Lost and Found Family Page 14

  “How much are we talking about to get started?”

  Feeling better than he had all day, Christian named the figure he’d been chasing around in his head. His dad was always a businessman first. As a kid Christian had found that irritating, even seen it as a rejection. Not unlike Emma with her neglectful, often absent, mother. Now, he understood that his dad’s love for his family drove him to work such long hours, as Christian had, too.

  When he heard the number, his father whistled.

  “Dad, we can adjust that—”

  “Probably upward.”

  His mother appeared from the other room. “Whistling? Are there dogs in this house?” she asked when she spotted Christian.

  “Bob’s in the kennel, Mom. Crying her eyes out.”

  “Your boy wants to spend his inheritance,” his dad told her. “Go ahead. Tell your mother what you have in mind.”

  As he talked, her eyes lit up. “That’s very generous,” she murmured, glancing at his father, “but, Lanier, surely we can do better than that.” Christian hadn’t seen her this engaged in months. “We’ll need a big launch. With more of my friends invited to that reception—not to mention other donors—we could fill the convention center,” she said.

  Christian grinned. “I was thinking more of the club.”

  “And I have the perfect date.”

  “Your anniversary. Two-for-one.” Thank goodness there wouldn’t be another go-round about that party. “Neatly done, Mom. You really think your pals will kick in?”

  “Don’t they always?” He could see the wheels spinning. “I know just the caterer to hire. She’s a wizard with canapés. The one Emma and I discussed for the party can’t handle such a crowd.”

  He couldn’t believe she’d actually bitten on his idea, teased him and, best of all, liked it. He wished Emma had shown half her enthusiasm. “So you’ll serve as chairperson?”

  His father groaned. “Another?”

  She shook her head. “Shouldn’t Emma be responsible?”

  That came as a surprise.

  “Well,” he said, at the risk of setting his mother’s radar whirling, “we’re still working on that.”

  He hoped Emma came around. If she didn’t, he was afraid there was nowhere else for them to go.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BY THE TIME Emma reached her shop the next morning, it was empty. If Grace had come in, she was already gone again.

  Emma’s stomach flipped over. Very early this morning Christian had left a note on the nightstand, telling Emma he’d taken a load to Memphis, five or six hours away. He’d probably stay overnight or at least come back late. She shouldn’t wait up for him. He’d signed the note simply C.

  With a heavy sigh, Emma tried to focus on the day’s emails, but her mind stayed blank. She felt a bit dizzy. After last night their marriage was in real danger. She didn’t know how much longer she could continue to pretend everything would be all right, even to herself. And now there was Christian’s new foundation to deal with.

  When the next message scrolled onto her computer screen, Emma started to hit the delete key. Then she realized the email address belonged to Jody, the young woman she’d met at the local support group.

  Emma wasn’t hungry, but she wrote a short message inviting Jody to lunch. She owed her an apology and her next appointment wasn’t until two o’clock. In the meantime, she needed to get out of the office, breathe some fresh air to settle her stomach. She hung the closed sign on the door and left the shop.

  Minutes later, she pulled in at Northgate Mall, her usual stomping grounds. But TJ Maxx didn’t draw her in today; neither did Belk or Sears, the mall’s two anchor stores. Jody worked there, though, and Emma went in.

  As soon as Jody saw her, her eyes lit up. Before she knew she was going to do so, Emma hugged her.

  “Hi,” Jody said. “I’m glad we could meet. Where have you been? We’re going to have a great speaker next time. You should come.”

  Emma drew back. “Jody, no. But I want to apologize. The last time—the only time—I came, all I learned was your name. You were so kind to me but I didn’t ask you about yourself.”

  Jody grabbed her purse, then led Emma down the hall. At a small table outside Chick-Fil-A, Jody arranged the food she’d ordered and folded her hands. “I’m only twenty-two,” she began. Close to Grace’s age. “There’s not a whole lot to tell yet.” She hesitated. “Except for Jim, of course.”

  Jody’s husband, Emma learned, had been a Marine who’d served several tours of duty abroad before he’d stepped on an IED on a dusty road and lost his life.

  “That was two years ago,” Jody murmured, “but it still seems like yesterday. I keep seeing those two military officers come up the front walk, and me already knowing why they were there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. Such a loss was always devastating, but at her age Jody couldn’t have had the necessary experience, as she’d said, to cope with the shock. After Emma had lost her mother in her teens, she’d felt abandoned, afraid—in spite of their on-again, off-again relationship. Without any family, she’d ended up in a less than wonderful foster home, where she’d toughened up fast and learned to rely on herself even more. Maybe too much. “Are your parents nearby?”

  Jody half smiled. “They live in Lexington. I try to visit every few months, but this is where Jim and I met, where we were married and where I wanted to live after he was gone. I left his base as soon as I could—and came back again.” She paused. “He’s buried here in the national cemetery. I go there every Sunday and cry all over his headstone.”

  Emma mentioned Owen, then closed her eyes. It had been a while since she’d visited his gravesite. She should go but...

  “You don’t?” Jody asked. “See your little boy?”

  “Not very often,” Emma murmured.

  “I know how you feel. But don’t you think he must be lonely?” Then Jody’s face brightened a little. “The other day on Facebook I saw this video of a kid playing in a sandbox. He had a bunch of little yellow bulldozers. But it was a sandbox his parents had made at their older child’s grave. They said they wanted him to be able to play with his baby brother.”

  “Oh, God,” Emma said, pushing her meal aside.

  Before she could rise from her chair, Jody caught her arm. “I know it hurts. But you have to look it right in the face, Emma. I’m still trying to understand why I had to lose Jim, but it helps to let other people in.” She waited until Emma stopped resisting her hold. “I don’t know what your full story is, but we all feel guilty in one way or another. Because we’re still here. You know what I regret the most, other than not having Jim to share the rest of my life? We didn’t have children. In that, you were lucky. Maybe that’s a good place to start.”

  “Thanks, Jody. But—”

  “Come to the next meeting, Emma. Tell your story.”

  Jody, a widow by the time she’d turned twenty, was doing far better than Emma was. What if Grace had lost Rafe like that? Or if Emma lost Christian?

  What if she’d never had Owen?

  * * *

  CHRISTIAN REACHED CHATTANOOGA before seven o’clock. He’d decided not to spend the night in Memphis, but he wasn’t ready to face Emma yet. He’d just gotten into his pickup when his cell phone rang.

  “Rafe,” he said after checking the display. “What’s up?”

  “Got a woman here who may want to lease the General.”

  “Hey, that’s good news.” His stomach sank. “And way faster than I expected. She there now?”

  “She and your horse are having a cozy talk. Can you come over?”

  “Sure.” No sense in delaying the inevitable, he thought.

  Christian made a U-turn, then headed for Mountain View Farm. He was supposed to meet Emma at the house, but
that would have to wait. He imagined she wouldn’t mind if this short side trip resulted in his leasing the horse.

  By the time he reached the barn, his heart had wedged in his throat. Not that long ago he’d said goodbye to the General. He still felt guilty.

  As soon as he walked in, he heard the General’s usual nicker of greeting. And for a second, his footsteps faltered. Forgive me, buddy.

  He went down the aisle toward Rafe, who was standing with a dark-haired woman who looked to be in her late twenties. She had her hand through the bars of the General’s stall and was indeed talking to him. A good sign.

  “What a pretty boy,” she murmured. “But are you a good boy?”

  “Evening,” Christian said. Even Grace had never used what amounted to baby talk with his horse.

  She turned around, then eyed him up and down.

  Rafe stepped between them. “Christian, this is Hailey Morgan.”

  She offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Christian said the same, though he wasn’t sure yet how he felt about her. She looked over her shoulder. “He’s a nice piece of horseflesh.”

  “He’s a good horse,” Christian said, which wasn’t quite an agreement. He let go of her hand. He didn’t care for people who seemed to view any horse, but particularly his horse, as just an animal.

  “I’ve only recently moved to the area. But Rafael tells me there was some trouble at this barn.”

  “Full disclosure,” Rafe said, his gaze on her not Christian.

  “It was an accident.”

  “Someone died,” she said. “That’s more than serious.”

  Christian crossed his arms. “Yes. I understand your concern. So if you’re not comfortable and I can’t blame you—”

  Rafe cut in. “I’ve told Hailey what happened. Except for that, the General has a clean record. She’s an experienced rider.”

  “Anyone could ride him,” Christian said, remembering how many times he’d put Owen on the General without the horse twitching a muscle. He’d been astonished by the accident.

  Hailey turned her gaze back to him. “Perhaps we can work out a deal. A discount, if you will.” Like hazard or combat pay?

  “We can talk about it,” Christian said, but he wasn’t in a strong bargaining position and she must know that.

  Hailey turned to the stall, stood there for another moment and studied the General. “He seems quite calm.”

  “He is. Normally.”

  “May I try him out? Before I decide?”

  “I insist.”

  If the General acted up, even a little, word would spread. Christian had heard that often enough from his mother, from Emma. Yet nothing had ever happened before, or since. He brushed past her, slid open the bolt on the stall door and stepped inside.

  The General backed up, away from the door, then stretched his neck toward Christian’s hand. Christian pulled a carrot, which he’d still had in his truck, from his rear pocket and fed it to him.

  “Hey, boy. Want to have some fun?”

  He led the horse into the aisle, snapped him in the crossties. He took his time getting a brush from his tack trunk, then groomed the General, who stood quietly, as if knowing his every movement was being assessed, his dark eyes seeking Christian now and then as if to ask, What’s going on? But he probably still expected Christian to be the one who rode him tonight.

  Christian hadn’t warmed to this woman yet. He’d seen people like her at horse shows and a few in this very barn who put their mounts through their paces, then rode out of the ring without even patting the horse’s neck for good work. That always told him a lot. But Rafe had vetted Hailey Morgan first, he reminded himself.

  Christian saddled the General, his movements smooth and, he hoped, comforting, telling the horse it was okay. He hadn’t really been betrayed, abandoned. He wasn’t being virtually given away now. Like Owen’s clothes.

  When he let Hailey have the reins in the indoor ring, she easily swung up into the saddle, and he tried to tell himself he didn’t need to worry. Rafe would oversee her every time she came to ride. He’d call Christian if there was anything to worry about. But had she chosen the General looking for a bargain? How sensible would that be?

  He tried to think how pleased Emma would be to know he’d taken the financial burden off them with this lease—given them some breathing room—although she hadn’t said much when he’d told her the idea.

  “She’s pretty good,” Rafe murmured beside him as they watched Hailey work the General.

  “He’s not that relaxed,” Christian pointed out. He could see the stiffness in the General’s gaits, the slight hesitation whenever Hailey gave him another aid using her hands, legs and seat—to trot, to canter—before he obeyed. He watched her rock in the saddle.

  “Hailey’s won a few ribbons. Took a blue at that show in Lexington last summer. She’s okay, Christian.”

  “Probably just nervous,” he said. Like me. “Guess I’ve owned him for so long, it’s hard to let go.”

  “The lease is temporary.”

  “Yeah, but...” After that he’d have to make the real decision.

  “If you’re not certain about her, then make it a six-month lease not a year.”

  “Six months it is,” he said.

  * * *

  ON HIS WAY HOME, Christian passed Ponies on Parade and saw that Max’s lights were still on. Maybe he’d stall a while longer, slap some paint on Owen’s carousel horse, prepare what to say to Emma. He regretted last night, but he needed to convince her that the foundation was actually a great idea. Bearing Owen’s name, doing good work, it could only end up helping them both. Or so he prayed. How to make her see that?

  Max met him at the door, wiping his hands on an already grimy rag. “I was about to close up. Glad you caught me.”

  “Thought I’d get started on that paint,” he said, “but I can come back—”

  “No, stay. I can use the company. I was feeling sorry for myself tonight. I’ve been struggling with that big horse for the doc—and I nearly ruined the thing a while ago.”

  “Need help?” He could take direction. After all, he’d been taking orders from his father for almost forty years.

  “Nah, I got a breakthrough. Used a different chisel,” Max said with a smile. “Always learning, though. This never gets old.”

  As they talked, Max brewed each of them a cup of coffee. He blew on his, sending steam into the air. Christian inhaled the smell of wood shavings, too. This place was a total sensory experience.

  Max seemed to take pride in showing him the ropes. Before he knew it, Christian was putting on paint—delicately—along his pony’s off side. His brush stopped in midswipe. Huh. He’d actually thought of the pony as his, as if he wasn’t preparing it for another buyer. Like leasing the General—a done deal now.

  “That’s it, light strokes. You don’t have to cover the whole thing with this first coat. There’ll be plenty more before we’re done.” Max eyed Christian. “You have a good feel for this.”

  “I was a Fine Arts major once.”

  “You wanted to become an artist?”

  “I was more interested in design. Then I got married,” he said, “the first time. We had a baby right away—Grace—and then I was driving a truck.” He tilted his head toward the parking area. “Not that it was my life’s plan.”

  “Think you’ll ever go back to corporate life?”

  “I’m not sure.” Christian frowned. “Maybe I’ll go back to school after all, get another degree, head down a different path.”

  “Huh,” Max said. “Bet you five bucks that includes making one of these ponies yourself from nothing but some blocks of wood.”

  “We’ll see. I’ve already started to work on something else.” Christian told Max about his foundation, which M
ax seemed to think was a fine idea. As they talked some more, he finished the first coat of paint and stepped back to admire what he’d accomplished. It wasn’t half bad. He glanced at his watch and saw it was almost eleven o’clock. “I’ve spent four hours here?”

  “Slave labor,” Max said and grinned.

  Together, they cleaned brushes and put away supplies. Christian told him more about the foundation, then helped Max close up shop before they walked to their trucks. Max’s keys jingled in his hand.

  Christian started to open his door but stopped. “Max, my foundation will need a logo—for stationery, a website, all of that. A brand image.” Then the lightbulb went off in his head.

  “A pony,” he and Max said at once.

  “I’ll take some photos next time—if that’s all right,” Christian said. “I’ll hire a graphic designer who can work from those.” Then he had another idea. “Not just any pony,” he said, looking back toward the shop. “It has to be Owen’s pony.”

  “Brilliant,” Max agreed.

  “I hope Emma will think so, too,” he said before getting into his truck, giving Max a wave and driving off.

  Between the hours he’d spent painting tonight and his excitement over the foundation, he felt happier than he had in many months.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IN HER BREAKFAST nook with a cup of hot tea, Frankie perused the daily newspaper. The weather report promised clear blue skies after several days of off-and-on gray clouds and Frankie was in a good mood. Or she was until she turned to the obituary section.

  A former tennis friend had passed away. Another acquaintance, with whom she’d served on several committees early in her marriage, had died, too, at the age of ninety-one. The write-ups had become all too frequent. Then her gaze fell on the last one, the kind she always dreaded yet couldn’t seem to avoid. Someone’s young child had also gone to heaven.

  Frankie laid the paper aside, the column facedown on a list she’d been making for Christian’s foundation. It would be a challenge to dovetail the launch with the anniversary party. She sipped her tea while the memories raced through her mind. Owen. Sarah...