good many years, anyway—since he’d learned better.
Since…Heather?
“Trust me,” he said dryly, “it’s not like that, most of the time. Normally, ranch life is pretty dull stuff.”
She settled back with asoft huff of laughter. “To you, maybe. To me it’s like another world. I mean that literally—like an alien planet.”
He nodded. “I can see how that would be.”
Then she was silent for a long time. He’d begun to wonder if she’d fallen asleep when she suddenly said, “Are there any more? Besides Rachel, I mean.”
“Sam’s grandchildren?” She nodded. He could only throw her a quick glance,not long enough to interpret the look on her face, only long enough to get an impression. What he felt was a sense of profound hunger that reminded him of a little kid looking in a candy store window. He smiled at that notion, because he could guess how hard it must be to get her mind around all this—finding out she had a bunch of relatives she hadn’t known about. “Besides you and Rachel, youmean.” Again, she didn’t reply, and after a moment he went on. “Yeah, there are a couple more from Sam’s third wife, but we haven’t heard from them yet.”
There was another silence, not quite as long as before, and then: “Do you have a family?”
“You mean, am I married? Kids?” He shook his head. “No, but I’ve got a lot of family—on my mother’s side, anyway. Don’t know anything aboutmy father’s. More relatives on Mom’s side than I know what to do with—they have a big family reunion every few years. People come from all over, bring their campers…stay all weekend.”
He heard the hiss of an exhalation. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like. To have family. I’ve never—”
He threw her another glance but her head was bowed and he saw only the curtain of her hair. Somethingtwisted oddly inside his chest. He said softly, “But you do now.”
She’d been nervous, had butterflies before, of course she had. In her business, they came with the territory. She’d even been so nervous before a performance, she’d thrown up—oh, many times. Nearly every performer she knew got stage fright to one degree or another, whether they were rookies or old-timers. And not one ofthem, including Abby, would trade the business they were in for something less stressful. It was like the song: “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”
But this—this was something different. Exciting, yes, but not in a good way. This was feeling anxious and fearful and helpless and…small.
Small. Yes, and as she sat beside Sage in his big white pickup truck, peering through the windshieldfor her first glimpse of the place she was coming to, the place that was supposed to—that might —be her new home, it hit her. She was a child again.
She was…oh, maybe six, and she was riding in the backseat of the social worker’s car, being driven to yet another foster home. Shivering inside, trying desperately not to wet her pants, hands knotted tightly together in her lap, staring at herfeet in a brand-new pair of sneakers. Her feet were sticking straight out in front of her, jerking rhythmically up and down. And her thoughts were a pitiful prayer: Please let them be nice… Please let them like me… Maybe this time they will keep me.
It infuriated her to be thrust back to such a time and place, to feel again like the wretched, miserable child she’d been then—except for thepart about wetting her pants, thank God. But as angry as it made her to feel such vulnerability when she’d thought she was long past that, she knew there was nothing she could do to change the way she felt. As a therapist had told her long ago when she was still in the system, angry and rebellious about the way it had failed her: Feelings can’t be controlled, Abigail; only actions.
Thatday, she’d set about learning how to control her actions—in a word, to act. It had probably saved her life.
She hoped it would save her
Since…Heather?
“Trust me,” he said dryly, “it’s not like that, most of the time. Normally, ranch life is pretty dull stuff.”
She settled back with asoft huff of laughter. “To you, maybe. To me it’s like another world. I mean that literally—like an alien planet.”
He nodded. “I can see how that would be.”
Then she was silent for a long time. He’d begun to wonder if she’d fallen asleep when she suddenly said, “Are there any more? Besides Rachel, I mean.”
“Sam’s grandchildren?” She nodded. He could only throw her a quick glance,not long enough to interpret the look on her face, only long enough to get an impression. What he felt was a sense of profound hunger that reminded him of a little kid looking in a candy store window. He smiled at that notion, because he could guess how hard it must be to get her mind around all this—finding out she had a bunch of relatives she hadn’t known about. “Besides you and Rachel, youmean.” Again, she didn’t reply, and after a moment he went on. “Yeah, there are a couple more from Sam’s third wife, but we haven’t heard from them yet.”
There was another silence, not quite as long as before, and then: “Do you have a family?”
“You mean, am I married? Kids?” He shook his head. “No, but I’ve got a lot of family—on my mother’s side, anyway. Don’t know anything aboutmy father’s. More relatives on Mom’s side than I know what to do with—they have a big family reunion every few years. People come from all over, bring their campers…stay all weekend.”
He heard the hiss of an exhalation. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like. To have family. I’ve never—”
He threw her another glance but her head was bowed and he saw only the curtain of her hair. Somethingtwisted oddly inside his chest. He said softly, “But you do now.”
She’d been nervous, had butterflies before, of course she had. In her business, they came with the territory. She’d even been so nervous before a performance, she’d thrown up—oh, many times. Nearly every performer she knew got stage fright to one degree or another, whether they were rookies or old-timers. And not one ofthem, including Abby, would trade the business they were in for something less stressful. It was like the song: “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”
But this—this was something different. Exciting, yes, but not in a good way. This was feeling anxious and fearful and helpless and…small.
Small. Yes, and as she sat beside Sage in his big white pickup truck, peering through the windshieldfor her first glimpse of the place she was coming to, the place that was supposed to—that might —be her new home, it hit her. She was a child again.
She was…oh, maybe six, and she was riding in the backseat of the social worker’s car, being driven to yet another foster home. Shivering inside, trying desperately not to wet her pants, hands knotted tightly together in her lap, staring at herfeet in a brand-new pair of sneakers. Her feet were sticking straight out in front of her, jerking rhythmically up and down. And her thoughts were a pitiful prayer: Please let them be nice… Please let them like me… Maybe this time they will keep me.
It infuriated her to be thrust back to such a time and place, to feel again like the wretched, miserable child she’d been then—except for thepart about wetting her pants, thank God. But as angry as it made her to feel such vulnerability when she’d thought she was long past that, she knew there was nothing she could do to change the way she felt. As a therapist had told her long ago when she was still in the system, angry and rebellious about the way it had failed her: Feelings can’t be controlled, Abigail; only actions.
Thatday, she’d set about learning how to control her actions—in a word, to act. It had probably saved her life.
She hoped it would save her
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