Chapter 5
5
Coralee’s house, while certainly familiar, was huge, and after her friends had gone back to their busy, varied and faraway lives, Madison rattled around in the place like a dried pea in the bottom of a tin bucket.
On Sunday, she’d stocked up on groceries and ordered a new router on Amazon, since the Wi-Fi service outside Painted Pony Creek proper was on the iffy side, and the internet was vital to her business.
Not to mention her sanity.
She’d suspected the Net wouldn’t be much help in the search for any reference to Bliss Morgan, and sadly, she was right. Using her phone, she’d scoured the missing children websites and come up with zip, concerning the little girl she’d first met in the family cemetery, anyway.
Now it was Monday morning.
She’d already been for a run, showered, and dressed in jeans and a soft cotton blouse, crimson with gossamer, floral-print sleeves. She’d had a light breakfast, too, a poached egg on toast.
After backing Coralee’s classic 1958 Bentley out of the detached garage, which had once been a carriage house, she set out for town, planning to stop for gas, then drive on to Silver Hills for her daily visit to her grandmother.
Given that Coralee probably hadn’t used the car in years, Madison had been more than a little surprised that it had started at all.
Maybe she’d fly to Florida, pick up her small and sensible hybrid SUV, and drive it to back to Montana. If she did that, she could stop by her condo in Boca, grab some clothes and other personal items— and make sure Jeffrey and Yolanda weren’t able to squat there, once they’d returned from their Oedipal honeymoon in Costa Rica.
In retrospect, it was glaringly obvious that Jeffrey wasn’t just a mama’s boy, he was quite possibly a leech, and he wasn’t going to glide through life on Madison’s dime.
He and Mommy would be back in the US in a few days, and Madison figured they’d either head back to Painted Pony Creek or straight to the condo she and Jeffrey had shared in Boca Raton.
Neither plan was going to fly, if Madison could help it.
She was thinking these thoughts when she reached the end of Bettencourt Hall’s long and winding gravel driveway and came to a stop to look both ways, then pull out.
Five minutes later, she rolled up to a service station in the heart of town, getting plenty of curious looks in the process, shut off the engine, and got out of the car to head for the nearest pump.
She stuck her ATM card into the proper slot, pulled it out quickly as instructed by the small screen imbedded in the machine, and selected premium over regular gasoline. If she’d been driving her own vehicle, she reflected, feeling faintly embarrassed to be seen sporting a freaking Bentley in the heart of cattle country, she wouldn’t have been so damn noticeable .
Given the scene at the wedding reception, though, she was probably being gossiped about—maybe even watched—at that very moment.
Madison hated the feeling that gave her.
So, in order to distract herself, she was scrolling through her phone when a gleaming red truck with an extended cab pulled in next to her, just on the other side of the pumps.
The driver’s side door opened, and who should step down from the running board but her favorite bartender/lawman/architect, Liam McKettrick.
He looked better than good in his jeans, boots and white cotton shirt. Seeing Madison, he grinned, took off his sexy black cowboy hat and laid it, crown down, on the seat he’d just left.
“Hello, Madison,” he said, his ink-blue eyes bright with humor and something else, something she couldn’t quite identify. He gave a long, low whistle. “That’s some car you’ve got there.”
Madison, off balance momentarily because she’d initially misunderstood the whistle, composed herself but still blushed at the reference to the Bentley. It was so out of place in this small, practical, homey town.
And so was she.
“It belongs to my grandmother,” she replied a beat too quickly, and that time, she couldn’t stop the blush that rose to her cheeks and pulsed there. She was a thirty-two-year-old woman, not a gushing teenager, and she needed to calm the heck down.
Trouble was, being in such close proximity to this breathtakingly handsome man, it was hard to be anything but rattled.
Which was ridiculous, given that the last time she’d seen him, just a couple of days before, she’d been a classic runaway bride, complete with gown and veil. Worse, she’d proceeded to get tipsy.
Then, if that hadn’t been humiliating enough, she’d had to be rescued and virtually poured into Audra’s rental car by her colorfully dressed posse of bridesmaids.
Oh, yes. She’d made a spectacle of herself, in no uncertain terms. In a place like Painted Pony Creek, her wedding debacle story would surely ripen into a tale of mythological proportions and perhaps be remembered for a very long time.
Liam nodded pleasantly, but absently, and turned from her to begin gassing up his fancy truck.
She had no business wondering about this man, given that she’d been about to get married to someone else only a few days before.
But wonder about him she did.
Mentally, she kicked herself for not googling Liam McKettrick for the salient details.
Was he married? If not, did he have a girlfriend? Kids?
Annoyed with herself, Madison turned away, too, and waited impatiently for the Bentley’s seemingly bottomless gas tank to finally fill up.
The smell of the high-octane fuel almost gagged her.
Or was that her injured pride, sticking in her throat and burning her eyes?
When the flow finally stopped, and she moved to put the nozzle of the heavy hose back where it belonged, Liam was still there.
He’d been looking at his phone while he waited, but he looked up right away.
“You’re all right?” he asked, so quietly and with such genuine concern that Madison almost burst into tears, like an idiot.
Maybe it was the town that was stirring up all these crazy emotions.
She was used to sophisticated, bustling cities—not a place like Painted Pony Creek, even if it had, once upon a time, been her home.
She didn’t fit in here, and that thought made her sad.
Still, she missed amenities like operas and symphonies, top-tier restaurants and elegant, expensive shops.
She was successful in business, and she’d been born with the fabled silver spoon in her mouth, so she didn’t qualify for much sympathy, she supposed, when it came to finding and keeping the right man.
It hurt, feeling the way she did—lonely, humiliated, frustrated and fearful. A part of her wanted to fling herself into Liam’s arms, right then and there, lay her head on his shoulder, and sob.
She imagined his strong arms around her and had to work hard to hold back the tears that would have embarrassed her beyond bearing.
Instead, she lifted her chin. “I’m fine,” she said, speaking as casually as she could. “Just headed over to Silver Hills to visit my grandmother.”
“How is Coralee doing these days?” Liam asked, surprising Madison.
“You know her?” she countered.
There it was again, that knee-melting grin of his. “Sure,” he replied. “She’s an institution around here.”
Of course she was, Madison reminded herself. The Bettencourt name reached back to the settling of Painted Pony Creek, and the house, or a much smaller version of it, had been built soon after a pair of male ancestors had struck silver near the neighboring town that had been named for one of the richest veins of ore ever discovered in the American West.
“She’s not doing too well, I’m afraid,” Madison replied, saddened. “I keep hoping she’ll make some kind of breakthrough, but she’s in her late eighties, so that probably isn’t realistic.”
“Sometimes,” Liam said, reaching into the truck for his hat and settling it on his head, “being realistic hurts too much. A little denial can be an okay thing, under the right circumstances.”
It was such an odd remark that Madison was momentarily taken aback.
And was she imagining it, or was there a deep sadness lurking in those denim-blue eyes of his, hiding behind the twinkle?
“I’d better go,” she said.
She was doing her best to convince herself of that, anyhow.
“I’m on my way over to Silver Hills myself, in an hour or two,” Liam said. “What if we grab some lunch after I get through looking at some horses and you’re finished visiting your grandmother? Noon, at the Mexican place on Pine Street? It’s behind the bank.”
Something fluttered in Madison’s stomach, and her heart swelled.
Should she say yes? Should she refuse?
Hell, no.
She loved Mexican food, she was adrift with Audra and the others gone, and she needed something to look forward to, however small that something might be.
And the invitation was small, a friendly gesture to a recently traumatized newcomer.
Not that kicking Jeffrey Sterne to the curb had traumatized her.
She hadn’t been hurt, not really. Once, she’d really believed she loved Jeffrey; now, she knew she’d been deluding herself.
Still, there was Coralee. She was losing her, and that knowledge bruised Madison’s spirit.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that. Meet you at the restaurant at noon.”
Liam grinned again, tugged at the brim of his hat.
“See you then,” he said.
“Wait,” Madison said. “Do you even know my name?”
He chuckled. It was a low, richly masculine sound. “Yeah,” he said. “You introduced yourself the other day, in the Hard Luck Saloon, remember?”
She didn’t remember, actually, because at the time she’d been so riled up, she practically couldn’t see straight.
“Yes,” she lied. “Of course I remember.”
He tilted the brim of his hat again, still grinning. “Madison Bettencourt,” he said, as if to prove his earlier claim.
Madison’s head felt light, and she practically dived behind the wheel of the Bentley, though she had to go around to the right side of the car to do so. The vehicle had, after all, been manufactured in the UK.
Liam remained where he was, watching her drive away.
She told herself he was just admiring the Bentley.
Fifteen minutes later, she had reached the assisted living place, a low-slung modern building with many wings and multiple windows, parked the car and signed in at the reception desk.
When she reached Coralee’s spacious private room, she was heartened to find her frail, tiny grandmother sitting up, wearing a floral silk bed jacket and smiling as though she actually recognized Madison.
“Darling,” she said. “How lovely to see you!”
Madison’s eyes burned with happy tears as she stepped up to Coralee’s bedside and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You, too,” she said.
Coralee waved a fragile blue-veined hand. “Oh, now, child, don’t get all emotional. I’m not sure I can handle that.”
Madison took that hand into her own, patted it gently. “It’s wonderful to see you smiling, Coralee.”
Coralee’s brow crumpled beneath her fluffy white bangs, and her eyes, hazel in color like Madison’s, twinkled. “I haven’t been smiling?” she teased.
“Not recently,” Madison admitted, fluffing her grandmother’s pillows so she could sit up a little straighter and still be comfortable.
“How was the wedding, dear? I was so disappointed to miss it!”
Madison debated making up a story, and decided against it. Coralee deserved the truth.
“Things didn’t quite work out,” Madison said, perching sideways on the bed and still holding on to Coralee’s hand, though very gently. It felt so excruciatingly delicate, like the wing of a dragonfly, far too easily crushed.
This time, Coralee’s frown was real. “It didn’t? Why not?”
“It’s a long story,” Madison replied, after planting another kiss on the old woman’s crumpled forehead. Coralee’s skin felt as thin as tissue paper. “It’s quite a story, and it will take a while to tell, so let’s discuss that another time.”
“I didn’t like that young man much, to tell you the truth,” Coralee said, surprising Madison a little. “His vibes were off.”
She smiled. “Why didn’t you say so?” she asked.
“Because it was none of my business, dear. You’re a grown woman, not a child. Besides, I don’t think I was paying all that much attention, to be honest.”
Her grandmother had never been a huge fan of marriage. She’d had a husband once, for about five minutes, as the story went, and refused to take the man’s name.
She’d kept him around long enough to get her pregnant with Madison’s father, and taken a long series of lovers after the divorce, though none of those relationships lasted very long, either.
A week ago, when Madison had brought Jeffrey here and introduced him, Coralee had been drifty, to say the least.
Evidently, she’d been pretending.
Now, the old woman drew in a wispy breath and went on. “Not that I think you’ve got much sense when it comes to choosing a partner, Madison Rose Bettencourt. Your first husband was a real jerk .”
This time, Madison laughed. “Yes,” she admitted, refraining from pointing out the singular irony of Coralee’s remark, “and he probably still is.”
That was when Coralee raised an index finger and wobbled it under Madison’s nose. “Painted Pony Creek is a wonderful town,” she said with unusual firmness. “Stay right here, find yourself a good, solid cowboy and settle down.”
Naturally, Liam jumped to Madison’s mind then. She tried to dismiss him, but he wouldn’t go.
Oh, darn it.
“It’s pretty soon after the last romantic disaster to start thinking in terms of settling down with a cowboy or anybody else,” she said.
“You find the right one,” Coralee persisted, “and that won’t matter.”
Madison was still smiling, delighted to find her beloved grandmother in such a lucid frame of mind.
As soon as she’d made that observation, however, lightning struck.
Coralee began to drift. “Have you seen the little girl?” she asked, looking both confused and alarmed.
The smile wobbled. “ What little girl?”
“I saw her in the kitchen once,” Coralee said, her mind clearly wandering far from the present moment.
“Coralee?” Madison was alarmed now.
“I think she had her centuries mixed up,” the elderly woman continued, bright tears shimmering in her eyes now. “She was wearing such strange clothing.”
“Coralee, please—what are you talking about? What little girl? ” Madison pressed, fidgeting with Bliss’s thread bracelet as she spoke.
But Coralee began to shake her head, slowly at first, and then faster and faster.
Madison called for a nurse, and one appeared almost immediately, probably summoned by an electronic message sent from one of the machines monitoring Coralee at practically every pulse point.
A little frantic, Madison clasped Coralee’s small, wrinkled face in both hands, careful not to exert any real pressure. “Stop, please ,” she said, gently halting her grandmother’s still shaking head. “Everything is all right. You’re safe. I’m right here—”
“You need to break me out of this place,” Coralee muttered after a few moments, leaning forward a little, once Madison had lowered her hands, and keeping her voice down. Conspiratorial. “I’ve been kidnapped , you know. I’m being held against my will!”
Madison tried to keep her fear from showing on her face, and she wasn’t at all sure she’d succeeded. “Coralee,” she said urgently. “This is a good place. Nobody here wants to hurt you!”
“It’s not a good place,” Coralee insisted, looking and sounding petulant now, like a frustrated child. “This is a prison ! They’re conducting horrible experiments here!”
The nurse, injecting something into Coralee’s IV line, gave Madison a thin smile and said, “She gets like this. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry?
Coralee was Madison’s grandmother , her only living blood relative. Of course she was freaking worried!
“Just a few minutes ago, she was fine,” Madison protested, scared and defensive.
“Nature of the beast I’m afraid,” replied the nurse kindly, and with the degree of patience only skilled caregivers were able to muster at times like this.
With that, the woman turned to her very agitated patient. “Miss Coralee?” the plump, middle-aged woman asked sweetly. “You were so cheerful at breakfast, and here you are, fretting again.” She tsk-tsked, winking at Madison, but there was no trace of annoyance in her voice.
“She’s not a nurse,” Coralee confided in a raspy whisper that broke Madison’s already wounded heart. “She’s just pretending! She’s a jailor !”
The nurse stood resolutely alongside the bed, across from Madison, stethoscope at the ready. “Now, Miss Coralee,” she protested, still cheerful, “you know I’m not a jailor. I’m a nurse. I take care of you five days a week, remember?”
Remember?
Possibly not the best word she could have used, but Madison knew this nurse—Stella Sondheim—was unfailingly kind to Coralee, and so were all the others who attended her at different times.
Madison had made sure of that.
“Should I leave?” she asked softly.
Before the other woman could reply, Coralee gripped Madison’s fingers with all the strength that remained to her.
That is, not much.
“Don’t go!” Coralee cried. “Don’t leave me alone in this awful place!”
“It’s all right,” Madison tried to reassure her grandmother. “No one is going to hurt you, I promise.”
The nurse smiled. “It might be time to let Miss Coralee have a rest,” she said. “Maybe come back later for afternoon or evening visiting hours.”
Madison wasn’t about to wrench her hand free of her grandmother’s grip, so she simply nodded and waited as Coralee’s frenzy began to subside, thanks to whatever sedative Ms. Sondheim had administered.
When Coralee finally fell asleep, Madison and the nurse retreated to the hallway.
“Has she ever mentioned seeing a child?” Madison asked, keeping her voice low.
She felt a scary little thrill, recalling Coralee’s mention of seeing a little girl.
Could it be...?
But no, of course not. She’d been seeing things.
Her brain was collapsing.
“Most likely, she has, Ms. Bettencourt,” the other woman replied. “She has dementia, and dementia patients do hallucinate, especially as the disease progresses.”
“Please call me Madison.”
“And I’m Stella,” said the nurse, resting a sympathetic hand on Madison’s shoulder.
Madison wrapped her arms around her torso and sighed, blinking back yet another spate of tears. “It’s so difficult to see her like this,” she confessed. “My grandmother was the sharpest, most sensible woman I’ve ever known. There was nothing, and I mean nothing , she couldn’t do if she put her mind to it.”
“I’m sorry,” Stella said. “Would you like to sit down? We have a nice, quiet garden nearby, and there’s a chapel, too, if you’re so inclined.”
Madison felt too restless to sit. She needed to be doing something.
Yelling. Pacing. Swinging her fists at nothing.
She checked her watch.
Still more than an hour until it would be time to meet Liam at the Mexican restaurant.
If she’d had his number, she would have texted him. Made some excuse to beg off their lunch date.
Not that it was actually a date .
Madison muttered a thank-you to Nurse Stella and made her way toward the nearest exit, sternly refusing to allow her tense shoulders to slump.
For Coralee’s sake, for her own, she had to be strong.
Reaching the Bentley, she unlocked it, climbed in on the driver’s side, and finally allowed herself to cry.
Forty-five minutes and some eye drops later, she pulled into the gravel parking lot at El Palacio Oro, the Mexican restaurant where she and Liam had agreed to meet.
His truck was parked in the lot, empty.
So he was inside.
Madison cranked the wide rearview mirror in her direction and inspected her face. She’d applied only a little mascara and lip gloss before leaving the house, since the last thing she’d expected was to run into Liam McKettrick and get herself invited to lunch.
The mascara was waterproof, as advertised, though the lip gloss had worn off completely.
She touched up both, deciding that her eyes weren’t noticeably puffy, grabbed her purse, and got out of the car.
Because she wanted to retreat, she forced herself to walk purposefully across the parking lot instead.
She pulled open one heavy, intricately carved wooden door and stepped inside. The cool blast from the AC system revived her considerably, and she was actually hungry.
Or was that plain old stress flipping in her stomach?
It took a few moments for Madison’s eyes to adjust to the change from bright sunlight to a dimmer glow. She blinked, and, finally, Liam came into focus.
He was smiling at her, though there was a very slight crease of worry or concern between his eyebrows. With a nod of greeting, he hung his hat on a hook near the register, where it had other hats for company.
“This way,” said the youthful waiter, menus at the ready.
“Hungry?” Liam asked, placing one hand at the small of Madison’s back in a way that, oddly, made her feel cared for. Valued.
It was such a courtly gesture.
Cowboy class.
“Yes, I think I am,” she answered. “What about you?”
“Starved.” Liam grinned.
Soon, they were settled in a corner booth, away from the front windows and most of the other diners.
Madison was glad of that, because she wasn’t absolutely sure that her eyes weren’t puffy from crying so hard, for so long.
Fortunately, no one had asked what was wrong. She might have told them.
Both she and Liam examined their menus.
For Madison, it was a simply a habit.
She always ordered the same thing when she visited any Mexican restaurant: a chicken taco salad with sour cream and guacamole.
The customary starters, chips, salsa and bean dip, were delivered.
Madison placed her usual order, while Liam went for beef enchiladas, rice and beans. She asked for ice tea, and he chose beer.
“So,” he began when the waiter had gone to fetch their drinks, brought them to the table, and vanished again, “how was your grandmother?”
It was a completely normal question, but Madison wished he hadn’t asked it, because if she tried to explain the events of the morning, she’d start blubbering again for sure.
She might appear calm on the surface, but Coralee’s outburst had left her deeply shaken. Ever since she’d left the facility, she’d been coming to terms with the fact she’d been able to deny up until then: there would be no magical turnaround; her grandmother wasn’t going to get better.
“Not so great,” she said, holding Liam’s gaze because she wanted so desperately to avert her eyes. Coralee had taught her well; whenever she was tempted to show even the smallest weakness, she had to do the opposite. “It’s dementia, so, you know—”
He reached across the table, closed one of his hands over hers, squeezed lightly. “That’s tough, Madison. I’m sorry.”
A brief silence fell, and Liam’s hand lingered, warm and clean and slightly rough from doing manual work.
Finally, he withdrew, and Madison felt the absence of his touch.
“My turn to ask questions,” she said, sitting up a little straighter.
Liam laughed quietly. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Shoot.”
“Are you married?” It was a brazen thing to ask, but she needed to know, though she couldn’t have said exactly why. She certainly wasn’t planning on trying to get anything started between them.
“I’m sort of a widower, I guess,” he answered. “My ex-wife died a year and a half ago.”
Well, Madison reflected, that was complicated.
“I’m sorry about your ex,” she said. “No girlfriend?”
This time, Liam chuckled. “No girlfriend either,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
That last part came out as a drawl. A sort of good-natured challenge.
Madison blushed. “Because even though this isn’t a date or anything, it might look that way to some people, and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression.”
The grin widened.
His teeth were ridiculously white, and straight, too.
“This isn’t a date?” he repeated. “Damn. I thought maybe it was.”
The waiter returned with their beverages just then, and Madison was glad. It gave her a few moments to recover.
“Sorry,” Madison said, with a lightness she didn’t feel.
“In that case,” Liam persisted reasonably, “how about dinner? Tonight or tomorrow night? My kids will be coming home Wednesday morning, and between them, the movie that’s about to be filmed in Bitter Gulch and all the rest, I’ll be busier than usual.”
Madison avoided the dinner out suggestion. “Bitter Gulch?” she asked, stirring sweetener into her ice tea with a paper straw.
“The place you visited on your wedding day,” Liam said. It was there again, that twinkle in his too-blue eyes, mischief doing a little happy dance. “You must have noticed you’d stepped from the present day into the Old West—you came through those saloon doors like Calamity Jane looking for a fight.”
Madison’s shoulders slumped a little when she sighed. The muscles ached from all the tension she’d been carrying there, and, weirdly, she imagined Liam’s hands massaging the stress away.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ve read about Bitter Gulch, though I’d never been there until—well—the other day. It’s a tourist attraction, right?”
“Yes,” Liam answered. “It’s also a sometime movie set. The production company will be in town for about a month, filming whatever scenes they’re planning to film there. That means it will be closed to the public periodically, at least for a while—not that that will keep the curious onlookers away.”
“Are you playing a part?”
He shook his head. “I might be in the background now and again,” he said, “but I’m not an actor.”
“What about your employees? Will they be out of work for the duration?”
“No. They’ll go on about their business as usual, wearing the costumes they normally wear. Technically, they’re extras, I guess. The production company is paying them for their time.”
“I see,” Madison said, while her brain scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make her look and sound like a smitten fangirl.
“There are some A-list actors involved,” Liam went on. “ That will definitely cause a stir around town.”
Good , Madison thought uncharitably. Maybe it will distract everybody from the runaway bride story.
“I suppose it will,” she agreed.
The food arrived, and Liam pushed the basket of chips aside to make room for their plates, which were typically huge.
Helpfully, Madison moved the bean dip and the salsa out of the way.
“So your children will be arriving soon. Have they been away for long?”
The inquiry was an innocent one, but Liam reacted to it, for a single moment, as though she’d reached over and stabbed him with her fork.
There was no anger in his expression, but there was plenty of pain.
She’d definitely touched a nerve, and she wished she could take it back.
“They’ve been away for way too long,” he said. “They’d been living with their grandparents in Seattle for about six months after the divorce, and then my ex-wife died six months after that. Naturally, the kids took it hard, and they wanted to stay with Waverly’s folks.”
“Oh,” said Madison, setting down her fork. “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean to pry.”
His gaze softened to good-natured sadness. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “It was a reasonable thing to ask.”
They both began to eat again, though slowly now, and thoughtfully.
The food was delicious.
“Is it my turn again?” Liam asked, after a silence had stretched between them for a few seconds too long.
This time, it was Madison who laughed.
She was stunned to find herself laughing after the scene with Coralee that morning, and Liam’s mention of his children’s grief .
“I guess that’s only fair,” she said presently.
“It’s kind of personal,” Liam qualified.
“Shoot,” Madison said, echoing what he’d said earlier.
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Why did you decide to marry that guy, the one you essentially ditched at the altar?”
The question was completely benevolent, though it might have been a challenge coming from someone else.
“I thought Jeffrey was somebody he wasn’t,” she replied, keeping her chin up, though she felt it wobbling a little now. “I loved the man I believed he was—or wanted him to be—and I finally realized I’d been deluding myself.”
For a long while, Liam pondered her answer in silence. Then, just when Madison was getting uncomfortable, he surprised her by saying, “I can relate to that.”
“How so?”
“In the beginning, I loved the woman my wife wanted me to believe she was. I don’t regret that, though, because without her, I wouldn’t have Keely and Cavan.”
Madison didn’t reply.
She didn’t have to.