Searching for Cate Read online

  Annoyance mounted as she shifted in the car, trying to keep her legs from cramping up. She knew who she was, damn it, and it wasn’t some shrinking violet, jumping at her own shadow. She was Big Ted Kowalski’s daughter—his daughter of choice, she underscored—and it was about time she started acting like that again.

  What would he think if he saw her here, skulking around, waiting to catch a glimpse of a woman who wouldn’t give her the time of day? She remembered what disappointment looked like when it spread itself over his broad face. She’d never seen it directed at her, but if he were alive…

  She was out of here, Cate decided abruptly.

  As she reached to turn the key in the ignition, a movement across the street caught her eye. Her fingers on the key, she looked in the direction of the house.

  The front door was opening.

  Her hand retreated from the key.

  Instead of only one person, as she’d hoped, five emerged from the house. Moving in single file, they regrouped on the front step. She’d already met the older of Joan’s two sons and she knew what Ron Cunningham looked like thanks to the records that Jeremy had forwarded to her. She hadn’t been very impressed by Cunningham’s picture. He’d looked austere. In person, Ronald Cunningham cut a far more dynamic figure. Tall, sturdy-looking, he had a thick head of hair that was just beginning to turn silver from its natural chestnut brown.

  The son she hadn’t met, William, looked like a younger version of his father. The daughter, Rebecca, was the youngest of the trio. She appeared to be a composite of both her parents, dark-haired like her father, thin like her mother.

  She was also the apple of her father’s eye.

  It was easy to recognize the signs. Ron Cunningham had his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and they were talking like friends. It made her miss her father. Joan followed behind the duo, flanked by her sons. Alex walked a little ahead, as if he wanted to get this over with. He seemed impatient.

  Like me, Cate thought.

  All five were dressed in subdued colors, blacks and navies. Wherever they were going, it was formal.

  A funeral? Whose?

  Cate made a mental note to try to check the recent obituaries just as she heard Rebecca laugh. Cate’s attention was drawn back to the girl and Ron Cunningham. Again nostalgia shimmered through her as she recalled similar moments she had shared with the man she’d thought was her father.

  She would have given anything to have that comfortable frame of mind restored, to think of Ted and Julia as her parents and nothing else. But it was too late. She knew better, she thought as she watched the five people get into the silver-gray Mercedes sedan. Joan got in the front beside Ron. Her children sat in the back. Rebecca took the seat directly behind her father. Alex sat behind his mother, with William in the middle.

  Odd person out?

  That makes two of us, William.

  A wistfulness swirled through her as she watched. That would have been my family. If she’d kept me.

  But even as the thought occurred to her, doubt followed.

  Maybe not. Maybe if she’d kept me, she would have never met Ron Cunningham, never married him.

  Maybe Joan would have had to take another path as a young single mother. She might have had to drop out of school and go to work to support the two of them. She knew nothing about Joan’s parents, but she did know that not everyone was lucky enough to have their families stand behind them. All she had to do was look to her current case to know that.

  And if her birth mother had kept her, she would have never known Big Ted and Julia. Never felt the sheer power of their love, never known the pride she’d experienced at being the daughter of a man who was not only well respected, but also well loved in his wide circle of friends.

  Shock was responsible for taking her on this odyssey, Cate thought. The shock of losing her mother, of having her world shaken not just by death but by the discovery that what she’d thought was the truth, wasn’t. With her very foundations knocked out from beneath her feet, she’d wanted desperately to connect to something, even if only for the sake of connecting.

  And maybe she still would, but whether or not she did, that didn’t diminish what she’d had up to this point, Cate told herself with newfound conviction. A happy childhood. Because two people had loved her more than anything in this world.

  Maybe instead of anger, she owed Joan a vote of thanks. It was something to think about.

  Four doors slammed, almost in unison. The Mercedes, still waiting to receive its official license plates, rumbled to life. The next moment, the sleek vehicle was backing down the driveway. Once parallel to the garage, the car took to the street.

  She doubted if any of its occupants even noticed her car, or her. Why should they? She wasn’t even a speck on their radar. And maybe, her conscience whispered, it should stay that way.

  But the stubbornness she now realized she had learned rather than inherited from Big Ted and Julia made her want her due. She wanted to be recognized by Joan. At least privately.

  Cate sat in her car for a long moment, thinking, her conviction vacillating. Leaning toward talking to Joan one more time. She supposed there was no question about it, she was stubborn. And added to that, she didn’t like the idea of facing life alone.

  That was both her strong point and her failing. She needed to be part of something. Independent, she still needed to know there were links she could turn to, links that joined her to something greater than herself. Links to family, to the bureau.

  And to Christian?

  The second the thought came to her, she pushed it away. Her mouth hardened as she finally turned the key in her ignition.

  No, not to Christian. Definitely not to Christian.

  That had just been a vulnerable episode, nothing more. She’d stumbled last night, but she was on her feet again and she was going to remain that way.

  She realized that her hands were clutching the steering wheel tightly and she forced herself to loosen her grip.

  Okay, so she was human, but that was all last night had been about, Cate reasoned. Being human. She’d enjoyed a healthy physical relationship with Gabe. Since his death, she hadn’t been with a man, hadn’t even gone out on a date. It was only natural for her body to yearn to experience that same sort of wondrous release she’d enjoyed with Gabe. Especially when confronted with temptation. And Christian Graywolf was nothing if not extremely attractive in every sense of the word. She’d been attracted to him from the first.

  There was nothing more to it than that.

  Cate sighed, willing the tension to leave her body. It was time she made herself useful. With renewed determination, she guided her vehicle along the winding path down to the outskirts of the development. Once outside, she took the road that would lead her to Santa Ana.

  Mrs. Scalli had an amazingly short time of it, especially given that this was her first pregnancy.

  Of course, Mrs. Scalli probably didn’t think so, Christian mused as he drove his car toward the private landing field of John Wayne Airport.

  His ears were still ringing with her screams. For a small woman, Lorraine Scalli had a lusty set of lungs. As did the twin boys she’d given birth to after only three and a half hours of labor.

  It seemed to him that everyone on the floor, especially her husband David, was relieved that her labor had only lasted as long as it did. It wasn’t uncommon for first timers to take almost a day, if not more.

  Christian grinned. Everyone would have been deaf by then.

  As soon as she was in the recovery room and he was certain everything was all right, he’d left Mrs. Scalli and her new family in good hands. Namely Simon Neubert’s. Over the last two years, he and Simon took turns covering for each other.

  When he’d called the obstetrician at his home, Simon had reluctantly agreed to step in. Simon’s reluctance no doubt stemmed from the fact that he didn’t want to leave the owner of the female voice he’d heard in the background. He could just about make out th
at the woman was pouting over Simon’s pending departure. For as long as he’d known him, Simon had hardly ever been without female companionship. The man had incredible stamina.

  Christian figured the man could do with a break.

  As could he, he reasoned. At least mentally.

  He didn’t usually travel to the reservation this late into the weekend. Normally, he took a commuter flight Friday evening so he could spend two full days at the clinic.

  But he needed to get away. Needed to touch base with his roots. The need had been building all day and it was now at almost critical mass.

  Because she wouldn’t get out of his head.

  The shower he’d taken this morning hadn’t helped. It hadn’t eradicated her scent. He swore that it was still there, clinging to his skin if not his clothes. Clinging to his mind. There seemed to be nowhere he could go to escape it.

  Or her image, which kept popping up in his head at the most inopportune times.

  Christian told himself that it was just because she’d been the first woman he’d slept with since Alma. He wasn’t exactly treadworn and experienced in the way so many of the men he knew were. There had only been a couple of girls before he’d dedicated himself completely to Alma. In light of that, it was only natural that making love with Cate would linger like this on his mind. After all, only a few hours had actually passed.

  And the woman made love with the vigor of a Viking princess.

  They’d both made love with a passion he’d never ascribed to the act before. Alma, because of what she’d endured when she was younger, was reticent when she made love. Holding back, as if she was afraid of someone no matter how gentle he was.

  Cate had been fearless.

  There had been a frantic element in her lovemaking and it had brought out the same in kind from him. They’d made love as if it was their last chance. As if they were both fleeing from something.

  Or was that to something?

  No, he decided as his plane took off. In his case, he hadn’t been searching for anything, except perhaps for respite. A time-out from the demons that haunted him. Oblivion.

  He sighed, never comfortable with lies, even his own. There was more to his own reaction than that. He might have gone into the evening looking to be numbed, but making love with Cate had had the opposite effect. Rather than become numbed, he’d caught on fire. And become aware of sensations for the first time in three years.

  Become aware, too, that in so doing, in making love with Cate, he’d betrayed the memory of a woman who had regarded him as her one true salvation.

  He tried to convince himself the evening had been a mistake. A little detective work on his part had gotten him Cate’s address. He’d sent flowers to her apartment to silently convey his thanks and his apology.

  And now he was going back to the reservation, to the cemetery, to say he was sorry to Alma. Sorry that he had failed her. Failed her in so many ways.

  Chapter 28

  “He’s here, you know,” Henry Spotted Owl said, his voice rumbling from deep within his wide chest.

  Juanita looked up from the latest reports she was reading, reports that would hopefully help her to upgrade the school she’d dedicated herself to for the last twenty years in one form or another. All she needed now was to rattle a few cages, raise a little money to help with the funding. That shouldn’t be any more difficult that say, turning water into wine.

  Sighing, Juanita sat back and rubbed her forehead, willing away yet another headache. Wasn’t she supposed to be more carefree in the second half of her life? Not hardly.

  “Which ‘he’ would that be?” she asked.

  “Christian.”

  The short reply, without fanfare, surprised her. As did the information. Juanita removed her glasses, sliding them up onto her head where they spent most of each day.

  “No, he’s not.” Christian would never be on the reservation without letting her know. He always stopped home first.

  Henry sank his still-powerful frame down onto the sofa and reached for the remote control. Pressing the power button, he brought life to the rectangular box that had sat dormant until this moment. “Mary Whitefeather said she saw him.”

  Juanita raised her voice to be heard about the commercial that had come on. “When?” Mary Whitefeather was their own personal communication system. If anything was happening on the reservation, Mary was somehow always the first to know.

  Henry’s eyes were sealed to the screen. The corners of his mouth, already down, drooped a little further in disapproval. He went to the next channel. “A little while ago.”

  This just wasn’t like Christian. Something was wrong. She could feel it. “Was he at the clinic?”

  Two more channels came and went before Henry answered. “She said he was walking somewhere. She called out to him, but he didn’t hear her.”

  Mary was getting on in years, although no one was really certain just how old she was. The numbers she gave changed every year. There was no doubt in Juanita’s mind that in the not-too-distant future, Mary would be the same age as her own son.

  Disturbed, Juanita frowned. “Christian never comes on a Saturday. It’s always on a Friday evening.” She looked at Henry for confirmation. “He always wants to get in two full days at the clinic.”

  Henry’s wide shoulders moved up and down beneath the colorful green-and-yellow shirt he wore, a gift made for him by the mother of one of the boys he worked with at the gym. He wore it proudly. He went to yet another channel, then paused. A woman was going into labor on one of the medical programs. Birth of any kind had always fascinated him. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”

  Juanita realized that she must have sounded as if she was snapping at him. She hadn’t meant to. Lately, she hadn’t been sleeping that well. Half-formed dreams about Christian that vaporized with first morning light kept plaguing her. Were they warning her about something? “What do you think it means?”

  For all of Henry’s stories, he was basically a simple man. He slanted a look toward Juanita. “It means that Mary Whitefeather saw him walking. Don’t look for omens.”

  “I wasn’t looking for omens, old man.” The omens usually came looking for her, Juanita thought.

  But they’d had this discussion before and Henry didn’t believe in the old ways as she did. She found it amusing that she should be the one to look to the past while he embraced the present. A present that had widows gifting him with shirts and various other tokens of appreciation. “I was just trying to figure out why he would be on the reservation without first stopping here.”

  Amusement filtered into Henry’s leathery features. He paused his channel-surfing to give momentary attention to a program about the Painted Desert. “Maybe he didn’t want you asking a lot of questions.”

  Juanita took exception to his implication. “I leave my sons alone.”

  “You don’t have to ask questions with your mouth, Juanita. You do it with your eyes.”

  “So I should close them when Lukas and Christian are here?”

  Henry inclined his head. A commercial break had come on. He went in search of something interesting to fill in the ninety-second slot. “It’s a thought.”

  Juanita looked at her older brother with no small affection. How would she ever have faced life without him? He’d helped her plug up all the holes these past twenty years, usually without being asked. But if she said as much to him, he’d be on the next train off the reservation. Gratitude embarrassed Henry unless it came from some widow who was eager to show him just how grateful she was.

  “Would you like me to tell you what to do with that thought?”

  Henry grunted, working his way back to the nature program one channel at a time. It never occurred to him to press in the actual numbers on the remote and speed up the process. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

  “When I find an elder, I will. You’re younger than I am.” And there were times when she felt that was actually true. Henry man
aged to somehow have more energy than she could muster.

  “Not tonight. Tony and Jack are giving me a run for my money,” he said, mentioning two of the boys who had been with him for a couple of years now. When they’d started, he’d had to tie their trunks around their waists with rope because the trunks were so large. The boys had since grown into them and filled out considerably. So much so that Henry complained he had to chase some of the local girls away. “Those boys can box.” Juanita knew this was high praise. Henry never wasted his time with flowery rhetoric. “We might even have an Olympic contender on our hands with one of them.” He paused for a moment, then lowered the volume on the set. He looked at his sister. “He’s all right. Stop worrying.”

  As if she could. Juanita shook her head. “They never told me how. That wasn’t covered in the Mother’s Handbook.”

  She had a feeling she knew where Christian was. Where he always was when he wasn’t at the house or the clinic. With Alma. Or at least her final resting place. The fact that he was probably there bothered her even more than his being on the reservation without communicating with her.

  She glanced over to the far corner of the room, where John had sat this entire time, a silent figure more given to observing than speaking. He was a lot like her firstborn, she thought fondly. They could have very easily been actual brothers.

  There was a book opened on John’s lap and he looked to be reading. Even so, she knew he was taking in every word. He always did.

  “John?”

  The teenager raised his deep brown eyes from the page and looked in her direction. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She’d told him to call her Mother when she’d first taken him in, right after the accident. For all intents and purposes she had taken over the role of mother in his life. But although he loved her as much as any son could love his mother, the word “Mother” just would not come to his lips. Not after he’d lost his. So he called her “ma’am” and she let it go at that.

  “Would you please go to the cemetery for me and see if Christian’s there?”