Bitter Roots Page 3

  He waited while she poured the drinks, then put the bottle back into the cabinet.

  “Go ahead,” Willow told him. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He sat in the living room, in his favorite leather chair, and reached for the document he’d set on the side table earlier. There it was in black and white. Crazy how reassured he felt reading those words again as if he, an attorney, could have misunderstood the intent the first dozen or so times.

  Ten minutes later Willow joined him, curling her lithe body into the chair next to him.

  His gaze went from her impenetrable dark eyes that had always reminded him of hazelnuts, to the gleaming new wedding band on her finger. She wore no other jewelry. She’d always been a minimalist when it came to clothing and accessories.

  Did she regret marrying him? Letting him adopt her child?

  “You’ll be a good father.”

  Yes. He thought that he would. “I hope to be a good husband as well.”

  Willow merely smiled.

  It was past eight when Tiff pulled into the Douglas-fir-lined lane that led to her childhood home. The trees were so stately she felt like she was passing through a tunnel. Happiness, sorrow, anger—all these and more churned inside of her, a complicated stew of emotions that made her stomach ache, and her muscles tense.

  She was glad for the unexpected meeting with Zak at the cemetery. Resuming their friendship was one positive about moving home. She’d always appreciated his level-headed, easygoing company. Smarter than he let on, Zak was an underachiever who avoided the spotlight, so she wasn’t surprised he was happy settling for a job as a dispatcher, rather than vying for a more demanding position as a deputy.

  There were other friends she wanted to renew acquaintance with. Top of the list was Derick, and his wife Aubrey as well. It was Derick, after all, who had convinced her it was time to come home.

  The fact that she’d run out of traveling money and had no other place to go had cinched it.

  When she emerged at the fork where a hand-painted sign instructed visitors shopping for a Christmas tree to turn left, she went right.

  For a moment she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. The sprawling, Montana-styled home where she’d grown up was already decorated for Christmas with green and gold lights along the roof-line and around the pillars of the front porch.

  The house promised a certain kind of lifestyle that had died for Tiff along with her brother and father when she was ten years old. The double tragedy should have engendered a special closeness between her and her mother, but the opposite occurred.

  After her breakdown, her mom had retreated into a sweet fog that Tiff could not fathom or penetrate. During the day her mother was either gardening or baking, and if she couldn’t do either she slept. A lot. Tiff didn’t know if one of her mother’s coping mechanisms included drugs, but she suspected it was true, a supposition her aunt, who was a nurse, had more or less confirmed when she’d advised Tiff not to judge her mother too harshly.

  “She’s suffered a lot. And she didn’t have the toughest psyche to begin with.”

  Tiff didn’t know if her own psyche was that tough, either, but she could not continue to live as if the losses hadn’t happened. She’d been angry as a child, and she supposed she still was. At the vagaries of DNA that had rendered her perfectly healthy, but her beloved older brother so weak. At the surgeon who hadn’t been able to rectify the damage. And mostly at the accident that had stolen her father.

  Her aunt insisted a deer on the road had made the outcome inevitable, but this was tough for Tiff to believe. Her father had been on a familiar road in his trusty four-by-four truck with brand-new winter tires.

  Even though Tiff didn’t believe in curses, she couldn’t help feeling her family was under one. Now with an employee having been murdered, it was even easier to believe it. Her years going to college and working at the accounting firm in Seattle had allowed her to put such thoughts out of her mind. But now that she was within sight of this place—her home—she felt the heaviness close in on her again.

  She parked her SUV to the right of her aunt’s truck. Her mother, who hadn’t driven since the accident, had finally sold her own vehicle about the same time as Tiff had left for college.

  Other than the Christmas lights, and faint lights in two of the upper-floor bedrooms, the house was dark. She got out of her vehicle and grabbed her overnight duffel bag, pondering what to do.

  If there had been lights on the main floor, or in her aunt’s room, Tiff would have knocked at the front door. There would have been surprise, then a million questions, and finally an offer of herbal tea and homemade cookies, followed by yet more questions.

  But with everyone retired, probably reading quietly in their rooms, it seemed smarter not to create a fuss.

  So Tiff headed to the guest cottage, which was always kept clean and stocked with snacks—including, hopefully, a bottle of wine and some beer. By the faint light of the moon, which had just decided to peek out from the clouds again, she followed the path that curved through her mother’s perennial flower beds, past the rock garden, and finally the fruit trees.

  No sparkling lights adorned the small log cabin or its simple porch. Two cedar chairs flanked the front door, a woolen blanket draped over one invitingly. Picture-perfect. Oddly, Tiff could now smell a wood fire. The odor must be a remnant from earlier that evening. Or perhaps her aunt had left the fire burning when she went to bed, after closing the glass doors to prevent sparks from escaping.

  Strange that Spade, the family dog, hadn’t barked. Tiff paused a moment to listen but the night was dead quiet.

  And then, just as she was reaching for the door handle, she heard three gruff barks.

  At the same moment the door swung open and a tall man with dark, wavy hair stared out at her, his muscular body blocking a squirming and panting Spade.

  “What the hell—?”

  “Who are you?”

  Their questions came out at the same time, and were followed by several seconds of silence as they looked each other up and down.

  Shadowy flickers of light suggested a wood fire was burning in the otherwise dark room. The dancing flames revealed a man who could have been her age, or five years older. His feet were bare and he was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He had a beer in one hand and she could hear a hockey game playing quietly in the background. The man had strong features, a dark scruff of a beard, and deep-set, intense eyes.

  “You must be Tiffany,” he said in a scratchy baritone.

  “Tiff.”

  “I’m Kenny Bombard. The new farm manager.”

  Spade finally pushed out from behind the man and pressed his big, soft body against Tiff’s legs. She bent to give the old dog a few scratches and a kiss on the head, taking her time so her brain could have a chance to process. Apparently she wasn’t the only one in the family who hadn’t been sharing her news lately.

  “What happened to Ed?”

  “He took early retirement.”

  “Ed was what—mid-forties?” Had to be more to the story than that.

  Kenny shrugged. “Ask your aunt for the details.”

  “And why is Spade out here with you?”

  “Ah, he’s getting older. Almost deaf and having lots of accidents. I offered to keep him here. No carpets. Easier to clean.”

  “So you live here?” But why? Surely finding a place to stay in town couldn’t be that difficult.

  “Since I’m new to the area, your aunt offered. So far it’s working okay.” He glanced at the duffel bag she was still carrying. “You weren’t planning to sleep here, were you?”

  Of course she was, and he knew it. “It’s late. Didn’t want to disturb my mom and aunt.”

  “You hung the moon where they’re concerned. Don’t think they’ll mind if you wake them.”

  “No. I suppose not.”

  He must have picked up on her reluctance, because he opened the door wider. “Unless you’d care to come in for a
beer?”

  The invitation, from a stranger in her own home, ticked her off. Even more annoying was her temptation to say yes.

  “Maybe another time.” She backed off with a wave of her hand, and headed back to the main house. Her mom and aunt had a lot of explaining to do.

  But then, so did she.

  Chapter Five

  “Mom?” Tiffany had gone to the glass-paned French doors at the back of the house when she saw the kitchen light flash on. She would have preferred to meet up with her aunt first—Marsha would be less anxious, have fewer questions, and generally be easier to deal with—but it was far more likely her restless, insomniac mother had heard her.

  “Tiffany, it is you.”

  Her mother was in her housecoat, looking thinner and much older than the last time Tiff had seen her. Tiffany opened her arms, accepting her mother’s tight hug. After several long seconds, her mother reached up to cup her hands on either side of Tiff’s face. Her tired eyes, still a striking dark blue, like Tiff’s own, studied her intently.

  “You’re so tanned. But too thin.”

  “I’m fine.” If she’d lost a few pounds during her travels, her mother had lost even more during the two years since Tiff’s last, brief visit. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “You look tired, Mom.”

  “Oh, I’ve had a few bad nights. It was almost two in the morning yesterday when I finally fell asleep. Just a few minutes later I was woken by a sound that I could have sworn was someone driving into the yard. Of course I had to get up and look, but there was no one. Just my imagination, I guess.” She gave a disparaging shrug. “But why am I going on like this? Come in, sweetheart. Sit down. I’ll get you some cookies and...what would you like to drink? Cocoa...herbal tea?”

  “No need to fuss.”

  “I haven’t seen you in two years and you ask me not to fuss. Impossible.” As she spoke, Rosemary piled a plate with sugar-dusted gingerbread and chocolate chunk studded oatmeal cookies.

  “Who is that man in the guest house?”

  Her mother paused. “You’ve met him already?” Some of the excitement dimmed from her eyes. “You must have gone to the guest cabin, then.”

  “I know how hard it is for you to get a good night’s sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “But I was awake,” her mother said softly. “You must have seen the light.”

  Home for just five minutes and she’d already hurt her mother’s feelings. But how could she tell her mom she hadn’t been prepared to see her? If only the darn cottage had been empty all would have worked out fine.

  “So the man...? He said his name was Kenny Bombard.”

  “He’s been here for about six months. Your aunt hired him after Ed left. He’s working out surprisingly well, but I still miss Ed. I’ll never forget the way he stepped up when we really needed him.”

  “After Dad died you mean?”

  Her mother’s lips trembled as she nodded and set the plate on the table. She preferred euphemisms over plain talk. Tiff knew this, so why was she already pressing buttons that could only add strain to her fragile relationship with her mother?

  “Cocoa or herbal tea?”

  Her mother’s favorite tactic. Paper over a difficult moment with the offer of a hot beverage.

  “Water is fine for me.”

  While her mother filled a glass with ice, Tiff eyed the cookie offerings. She could smell the ginger and chocolate from where she was sitting. No doubt these had been baked fresh today. Though eating a cookie felt like a surrender of some sort, Tiff couldn’t resist. Her fingers hovered for a few moments, then finally she went for the ginger.

  The first bite was heavenly. Soft and chewy texture, with a seductively sweet, buttery, ginger flavor.

  “No one makes cookies the way you do, Mom.”

  The gratification on her mother’s face was almost painful to see. It was as if her entire worth as a human being hinged on her ability to bake well.

  “Please sit down so we can talk.”

  Her mother perched on the edge of a chair. When Tiff pushed the plate toward her, she eyed the cookies but didn’t take one.

  “So why did Ed leave?” He’d been in his late twenties, with three years’ experience working at the farm, when her father died. Tiff didn’t know if he’d ever been officially offered the job of manager...he’d just stepped into the role during the weeks when her mom and aunt were recovering from the accident, planning the funeral, and dealing with her dad’s death.

  At that time her aunt had still lived in her own home, but in the months that followed she’d begun spending so much time helping her sister it seemed silly to keep up two separate residences. Rosemary, who couldn’t stand to sleep in the room she’d shared with her husband, had moved to the room over the garage and insisted her sister take the master.

  “Ed and his wife moved to...I think it was Philadelphia. Their daughter is married and just had a baby. They wanted to be closer.”

  “What will Ed do in Philadelphia?” Tiff doubted the skills of running a Christmas tree farm were all that transferable.

  “I’m not sure.” Noticing some crumbs on the table, Rosemary went to the sink for the dish cloth.

  An inability to sit still and carry on a conversation was another thing about her mother that Tiff found annoying.

  “So how did this Kenny fellow come into the picture? Where did you even hear of him?”

  “Marsha posted a few ads around town and almost immediately this nice young man gave us a call. He needed a job and a place to live... It was perfect timing.”

  Almost too perfect. “Did you check his references?”

  “I think Marsha must have...”

  Oh, Lord. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “How could I? You’ve never been good about phoning home. But lately, I swear it’s impossible to reach you.”

  Tiff waited until her mother finished rinsing the dish rag at the sink. Once the faucet was turned off, the only sound in the room was the humming of the refrigerator. “I’ve been doing some traveling out of the country. I did send you emails when I had Wi-Fi.” Though admittedly none of the emails had said much.

  Her mom turned from the sink. “A business trip?”

  “I’m not with the firm anymore.” Tiff drank some water to steady her nerves. There was no reason to worry her mother with the full story. “I quit in the spring and decided to see a bit of the world. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “You’ve been traveling for half a year and you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to worry?” Her mother’s eyes were filling with tears. “I know we aren’t close. But seriously, Tiffany, how could you?”

  “You get so stressed when I take a simple business trip to New York or LA... I didn’t want you spending sleepless nights worrying about me in South America.”

  “Is that where you were?” Her mother wrapped her arms around her middle. “If your father was alive, you would have told him. He was always your favorite. I can’t blame you. Your father was a wonderful man.”

  “Mom. Please. Don’t do this.”

  “I know I’m a burden. So silly and useless. All I’m good at is baking cookies...and no one wants cookies anymore. Not unless they’re gluten-free and low in sugar. You only had one to be polite...”

  Her mother whisked the plate from the table, dumped the cookies into the trash.

  “No, they were good. I loved the one I ate. Why are you throwing them away?”

  Her mom was sobbing now.

  “South America. And I didn’t even know.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

  “What about Craig? Did he go with you?”

  Tiff curled her fingers around the glass of water. Should she pretend...?

  But her mother figured it out before she could fashion an appropriate white lie.

  “Let me guess. You and Craig aren’t together anymor
e.”

  Tiff sucked in a long breath.

  “And of course you didn’t tell me. Why would you? If what I thought mattered at all you would have brought him home to meet me. But in all the years the two of you were together, you never bothered.”

  Tiff lowered her head. Last Christmas she’d planned to bring Craig with her to Lost Trail. Then a client emergency had made it impossible for her to get away at all. Now she regretted putting her job before her family, but back then she’d truly felt she was on track to becoming a partner. “I am sorry about that.”

  “How did we end up like this, Tiffany? Wasn’t I a good mother to you? I think back to when you were a little girl and I wonder what I did wrong, but for the life of me I can’t figure it out.”

  Tiff took a deep breath, willing back her tears. “You were a good mother.”

  Before her brother and dad died, she’d been the best. And maybe that was what hurt the most, even more than the deaths.

  And then the door from the hall swung open and into the fray stepped Aunt Marsha.

  “Good heavens.” Marsha, with her matronly build and sensible chenille robe, came into the room. She was taller than her sister, with a short, practical haircut and handsome features. Marsha looked from Rosemary to Tiff.

  Tiff swabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Surprise.”

  “Indeed. And such a lovely one.” Marsha crossed the room and gave her a hug that was warm but undemanding.

  “You look beautiful. And you’re so tanned. Have you just been on vacation?”

  Tiff gave her mom a worried look before recapping the news of her resignation and subsequent travels for her aunt’s benefit.

  Marsha took it in stride. “My goodness a lot has changed for you. I’m glad you’ve come home. You probably need some peace and quiet for regrouping. And Rosemary—my dear sister, you’ve gotten all emotional. Let me make you some herbal tea to help you settle.”

  Within moments the strained atmosphere was gone and the mood in the room became cozy and cheerful. No one mentioned the employee who had died—been killed, according to Zak—and not wanting to unsettle the mood, Tiff didn’t either. Marsha brewed Sleepytime tea for all of them, and it seemed to Tiff her aunt added a drop of something special to her mother’s.