Dance Away with Me(69)

Tess felt the sting of tears. She had no idea he’d been doing this.

“Oh, my . . .” Diane’s hand flew to her cheek, and her voice caught in her throat. “These are . . . They’re lovely.”

For once, Jeff seemed at a loss for words, and it took him a few moments to recover. “I guess this answers Diane’s question.”

Diane’s hand lingered on a page that showed the feathery whirl of Wren’s cowlick. She gazed up at them, clearly troubled. “People can stay engaged for years. It happens all the time. We—I need to know you’re committed for the long haul. That Wren will have parents.”

“We sound like a couple of old fuddy-duddies, don’t we?” Jeff said.

Diane rejected her husband’s conciliatory chuckle. “I’m not apologizing, and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life worrying that Tess will end up with a revolving door of abusive boyfriends.”

Tess raised her chin. “I’m not in the habit of surrounding myself with abusive men!”

“All it takes is one,” Diane said. “May he rot in hell.”

“What about Ian?” Tess exclaimed. “How do you know he’s not slapping me around in private, or . . . harboring a sick obsession for little girls?”

“Is he?”

Tess had no right to be offended, since she was the one who had brought it up. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t think so,” Diane said. “I have exceptionally good radar when it comes to pigs. Even the most respectable.”

“She does,” Jeff said. “A local judge. One of the most important men in town, but Diane knew, and she’s the one who brought him down.”

She waved him off. “That’s neither here nor there. I need to know the two of you are solid.”

Ian tucked the sketchbook under his arm. “This is between Tess and me,” he said firmly.

“Ian’s telling us to butt out,” Jeff said.

But the Tiger grandmother was having none of it. “And I’m telling them both . . . I’ll make sure Simon won’t relinquish his parental rights until I know for certain my granddaughter has real security.”

Tess pulled Wren closer. “I’d give up my life for her.”

Diane lowered her eyes to her lap. “I’m sure my mother thought the same thing.”

“What you’re demanding is unnecessary,” Tess retorted.

“Unfair, yes,” Diane said. “Unnecessary, no.”

Tess had lost. Not only the battle but the war. “I can’t do this.”

“Then we have our answer,” Diane said quietly.

“Hold up.” Jeff slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Diane, we’ve been wanting to visit Asheville, and it’s only a couple of hours away. Let’s leave them alone for a day or so to talk things over.” He looked at Tess. “I promise you, we’ll make the transition as easy on Wren as we possibly can.”

Diane touched the back of her husband’s hand and gazed at her granddaughter. “You’re not the only one who’d give up her life for her, Tess.”

*

They were offering Tess a short reprieve. Ian, predictably, stomped off into the woods as soon as they drove away, muttering something about peace and quiet as he left. Tess fed Wren, changed her, trying not to think—not to feel—but it was impossible. Diane and Jeff were two of the most decent, well-intentioned people she’d ever met, and it wasn’t right to hate them the way she did right now. As for Ian . . . He’d behaved honorably—more than honorably. What she was asking of him was beyond unreasonable, and she had no right to blame him for refusing. No right to blame any of them. But she did.

*

Ian was gone when she came downstairs the next morning, but his Land Cruiser sat outside, so at least he hadn’t fled to Manhattan. As she finished feeding Wren, she heard a knock at the door. Were the Dennings back already? Or more teenagers? She couldn’t deal with either, but her conscience wouldn’t let her ignore the knocking. She tucked Wren in the sling and went to answer.

A broomstick-thin woman with lank, gray-threaded hair stood on the other side. Her age could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. She had the coarse, weather-beaten complexion of someone who’d earned her wrinkles outside. Unlike Rebecca Eldridge, this woman appeared to have been part of these mountains for generations.

“Sorry to bother you, missus. I’m Sarah Childers, and my husband, Duke—he’s out in the truck—he cut his hand real bad on the posthole digger this morning. I heard you helped out the Eldridges when their little boy cut his leg, and I’d be mighty grateful if you’d take a look at Duke.”

Tess started to say everything she needed to say—that she wasn’t a doctor, she had virtually no medical supplies, and she wasn’t certified to practice any kind of medicine in Tennessee, but the woman had already zeroed in on Wren. “God bless America, but isn’t she a little sweetie pie?” She pressed a sun-spotted hand to her cheek. “Duke’s mad as a hornet at me because I wouldn’t sew up his hand myself.”

Making it highly unlikely Sarah Childers could get her husband to a doctor.

Tess stepped back from the door. “I’ll take a look at it, Mrs. Childers, but if the wound is serious, he has to see a doctor.”