Worth the Wait (Last Hope Ranch Book 2) Page 6

  “Read it.”

  Julie saw the note was addressed to Andy, Nan’s husband.

  Dear Andy,

  It has been years since we last spoke. I hope you and Nan are doing well. You two were meant for each other and that is why I hesitated to tell you the truth about that night we had in Billings. I knew then that while you’d broken off your engagement, your heart still belonged to Nan. But you were off to war and I suppose we needed one another’s comfort.

  But the truth is, I had a child. Yours, and because I was unmarried and you were at war, I felt I had no recourse but to give the child up for adoption.

  Why would I tell you this now? All these years later? It is because I have been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and I want to move back home and be buried next to my parents in my hometown.

  I never saw him. Never held our son. How could I? This was a baby that should have been yours and Nan’s. I swear my intentions were good. I only ever wanted you two to be happy. I hope that you and Nan might find it possible in your hearts to one day forgive me.”

  It was simply signed, “Gwen.”

  “Who’s Gwen?” Julie asked, folding the one letter and carefully placing it back in its yellowing envelope.

  “My best friend,” Nan said. “She moved back to End of the Line more than ten years ago.” She placed her palm to her forehead and shook her head.

  “Nan?”

  “Read the second letter,” she said quietly.

  Julie found the other envelope and opened the letter. This one was written by Nan’s late husband several years ago.

  My dearest Nan,

  Should you ever choose to delve into this box filled only with things related to my serving in the military (a time not at the top of your priority list, I’m sure!) I want you to understand why I chose not to mention my short-lived affair with Gwen, or the surprising news she shared, I surmise, out of her own guilty conscience these many years later. I blame myself for her grief. I was not entirely fair to her, I fear. For only one woman had captured my heart, even when you and I had parted. But she was sweet and kind, and the comfort she offered riddled me with guilt. That is, in part, why I chose to enlist. At the time, I needed to get away from anything and anyone that reminded me of us.

  I never knew of this child until the date of this letter. I was angry with Gwen at first for waiting so long to tell me, but realized that she’d done what was best for the child. That’s what is important here. By now, he’d be into his twenties—well over half our married life together. Happy (I trust!) in our business, our home, our town, and the life we’d chosen. I didn’t feel it would do anyone any good in our present life to dredge up the past. My hope is that whoever adopted this child did right by him and gave him a good life. The kind of life that neither Gwen nor myself at the time could have given him. It isn’t as though I don’t think of him, and in some way, even love him, perhaps. But I wasn’t his real father—not the man who carried him to bed, talked to him about girls, watched him graduate. Those are another man’s memories and well deserved. Mine are about us, the life we made together, and I’ve never regretted a single moment.

  Perhaps one day after you read this, you can forgive me. But understand this—I loved the life we had and I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

  It was signed, “Yours, Andy.”

  “Oh, Nan,” Julie said.

  Nan lifted her palm to Julie. “I’m fine, or I will be once I process this. It’s far easier to forgive someone who’s already gone.” She looked at Julie. “The greater challenge is forgiving your best friend. Seeing her every Sunday afternoon. Watching her memory these past ten years drift in and out of reality.” She shook her head. “I can forgive the indiscretion. I had turned down Andy’s proposal. We weren’t together. They found each other before he was to ship out.”

  “But she’s never mentioned any of this”—Julie held up the letter—"to you?”

  Nan shook her head and sucked in a ragged breath. “Not a word. The Alzheimer’s has ravaged her memory. Most days she has no idea who I am. Only a kind lady who brings her gumdrops from the five and dime. The staff says that when I’m gone she sits by the window and stares at the butterfly garden outside.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Julie squeezed Nan’s hand. This kind of news at any age would be a sucker punch to the gut, but at Nan’s age and given the circumstances, Julie was at a loss for words.

  “What is there to say?” Nan shrugged.

  Julie attempted to reason with her. “You and your husband were very happy. Perhaps, since it had happened so long ago, he felt it unnecessary to tell you.”

  “Not necessary to tell me that he’d had a child with my best friend?” Nan clamped her hand over her chest. “What kind of man does that?”

  “A man who had no idea that he was a father,” Julie reminded her.

  “But marriage is built on trust,” Nan said. “There shouldn’t be secrets between you. If there is a difficult situation, you face it together.”

  Her words struck home. She and Hank weren’t married but she’d purposely kept news from him that she felt wasn’t necessary for him to know. “Nan, your marriage wasn’t a lie. You guys had a full life. You told me about it. And you had each other. You had a true partner in every sense of the word. He didn’t want to hurt you with news that by then wouldn’t have made any difference in your lives.”

  Her gaze lifted to Julie’s “But I might have a stepson out there, maybe step-grandchildren by now.”

  Julie’s heart twisted for the loss Nan felt.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could say or do.” Julie stood and walked behind the woman seated at the table. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around Nan. The tough-as-nails woman, usually dressed in baggy bib overalls, a T-shirt, and red bandana wrapped around her short silvery hair, seemed to have aged before Julie’s eyes. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” She stepped back and regarded her friend. “Nan, I’d completely understand if you’d rather not be involved with the veterans’ float.”

  Nan cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. She shook her head as though dispelling the dark thoughts. “No, you’re right. Andy and the other vets, they deserve this float in recognition for their service. That’s what is important here.” She stood and walked to the kitchen window. “It has nothing to do with my personal issues.” She glanced back at Julie. “I just need time to think about what to say to Gwen.” She shrugged. “Or if I should say anything at all.”

  “If she doesn’t remember you, Nan, what would be the point?” Julie asked.

  The old woman rested her hands on the kitchen counter. “Forgiveness, I suppose. Saying aloud that I forgive her would be helpful to me.” She looked at Julie. “Does that sound selfish?”

  “Not at all, but it comes with a certain amount of risk. She may not understand.”

  Nan nodded. “I’ve been visiting her every Sunday for over ten years. Some days she looks at me and I swear she knows me. Most days, I’m a pleasant distraction from her silence.”

  Julie felt for both women. She wasn’t certain that under similar circumstances she’d be as gracious. “You are a remarkable and courageous woman, Nan.” She lifted her bookbag over her shoulder. “I’m going to head back to work and give you time to think through things. Our meeting is tomorrow after the lunch rush in the party room.”

  “I’ll be there,” Nan said. “I need to go see Gwen, but I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Five

  Sitting by a sparkling azure pool surrounded by palm trees and exotic tropical gardens with a spectacular ocean view, Hank decided it wasn’t the worst way to spend a day. He sat back and adjusted his Ray-Bans. Currently, he was the only one poolside, giving him the freedom to imagine Julie in a sleek black swimsuit gliding through the water, emerging with a smile that suggested the afternoon delights awaiting them back in their room.

  The sound of male laughter followed promptly by a wheezing cough jarr
ed him from his hot little daydream, but not so his need for the woman he loved. Would there ever be a time when he tired of her? The soft scent of her skin, the warmth of her unhurried touch, the way she searched his eyes after they made love. They had no issues in the physical sense, but there were far deeper scars he could only imagine that she struggled with—the least of which were betrayal, fear, and mistrust. If anything, he should count his blessings that their relationship had lasted this long.

  He understood what it meant to wait. From the time he’d met her his senior year of college, he’d waited for her to notice him. Even years later, when she’d moved away with another man, he’d pined for her, pushing aside the guilt as well as his broken heart to move forward with his life. Then two years ago, fate placed her in his path again. He intended to hang on this time, but that didn’t make the waiting any less excruciating.

  A warm coastal breeze brushed his cheek as he glanced at his phone, tempted to call and ask why she hadn’t told him about lending the stranger his house for a few days. It was petty, perhaps, but at a time when trust seemed to be a key component in their relationship, Hank figured it went both ways. He placed the phone on the table, face down, telling himself not to be so paranoid. To show her that he trusted her.

  “Hank? Hank Richardson?”

  A chill ran across his shoulders. Years melted away. Memories, and not all of them entirely sane, leapt to the forefront of his mind, obliterating all other thoughts.

  Hank looked up. Standing like a statuesque Grecian goddess in a slinky, low-cut black jumpsuit, was Cynthia Simmons, two years his senior, and in college had been captain of the Northwestern dance squad. She was also the only daughter of Gerald Simmons, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. She’d been the only woman in the world who had existed to him for the span of a few weeks in his sophomore year.

  Hank blinked a couple of times and found his tongue. “What the heck are you doing here?” He laughed his query off as a joke, but glanced around, concerned about whether her father might also be nearby. He’d spent the greater share of his college career avoiding direct contact with the dean, certain he’d face immediate expulsion for all the times he’d snuck out after midnight into their grand home just a block off campus.

  “What? Not even a hug?” She opened her arms, a gesture he remembered on a most intimate level. “Really? After all we’ve shared?”

  His water glass wobbled precariously as he stood in haste to greet her. She pressed against him, still wearing the same perfume that had driven him mad back in college. He stepped away quickly and cleared his throat. “Are you in town on business?” He remembered that she’d been a business major.

  “As a matter of fact, my husband and I own this resort,” she said with a shrug, “And a couple of others up the coast.” She peered at him with a curious look. “You didn’t know? Really?”

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t keep up with the alumni page much, I’m afraid.” A large hand clamped down on his shoulder and Hank was whirled around to face an obsessively broad-shouldered man in a sharp-looking Armani suit.

  “Then you wouldn’t know we just got married.” The bald man wore sunglasses and his grin showed one gold tooth, completing the overall look of a mob boss.

  Hank felt his lungs collapse in the man’s vice-grip embrace. Released, Hank stood back and caught his breath. But when the man tore off his glasses, Hank’s heart stopped. Could this day get any stranger? “Jake Clausen?” He looked from Cynthia to Jake. “You two”—he pointed from one to the other—“are married?”

  The burly man, twice Hank’s size, had once been the star left tackle on the Northwestern offensive line. He was a moose then—an angry moose, as Hank recalled.

  Jake picked up his wife’s hand and kissed it tenderly. “Just a little over a month ago. Am I a lucky man, or what?” He smiled. Then, as though realizing they weren’t alone, he turned to Hank and tugged on his suit. “Still getting used to the business attire.” He chuckled.

  “You look magnificent, baby,” Cynthia cooed.

  Oh, boy.

  Hank wondered how much Jake knew about what his wife was like back in school, or about her penchant for football players—in particular the idiot sophomore who had climbed into her bedroom window on a dare from his pyromaniac friend, Pete.

  ***

  He and Pete were lab partners and hence Pete had heard Hank’s whining about his obsession with the young woman. He’d bet him he couldn’t ask her out. Hank took the bet, but the dare was to be on Pete’s terms. The Simmons’s home, a late-century Victorian that looked more like a gothic castle than a residence, stood within an imposing black wrought-iron fence at the edge of the campus. Surrounded by ancient oak and pine, it was a virtual fortress, housing the dean’s only daughter. A senior, she was the model of good genes, stellar upbringing, and impeccable taste—all of which appealed to the then sophomore. Asking her out—rather, how it was to be conducted—was a matter to which Hank had given great thought, in particular how to explain to his parents why he was expelled from school, if caught.

  But…if she said yes, then he would be the man on campus, the envy of every starry-eyed male who pined after Cynthia. And his friend Pete, poor sap, would be one-hundred-bucks poorer. All he needed was tenacity, charm, and his football jersey—how could she say no?

  Climbing in the bedroom window of the family home after midnight seemed like a good idea at the time. Those squats in practice aided in hustling up that old oak with the agility of a chimp. He’d been grateful that no Doberman guard dogs had appeared, suggesting that the myth that old man Simmons kept no less than four patrolling the yard was completely false.

  Grateful to find the lock unlatched, he slid open the window, needing only a gentle nudge midway. He climbed in and promptly fell over something large and tufted, which he would later come to use to his advantage later. But now it alerted her pint-sized guard Maltese to start yapping and tearing at the pantleg of his football sweatpants. “Hey, these aren’t cheap, Fido,” Hank had whispered, trying to shake the mutt from his pantleg.

  “Beastly, sit.”

  Hank looked up in surprise—more so that the dog had promptly plopped on his little butt than at seeing Cynthia sitting upright in bed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

  “Are you the prince come to rescue this damsel in distress?” She smiled and twirled a strand of her hair as she assessed him sprawled across a pink-tufted ottoman. He was about to answer when a short round of raps sounded on her bedroom door.

  “Cynthia, what is going on in there?”

  Hank scrambled to his feet and ducked his head to climb back out on the roof.

  Apparently finding the whole thing hilarious, she’d ordered him under the bed, scooped up the dog, and proceeded to concoct a story about how she’d tripped when she got up and forgot to turn on the light.

  Hank had held his breath. With little else to do but wait, he couldn’t help but notice the contrast of cleanliness between the underside of her bed to his. But his discoveries didn’t stop there. He picked up an object he’d only heard about, never held, something girls had often referred to as their “little electric boyfriend.”

  The door closed. Crawling out from his hiding place, he handed her the curious toy, asking how it worked. Cindy turned out the light and switched herself on.

  For the next three weeks, they engaged in a purely physical relationship, making out whenever they could, whenever they could. It was the first time he’d given a football shirt to a woman. He prayed she’d gotten rid of it. It all ended when the new redshirt walk-on took over as quarterback mid-season.

  ***

  “You know what? We should have dinner tonight.” Cynthia smiled, putting her hands together with a joyful look. “I know Daddy would love to see another one of Northwestern’s best players.”

  Yep. The day had just gotten stranger.

  Daddy? “Your father…is here?” A bead of sweat popped up and trickled down the length of Han
k’s spine. Maybe it was just the heat of the day. Either way, he’d spent too much time avoiding direct contact with the man while in college. He wasn’t about to tempt fate now.

  “He flew in to meet his friends from Chicago and play golf.”

  “He came to play golf with Alistair Rhoades?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah, they’ve been friends for years. Mother was glad to get rid of him for a few days. He gets antsy when he sits around too much.” She smiled at her husband then, giving his chin a playful tweak. “Jake here has promised to take him to the gun range this afternoon, maybe you’d like to join them?”

  Hank was fairly certain this range had nothing to do with roaming buffalo.

  “Jake’s quite the marksman as well as football player.”

  “Wow, that’s…just great.” Hank’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and saw it was Julie. Thanking the good lord above, he looked at the couple. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to take this. Excuse me.”

  He walked inside the vestibule to the bar—sans a bartender as it was too early—and watched as a waiter readied the tables for the lunch crowd. Looking at the photo on his phone, he saw how happy they were the night they’d taken the selfie at the Café Du Monde. Maybe she’d finally found a moment to explain why she’d given a stranger permission to stay in his cabin.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?” He climbed onto a bar stool and leaned his elbow on the polished mahogany countertop.

  “Have you seen the news?” she asked.

  It took him a moment to realize her voice teetered on the verge of panic. He glanced up at the dark screen of the television hanging in the corner over the bar. “Hey, can I get this turned on, please?” he called to the waiter.

  “I’ve got it, Jessie.” Cynthia passed behind him and rounded the end of the counter. She pointed the remote at the wide screen TV.

  “Is there a news station?” he prompted Cynthia.

  Jake walked in and stood beside him.

  “We’re looking for a news station,” Hank told Julie. “Are you okay? Are the boys okay?”