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“Rhonda, I pay you to talk for me, not at me.” He pointed at the newspaper. “You’ve read this already,” he said accusingly.

  “I always do, you know that. I always read the announcements to make sure no one I know died.”

  He reached for it, but she slapped her hand on it, stopping him.

  “No comics until you’ve signed these letters and told me what to do with all this other stuff.”

  Paul pulled his pen out of his pocket and clicked the top, glancing at Rhonda as he did so. She stood back, her hands pushed into the pockets of a loud plaid blazer that almost, but not quite, clashed with the auburn shade of hair that Paul was sure hid a number of gray hairs. “Have I ever told you what a bully you are?”

  “Frequently.” She gestured toward the papers, her hand still in her pocket.

  He signed the letters with quick, impatient strokes, pushing them across the desk to her as he finished with each. He flipped through the letters she had opened, making notations only she understood. She gathered up the papers, her nails flashing bright red against the cream-colored parchment of Henderson Contracting’s stationery.

  “I’m going out for lunch,” she said, shuffling the papers into a neat pile. “When I come back are you ‘not in’ for anyone else? Besides Stacy and Les Visser, of course.”

  “Actually, I think I’ll be checking the site at the Upper Narrows. I haven’t been there for a week.”

  “You can’t keep avoiding her.”

  “I broke off the relationship face-to-face. What’s to avoid?” Paul looked up in time to see Rhonda staring down at him, her head tilted to one side, her glasses in her hand.

  “Have you told her exactly why?”

  He and Rhonda had a good working relationship, but she, like most personal secretaries over time, was also privy to much of his personal life. He leaned back, twirling his pen in his fingers. “Incompatibility would probably be the biggest reason. I told her that.”

  Rhonda flashed him a sarcastic grin. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with someone named—” Rhonda leaned sideways, looking down at the pad of paper Paul had totally obscured with doodles “—Amy?”

  Paul frowned, flipping the pad of paper over.

  “Don’t need to be self-conscious around me, boss.” Rhonda smiled, straightening. “You’ve been out of it since your little holiday. I suspected something happened there that eclipsed the importance of the buyout.”

  Paul balanced the pen between his fingers, watching it intently. Rhonda merely waited. He glowered at her over the pen but she sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle.

  “I can wait,” was all she said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course you do. Every man in love wants to talk about his girl, how wonderful she is, how she makes him feel. It beats doodling her name all over every spare piece of paper on your desk.” Rhonda grinned. “Besides, that’s what secretaries are for.”

  Paul caught his lower lip between his teeth and began writing on the pad again. Rhonda bided her time.

  “How long have you and Dexter been married?” he finally asked.

  “Twenty-seven years.”

  “Wow.” He glanced once again at her colored hair teased to a mound above her grinning face.

  “Yeah, these days I guess it’s a ‘wow’ kind of thing.”

  “When you first met your husband, what made him different from other guys you dated? How did you know?”

  “That he was the one?” A slow smile teased her mouth. “We fit. We could talk together about everything. We laughed together. We wanted to be around each other, needed to be together all the time.” Rhonda winked at him. “My knees went weak when he kissed me.” She pursed her lips. “There’s no set formula you can plug a person in and say ‘this fits, this is the one.’ You just know.”

  “How about Dexter? How did he know?”

  “I had to convince him. But it didn’t take much.”

  “I don’t think Stacy could convince me anymore.”

  “That’s because she was more of a habit than a girlfriend. You seemed to have a need to prove that you could settle down with one girl after all the women you’ve been squiring around. Stacy fit the bill. But she didn’t fill the need.” Rhonda stood up and smiled gently down at Paul. “You know, since you’ve come back you’ve been even more restless than before you left. If you really want some advice…” She paused as if waiting for his usual sarcastic comment. But he couldn’t give it and remained quiet. She continued. “The past year has been wearing you down.” She gestured to the paperwork on his desk. “This business, this city, your girlfriends—they’ve all been taking little bites out of you, eating you alive. Since you’ve started going to church you’ve talked more about waiting on the Lord. Well, I think He’s given you a little shove.”

  Rhonda picked up the letters and handed him the paper. “Check out the announcement section.” And with that cryptic comment, she left.

  Chapter Ten

  Paul snapped open the paper to the announcements section.

  Tim and Amy’s name jumped out at him.

  Rhonda had kindly taken the time to circle the announcement of their wedding with blue highlighter. When Paul finished reading the formal language and double-checking the names, he leaned back in his chair, dragging his hands over his face.

  The hard evidence lay in front of him, spelled out in black-and-white…and blue. It was there for all of Vancouver, and whoever else might be interested, to see. A sense of dread flowed through him. She couldn’t marry Tim.

  He turned to the phone and without hesitating, dialed Danyluks’ number. Amy answered it on the second ring.

  “Danyluks’ residence.”

  The heaviness in her voice reverberated through the line.

  He paused, feeling like a gauche teenager who called a girl on a dare and then couldn’t talk. What was he going to say? Tell her straight-out she couldn’t marry Tim?

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  Paul shook his head and forged ahead onto safer ground. “Hi, Amy, it’s me, Paul. I heard about your dad. How’s he doing?”

  “Not well…”

  Her voice trailed off, and Paul heard her sigh. It hurt to be so far away from her. “I just wanted to call and let you know I’ve been praying for you,” he said, wishing he could be there, holding her and comforting her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That’s good to know.”

  “I’ve been going to church again—renewing an old acquaintance with the Lord.” He pulled the newspaper toward him, folded open to her and Tim’s picture. He traced her features with a shaking hand. “I wanted to tell someone else besides my family.” And I needed to tell you, he thought.

  “I’m glad for you, Paul.” The genuine happiness in her voice gave him a shot of encouragement. He felt a rush of love for this girl who, in her own troubles, could be happy for someone else.

  They were both quiet a moment.

  “I wish I could be there, Amy,” he said suddenly. “I want to hold you like I did in the barn, I want to tell you how I feel.” I want to talk you out of marrying Tim Enders.

  “Paul, don’t…”

  “Amy, I meant what I said.” He took a breath and finally dared speak the words. “I love you. I’m not finished with this.”

  “You have to be….”

  “I know I’m years too late,” he cut in, not wanting to listen to her denials. “I shouldn’t even tell you, but I can’t keep it to myself.”

  There was no sound from the other end. Then finally she asked, “And what about Stacy?”

  “I broke up with her as soon as I came back to Vancouver.” Paul grasped the receiver, her question a sign of hope. “I want to talk to you. I’m going to drive up on Sunday.”

  “It’s not going to make any difference, Paul.”

  He felt a clutch of dread at the practical tone of her voice. Then he remembered how she clung to him that night i
n the barn. He wasn’t going to let her dismiss him that easily just because she had to prove herself more faithful than her mother. “Amy, we have to talk. I didn’t have the right when Stacy was still between us…”

  “And what about Tim?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Amy said nothing, and Paul leaned his elbows on the desk, the receiver pressed tightly to his ear as he waited.

  She hung up.

  Amy dropped the nails she just finished sorting into their respective cans and pushed them back onto the shelves in the shed. The rain had forced her inside the past few days. She didn’t feel like cleaning up the house so she came here, working on jobs she had been putting off for a couple of years.

  It was ironic that she quit her job to help care for her father only to have him spend much of his time in the hospital. Yesterday he had recovered from another extreme insulin reaction, and this afternoon the nurses said his blood sugar was unreasonably high. Amy wondered if he was ever going to get his sugar levels balanced so he could come home.

  “Amy,” Shannon’s voice called across the yard, reaching her in the shed. “Phone for you.”

  Shannon had come yesterday, bored with being by herself. She was in between jobs and stayed to help on the ranch. When Amy saw Rick and Shannon together, she suspected that there were ulterior motives to the visit. She didn’t mind, although it took a little getting used to, to see her younger brother flirting with her friend and seeing her friend blush when he did so.

  Shannon called again, and Amy paused, wondering if she should ignore Shannon or take the chance it wasn’t Paul. He called twice yesterday and once again this morning. If he thought persistence and charm would wear her down, he was wrong.

  “Are you coming, Amy?” Shannon was getting impatient. Might be someone else, Amy reassured herself. She took a quick breath, but it didn’t seem to help her thundering heart or her clammy palms. Fear or anticipation? She only knew that after Paul’s phone call this morning, it took half an hour for her heart to return to normal, for the knots in her stomach to loosen. With a shake of her head, she decided to face the inevitable.

  She ran across the yard, avoiding puddles, her shirt getting soaked with rain. She ducked into the porch and brushed droplets of water off her hair.

  “Who is it, Shannon?” she asked brusquely, as she entered the kitchen.

  Shannon shrugged, her one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “She’s not a sales lady, but she won’t give her name or leave a message. I’m sure she phoned once before, but wouldn’t leave a message. She sounds like she really wants to talk to you.”

  With a puzzled look Amy took the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Amy, is that you?”

  “Yes.” Amy frowned.

  “I read about your engagement in the Vancouver paper…” The woman hesitated.

  Amy tried to match a face to the voice. It had a familiar tone and cadence. Perhaps one of Tim’s mother’s friends? An old friend from school?

  The woman continued. “I really didn’t know if I should contact you…” Again the hesitation.

  “Who is this?” Amy finally asked, unable to place the voice.

  “Amy, honey… It’s Noreen, your mother.”

  Amy dropped onto the nearest chair. Her heart slammed into her throat, pounding in earnest now. “My mother… How?” she stuttered, trying to pull her scattered thoughts. “What do you want?”

  Shannon raised her eyebrows, questioning, but Amy shook her head. Shannon, bless her heart, took the hint.

  “I read the announcement of your wedding in the newspaper. I just wanted to…to congratulate you.”

  Ten years had passed since that heartbreaking day her mother left. It took only seconds, however, for the pain to return.

  “Why call now, after all this time?” Amy took a steadying breath, surprised at the bitterness and anger that so quickly took place of the confusion. She bit her lip, tempted to hang up. Yet she felt irresistibly drawn to this person who had left so long ago that her face was a shadow, her voice an echo from the past.

  “I’m sorry…. I was afraid of this.”

  But Amy couldn’t sustain her anger. This was her mother. Her father was in the hospital. Her own emotions were unstable. “Don’t hang up, please.” Amy rubbed her forehead as if to draw out the words that had been brewing so long, imagined conversations that ranged through all her emotions. “Where are you calling from?”

  “Vancouver. I moved here a year ago from Toronto.”

  So that’s where you’ve been, thought Amy. In her mind Noreen had remained a shadowy figure that had left and slowly faded out, a slow death that had occurred in an unknown place. And all along it had been Toronto.

  “Where do you work? What do you do?”

  Do you miss us? Do you think about us? Did you cry? Did you care? It’s been ten years. Why didn’t you ever write, call, let us know? These questions stayed below the polite surface, bubbling, brewing, unable to be poured through the sterile medium of the telephone.

  “I work as an editor for a travel magazine.” Noreen was quiet a moment. “Amy, I don’t want to talk about me. It’s a boring subject. How are you doing?”

  Amy closed her eyes. What should she say, which part of her life did Noreen want to know about? How to explain to this stranger the events that had rearranged her life in the past few weeks. Judd, Rick, Tim…Paul.

  “I’m fine.” She settled for the inane. “Things are busy on the ranch.”

  “They must be, if you’re planning a wedding.” A short laugh. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but how’s your father?”

  “He’s in the hospital.”

  Trembling silence hung between them, taut with tension, fraught with more questions that couldn’t be voiced.

  “How…”

  “He’s got diabetes.”

  “Is it serious?” Noreen asked hesitantly.

  “They can’t seem to get his blood sugar levels down. Once they do, he can come home.” Amy felt torn in two. The anger that had burned so hot each time she thought of her mother’s leaving still smouldered, still demanded reparation and resented giving out any information.

  And yet…

  This was her mother. In Amy’s childhood, Noreen’s voice had greeted Amy as she came home, had followed her out of the house as she ran out for one last quick horseback ride before bed. Noreen’s hands pulled blankets over her at night, smoothed hair from her face.

  “Would it be possible to see you sometime?”

  “I don’t know. Things are kind of busy here right now.”

  “I see.”

  The line was quiet a moment and Amy waited, unable to speak.

  “Amy, when you see your father, can you give him my greetings?”

  More quiet. Amy relented. “If you want to see him, he’s at the hospital in Williams Lake.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him, but thanks for telling me.” Noreen paused and in that space Amy knew she should extend another invitation. But she couldn’t.

  The strain of balancing her emotions became too much. “I’ve got to go,” Amy said. “Thanks for calling.” The comment sounded fatuous, and Amy hung up before she heard her mother’s reply.

  She stared at the phone, fingering the receiver still warm from her hands, as emotions swirled, elusive and difficult to define.

  “Who was that?” Shannon parked herself across from Amy at the table, pushing a cup of tea at her, her face puzzled.

  “My mother.” Amy’s laugh was a bitter sound. “Phoning me now—after all this time.”

  “Better late than never,” Shannon replied hesitantly.

  “I suppose.” Amy sipped her tea, replaying her conversation in her mind, trying to imagine what her mother might look like now.

  “Where does she live? What does she do?”

  Amy felt her anger begin to rise, to supersede the confusion of her other emotions as she tried to imag
ine her mother living in the city. The place she ran to after she left them. “She’s a travel editor. Nice, fancy job.”

  “Why did she phone?”

  “To congratulate me on my wedding.” Amy took a deep breath, remembering her wish of many evenings ago, when she wanted her own mother to help her plan her wedding. “She asked about Dad, but she won’t go see him. She left because he was too old, and now he’s older yet.”

  “How much difference is there in their ages?”

  “About twenty years, I guess. Dad was forty-two when they got married, she was twenty. He turned fifty-five when she cheated on him. We never did know who she ran off with. Dad never said. All that matters to me is that she broke a vow, a promise she made in front of God.”

  The phone rang again, its shrill sound jolting Amy.

  “I’ll get it.” Shannon pulled the phone toward her. “Danyluk residence. Who’s calling please?” Shannon nodded, covered the mouthpiece and mouthed the words “It’s Paul.”

  Amy shook her head, vehemently. The last thing she wanted was to listen to Paul, not now.

  “I’m sorry she can’t come to the phone right now.” Shannon listened and pulled a face. “Of course I’m trying to cover up for her. Give her a break, it’s been a tough week.” Another pause, another face. “I don’t know when Tim was here last. He’s got a job, too.” Shannon listened, her eyes growing wide. She shot Amy a surprised glance. “Okay, I’ll give her the message. Yes, I’ll do it just like you said. Goodbye.” She dropped the phone into its cradle and stared at it a moment. Then she looked up at Amy. “I’m supposed to tell you, and I quote, so don’t get mad at me okay? ‘Tell Amy I love her dearly and I’m coming up on Sunday to do something about it.’ End of quote.”

  Amy dropped her head into her hands, frustration and excitement warring within her. Her heart was going double time and her cheeks burned.

  “Why is the man of your childhood dreams suddenly phoning an engaged woman, declaring undying love?” She caught Amy’s hands, pulling them gently away from her face.

  “Oh, Shannon, I’m so mixed-up.” She sighed, closing her eyes, her heart pounding in earnest. “I feel like everything is happening at the same time, like I’m juggling five balls and if I don’t watch them they’ll all come down at once.”