Montana Creeds: Tyler Read online

  “I could help,” she heard herself say. “If you’re a little behind or something—”

  Hal smiled and again, something moved in his eyes. Something that seemed to hurt him. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “But I’m solvent, Lily. No need for you to fret.”

  Lily nodded, embarrassed now. Kept her face averted as she sat down in an overstuffed armchair that was probably older than she was. “Tess is talking about staying in Stillwater Springs for good,” she ventured. “Is that your doing?”

  Hal chuckled, sounding wistful. “It’s still a fine place to raise a child,” he said. “Safe to trick-or-treat at Halloween. You can say ‘Merry Christmas’ to folks without somebody getting in your face for being politically incorrect, and every Fourth of July, there’s a big picnic and fireworks in the park.”

  Lily’s face heated. “So is Chicago,” she said, unable to meet her father’s gaze, even then. “A good place to bring up a child, I mean.”

  Hal blew out a breath. “ You were happy here,” he reminded her.

  “Yes,” she retorted stiffly. “Until I suddenly became persona non grata.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, Lily regretted them. Truthful or not, Hal was recovering from a major heart attack. This was no time for digging up and rattling old bones.

  Hal didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his words made Lily’s throat tighten painfully. “You were never a ‘persona non grata,’ Lily,” he insisted, his tone ragged and weary. “Your mother and I loved you very much. We just didn’t love each other anymore, and you took a lot of the fallout. For that, I am truly sorry.”

  She wanted to ask him right then why he’d shut her out all of a sudden, soon after her breakup with Tyler, but she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to hear the answer.

  “I guess divorce is never easy on anybody,” she said, conceding the obvious. “Adults or children.”

  With a sigh that snagged at Lily’s heart, her father hoisted himself up from the desk chair, crossed the room and sat down in the second armchair, facing her. “Tell me about your divorce, Lily,” he said. “How long were you unhappy with Burke before you finally decided to cut your losses and run?”

  Lily lowered her head. “Too long,” she whispered.

  “He cheated, didn’t he? Ran around with other women?”

  She swallowed hard, nodded. Looked her father straight in the eye. “Mom claims you were ‘running around with other women’ when she left you. Is that true, Da—Hal?”

  Hal’s smile was rueful. “It wouldn’t throw the earth off its axis, Lily,” he said gently, “if you called me ‘Dad’ again.” He shifted in his chair, took a pipe from the holder on the table beside him, and at Lily’s fierce expression, put it back. “To answer your question, I was faithful to your mother, at least in the literal sense of the word.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That we were too different from each other, Lucy and me,” Hal said slowly. “She liked bright lights and big cities, and I liked being a country veterinarian. She wanted to drive a fancy car, and I refused, even though we could have afforded one, because I didn’t like the statement it would have made among people who struggle just to keep food on the table. When it got down to the brass tacks, Lily, the only thing your mother and I had in common was you.”

  Oh, right, Lily wanted to say, but she bit the words back.

  Hal chuckled, but he sounded so tired. It was time he took his medicine and went to bed. Lily started to get up, fetch the bag full of pill bottles the doctor had sent home with them.

  “Sit down, Lily,” her dad said firmly.

  Lily dropped back into her chair.

  “I still want to know about Burke. Not the public version. Scion of a great New England family, and all that tripe. What was he really like?”

  “Shallow,” Lily said, after some thought. “Funny. Smart. Self-assured.”

  “And very popular with other women?” Hal put the question gently, but at the same time there was no doubt that he expected an answer and wouldn’t let her off the hook until she replied honestly. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be thrown off the trail.

  “Very,” Lily agreed. “There were a lot of little signs, looking back on it—the usual hang-ups on the phone, odd charges on his credit card statements, condoms in his suitcase when we never used them, things like that. I pretended not to notice—I guess I couldn’t face the truth about us. But it was almost as though Burke wanted me to know he was running around. I’d call his room when he was out of town on a flight, and a woman would answer. He’d say the whole crew was in his room, that they were celebrating somebody’s birthday, or anniversary, or retirement….” She stopped, blushed, shook her head at her own naiveté. “Until he crashed his plane, I thought he was trying to maneuver me into making the first move, so he wouldn’t have to be the first Kenyon in history to file for divorce. But when I finally did see a lawyer, he—”

  “Killed himself,” Hal supplied gently.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure of that? Maybe it was an accident.”

  “I wish I could believe it was,” Lily said, very softly. “There wasn’t a note or anything, but he called me a couple of hours before he went up that last time. He was upset, begging for another chance, making all sorts of crazy promises.” She stopped, swallowed hard. “He said—he said it wouldn’t be right to break up Tess’s home—that we should have another child—”

  “And?”

  “I said I didn’t love him anymore. That it was no use trying, since we’d had counseling after his last affair.” Lily bit down so hard on her lower lip that she felt a sting of pain, and half expected to taste blood. She’d wanted more children so badly, but Burke had always refused. One was enough, he’d said. As though Tess were a mortgage with a balloon payment, an object of some kind. “What’s the old saying? ‘Act in haste, repent at leisure’?”

  “Even if Burke did crash that plane because you were divorcing him, Lily, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

  “I keep telling myself that,” Lily admitted. “But a part of me knows it’s a lie.” The truth burst out then, all on its own, too big to contain. “I didn’t love Burke—I never did. I loved the idea of love, of being someone’s wife, someone’s mother. Having a home and a family. But deep down, I never cared for Burke the way I should have, and I guess he knew it.”

  She’d never loved Burke because she’d never stopped loving Tyler, and she was the kind of woman who mated for life.

  “You must have had feelings for Burke,” her dad reasoned gently. “After all, you married him. You had Tess with him.”

  “I guess in the beginning, I thought I’d fall in love with him in time. But it didn’t happen.” A tear slid down Lily’s cheek, and she didn’t bother to brush it away. “I shouldn’t have gone through with the wedding. He might be alive today if I hadn’t.”

  “There’s no way of knowing that,” Hal told her. “Let yourself off the hook, Lily, if only because there’s no way you can change the past, and because Tess needs a happy mother, one who’s looking ahead, not backward.”

  “I am happy,” she insisted, for the second time that evening.

  Hal’s sigh was heavy with bittersweet amusement, and a certain degree of resignation. “No, you’re not,” he argued. “Your mother was all for the marriage, but I remember
looking down into your face, just before I walked you up that church aisle and gave you away, and seeing something in your eyes that made me want to put a stop to the whole shindig, then and there. Tell all those Kenyons and their fancy friends and relations to eat, drink and be merry, but there wouldn’t be a ceremony.”

  Hal Ryder had given his daughter away long before her wedding day, but that was beside the point. Still another old, dusty skeleton that shouldn’t be exhumed.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Lily asked softly. “To me, at least?”

  Hal sighed again. “Because I didn’t have the right. You were a grown woman, with a college education and a good job. And because I’d already interfered in your life once before that.” Just when Lily would have asked what he’d meant by that last part, he stood, stretched, yawned. “I’m worn-out, Lily,” he confessed. “I need some rest.”

  “I’ll get your pills,” Lily said, rising, too.

  “Oh, yes,” Hal replied, with grim humor. “My pills. Let’s not forget those.”

  In the kitchen, she opened the pharmacy bag, studied the labels on the little brown bottles and carefully counted out the appropriate doses while her father set the coffeepot for morning and locked the back door.

  Lily raised an eyebrow at that. “People are locking their doors in Stillwater Springs these days?” she asked.

  “I normally don’t,” Hal admitted. “But I’ve got you and Tess to think about now. And some things have been happening around here lately—”

  He’d just made a speech, in the living room, about what a good place Stillwater Springs was to raise a child—specifically Tess. Knowing he was tired, Lily didn’t call him on the contradiction between his words and his actions.

  I’ve got you and Tess to think about now.

  Had he convinced himself they would be staying on in Stillwater Springs permanently, after he’d recovered enough to live on his own?

  She set the handful of pills on a paper towel, and handed them to him, along with a glass of water. Watched as he forced down his medication.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he said, when he’d finished, and set his empty glass in the sink.

  When was the last time he’d called her sweetheart?

  The night Tyler handed her her heart in fragments, that was when. Had it really been that long?

  Lily closed her eyes and waited until Hal had left the room. Until she heard his bedroom door close, just down the hall from the kitchen.

  And then she cried, for little girls without fathers.

  And for big ones, too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  T HE FIFTEEN-YEAR GAP between their ages showed in Doreen’s haggard face in ways it hadn’t way back when. She looked thin in her casino-waitress uniform, and lines in her forehead were etched deep. She was developing jowls, and her mouth was hard, the lipstick too red and slightly off-center.

  Still, her weary eyes softened a little when she recognized Tyler, standing in one of the casino’s several restaurants. Davie sat in a booth nearby, nursing a soda and pretending to read one of those glorified comic books that pass as a novel.

  He doesn’t look much like me, Tyler thought, with distracted regret. But, then, he hadn’t looked much like Jake Creed, either. Secretly, he’d fantasized that his mother had been fooling around, conceived him with some lover, but he doubted his own fantasy. Poor Angie didn’t seem to have the strength to defy Jake that way. Or maybe she’d just loved her husband too much to cheat.

  In the end, that love had destroyed her.

  “Tyler,” Doreen said, almost breathing the name.

  “Doreen,” Tyler replied, with a nod. Now that he was face-to-face with the woman who might have borne his child without bothering to let him know, all the things he’d planned to say, all the things he’d rehearsed on the way into town with Kit Carson riding shotgun, deserted him.

  “I could take a break in half an hour,” she said.

  Tyler merely nodded again. He’d left Kit Carson at Cassie’s to spare the dog a long wait in the Blazer, so he had time. He could cool his heels awhile.

  Doreen hesitated for a few moments, looking from Tyler to Davie and back again. Then she sighed and turned to walk away, take another order for another plate of nachos, another mug of beer.

  Everything about her, the way she moved, the way she spoke, said she was miserable. Hated her life, but didn’t know how to escape it.

  Unlike Angela Creed. She’d found a way out, and devil take the grief she’d left behind.

  Tyler approached Davie’s table.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Davie didn’t look up. Just shrugged.

  The cover of the graphic novel showed a woman being devoured by some hideous beast, and Davie seemed absorbed.

  Tyler sat down across from Davie, signaled another waitress, ordered coffee. He liked a beer once in a while, but with Jake Creed for a father and a wild youth not that far behind him, a man tended to moderate his alcohol intake. He wondered briefly if Logan and Dylan took the same care not to overdo the booze.

  “Good book?” he asked.

  “What do you care?” Davie shot back.

  “Do all those hooks and rings hurt?” Tyler persisted, frowning at the eyebrow piercings. The silver ring through Davie’s lower lip made him a little queasy, and after some of the bar brawls he’d been in, that was no small matter.

  “Hurt when they did it,” Davie allowed, sounding defiant and, at the same time, interested. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to your mother,” Tyler said.

  “About what?”

  Tyler wasn’t about to bring up the paternity question—not before a word with Doreen, anyway. “Just things. Dylan tells me Sheriff Huntinghorse wanted to send you to a foster home, and you said you’d run off if he did.”

  There was no humor in the smile Davie gave then, or in his eyes. “Small towns. Word really does travel like wildfire.”

  “Running away would be a bad idea.”

  “You don’t know my mom’s boyfriend. The sheriff said he was going to track Roy down and warn him not to hit me anymore.” Davie gave a bitter huff of a laugh. “That ought to make things real nice when Mom and I get back to the old trailer after her shift.”

  Tyler’s gut churned just to think of what the boy might be facing, later that night and afterward. And he suddenly knew he couldn’t stand it, whether Davie was his or not.

  “I’ve been thinking things over,” Tyler said carefully. “Maybe I could use somebody to help out around the cabin.”

  Davie couldn’t hide his interest then, though he tried. He closed the book, set it down with a little thump and frowned at Tyler. “What kind of help?” he asked, almost suspiciously.

  This from the kid who’d practically begged to stay.

  “You said it yourself, this afternoon. Taking care of Kit Carson, cutting grass, stuff like that.”

  “That place is small. Where would I sleep?”

  “We’d get you a cot and a sleeping bag.”

  “You don’t even have a TV.”

  Tyler grinned. “You’re mighty choosy, all of a sudden, for somebody who wanted to move right in before.”

  “Would you be a foster par
ent?” Davie asked, sounding like a lawyer now. “Maybe collect a little check from the county or the state?”

  Tyler chuckled, enjoyed a sip of bad casino coffee before answering. “Hell,” he said, “no amount of money would be enough to put up with your attitude. It’s a neighborly offer, that’s all. And your mom has to approve, of course.”

  From the looks of Doreen, she’d been running interference between good ole Roy, the boyfriend, and her son for too long. Letting Davie bunk in at Tyler’s for a while would probably be a relief, with all her problems.

  “What changed your mind?” Davie asked grudgingly, but with a little less attitude than before. He was afraid to hope—Tyler could see that—and it galled him. Brought back way too many memories.

  Life shouldn’t be the way it was for Davie, the way it was for a lot of kids.

  The way it had been for him.

  “I just needed some time to think, that’s all,” Tyler said. The words felt as lame coming off his tongue as they probably sounded to Davie. “Of course, you screw up and you’re out of there.”

  Davie’s eyes widened. They were Doreen’s eyes, not Tyler’s own, or those of any family member he could recall, but still.

  Still.

  “You mean it? I could stay at your place?”

  “I mean it. Long as you don’t cause trouble.”

  “You’ll get a TV?”

  Tyler chuckled. “I didn’t say that,” he pointed out. “But once I see what kind of yard-bird you really are, I might let you use my laptop now and then.”

  “And all I have to do is take care of the dog and cut some grass?”

  “You’ve seen the grass. It’s waist-high. I think there’s a lawn under there someplace, but I can’t be sure.” Tyler paused, considered. “Fact is, I’m thinking of building on to the place.” Had he been thinking that? Not consciously, but now that the idea had presented itself, most likely prompted by Dylan’s mention of razing his old house to put up a new one, and what little he knew about the restorations going on at the main place, under Logan’s direction, he kind of cottoned to the prospect. “That would mean some carpentry. Maybe a little plumbing and electrical work, too.”