The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(41)

In a loud and busy household, almost each one of them had a place they escaped to when they needed a little quiet space to think or hide. George liked the pasture, Matt climbed the pear trees, Ginny hid in the cellar, Sal liked to sit on the ground in the front yard, hiding behind the large trunk of a very old tree.

On her weekend visit Peyton disappeared to the loft. She lay on her back, hands behind her head, one ankle balanced on her raised knee, and thought things through. Would it be wrong to let him kiss me? Because he wants to and I wouldn’t mind. And it doesn’t mean I want to move in with him and take care of his children, right? If I don’t let that happen too soon, it should be all right. I’m still planning to leave, to live somewhere else, to start my life over...I think. But while I’m taking a leave from my career to do a little community service, I could do with a little love. God knows, it’s been a long dry spell. I will even help him find someone good to replace me and not some trashy little twenty-five-year-old. Of course, a true friend would hook him up with a girlfriend, since I’m not interested in being anyone’s girlfriend...though I might be ready in a couple of months....

It took roughly two hours to come up with something of an agenda. She’d been in his clinic for a month, she would let herself be kissed. They could be social, go out together sometimes, but it would be rare since he was so busy. She would do a few things for the clinic, things that would help him after she left. She would enjoy those sweet kids, but she would not become their nanny. And she might even stay in touch with him because he was, if anything, excellent friend material.

Except, the crush factor was beginning to influence her into thinking maybe she could start over right where she was. If the crush got stronger...

When she went back into the kitchen, her mother kissed her cheeks and pulled a little straw from her hair. “Did you get everything worked out?” her mother asked.

“I don’t think so,” Peyton said with a smile. “Well, one thing is worked out. I was right to leave Portland.”

Sometimes visiting the family farm exhausted Peyton, sometimes it rejuvenated her. This particular visit felt very good. It helped to see Adele so healthy and happy. Since it was not shearing, harvest or Christmas, the homestead wasn’t overflowing with family, so it wasn’t as chaotic as it could be. They used Skype to chat with her brother Sal, currently serving on a Navy destroyer. Twenty-four-year-old baby brother, Mike, called home from grad school; the phone was passed around to a dozen family members.

She was able to have some time to talk with her father on the porch, just the two of them. “You’re more yourself than you’ve been in a long time,” he said.

“I am?” she asked.

“It seems like,” he said. “You ever hear from any of those folks? Ted and his tribe?”

“No,” she said. “Ted has moved on, and the kids were very happy to see me go.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Peyton. Ever since I pulled you squalling from your mama’s body, I’ve known you to work hard and honest and do your best no matter how rough the job.”

She laughed at him. “Thank you, Papa, but you didn’t deliver me.”

“Might as well have. You surely made your presence felt around here. I could hear you in the barn!”

“Now, Mama says that little Mike was the loudest and most trouble. That’s how I remember it.”

“Oh, Mike. He thought he was something special from the first breath he took. The Pope himself sent your mother a letter to say there were finally enough Lacoumettes in the world.”

“The Pope? Well, I always wondered why you and Mama didn’t try to squeak out a few more....”

“She swears it was the Pope who wrote. She was getting a little cranky,” he said. “What’s your life like now, my little bird?” Her father was always careful not to call the kids little lambs, as their days were definitely numbered.

“It’s good,” she said automatically.

“In what ways is it good?” he wanted to know.

The images that came to mind that described her current happiness were so unusual, she wasn’t sure she could explain. A Great Dane who followed a newborn, begging for a chance to sniff her. A teenage football star who took the time to teach a bunch of foster kids to paddleboard. A four-year-old who said, “It’s okay. I’m right here.” A conversation on the beach over a fire that stretched out till the wee hours, strong arms around her the whole time. A little clinic where folks stopped by to talk as often as they sought medical help. A little diner where the food was passable, the gossip rich and the camaraderie binding.

“It’s a nice little place,” she said to her father. “The people are very friendly.”

“You saying that fancy car didn’t make you happy?” he asked, raising one salt-and-pepper brow.

“It drives like a dream,” she said, laughter in her voice.

“You mean it doesn’t drive itself? Does it make a lot of little cars?”

She laughed at him. Paco Lacoumette would never spend good money on something as frivolous as a fancy car. “It hasn’t made any little cars yet,” she said.

“Keep an eye open,” he advised. “For what that piece of tin costs, she’s gonna whelp soon, make you a proud mama.”

He was a riot. She’d never tell him she regretted spending so much on a car and that she wasn’t even sure why she had. She kissed Paco’s weathered old farmer’s cheek. “I have to speak to Mama, see if I can help in the kitchen.”