Ginna Gray - The Ties That Bind

“With these,” Matt said, pulling his medallion piece out from beneath his shirt and whipping it off over his head.

Zach and J.T. quickly followed suit. Gathering the three pie-shaped wedges, Zach rose and laid them on the desk in front of Seamus. With one finger, he slid the pieces of silver together into a perfect fit. The old man leaned over, scowling as he read the inscription.

“J.T. located Zach a few months ago,” Matt continued. “Now we’re trying to find our mother. Or, failing that, to at least learn what we can about her. We were hoping you could help us.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. I got nothing to say. That ungrateful girl has been dead to me since the day she confessed that she’d gotten herself knocked up. I threw her out and told her to never come back.”

“For getting pregnant?” J.T. looked dumbfounded. “Women have babies out of wedlock all the time. Some are even planned.”

“Not thirty-six years ago they didn’t,” the old man snapped. “And I wouldn’t stand for it today, either. I’ll have no harlots or bastards in my family.”

“How about her belongings?” Matt inquired. “She must have left something here. Could we take a look at those?”

“Burned it all years ago.”

Seamus put his hands flat on the desktop and levered himself to his feet. “Let’s cut the crap. I know damned well you didn’t come here looking for your tramp of a mother. You came hoping to get your hands on this ranch. Well, I’m telling you that just ain’t gonna happen. The Rocking R isn’t going to fall into the hands of Mike Reardon’s by-blows.” He thumped the desktop with the side of his fist. “By heaven, I’ll give the place away before I’ll let that happen.”

“That’s it. I’m outta here. I told you two this was a bad idea.” Zach headed toward the door.

“He’s right. C’mon. We don’t have to take this.” Using his cane, Matt levered himself to his feet and followed.

Zach snatched open the door and strode out—and barreled into the young woman they had seen a few moments before. She hit his chest with an “Oof!” and bounced off.

“Damn.” Zach grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling, set her aside with a terse, “Excuse me, miss,” and continued on toward the entrance.

He had a fleeting impression of startled violet eyes and skin like ivory silk, but beyond that he paid her no mind. He was too intent on getting the hell away from Seamus Rafferty before he lost his temper and planted his fist right in the old coot’s sneering face—grandfather or no.

“Seamus, is something wrong?” the woman asked as Matt and J.T. trooped past in Zach’s wake. “Who are those men?”

Neither Zach nor his brothers waited around to hear the old man’s answer.

“Of all the foul-tempered, suspicious, spiteful old bastards!” Matt snarled the instant they gained the front porch.

“Yeah, Gramps is a bit of a disappointment.”

“If that’s supposed to be funny—”

“Knock it off, both of you.” Zach fixed his brothers with a hard look. “We gave it our best shot and got nowhere. Now can we just drop this whole thing and forget about the past?”

“Suits me.”

“I don’t think we ought to give up,” J.T. argued.

Matt spat out an expletive and rolled his eyes.

“Look, you do what you want, but I’m out of here,” Zach said. “As soon as we get back to town, I’m heading for Sedona.”

“¡Pssst! ¡Señors! ¡Señors!”

As one, they turned to see the woman Seamus had called Maria peeking nervously from around a forsythia at the corner of the house.

“I must speak with you, por favor. Es muy importante.”

The brothers exchanged a brief look and moved down the porch to the woman’s hiding place.

“Yes?”

Clutching a flat cardboard box to her breasts, Maria glanced around nervously. “You wish to know about Señorita Colleen, sí? Sus madre?”

“Yes,” J.T. replied. “Do you know where she is?”

A stricken expression flashed over the woman’s face. “I…” She shook her head, then cast a quick look over her shoulder and thrust the shirt-size box into Zach’s hands. “You take this, señor. La señorita sent it to me over thirty years ago.”

“What is it?”

“Her diario. How you say…journal. Also a photograph that I hid from Señor Rafferty so he would not burn it. Señorita Colleen, she beg me not to tell her padre I have the journal.”

Matt snorted. “She probably knew he’d destroy it, like he did the rest of her stuff.”

Maria nodded. “Sí, it is so. La señorita, she want me to keep the diario safe and give it to her muchachos if you ever come here. I am an old woman. I begin to think you will not come while I still live.”

A door slammed at the back of the house and Seamus bellowed, “Dammit, Maria! Where the hell are you?”

She jumped guiltily. “I must go.” Grasping Zach’s arm, she urged, “Por favor. Read the diario. All your questions, they will be answered.”

“To save time, I think we should read it out loud,” Zach suggested when he and his brothers entered Matt’s motel room a short while later.

“Good idea.” J.T. stretched out on one of the double beds and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Why don’t you start?”

Matt sat on the edge of the other bed, and Zach settled into one of the room’s two chairs. Almost reverently, he lifted the cover off the box and found himself staring at a photograph of a young girl of about eighteen.

She was more striking than beautiful—a female version of the face he saw in the mirror each day—the same blond hair and green eyes, the same thin, straight nose, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. Her mouth was a bit fuller and softer than his own, but the shape was identical.

It was eerie, looking at that face. The short hairs on Zach’s nape and forearms stood on end. No wonder the waitress at Hodie’s had been so shocked. And why Seamus had known instantly who they were.

While his brothers studied the photograph, Zach lifted the diary out of the box. The cheap vinyl cover was cracked and split and the pages felt brittle, the edges brown with age.

He looked at Matt and J.T. and cocked one eyebrow. “You ready?” An edgy awareness that they were about to uncover their past pulsed in the air.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” J.T. said, and Matt nodded agreement.

Zach cleared his throat and turned to the first entry.

“‘September 21st. I’m so scared. I’m on my way to Houston, but I don’t know what I’ll do if my mother’s aunt Clara won’t take me in. She’s elderly, and I barely know her, but other than Daddy she’s my only living relative. She never had children of her own, and when she came to the ranch for a visit a few years ago she was kind to me and urged me to come stay with her for as long as I liked. I just pray the invitation will still be open after I tell her about my condition.

“‘September 22nd. Heaven help me, I’m too late. I arrived at Aunt Clara’s this afternoon and found her house full of people. They had just come from her funeral.

“‘I got hysterical, and I must have fainted. A while ago I woke up and found myself lying on a bed in my aunt’s guest room. A lady was here with me. She introduced herself as Dr. Chloe Nesbitt and said she had been my aunt’s doctor and friend. Then she asked if I was pregnant.

“‘When I finally bawled out my story, Dr. Nesbitt was very kind. She said she would talk to Aunt Clara’s pastor about my situation. In the meantime, she was sure that I could stay here, at least until the estate is settled. She told me to get some rest and not to worry.

“‘How can I not worry? My darling Mike is dead, Daddy has tossed me out, I’m alone in a strange town where I know no one, I have no job, no money, no training other than ranch work and I’m expecting a child in five months! What am I going to do?

“‘September 23rd. I can’t believe it! Just when things look hopeless, a miracle has happened. Dr. Nesbitt returned this morning with Reverend Clayton and my aunt’s attorney, Mr. Lloyd Thomas. Mr. Thomas said that as my aunt’s only kin, I will inherit her entire estate! It isn’t a great fortune—a modest savings and this small house, is all—but it’s a roof over my head, and if I’m careful, the money will see me through until the baby is born and I can get a job. Bless you, Aunt Clara.’”

For the next hour Zach read from the diary. It told of Colleen’s struggle to make the money last, her fear of living alone for the first time in her life, of being in a strange place, her shock and joy when she found out she was expecting triplets, and her worries over how she could support herself and three babies. Underlying it all was a desperate loneliness that colored every word and wrung Zach’s heart.

Reverend Clayton and Dr. Nesbitt figured prominently in the entries over the next few months. The doctor saw Colleen through her pregnancy, and the reverend and others in his congregation took a special interest in her, offering spiritual guidance and practical assistance and advice.

“‘January 24th. Reverend Clayton is urging me to put my babies up for adoption as soon as they’re born. He thinks that would be best—for them, and for me. Perhaps he’s right. I don’t know. But, God help me, I can’t. I just can’t. I love them so much already. Every time I feel them move, my heart overflows. I cannot bear to give them up, to have them whisked away from me the second they are born and never get to see their sweet faces, never get to hold them. No. No, I can’t give them up. I love them. And they are all I have left of Mike.’”

Zach’s throat grew so tight he had difficulty forming the words. He thrust the diary into Matt’s hands. “Here. It’s your turn,” he said in a gruff voice.

Matt swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against a mound of pillows and continued.

“‘February 7th. I’m the mother of three beautiful, healthy boys! They arrived yesterday, two weeks early, but Dr. Nesbitt says they are all doing fine. I have named them Matthew Ryan, Zachariah Aiden and Jedediah Tiernan.’”

“Jedediah Tiernan!” Matt hooted. “No wonder you go by J.T.”

“Stuff it, Dolan.”

“Do you two mind? Could we just get on with this?”

“Okay, okay.” Picking up where he left off, Matt continued.

“‘February 9th. Reverend Clayton came by during visiting hours. He offered me a job working in the church’s day care center. The pay isn’t much, but Reverend Clayton says I can bring the babies to the center. That means I won’t have to be separated from them or have the expense of child care. The reverend is such a good man. I don’t know what I would do without his help and support.

“‘February 10th. The first day home with the boys. I had no idea babies were so much work. I’ll write more later when I’m not so exhausted.’”

The entry was typical of the ones during the following year. A picture began to emerge of a young girl struggling to support and nurture three babies alone. To make ends meet she took in ironing in the evenings and on weekends, often working late into the night.

A few weeks before their first birthday Colleen began to mention that she wasn’t feeling well. By the end of February her boss at the day care center insisted that she see a doctor, in case she had something contagious. Then came the entry that stunned Zach and his brothers.

“‘March 5th. I have advanced ovarian cancer.’”

“Ah, hell,” Zach swore and raked a hand through his hair.