities. He tried calling her several more times, but she still didn’t answer. He wished she would. He knew now that he wouldn’t make it back that morning; there was too much that needed to be done around here.
“Cord? Do you want to play Mr. Mouth?” Cord had given him the game for Christmas.
“In a minute,” Cord said, grabbing a couple of Mattie’s homemade biscuits from the platter on the counter. They were slightly stale. She must have made them yesterday. That in itself was significant; she’d always whipped up a fresh batch as soon as she arose, which was customarily at an early hour.
“I’ll go get the Mr. Mouth game,” Jonathan said.
Cord went and sat down in the living room, not too interested in the zany cartoon characters on the TV screen but willing to put up with them for Jonathan’s sake. He would have rather been talking on the phone to Brooke. He still didn’t know how he was going to explain why rushing away so early in the morning had been important, but he’d think of something.
AFTER SHE REALIZED that Cord wasn’t going to show, Brooke went over to the spa and managed to wangle an appointment for a massage. She not only had a wonderful massage, but foot reflexology and aromatherapy, as well. Somewhere along the way, her morning sickness disappeared, so she considered the massage time well spent.
Afterward, while her bones still felt pleasantly liquid, she almost bumped smack into Joanna Traywick. The doctor had been having a massage in the adjacent cubicle.
“Aren’t you looking fit!” Joanna exclaimed.
“I should be. That masseuse really knows how to get the knots out.”
Joanna laughed. “I feel ten years younger myself. Say, how about stopping at the juice bar with me? I hear they serve a mean glass of carrot juice.”
The juice bar was in a sunny, wide-windowed room overlooking the palm grove. They perched on high stools and drank tall drinks from frosty glasses—carrot juice for Joanna and papaya for Brooke.
“I’ve heard that papaya juice settles the stomach,” Brooke said after her first sip. “Do you think there’s any truth to that?”
“Possibly.” Joanna paused for a none-too-subtle assessment. “I know it’s none of my business, but maybe I can help if you’re having stomach problems.”
Brooke smiled ruefully. Joanna had been friendly, and hers was the type of personality that inspired confidences. “I’m pregnant,” she admitted, feeling shy about saying the words. This was only the second time she’d uttered them; maybe the more often she told people, the more she’d actually believe it herself.
Joanna nodded knowingly. “I thought it might be possible,” she said carefully.
Brooke blinked. “You did?”
“There’s something—well, incandescent—about pregnant women. And then there’s the matter of the dream I had the night you arrived. It was so vivid that it woke me.”
“What kind of dream?”
“About a priest in the cactus patch at Desert Rose. I think it was Padre Luís, the one who built the school and hospital here in the valley. He said your name and pretended to rock a baby in his arms. I got the idea. My medical specialty is obstetrics.” She laughed. “I have to admit that a cactus patch is not exactly where you’d expect to see a priest, and he certainly didn’t say what you’d expect a priest to say if you did see one.”
Brooke remained silent for a moment. “Are you sure it wasn’t a ghost?”
Joanna shook her head. “Who knows? At the time, I decided that the dream was probably the effect of hearing too many rumors about this place and not getting enough sleep. I had a hard time becoming accustomed to the quiet here in the desert, and the first few nights I tossed and turned a lot.”
“Not me. I’ve slept very well. Pregnancy does that to a person, I guess.”
“I know. That’s what my patients tell me.”
“Joanna, since you’re an obstetrician, I have some questions for you. Like, how soon do I need to start having prenatal checkups? And when will this morning sickness end? And why am I always so tired?”
“You should find a good obstetrician as soon as possible. Prenatal care is important for both you and your baby,” Joanna replied. She went on to offer a prescription for a safe antinausea medication and to reassure Brooke that her unusual fatigue was normal in the early months.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Brooke told her when they rose to leave.
“No problem,” Joanna said warmly. “Call if you need me, okay?”
After Joanna went off to her Pilates class, Brooke headed for her apartment. Cord’s truck wasn’t in the parking area when she got back, so she surmised that he was still away. Where he was wouldn’t be any of her business, she reminded herself, if he hadn’t stood her up this morning. She had wanted to see Cedrella Pass. Of course, Cord had no idea why visiting the pass was so important to her. He didn’t know about her great-great-great-grandmother and how she had died there.
But perhaps Jerusha Taggart did. Carefully, so as not to crumble the thin pages of the old diary, Brooke opened it to where she had left off.
December 9, 1849
Today one of the oxen died. Teensy cried when we told her. Nathan did not seem to care. He grows weaker each day. I walk as much as I can to save the oxen, though I am weary. The new babe in my womb has the easiest lot. Annabel has grown very thin and seems so weak. I worry about her.
Annabel! Brooke made a notation of the page. Trying not to hurry for fear that haste would make her rush past valuable information, she pored over the pages of the diary. She learned that the Tyson party had splintered off from a larger wagon train at Santa Fe, where they had encountered a former army scout named Willis Tyson. He had claimed to have a map showing a shortcut to the goldfields. Several families, eager to get across the desert with its forbidding mountains and wary of the customary northern routes because of the coming cold weather, had thrown in their lot with him.
Brooke kept reading, looking for another mention of her ancestor Annabel, this time along with her surname. That would confirm that Jerusha Taggart knew her.
Finally, she found it. On a page in the middle of the diary, Jerusha had arranged the names of the members of the Tyson wagon train in family groups. Annabel was listed under the name Privette along with her husband James and three children, Lucy, Jody and Melissa. Lucy Privette was Brooke’s great-great-grandmother.
Brooke felt a thrill of discovery. She had not given much thought to her ancestor except as a member of the ill-fated party that had suffered so much hardship at Cedrella Pass. Now, as she ran her fingers across Annabel Privette’s name, actually written by a woman who had known her, it was as if she felt her presence.
Abruptly, she stood up, feeling a shiver despite the warmth of the room. She would go for a walk in the hope of clearing her head.
As she emerged from the stable on the path, Brooke met Justine hurrying over from the Big House. Murphy, her dog, romped along beside her. Justine was carrying a big clipboard and looked pleased to see her.
“Hello, Brooke! I trust all is going well with your article?”
“Yes, thank you. The apartment is working out well. I think I’ll stay there for the duration.”
Justine smiled. “I knew you’d like it. Not only that, but as you’ve probably discovered by now, Cord lives right next door. I asked him to show you around and answer any questions you might have. Did he mention that?”
Brooke hesitated. “Well, yes.” She didn’t plan to expand on this, but Justine skewered her with a glance.
“I—um, yes, he introduced me to the ranch foreman and his wife, and he lent me some material.”
Justine studied her face for a long moment. “Cord isn’t here, is he?” she asked bluntly.
The last thing Brooke wanted was to get Cord in trouble. “I haven’t seen him lately,” she hedged.
Justine looked extremely put out. “That Cord! If I know him, he hasn’t been around all day. One of the men called to ask if Cord was at the Big House this morning when they were having trouble with a cow in labor. I didn’t hear from the guy again, so I assumed that Cord must have shown up. I’ll bet he’s off on a toot.”
“Toot?”
“Off doing whatever it is that Cord does—not that he enlightens anyone. Excuse me, Brooke, I’d better get on his case.” Lips clamped in disapproval, Justine headed toward the Big House, her rigid blond braid swinging angrily behind her. Murphy, after a galumphing detour through the stable, followed.
She’d gotten Cord in trouble, all right. Brooke took no satisfaction in the fact, but you’d think that if Cord valued his job here, he’d play by the rules. Which apparently included acting responsibly, not that he seemed to care.
Brooke set off toward the Smiths’ small house, deciding in that moment to let Cord collect his just desserts. Since they were in the middle of a desert, that was sort of a pun, and she would have liked someone to share it with. However, that someone was nowhere to be found.
AFTER A BRIEF VISIT with Tanya and Emma, Brooke headed back toward her apartment, determined to read the pamphlets that she’d been avoiding ever since Tanya had presented them to her. Even so short a time spent around a year-old baby had convinced her that staying in her small one-bedroom apartment in L.A. would no longer be possible. Babies took up more room than she’d ever dreamed; plus, they needed equipment—playpens, baby monitors and who knew what else? She would need to see about finding someplace bigger as soon as she returned to the city.
As Brooke skirted the corral on the way toward her apartment, she spotted Cord’s pickup as it barrelled into its parking place. He couldn’t help seeing her, and he was out of the truck in an instant.
“Brooke!” he called. “Wait!”
For a split second or so, she didn’t intend to stop walking or to alter her path. He must have thought she didn’t hear him, and he called to her again.
With extreme patience, she turned in his direction. “Yes?” she said with the proper degree of chilly politeness.
“I want to explain about this morning,” he said. He strode toward her, and although his step was firm, she thought he looked tired. He came to a stop in front of her, his forehead furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“I tried to call you, but you weren’t in,” he said.
“I waited for an hour or so before I left the apartment.”
“I would have been here, but it was important.”
“Important?”
“Yes. Something came up.”
A vision of Miss Kitti-Kat’s mustard-yellow building imposed itself on her all-too-vivid imagination. She wasn’t inclined to be understanding.
“You could have left me a note.”
“I should have. I apologize, Brooke. We’ll go to Cedrella Pass tomorrow, I promise.”
True, he looked contrite, but he offered no further explanation, and she didn’t feel comfortable asking questions. If Cord McCall wanted to spend his time in a brothel, she supposed it was no concern of hers. Still, she recognized her disappointment in him. Despite the rumors, she had not believed them.
“I’ll meet you in the stable at seven in the morning,” she said tersely, then wheeled to go. She hadn’t mentioned his dropping in for coffee, nor did she intend to.
She was surprised when he caught her shoulder. “I had something in mind to make it up to you,” he said.
She whirled, surprised when her eyes met his to discover that they were serious and somber.
His hand dropped to his side. “I thought—dinner,” he said, sounding much less sure of himself.
She couldn’t believe this. The guy had stood her up, apologized without giving a full account of himself and now expected her to sit down to eat dinner with him? She walked to the corral, where one of the men was working to train a horse to the saddle.
She watched for a minute, then turned to Cord. “You must be kidding,” she said flatly.
He’d followed her to the fence and leaned one shoulder against it. “I brought something. A friend of mine makes great chili. I have a large pot of it in the truck.”
“Chili,” she said. As usual since she’d become pregnant, anything spicy appealed to her.
“Do you like chili?”
“Well, I—yes.”
“Good. My place or yours?”
She decided to be frank. “Why should I eat dinner with you, Cord?”
“Because you want to?”
She had always been a sucker for boyish charm, but somehow, that quality was unexpected in Cord and all the more appealing because of its contrast to his usual nature. He looked so hopeful, so comically repentant, that she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. The smile became a chuckle, and the chuckle morphed into a laugh.
“Do I take this as a sign that I’m forgiven?”
“Not exactly. Take it as a sign that I like chili.”
“What else could I do to make things right with you?”
“Stop trying to worm your way back into my good graces.”
He grinned at her. “Have I succeeded?”
“Don’t you have something you should be doing? Like, finding out about the latest emergency over at the calving shed?”
His eyebrows flew up. “What do you know about that?”
“Justine mentioned it earlier. She said you’ve been AWOL.”
He let out a long breath. “Ah, the charming Justine. I thought I could go and return before she even noticed I was gone.”
“When you’ve been gone since early this morning? That’s quite a while, Cord, and apparently Justine doesn’t miss much that goes on at Rancho Encantado. The only person you’re fooling is yourself if you think your absences aren’t noted.”
“As we say around here, Justine rules with an iron feather.”
“What do you mean, an iron feather?”
“When she’s trying to prove a point, she’s all fluff, but when she wallops you, you feel it.”
“Sounds as if you have personal knowledge of such things.”
“I’ve been walloped, if that’s what you want to know. Did she come around looking for me?”
“One of the hands thought you might be at the Big House this morning and asked Justine where you were. Some problem with one of the cows.”
“Great. Say, I’d better get that chili into your refrigerator before I check in with the guys.”
“Fine.” Brooke waited while he got the pot of chili and a six-pack out of his pickup and took them inside her place. When he came back out, he stopped to give some pointers to the man who was training the horse, before walking to where Brooke still stood.
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Brooke said as they watched the horse go through its paces.
“I understand a good bit about training horses. Did it for a long time.”
“Here at Rancho Encantado?”
Cord flicked his gaze in her direction. “Not here. Other places.”
“Rodeos?”
“Where did you find out about that?”
“It’s the scuttlebutt around here.”
He leaned across the fence. “Don, try a different bridle. See if that works.” He turned to Brooke. “Yeah, I did some rodeos, made my living the hard way.”
“Why did you quit?”
“Accident,” he said as though he didn’t want to discuss it.
She supposed that a rodeo rider eventually getting hurt was a given, and she would have liked to know more about his injur
y. It could explain the stiffness that she detected in the way he walked, and the pain associated with it could account for his gruffness at times.
Cord moved away from the fence as Don began to fit the new bridle on the horse. “I’ve got to get over to the calving shed,” he said, but he appeared preoccupied, not really in the moment. He was acting as though he had something more important on his mind than what was happening here. Hanging out at Miss Kitti-Kat’s shouldn’t make him so distracted; maybe he had other things going on in his life. She’d had that feeling about Leo at times during their relationship, and ignoring it had been a mistake.
Thinking about Leo left a sour taste in her mouth, and she turned to go.
“Brooke?” Cord’s hand was on her arm.
“I’m going back to my place. I’ll see you later, okay?” She was suddenly so sleepy.
“Sure.”
“And don’t forget to watch out for Justine, in case she’s still gunning for you.”
Cord seemed to drag himself back to the moment. “What time should we have dinner? Around seven?”
She’d almost forgotten about the chili. “That’s fine. Come over early. We can eat at my place.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
Leaving Cord to his work, Brooke headed for her apartment. This sagging fatigue threatened to drop her in her tracks, made it hard to focus on her work. She hoped she could get in a nap before dinner.
Padre Luís Writes
Brooke! Brooke, can you read this? I have tried so hard to reach you, but I think I have failed. Nevertheless, I must write this message in the hope that you will read it on your machine. Forgive me, for I am not a writer. I am a humble priest, trying every way I can to reach you, but I cannot make the words come up on the magic book so you may read them! I am beside myself with worry over this matter.
Child—and I hope that you do not mind my addressing you in this manner, since we are all children of God—you must continue to think of your own child as you have begun to do. Each child is a gift, and each one is special.