Hometown Family Read online

  “It doesn’t help, that’s for sure.”

  Her heart went out to him, and she couldn’t keep her distance anymore. Resting a hand on his windburned cheek, she summoned her most encouraging smile. “I know it seems unbearable right now, but promise me you’ll sleep on it before you make a decision.”

  Closing his eyes as though he was in terrible pain, he covered her hand with his and sighed. “Okay.”

  Satisfied for now, she stepped back and gave him his space. He left her with a halfhearted smile and trudged down the steps. Shoulders slumped, he climbed into his truck and stared out the windshield into the darkness beyond the lone streetlight. When he started the engine, the interior lights threw shadows over his miserable expression. As he drove down the street, she wished there was something she could do for him.

  Matt had always been strong and confident, to the point of arrogance. Better-looking than any guy had a right to be, he used that rugged charm of his to his best advantage. He towered over everyone, secure in his cocky assessment of the world around him.

  With everything he’d had to manage since his father’s death, tonight was the first time Caty had seen him look defeated.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning dawned early, but all the Sawyers gathered around the kitchen table for breakfast while the kids were still asleep. After a bracing swallow of Marianne’s high-octane coffee, Matt told John and the girls what he’d discovered last night. Then he sat back and looked at each of them, trying to gauge the impact of what he’d said. Although he’d spent a restless night going through the options, he still hadn’t made up his mind about what to do. He was counting on their reactions to help him make the toughest decision of his life.

  At first, all he got was dead silence. The three of them traded pained looks, obviously trying to come to terms with what he’d said.

  As he’d expected, Marianne spoke first. She was the self-appointed mother hen of the family, always practical when it came to the farm. “I don’t understand. I do the books, and I had no idea. I mean, things are tight, but that’s nothing new. How could he manage to do something like this?”

  “He used his salary to make the payments on the loans. From what Caty and I saw, he didn’t make a dime the last five years.”

  Frowning, Lisa asked, “Do you think the stress from all these financial problems caused his heart attack?”

  Matt hadn’t considered that, but it would make sense. Their father was one for keeping bad things to himself to avoid worrying the rest of them. Keeping all that bottled up couldn’t be healthy.

  It made him appreciate the fact that for the first time he could remember, he had someone to take some of the load off him. He knew he could trust Caty to handle the banks, while he walked his family through the mess their father had left behind.

  Because they were all still shaken by the whole thing, Matt kept it vague. “We won’t ever know that, I guess. The question is, what do we do now?”

  “Are we gonna lose the farm?” John asked very quietly.

  “Not in this lifetime,” Matt promised him with more confidence than he felt. The irony of it didn’t escape him. Just last night, he’d pretty much told Caty he was ready to sell the place and take off. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but during the night, something had changed.

  “If you, John and I pool the money Dad left us, we could pay off most of the debt,” Lisa suggested. “The kids would still have theirs.”

  “You can have mine,” John agreed quickly. “I don’t really need it for anything.”

  “I thought of that, too, but we won’t get that money until next year.” Still, their willingness to share the pain took some of the burden off him, and he smiled proudly at them. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

  “We might need it later,” John pointed out. “I won’t buy that Ferrari I’ve had my eye on, just in case,” he added with a grin.

  Grateful to him for easing the tension, Matt couldn’t help grinning back. “Good idea. I was thinking about that new baler last night. If we sell it, we could make a dent. How many people buy those huge, round bales?”

  John made a list of the customers by name, ticking them off on his fingers. When he ran out of fingers, Matt stopped him.

  “That’s too many,” he decided, biting back a sigh. “We need to give folks what they want or they’ll get their hay from somebody else.”

  “That’s the last thing we need,” John commented with a frown.

  Matt hated to see the worry in his carefree little brother’s eyes, but there was no help for it. They were all in this together, so everybody had to know what they were up against.

  “This is going to take a lot longer than you planned,” Marianne pointed out. “Maybe you should get back to Charlotte and let us work it out here.”

  “I thought of that, actually. I could take on some extra projects for spare cash. Then I could send money back here to keep things going until the harvest money comes in.” She opened her mouth to say something, and he added, “But I’m not gonna leave this mess for John. With Caty’s help, we’ll figure something out.”

  “Caty will know what to do,” Lisa agreed. “She always does.”

  He didn’t want to admit he’d gone to Caty first, so he said, “That’s good to hear. I’ll talk to her later today.”

  The difficult conversation had gone better than he’d expected. He just hoped they’d feel as optimistic when the money ran out.

  * * *

  Around noon, Caty’s phone rang. She was in the middle of scraping flaking paint off the windowsills, but she put down her scraper and checked the caller ID. To her surprise, it was Matt. She’d spoken to him not half an hour ago to tell him the bank had agreed to keep the loan in place. Where they’d get the money was another issue, but unfortunately she couldn’t help him with that.

  “Talk to me,” he pleaded when she answered. “I’m going crazy out here.”

  “Where is here?”

  “Tractor supply. They’re mounting a new tire, and it’s taking forever. I even offered to go back and do it myself, but the snail running this place won’t let me. I had to come out to my truck to keep from strangling him.”

  She chuckled. “Good choice. I couldn’t do much about a murder rap, I’m afraid.”

  “It’d be self-defense. Defending my sanity.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got a dark sense of humor?”

  This time, he chuckled. “My friends usually don’t get my jokes.”

  “Sarcasm is lost on most people.”

  “Got that right. So what are you doing?”

  “Scraping paint. It’s almost as stimulating as watching it dry, but not quite.”

  “My sympathies.” The background noise muffled, and he came back on. “My tire’s finally done, so I have to go. Talk to you later.”

  He hung up before she could say anything else. Why had he called her? They hardly knew each other, and she couldn’t imagine why he’d think of her when he was bored. It was thoughtful, she supposed, but it seemed completely out of character. Matt didn’t strike her as the type to call anyone just to chat.

  Baffled by the whole thing, she returned to the window. She came across a stubborn patch of paint that looked as though it was covering some kind of putty. Digging out the goop would damage the wood, and she kicked herself for not thinking to buy paint thinner. She’d been to the hardware store three times today, but it hadn’t occurred to her.

  After adding paint thinner to her list, Caty wandered into her grandfather’s workroom, thinking she might find some in one of the mystery bottles she’d noticed in there. If so, it would be old, but it might be strong enough to soften the wood filler, so that she could remove it without damaging the trim. She angled her way thr
ough the furniture and stacked boxes to get to the shelves.

  Squinting to read the faded labels, she found all manner of liquids for various purposes. Some were Grandpa’s own concoctions, which he’d insisted worked better than the commercial variety. A wooden box near the back caught her attention. She remembered him keeping different kinds of paints and glues in it, organized just as neatly as Gram’s sewing kit. There might be something in there she could use.

  Like the rest of the house, nothing had changed since he last touched it. When she lifted the lid, the upper tray hinged up and out, and she found a small bottle of mineral spirits still upright in the bottom.

  “This should do the trick,” she said aloud. She really needed to get a cat or something. This talking to herself was starting to worry her.

  She was about to close the lid when she noticed the corner of an envelope under some old cotton pads. She dug it out and was surprised to see her name on it. How long had it been in here? And why on earth had he hidden it away?

  Feeling like Nancy Drew, Caty took the envelope into the kitchen where the light was better. It was addressed to her, care of her grandfather, and the return address was a post office box in Raleigh. Strangely, the postmark was more than twenty years old.

  Stranger still, the letter had never been opened.

  A shiver of excitement danced up her back as she opened the flap. She took out a sheet of paper, wrapped around a picture of a slender young man holding a baby. Dated just after her first birthday, the page was filled on both sides with small, precise handwriting.

  It began, “My darling daughter.”

  Caty was so stunned, she didn’t realize she’d dropped everything until the pieces fluttered to the floor. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to read any more. Shaking with disbelief, she sat down and took the picture by the corners to avoid smudging the only image she’d ever seen of her father.

  Dressed in khaki pants and a green polo shirt, he was tall, with wavy brown hair tinged with red, like hers. She couldn’t see his eyes because he was looking down at the pink blanket cradled in his arms. But in the delighted smile on his face she saw pure, shining love. The sight brought on more tears than she could blink away, and she put the picture down to keep it dry.

  Her father had loved her.

  The sudden knowledge hit her hard, and she didn’t bother trying to stem the tears. During a rare conversation about him, her mother had told her he took off long before Caty was born, unable to face the responsibilities of being a father.

  For years, Mom had repeatedly lied to her about the whole thing. But why?

  Hoping to find the answer, Caty dried her eyes on the relatively clean sleeve of her grimy T-shirt, and picked up the letter.

  “I’m sending this to your grandfather because he’s a good man, and I trust him to make sure you get it when you’re ready. I only wish I could deliver it in person so I could see you again. I think about you every day, wondering what you’re doing and if maybe you still look like me.”

  Caty swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, but kept reading. He told her about himself, where he was raised, where he worked, that he and his parents lived in Raleigh. He traveled a lot as a sales rep for a company that, Caty knew, had gone out of business ten years ago. He loved her, her mother and the Atlanta Braves, in that order. He had a sweet tooth but hated spicy food. The list continued on the back page, and she drank in every detail.

  Every time her mother had lamented how different she and Caty were, she was indirectly criticizing this man. He didn’t give his name until the end.

  There’s not much else to tell. I hope one day you’ll understand that I love you with all my heart and wish I could be part of your life. I don’t blame your mother for leaving, and neither should you. She did what she thought was best for both of you. We simply weren’t meant to be a family, but I dearly love my little girl, and I will never forget you.

  Your father, Brian Jameson.

  The last few words blurred in a haze of tears, and she finally broke down. Sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, she was more than sad. She was furious at her mother for keeping her from knowing Brian Jameson. Instead, she’d taught Caty that when things got tough, men simply left. It was in their nature, she’d said time and again. They could leave, so they did. It colored every meaningful relationship Caty had ever tried to have. Finally, after David had left her for someone else, she’d given up on the idea of finding someone to share her life with.

  How different would things have been if Caty had known that her father hadn’t selfishly abandoned her, but had in fact wanted them to be a family? If he’d been in their lives, her mother wouldn’t have needed a ride home the night she died. She’d have called Brian, and he would have gotten her home safely. Caty would have had a normal life with two parents, rather than the patchwork childhood her grandparents had stitched together for her.

  Consumed by anger and bitterness, she didn’t know how long she sat there like that. Just when she thought the powerful emotions were receding, another wave hit her and knocked her back down.

  From out of nowhere, a pair of strong arms came around her, and she leaned into them, even though she wasn’t completely sure who they belonged to.

  “Caty, what is it?” Matt asked, his deep voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “She lied to me,” she snarled. “All my life, she lied.”

  “Who did?”

  “My mother.” She still couldn’t believe it, and saying it made her cry harder.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she sobbed.

  Without pulling away, she held up her father’s letter. While Matt read, she kept crying because she didn’t know how to stop.

  “He didn’t leave,” she moaned on a ragged breath. “He loved me.”

  Stroking her back with a comforting hand, Matt murmured, “Of course he did. Who wouldn’t love a cute little thing like you?”

  The humor got through to her, and Caty managed something between a hiccup and a laugh. She drew her head back and absentmindedly lifted her hands to wipe her eyes.

  “Don’t do that,” Matt chided. “Your hands are filthy.” He grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter and handed it to her.

  After a few false starts, she finally calmed down and took a deep breath. Looking up, she forced a smile to get the stricken look off his face. “Thanks, Matt.”

  “You’re welcome.” Picking up the envelope, he frowned. “Where’d you find this?”

  “In one of Grandpa’s boxes.”

  “Why didn’t he give it to you?”

  She shrugged. “Gram hated my father, so maybe Grandpa was afraid it would make her mad. After she died, maybe he forgot, or he thought it didn’t matter anymore.”

  But it did.

  Caty thought she’d come to terms with the whole thing, but her father’s revelation brought it all to the surface in vivid, painful color. She’d missed so much with him—an entire lifetime—because her mother had decided she hated someone she’d once loved.

  Matt brushed a stray lock of hair back from her damp cheek. “I guess you’ll never know.”

  She sighed. “Maybe it’s better that way. If she was here right now, I’d ream her out for pulling this.”

  Chuckling, Matt hugged her a little closer. Normally she hated being coddled, but his hold was comforting without strangling her. It felt so good, she wanted to burrow into it and stay.

  Then her brain intruded, warning her that she was treading in very dangerous territory. Matt Sawyer wasn’t a man to get attached to. He was a wanderer who made no bones about returning to his old life the first chance he got. He wasn’t interested in settling down anywhere, and especially not in Harland. Now that she was so happily settled back at home, she
never wanted to live anyplace else.

  Being snuggled in his arms felt wonderful, but it wasn’t right. Very reluctantly, she untangled herself and stood.

  “What brings you by?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I was on my way back to the farm and wanted to see how things were going here.”

  “Stalling because you have a zillion things to do when you get there,” she teased, hoping she sounded more normal.

  “That, too.” Cocking his head, he gave her a don’t-lie-to-me look. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Nodding, she felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward this baffling man. Most of the time, he was cool and distant, but she’d seen glimpses of honest emotion beneath that controlled exterior. Maybe, she thought, his heart was warmer than the rest of him.

  For some strange reason, he had opened up to her, confided in her. It had encouraged her to do the same with him. A small voice in her head whispered that he might even care about her. But that really didn’t matter, did it? Even if she let him close enough to find out for sure, everything would crumble when he eventually returned to the life he enjoyed so much.

  Giving her an indulgent smile and a kiss on the cheek, he strolled from the kitchen and out the front door. As she watched him walk out to his truck, the warmth she’d felt toward him kicked up a few notches.

  He was a good guy, she decided, just not the right one for her. She preferred relationships to dating, while he’d made it clear he felt the opposite. Even if by some stroke of insanity he wanted to get serious, her disastrous experience with David had taught her to be very careful with her heart. The prospect of giving it to Matt was only slightly less terrifying than jumping out of an airplane with no parachute.

  God had given her a brain because He wanted her to use it. And only a fool played with fire.

  * * *

  Matt’s whirlwind trip to Charlotte ended with a half-full truck bed and a rented trailer to transport his motorcycle. Glancing into the rearview, he checked the tie-downs on the tarp he’d stretched over his load.