Melinda Curtis - Back to Eden

Jackson replied with something totally appropriate that Cole instantly forgot.

Instead, he blurted, “The kid is mine. The girl in the picture. She’s my daughter. Mine and Missy’s.” Their child existed, yet Missy was no more. Cole put his head on the steering wheel. “What in the hell do I do now?”

A few days ago he’d been envious of what Jackson, Logan and Spider had—loving wives. But kids…kids needed attention, closets full of stuff…and millions of other things of which Cole was blissfully ignorant. He’d wanted a wife, someone to spoil him with long, slow, passionate kisses and home-cooked meals. What did he get? A kid.

And what was he going to do about his mom? By some cruel twist of fate, Jenna looked incredibly like his sister, Sally, and Cole knew meeting her would send his mother over the edge, because she’d never really recovered from Sally’s death at age ten. Maybe it would have been easier on his mother if Jenna had been a boy. But she wasn’t. All in all, Cole was starting to think he was better off not knowing he had a kid. Could he just not tell his parents?

He swore. Wasn’t that just what Rachel had said?

“You’ll be a good dad. Don’t worry about it.”

A dad? Is that what he wanted? The title implied involvement—nearly impossible from another state—and demanded he come clean with his parents. And that was something he wasn’t sure he could do.

“Who has custody?”

Cole’s careening thoughts screeched to a halt on Jackson’s question. “Rachel seems to,” Cole answered woodenly. At least with Rachel Cole knew his daughter was in good hands, especially if he could convince her to give up firefighting.

“That’s good. You’ve always gotten along with her.”

“Sure. A decade ago we were friends.” That was before he realized everything about his time in Eden was a lie. “Why did she do this to me?” Cole wasn’t sure if he meant Missy keeping Jenna a secret or Rachel telling him about Jenna.

“Why don’t you ask Rachel?”

“I will. Tomorrow.” And all during the drive back to Eden. Like it or not, Rachel was getting a ride home from Cole. Cole hoped that was enough time to get to know more about his daughter and what he should do, and crack the mystery that had been Missy. Somehow, Cole knew that if he didn’t understand Missy better, his heart would never let her go. And the only person with answers was Rachel.

“ARE WE CLOSE?” Matt asked, walking with wobbly steps as he tried to balance the plastic-wrapped flowers Pop had purchased in the gift shop with one chubby hand. His other hand held Pop’s.

Jenna wasn’t sure what to be more worried about—her grandfather falling down and hurting himself or Matt tripping and crushing the flowers. She pressed the bunch of flowers back against Matt’s chest before looking at the numbers on the wall. “The lady said 112. This is 104.”

Jenna didn’t like hospitals. Bad things happened there. She walked next to Pop and Matt with her head down, concentrating on pulling the small wheeled suitcase. Trying to be quiet. Only, it was hard to be quiet in cowboy boots. She wished they could walk faster, but Pop had been wobbly on his feet since his eyes had gotten worse.

“Is this it?” Matt peeked into the next room. He’d just started kindergarten and wasn’t good with numbers yet.

Jenna shook her head. “No, 106.”

Matt ran to the next doorway, almost tripping over his own feet. “Is this it?”

“No.” Sometimes Matt was annoying. Jenna bit her lip to keep from yelling at him.

Pop’s gnarled hand rested on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “I’m real proud of you. We couldn’t have made this trip without you, Jenna.”

“I got us lost,” Jenna mumbled, burning with embarrassment.

“Yes,” Pop chuckled. “But then you found us again.”

Matt was running ahead, dragging the flowers on the gray floor as he stuck his head in room after room, calling out, “Is this it, Jenna?”

“Matt, stop,” Jenna hissed, seeing the nurse at the desk ahead of them frown, then stand up. “Wait for us.”

“Can I help you?” The nurse didn’t smile. Jenna could tell by her frown she didn’t really want to help them. The last time Jenna had been in a hospital was when Matt was born. Her mom had been crying. The nurse had pushed her out of the room and warned her to stay put or else.

Matt had stopped in the middle of the hallway, moving the bunch of flowers up and down and around as if he held a toy airplane. Jenna shushed him before he started making engine noises. Any minute now the nurse was going to kick them out.

Pop squeezed Jenna’s shoulder again. “We’re here to see my daughter, Rachel Quinlan. She’s in room 112.”

Jenna held her breath. That nurse was going to open her mouth and…

“Ahh, I was worried you wouldn’t get here in time.” The nurse came around the desk to them.

“In time?” Pop said, frowning in the nurse’s direction.

Jenna knew it. Aunt Rachel was dying.

“THERE SHE IS! Mommy!” Matt ran on stubby legs across the gray linoleum to Rachel’s bed, flinging his arms and a bouquet of flowers over her waist before resting his head on the mattress.

He didn’t land on her with much force, but Rachel’s muscles contracted around her bruised ribs, momentarily sending waves of pain through her chest.

When Rachel could breathe again, she ran a hand over Matt’s dark, silky hair and smiled as best she could through sudden tears at the sight of her father hobbling through the door with one hand on Jenna’s shoulder. She was glad to see them, yet she worried that if Cole came before they left he’d say something Jenna wasn’t ready to hear.

“There’s my girl,” Pop said, without looking at her directly. Since macular degeneration had decreased the clarity in the middle of Pop’s vision, he’d taken to looking at things sideways. “We’re here to take you home.”

“And bring you clean clothes,” Matt added, plucking at her hospital gown. “Looks like someone stole yours.”

“This is what you wear in a hospital. How was your trip?” Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for Matt. “Did you have any accidents?” He was having a bit of trouble remembering to go to the bathroom in school.

“Nope.” The little guy gave her a thumbs-up sign.

Jenna’s face was pale. She looked thinner than normal and remained rooted in the doorway, gripping the suitcase handle. Unlike Matt, who had the appetite of a teenager, Jenna didn’t think much about food.

Rachel wanted to gather them all close, but knew if she sat up too fast, she’d keel over, scaring the daylights out of them all. She settled for reaching out to Pop. “How did you get here?”

Her dad wasn’t allowed to drive long distances or at night, but he’d figured out how to get their family to Montana from Wyoming. Rachel wished they hadn’t surprised her. She would have preferred to get some of the tubes out of her arms so that she didn’t look like such an invalid.

“We took the bus,” Pop said in a gruff voice, taking Rachel’s hand and holding on tight, his bony fingers still strong despite his age and failing health. “Couldn’t stomach you being here alone. We hoped to be here yesterday.”

With an impish smile, Matt said, “It took Pop forever to find the bus place. Then Jenna read the thing wrong, and we ended up on the wrong bus.” He rolled his eyes.

Ignoring Matt, Jenna moved forward with slow steps, asking in a strained voice, “What happened to your head?”

“I’ve got a big bruise.” With effort, Rachel held her smile in place. She knew she looked scary. She could barely stand to look at herself in the mirror.

“I’ve never had a bruise like that.” Matt peered at her hair.