The Road Back Home Read online

  He closed the tailgate of the weathered pickup for which he had saved enough to pay cash. The space in its bed had been ample for the few belongings he’d moved from Cleo’s storeroom.

  And all of this new life and hopeful future, he owed to Cleopatra Channing’s penchant for taking in strays.

  “You worked quite late.”

  Sandor turned at the sound of his landlady, Billie Packard. Only slightly shorter than his own six foot three, rawboned and cantankerous, she could have passed for an aging Valkyrie, gray braids hanging over her chest, shapeless brown dress sporting an assortment of jeweled pins in rows like so many medals. He and Billie were still circling each another like wary dogs. “Did I disturb you?”

  “No. An old woman doesn’t sleep much.” Her gaze encompassed the new lumber bracing the stairs, the open space where weeds had formerly overrun the asphalt of the drive. “You only moved in last evening. I didn’t expect you to start work this soon.”

  He shrugged. “These were first on my list.” What he had done was only the beginning. Billie’s old frame house in the Clarksville neighborhood near downtown had been neglected for many years. Sandor had spotted it—and the vacant garage apartment—on one of his late-night jaunts around the area near Cleo’s shop, and he’d walked up to Billie’s doorstep the next morning to propose a trade: repairs in exchange for rent. He could not sleep in Cleo’s storeroom forever; she could use the space, but she would never ask him to move out.

  At first, Billie had rejected the idea flatly, but Sandor had spent his whole life scrambling to make something out of nothing. On the second attempt at persuasion, he’d replaced two broken boards in her front porch; on the third, he had fixed a dripping faucet. Finally, he had realized that Billie couldn’t afford the materials and had sweetened the deal to provide them himself if she would be patient with the time required to save up the money. He was deeply suspicious of the easy credit available in this country. He paid cash or bartered, period.

  “So what are you doing up so early after working into the wee hours?”

  “I am installing cabinets for Cleo this morning prior to proceeding to a new jobsite. I want to complete the work before she opens, to keep the noise down.”

  “The way you say her name—is she someone special to you? Tall, good-looking fellow like you probably has to fight off the women.”

  What Cleo was to him was none of her business, but he held his tongue. “She is my friend. I do repairs for her, nothing more. Excuse me, but now I must be off.”

  Billie’s eyebrows rose, but she merely nodded. “I’ll see you later, perhaps.”

  He tamped down his irritation and got into his truck. The truth was that he could easily have fallen in love with Cleo, though at fifty-one, she was sixteen years his senior. Unlike most American males of his age, Sandor did not think women achieved the peak of their beauty in their youth. But Cleo needed him more as a friend than as a lover, and he owed her too much to cross that barrier.

  He would leave wooing her up to Colin Spencer, a nearby coffee shop owner who was the most recent in line to moon over the elusive Cleo. She had always had suitors, from the day he’d first met her, but she shied from any sort of deep involvement, however, Colin appeared to be wearing her down.

  Divorce had broken something inside Cleo, though she covered it well. From what Sandor could divine, family had been her life, and her former husband, Malcolm, had been her world. Malcolm, whom Sandor had never met, was a fool to have let her go.

  But the real culprit was the bad-seed daughter who had destroyed their family.

  He drove the few blocks to the tree-shaded lot behind Cleo’s exclusive gift shop on West Sixth Street and emerged to unlock the back door.

  Once inside, he examined the revamped space with satisfaction. Drywall hung straight, joints carefully sealed. When the cabinets were set, he would paint, then lay the floor covering.

  And Cleo would, as always, pay him too much. She said that he did not charge enough, but accepting even a penny from her, after she had let him sleep in her storeroom and hired him for odd jobs until he’d saved enough to move out, grated on him.

  There was no one since Nani he admired more than Cleopatra Channing. Small and delicate, she seemed best suited to holding tea parties, but her appearance was deceptive. The dainty exterior obscured her inner strength; she had transformed herself from homemaker to formidable and admired businesswoman in the five years since her divorce.

  Few people ever glimpsed the sadness inside her that was the legacy of losing her family. He considered himself privileged to enjoy her confidence, but even with him, she clung to the image she had cultivated, the smart, savvy, ever-poised retailer whose place had become the premier destination for that elusive, perfect gift.

  Just then, he heard voices outside and realized that one of them was Cleo’s. The other was probably Colin’s. Because he was nearer Sandor’s age, she was resisting Colin’s pursuit, though she, too, was attracted.

  Then Cleo’s voice rose. Sounded tense. Frightened.

  Sandor crossed to the back door, just in time to witness Colin grab her arm and Cleo struggle.

  “Don’t,” she cried.

  “I was only trying—”

  “Just—get out of here—”

  Sandor was beside her in an instant. “Is something wrong, Cleopatra?”

  “I—no, it’s—”

  He glared down at Colin. “Are you certain?”

  Colin, normally easygoing, stared at her. “Cleo, I’d never hurt you.”

  Sandor believed that was true, based on his acquaintance with the man. Still, Cleo was upset, not herself at all. “Perhaps you could return later, Colin.”

  Colin’s eyes were hot. “Yeah, sure. Here—” He shoved the pastry box he’d been holding at Sandor. Then his shoulders drooped. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.” Cleo’s normal poise was raveling at the edges, her eyes red-rimmed. “It’s not your fault, Colin. I just—things—” She gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

  Colin took a step toward her to comfort.

  Sandor caught his eye. Shook his head.

  Colin halted. Threw up his hands. “Have a good day.” He left.

  Cleo crumpled. “He’s a nice man. He deserves better.”

  “As do you. Sh-h…” He clasped her elbow, led her into the shop and closed the door behind them. He settled her on the sofa in her office, placed the pastry box on the desk and crouched before her. “What has happened, Cleo?”

  For a second, she attempted to draw herself up into the mask she usually donned with little effort. “Nothing’s—” She abandoned pretense. “My daughter arrived on my doorstep this morning.”

  “Betsey is well?”

  “Not Betsey. Victoria—Ria, as she asked to be called.”

  Ah. The demon child. Destroyer of families. Sandor had been told the story one night when he and Cleo were both working late after the shop closed. Understood how much Victoria had devastated this woman who was his friend. “What does she want?”

  “I’m not sure. Shelter, perhaps. Probably money, as well.” She cast him a glance. “She has a little boy. They were both filthy and hungry. They’ve been living in her car for who knows how long.”

  Then she studied the ground, her voice barely audible. “He looks like David.”

  Now he understood why she was this upset. “So you will take him in and feed him because he is your flesh. You will care for him both for himself and for the son you can no longer hold.”

  Cleo nodded.

  “And Victoria? What will you do with her?”

  “She hates me still. There’s so much anger in her.”

  “But if you send her away, you will lose the boy.”

  “Yes.” Despair settled upon her.

  “So much to fret over, even for you, the Madonna of Perpetual Worry.”

  His attempt to lighten her spirits fell short. “And now I have to call Malcolm.” Dread filled her tones.

  “How will he react?”

  “He’ll probably side with her, as always.” She turned devastated eyes toward him. “I have no desire to fight with her anymore. I only—” Her face crumpled again. “I want my family back,” she whispered. “The way it used to be.”

  Before he could comfort her, she straightened. “I was sure I’d put it behind me, but seeing her today, realizing that she hasn’t changed… She has no right to that boy. She can’t be trusted.” Her gaze sharpened with new purpose. “I’m going to ensure that Benjy has the life he deserves. I will not stand by and let her harm another child.”

  Such stridence was uncharacteristic. Still, he chose caution. “You have little information about their relationship.”

  She tilted her chin. “I understand more than she does about being a mother.”

  “But you are not his.” She should not get her hopes up. All Victoria had to do was leave, and the child would disappear, too.

  Her eyes flashed fire, her voice whip-sharp. “You have no children, Sandor. You can’t possibly understand.”

  It was unlike her to go on the attack with him, a sign of how troubled she was. “This boy is not David. Saving him will not give you back your son.”

  Her expression told him that her mind was made up.

  At least the defeated demeanor had vanished. Sandor decided to switch topics for now. “So what happened with Colin this morning?”

  “Nothing.” Her tone was carefully neutral.

  “You are breaking his heart, Cleopatra.”

  A shocked gasp. “I have no idea what you mean.” She rose abruptly and fussed with a teapot.

  He chuckled. “Oh, my friend, you are so American sometimes. If that is your best impression of an elderly spinster, I am afraid you need more practice.”

  “Sandor, it’s not what you—I mean, we aren’t—”

  “You think the attraction between you is invisible? Do not tell me—you have rejected him with some sort of argument about your remarkably advanced age.”

  She set the teapot down with a barely restrained thud. “I don’t want to discuss this. It’s—I’m…ridiculous.” She quickened her steps toward the showroom.

  “Cleo, stop. I apologize. I can see this pains you, and that is the last thing I want.”

  She stood with her back to him.

  “Talk to me, my friend. Tell me what has happened to make you feel old again.”

  “It’s just—” Resolutely, she faced him. “I am too old for him. It’s a simple fact.”

  “He is an adult, Cleo. He knows his mind. And you are a beautiful woman, one who has been solitary for too long. Why can you not allow yourself a little pleasure? Who will it harm?”

  “I can’t discuss this with you, Sandor. It’s not…proper.”

  Such a little Puritan. He resisted the smile that threatened. “And with whom can you?”

  She did not yield the point. She had many acquaintances, but few close friends that he was aware of. “There’s nothing to talk over. I’ve come to my senses.”

  “Cleo…” This was not his first encounter with her stubbornness. “Very well. I will drop it for now, but I will not cease to remind you that you are far from dead and merit much more than you allow yourself.” He walked to the back door, then paused. “Please remember that above all I am your friend. I will be here, should you change your mind.”

  The tears she’d been fighting nearly got the best of her. “Thank you. You’re very kind to me.”

  He shook his head sadly. “If only you would follow my example.” He had much to accomplish today, and she had a shop to open. He would watch for a more propitious moment to continue the argument.

  And he would do anything possible to protect her from the daughter who had been in town only a few hours but had somehow already managed to break her mother’s heart again.

  Chapter Three

  Twenty years earlier

  Though she was eight now, sometimes Victoria almost thought she could remember being a baby. She would catch a glimpse of her mother’s hair when the wind had mussed it and it wasn’t so perfect, and something about that sway of black against the curve of her mother’s pale, perfect cheekbones—

  Victoria could swear she recollected a rocking motion as she nestled safely against a slow, steady heartbeat while her mother’s green eyes looked at her with love. Grownups would tell her that she couldn’t possibly recall, so she never discussed it. But she knew. Once her mother had been all hers. Only hers, before Betsey arrived two years later.

  But today was a special day. She and Mommy would have something called a Ladies’ Lunch. Victoria’s insides got squirmy, like a bunch of giggles wanting to jump out. Betsey didn’t get to come, not even for a minute. Victoria was all dressed up. Both wore green-and-white flowered dresses, but hers had ruffles and Mommy’s was straight. Victoria was a little afraid to sit down, since she was a dirt magnet—at least, that’s what Mommy called her. Victoria, dirt just seems to jump on you, no matter where you are. You’re a dirt magnet, I swear.

  She’d sigh and shake her head when she said that. Then she’d shift her gaze to Betsey, who never had one speck on her, even though she was a baby compared with Victoria. Betsey never did anything but play inside with her stupid old dolls. How could she get messy?

  “Ready, sweetie?”

  Victoria jumped up from the sofa, rushed across the wooden floor and skidded, then bumped into a table, making the lamp jiggle.

  Her mother laughed and hugged her. “I guess you are. All right, let’s go.” She raised her voice. “Malcolm, we’re leaving now.”

  Daddy appeared at the top of the stairs and whistled. “Maybe you two better let me chaperone. What knockouts you are—I don’t think I’m letting either one of you out the door.”

  Then her mother’s voice slid down, and she laughed that low kind of laugh that belonged to only Daddy. “You devil,” she cooed, and her green eyes got brighter and her cheeks just a little red.

  Daddy stared at her mother the way he never did anyone else, as if she was the biggest chocolate sundae in the world. “You be careful, hear me? I want you two back, safe and sound.”

  Mommy blew him a kiss and then winked at him.

  He studied Victoria with great care. “You’re gonna break some hearts, Vic. You’re as beautiful as your mother.”

  She would never be that pretty. No one could. Mommy should be a model or a fairy princess or something. Daddy called her Snow because he said she resembled Snow White, the fairest of them all.

  But today, Victoria felt special, so she blew him a kiss, too. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, sport. You ladies have a great time. Bets and I will hold down the fort.”

  Victoria could tell that the great treat of having Daddy all to herself wasn’t enough to make Betsey forgive not being included in Ladies’ Lunch. Her lower lip trembled as she leaned into Daddy’s hip while he stroked her hair.

  They turned to go, and Betsey cried out, “Wait—” She ran down the stairs and threw her arms around Mommy’s waist, her eyes filling with tears.

  Mommy knelt and hugged Betsey, whispered in her ear and rocked her.

  Victoria watched, holding her breath and wondering if Mommy would cave in and tell Betsey she could go, too. Betsey wouldn’t skid across the floor and jiggle a lamp.

  Her sister shook her head and sobbed. Mommy whispered again and hugged her once more, hard.

  Then she rose and held out her hand to Victoria. Clasping it tightly, she blew Betsey a kiss. “Bye, sweetheart. You take care of Daddy for me, all right?”

  “Yes, Mommy.” Betsey’s nod was barely visible.

  Victoria waited for the magic to crumble, for Mommy to give up and say, Oh, all right. Run change your clothes quickly, Betsey.

  But she didn’t. With breathtaking speed, they walked through the kitchen and out to the carport, then climbed into Mommy’s car and drove away.

  Off to their adventure, their Ladies’ Lunch. Just Victoria and Mommy. No one else.

  Mommy glanced over at her, smile white and dazzling against her scarlet lipstick. “Hold on to your hat, sweetie—we’re going to paint the town red!”

  Victoria laughed at the idea of a whole town of red houses. She made a vow that she wouldn’t run, wouldn’t spill, wouldn’t yell and knock things over.

  She would be a lady.

  Just like her beautiful mother.

  “Ria…wake up, doll.”

  The first thing Ria spotted as she emerged from the dream was a rainbow arcing through the air. She closed her eyes. Tired. She was so tired.

  “Come on, lamb, wake up and talk to me.”

  “Mother?” Then she blinked the room into focus and saw the wild tangle of long blond curls, the blinding fuchsia scarf fighting to keep her grandmother’s wig under control. And failing.

  Ria smiled. “Lola, what is that?”

  “A healing crystal. You’re my first experiment.”

  Ria bit back a chuckle and scanned her former bedroom for her mother.

  Lola anticipated the question. “She’s still at the shop. She’s worried about you.”

  Sure she was. That Ria would steal the silver and drain the bar.

  Ria struggled to rise. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  One hand pushed her back gently. Blue eyes regarded her with sympathy. “Why did you?”

  She discarded a slew of answers. Because she and Benjy had been living in her car for five weeks? Because screwed-up as she was, failure though she might be, she was a better mother than to let her child live in a car in winter?

  Because, damn it, she’d promised Dog Boy that she’d go home, though she had been positive it wouldn’t work?

  In the end, she simply shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I saw the look on Mother’s face. She’ll take Benjy, but she doesn’t want me here.”

  Lola didn’t respond to that. “Where’s his father?”

  “He doesn’t have one.” Cleo hadn’t had a father, either, so let Lola try to pontificate. The difference was, Lola had been sure who it was. Ria would never be completely certain. Benjy’s sire could be hidden in any one of many hazy nights.