A McKaslin Homecoming. Jillian Hart
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designer. Her flip-flops were wearing thin. And then there was the backpack—typical student ware.
Curious, he led the way along the path curving around the house. “What’s your major?”
“I’m finishing up a master’s in business. Hey, don’t look so surprised.”
“You want to be a businesswoman?”
“A lot of people do. Why?”
How did he say it? “For some reason I figured, since you lived in L.A.—”
“That you thought I’d be like my mom and want to be an actress.” Hurt shadowed her eyes and dimmed her smile.
“Hey, I didn’t mean any insult.”
“I get that a lot.” She shrugged one slim shoulder, as if it were no big deal.
Caleb figured it was. There was something about her, something he still couldn’t put his finger on. But there was a lot to like about her.
“Oh, there are the horses.” She changed the subject as they circled around the side of the house. “I hope the gate is secure.”
“I roped it up good. It’s gotten to be a sort of game to Malia. She’s smart, I’ve got to give her credit for that. I’ll have to order a new latch and hope it’s the one she won’t be able to figure out. Thanks for your help back there. If you hadn’t driven the truck back, right now I’d be walking in the hot sun to fetch it. Would you like something to cool you off?”
Suddenly his voice sounded distant and tinny. What was happening? Lauren’s feet froze in place at the top of the walk. Emotion spun through her, unnamed and misty, like fog rolling in with the Pacific’s tides. Was it a memory of the past? Or the wish for one?
“Are you okay?” Caleb stopped, reversed and came to stand in front of her. His big shadow fell across her and it felt oddly intimate. “You’re pale all of a sudden.”
“I just…I think I remember this place.”
It was there, just beyond her reach, an image she couldn’t bring into focus. It remained fuzzy, hidden by the mist of twenty years, but it was there. A voice she couldn’t hear, a faint scent of apples and cinnamon. Leaves rustling through the trees and a feeling she couldn’t pin down that remained cloaked in fog.
The hint of memory disappeared, leaving her empty and alone. Her heart ached with loss and she didn’t know why.
“It doesn’t seem like a very good memory.”
Caleb’s voice surprised her. For a moment it was as if she were alone in the dappled sunlight. But he was there, towering so close he filled her field of vision.
“Why don’t you sit down,” he suggested, “right here out of the sun.”
There was something in his words, something kind and unexpected. Caleb Stone took her arm, his strong hand cupping her elbow, and guided her. She sank onto the bottom step on the porch, shaded by the house and the overhead trees.
Caleb’s hand moved to her shoulder. A comforting gesture. He clearly thought she was ill. “It’s over a hundred in the shade. This mountain air is so dry, you dehydrate before you know it. I kept you out in the sun too long.”
Her chest twisted so tight, she couldn’t answer. She didn’t think it was the heat and sun that was affecting her so much. It was the past and this reaction was something she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t come here to dredge up hurt. No, she’d come out of curiosity. She wanted to know where she’d come from. Who she was. Maybe that would help her figure out better where she was headed in life.
“You stay right here.” His big fingers squeezed once, gentle and soothing, sending a rush of peace through her troubled heart. “I’ll be right back.”
His boots knelled against the wood steps and the wraparound porch. A screen door squeaked open somewhere at the side of the house.
The pressure in her chest increased. Was she upset by this stranger’s kindness? Or from memories, unseen and without shape, remembered in her heart? And why? Why had it always remained a blank? Mom refused to talk about the past. Refused to say if there were any siblings, a father, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents left behind. People that might have mattered to her.
Caleb’s steps approached her from behind with an easygoing cadence. She heard ice tinkling in a glass. “Here.”
She stared at the tall glass of lemonade he offered. The scent was bright and sour-sweet as he lowered the glass into her hand.
“You’re still not looking too well. Did you drive straight through?”
She shook her head. Took the glass. Stared at the lemony goodness. Here was the edge of that memory. She tasted the lemonade and already knew the flavorful and sweet-tart taste before it hit her tongue. Frustrated, she wished there was more to her recollection.
“You rest here. Rehydrate.” Caleb rose. He remained behind her, out of her sight, but his presence was substantial all the same. “I’ll take your bags out to the carriage house.”
It had been a long time since anyone had helped her. “Thanks, Caleb.”
“Sure thing.” Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the glass of lemonade.
Maybe her lack of memory was a sign. Her mind had buried something so deep on purpose—to protect her or because it hadn’t mattered. She wanted answers, but what if she didn’t like what she found out?
I could get hurt.
Uncertainty and regret swirled into a black mass in the middle of her stomach. Her hands began to tremble, sloshing the lemonade around in the tall cool glass.
What would her grandmother think of her? Would there be disappointment on her face? Would she, like her daughter, Lauren’s mother, find so much to criticize?
So many worries. She would give them to the Lord. She took a shaky breath, trying to pull herself together. Hot wind breezed against her face like a touch, reminding her of where she was. The drum of a man’s sure and leisurely gait knelled on the porch boards behind her. She could feel the vibration of his steps roll through her.
Lauren couldn’t exactly say why she was so aware of Caleb’s Stone presence.
He sat next to her and shaded his eyes with one broad, sun-browned hand. He gazed down the long stretch of gravel driveway. “You feel a little nervous about all this?”
“Something like that.” Although nervous didn’t begin to describe it. As nice as Caleb seemed, he was a stranger to her, and she didn’t feel comfortable talking about something so private. Time to change the subject. “The horses are all right?”
“I’ve got to get back and give them a rub down and a little water, but I had to see to you first. It can’t be easy coming back after all these years.”
“Coming back? I don’t remember this place at all. Nothing.”
“You were pretty young when you left.”
“When my mother took me.” There was a difference. All she could remember was crying and then choking on her own sobs, bouncing around on the vinyl backseat of her mom’s 1962 Ford as they drove away forever. She’d been two. She could still hear her mom’s voice, trembling with that high, nervous tone she had when everything was going wrong. “We’re meant for better things, you and me. You’ll see, sweetness.”
Better things had been a long string of shabby apartments—and sometimes worse—until Lauren had struck out on her own. In a way, she’d always been alone. She didn’t mind it. She’d never known anything else.
He broke into her thoughts. “I’m a good friend with your brother. Spence. I know your sisters real well.”
“Then you’re not only a neighbor, but a family friend.”
“You