Big Sky Secrets Read online

  “I’ll take the pie over to Ria’s place,” Landry announced magnanimously, when his butler reappeared, sure enough, with a cardboard crate in his hands. “Wouldn’t mind at all.”

  Highbridge sniffed. “If you want to give Ms. Manning a pie, sir,” he said stiffly, “you’ll have to bake it yourself.”

  With that, he got out the potholders again, placed the still-hot pie in the box, covered the works with a clean dish towel and headed straight for the back door. He grabbed the keys to his ancient Bentley from the hook on the wall and waltzed out of the house without another word.

  “Well,” Landry grumbled, to the empty kitchen, “excuse me.”

  * * *

  THE STATELY CAR moved slowly along Ria’s driveway, every surface polished to a proper shine, and, watching from her front window, she smiled.

  Highbridge.

  Ria turned and hurried back to the kitchen to put the kettle on in preparation for tea—the loose-leaf kind her friend preferred. The interstate shouting match with Meredith had left her with jangled nerves, and Quinn’s crying fit, which had followed her lengthy shower, had done nothing to ease them.

  In the course of that phone call, Meredith had insisted that Quinn would attend summer camp, and whether she liked the idea or not was beside the point. It was, she’d raged, the principle of the matter. She couldn’t and wouldn’t tolerate such flagrant defiance.

  At first, Ria had tried to reason with Meredith. Why couldn’t Quinn spend the summer right here on the farm, with her? Ria could use the help, she was willing to pay her niece a small salary and the separation would give both Quinn and Meredith a chance to regain their perspective.

  But Meredith was having none of it. Quinn had disobeyed her, that was the crux of it all, and Meredith could not abide that. The girl would do as she’d been told, end of discussion.

  Ria had finally lost her temper, quietly but tersely suggesting that Meredith was being stubborn, wanting her own way, just like always. Couldn’t she understand how upset Quinn must have been, to endanger herself by taking to the open road the way she had? The girl had known the risks and she’d been desperate enough to take them—wasn’t that proof enough that some changes needed to be made?

  Instead of seeing the light, Meredith had retorted hotly that this was a family matter, now, wasn’t it, and Ria ought to keep her nose out of other people’s business.

  “Damn it, Meredith, I am family!” Ria had shouted, as a complicated slew of old issues surged to the surface of her consciousness. They might have had different mothers, she and Meredith, but she was as much their father’s daughter as her half sister was.

  She would probably never forget—or forgive—Meredith’s chilly response. “Get real,” she’d all but snarled. “Your mom was a moneygrubbing tramp, a fortune hunter, a bimbo my father picked up in Las Vegas—and he’d never have married her if it hadn’t been for you!”

  With that, Meredith had slammed down the phone.

  Ria had stood, rooted to the kitchen floor, the receiver still gripped in her hand, stricken and enraged and feeling horribly helpless.

  Her mom, Evie, had been a showgirl in Vegas—one of the best, in fact. What Evie Dayton hadn’t been was the home-wrecking slut Meredith made her out to be. Evie had been in love with Ria’s father—genuinely and deeply—until she succumbed to a heart ailment, only six months after Frank’s death.

  Since then, Ria had bounced between mourning her mother and her young husband.

  Ria’s eyes had smarted and her sinuses had ached with the pressure of trying to hold back tears of fury and resounding sorrow. She’d adored her mother, depended upon her, wanted to be like her in so many ways.

  The very air around Ria had seemed charged in those moments of lonely reflection, like the uncertain peace following a violent explosion.

  Presently, Quinn had appeared in the doorway leading to the short hall, bundled in Ria’s red chenille bathrobe, hair wet from washing, face pale, eyes huge, steam billowing all around her.

  And there was Bones, damp from a bath of his own, standing small and loyal at the girl’s feet.

  Ria had simply shaken her head, at a loss for words, and Quinn had vanished into the office-turned-guest-room, Bones scrabbling to keep up with her.

  A slamming door.

  The heart-wrenching sound of a young girl sobbing without restraint.

  Ria had followed her niece to that door, and she was about to knock and ask if she might come in so they could talk, but her hesitation had lengthened, and she’d finally lowered her hand instead, turned and walked slowly away.

  Needless to say, Highbridge’s unexpected visit was a welcome respite from the emotional storm. He must have taken his time parking the Bentley, because by the time he finally rapped at the back door, as he always did when he came over for tea and a chat, she’d worked through the worst of her angst by pacing and silently ranting at Meredith.

  “Come in,” Ria said, with a bright smile that trembled on her mouth.

  Highbridge, peering at her through the screen door, worked the latch with one hand and entered, bringing a box with him. Whatever was in it smelled like prime acreage in downtown heaven.

  “Yum,” Ria said, barely able to restrain herself from hugging the man. “You’ve been baking again.”

  Highbridge spared her a smile, touchingly shy. Born in a bombed-out section of London shortly after World War II, he’d grown up under continued food and gas rationing, along with several brothers and sisters, his widowed mother struggling all the while to keep the family afloat. Although Highbridge hadn’t spoken of being hungry throughout his childhood, Ria knew the privations he and his kin had suffered went far beyond what little he had confided.

  It was a mark of his esteem for Ria that he’d told her as much as he had, and she’d felt honored by his trust.

  “Cherry-rhubarb pie,” Highbridge announced, hoisting the box slightly as evidence. “Your favorite.”

  The kettle began to whistle on the stove top, and Ria went over to take it off the heat. She filled her china teapot with hot water at the sink and let it sit for a few moments, so the boiling contents of the kettle wouldn’t crack it open.

  She used those few busy moments as an excuse to avert her face, so Highbridge wouldn’t see how moved she was. Although her friend had been living well for years, the Bentley notwithstanding, doing without left its mark on people, and the cowboy’s butler was no exception. A gift of food, coming from this man, was a special gift indeed.

  “What’s the occasion?” Ria asked, when she turned around at last, leaning against the counter and folding her arms. “It isn’t my birthday—”

  Highbridge surveyed her with kindly, knowing eyes. “I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted. He glanced around, looking mildly uneasy. “If I’m interrupting something, though, I’ll be out of here in a trice. I should have called before coming over—”

  “Nonsense,” Ria broke in, with a wave of one hand. “You’re not interrupting anything, and you’re welcome to stop in whenever the spirit moves you.” She felt a surge of warmth for her friend as he stood awkwardly, with the pie box still in his hands. “Sit down, please. Make yourself at home.”

  “I can’t sit down until you do,” Highbridge retorted formally. “I am a gentleman, after all, and I will not take a seat while a lady remains standing.”

  Ria laughed and shook her head. “All right, then,” she replied, “I’ll hurry.”

  She finished brewing the tea, got out plates and forks and a knife to slice into the pie, carried everything to the table. As an afterthought, she went to the sideboard for a pair of linen napkins.

  Finally, they sat.

  Ria watched as Highbridge proceeded to cut into the luscious-looking pie, with its golden latticed crust and bubbling-up filling. “So,” she said, after sucking in a preparatory breath, “you say you’ve been worrying about me.” A beat passed. “Why?”

  “Well, there was that incident with the run
away buffalo,” Highbridge reminded her, after clearing his throat circumspectly. He scooped out the first slice for Ria, placed it on one of the plates and handed it across the table.

  “As you can see,” Ria said gently, accepting the fragrant delicacy, “I came through the ordeal quite nicely. Not a scratch on me, in fact.”

  Highbridge gave one of his ultradignified chuckles. It was impossible to imagine the man belly-laughing, holding his sides, snorting in the attempt to recover his breath after a fit of amusement.

  “I am atoning for the unfortunate behavior of my employer,” he said, dishing up his own slice of pie. He cleared his throat again, fork poised to dig in, as Ria had already done. “Mr. Sutton tells me he’s apologized and—”

  Highbridge fell silent and, by now, he looked embarrassed.

  “And?” Ria prompted, very gently, to get him going again.

  “Is it true that you’ve agreed to accompany him to a place called the Boot Scoot Tavern?” Highbridge lent the question so much gravity that Ria nearly laughed—with her mouth full. The result would have been disastrous, of course, at least in terms of good table manners.

  Carefully, she chewed and swallowed, took a leisurely sip of her tea. Before she could reply, though, Quinn showed up, accompanied by her faithful companion, Bones.

  “Who asked you to go where?” the girl interjected. Her eyes were still puffy from crying and a brief sleep, but she was dressed in clean jeans and a red top, and her hair, now dry, had been brushed to a high shine and tugged back into a ponytail that made her look much younger than her seventeen years.

  Highbridge slid back his chair and stood before Ria had a chance to answer. Indeed, before she’d even figured out an appropriate response.

  “Highbridge,” said the butler, by way of introduction, putting out one hand.

  Quinn favored him with a beaming smile, walked over and shook the offered hand confidently. “Quinn Whittingford,” she said. She glanced at the table. “Is that pie?”

  “Have some?” Ria responded lightly, delighted and relieved that Quinn seemed to have rallied somewhat since the phone conversation with Meredith.

  “Sure,” Quinn said, finding herself a plate in the cupboard, helping herself to a clean fork from the dishwasher and returning to the table to take a seat.

  Only then did Highbridge settle back into his own chair.

  “Awesome,” Quinn remarked, though whether she was commenting on the pie or the picturesque Highbridge and his elaborate decorum was unclear.

  “Quinn is my niece,” Ria explained, while the girl delved hungrily into the generous slice of pie in front of her. The fast-food lunch had obviously worn off.

  “That explains the resemblance,” Highbridge said, watching Quinn with a sort of tender amusement.

  Ria, who did not see a resemblance, refrained from comment.

  Quinn slipped Bones a small piece of piecrust, which he gobbled down quickly.

  “This is seriously good,” Quinn said. “The pie, I mean.” Then she turned dancing eyes on Ria. “Back to my original question. Somebody asked you out. Who was it and where are you going?”

  Highbridge chuckled again, took a sip from his teacup.

  Ria fixed her niece with a mock glower. “What if I said it was none of your business, young lady?” she said.

  Quinn beamed, plunging her fork into the succulent filling of the pie again. Her shoulders rose slightly, in a shruglike motion. “I’d find out anyway,” she responded merrily. She swallowed and then peered at Ria across the table, as though searching a crime scene for clues. “You’ve met someone,” she insisted. “Who is he? What’s he like?”

  Ria opened her mouth, closed it again.

  She’d basically accepted a dare by agreeing to go out with Landry Sutton on Saturday night—it wasn’t an actual date or anything. But how was she supposed to explain all that to a wide-eyed seventeen-year-old with a young girl’s penchant for romance?

  “He’s—a neighbor,” Ria finally replied, after exchanging a glance with Highbridge.

  “Is he hot?” Quinn asked, her tone idle, matter-of-fact.

  Highbridge choked on his tea but recovered admirably. “Hot?” he echoed.

  “A hunk,” Quinn translated amiably.

  Highbridge looked baffled.

  Ria, who was trying hard to come off as nonchalant, felt a surge of residual passion. For a moment—probably longer—it was as though Landry had just now kissed her; she felt the weight and warmth of his mouth on hers, the bold search of his tongue, the hard fire of his body against hers. The time-space continuum collapsed, and just as quickly reassembled itself again with a fierce jolt.

  Was Landry Sutton “hot”? A hunk? Did porcupines have quills? Did squirrels climb trees?

  “I haven’t thought about that,” Ria lied.

  “Oh, please,” Quinn countered, grinning.

  Ria looked to Highbridge for help, but evidently, he wasn’t in Sir Galahad mode at the moment. Either that or he was stumped for an answer.

  “More pie?” he asked, after a moment of wired silence.

  Bones rose on his hind legs, next to Quinn’s chair, and rested his forepaws on her blue-jeaned thigh, clearly begging.

  She laughed and gave him another snippet of piecrust.

  “No, thanks, I’m good,” Quinn told Highbridge, in belated reply. She smiled, pushed back her chair and stood, empty plate in hand. She set her dish and fork in the sink. “Would it be okay if Bones and I went outside for a look around?”

  Ria nodded, distracted. “Sure,” she said.

  When the back door closed behind the girl and the dog, Highbridge cleared his throat yet again and remarked, with only slight reservation, “Delightful child.”

  “Yes,” Ria agreed. “She is.”

  “You weren’t expecting her,” Highbridge guessed, his tone and expression mild.

  “No,” Ria admitted. “But I’d love it if she could stay here with me, at least for the summer.”

  Highbridge raised one eyebrow. “That isn’t possible?”

  “Her mother objects,” Ria told him.

  “Oh,” Highbridge answered, and said nothing more, because he wasn’t the type to interfere in private matters.

  Family matters, Ria thought, recalling the verbal tussle with Meredith. Her shoulders immediately tensed up again.

  “I’ve kept you long enough,” Highbridge concluded, moments later, when it was clear there wasn’t a lot more to say. He stood, fussing with the remaining pie and the attendant utensils. “I’ll be on my way.”

  “Let me do that,” Ria protested good-naturedly, taking over the table-clearing job. “Do you really have to leave so soon?”

  “Neighborly visits, like pie, are best served in limited portions,” Highbridge said wisely, with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

  Ria smiled, rummaged through the many simple glass vases housed in one of the cupboards, found one, added water and led the way to the back door, waiting while Highbridge placed the pie carefully in her refrigerator.

  “At least let me reciprocate with a few flowers,” she told her friend.

  Highbridge nodded, quietly pleased, and they walked toward the fields together. Ria, using the small set of clippers she carried in her shirt pocket, cut generous bouquets of zinnias and daisies, added carnations for pizzazz, thrust them all into the vase.

  Just holding such beauty in her hands made Ria’s heart sing, reassured her that life was good and Somebody was in charge, however confusing things might seem at times.

  She wedged the thick bouquet into the vase and handed the works to Highbridge, with a smile.

  “You,” she said softly, “are such a good friend.”

  Highbridge took the vase full of zinnias and daisies and carnations, admired the display for a few moments before meeting Ria’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said moderately. With that, he turned to walk away.

  Ria watched him until he’d settled himself behind the wheel of his vintage car. The who
le picture gave her an odd, brief sense that she’d slipped through a wrinkle in the ordinary structure of things, into a realm of grace and tea and flowers that was, regrettably, long gone.

  Highbridge gave the car horn a sedate toot, turned the machine around in a graceful sweep of polished fenders and shining chrome and set off up the road.

  “I think the old guy’s a little sweet on you,” Quinn said, startling Ria, who hadn’t heard the girl’s approach. Bones, one row over, was chasing a butterfly, secure in the knowledge that he didn’t have a chance of catching it.

  Ria chuckled and shook her head.

  Quinn elbowed her gently. “Tell me about the neighbor,” she urged. “The guy who’s taking you out, I mean.”

  Ria sighed. “His name is Landry Sutton,” she said. “And he’s not ‘taking me out.’ We’re trying to be friends, that’s all.”

  “How’s that working out?” Quinn asked, bending to admire a red zinnia.

  “I’m not sure,” Ria replied honestly. Almost sadly. Highbridge and his Bentley were out of sight by then, but she kept her eyes on the billows of road dust they’d left behind.

  Quinn’s tone was incredibly gentle, remarkably wise. “It’s time,” she said softly. “I know you loved Uncle Frank. I can understand how much you must miss him, even if I am only seventeen, but he’s gone, Ria, and you’re still young. You need a husband and children, a family.”

  Ria’s throat thickened painfully, and the backs of her eyes burned, though there were no tears. Husband—children—family. The buzzwords of her soul, the things she wanted most in all the world, had always wanted. Was she wrong to long for that kind of love? Hopelessly out of date, politically incorrect?

  “Nobody has everything, Quinn,” she said, very quietly. She’d loved Frank so much, with every fiber of her being, in fact, and she’d lost him. Miscarrying their just-conceived baby when he’d died doing the thing he’d lived to do—fighting an apartment fire with his colleagues, defeating the destructive force, saving people and animals from death, only to perish himself.

  Frank had been proud of his ten-year career as a firefighter, and justifiably so.

  Still, when that blazing roof finally collapsed, there had been no one to save him.