The Secret Son Read online

  Emma flipped the sports car driver the bird. He replied with a dismissive wave. She took a deep breath and then blew it all the way out. Let it go. She refused to let one rude man ruin her day. Slick asshats like that didn’t stop in little Podunk towns like Cherry Lake. No doubt he was passing through and she would never see him again.

  The thought cheered her up so much she turned the radio up. Warm gusts blew through the open window, lifting strands of red hair from her long, loose braids. Summer had finally arrived the last week in July. Weeks of unseasonable rain had delayed the cherry harvest which in turn had delayed the cherry festival. Luckily she’d managed to swap her vacation time to coincide with the new dates. Because she never missed the festival. It was old-fashioned and hokey but she loved everything about it from the parade, to the pie eating contest, to helping out at Linda Jackson’s market stall.

  Speaking of the Jacksons… Up ahead, Slick had slowed to a crawl to crane his neck at their two-story log home set on beautifully manicured lawns. Beneath the large wooden sign Jackson’s Cherry Orchard was a smaller hand-lettered sign saying “Pickers Wanted”. An unfolded map was spread across the BMW’s dash. Oh, please don’t let him be a friend of Will’s or Taylor’s. When Emma was in town she stayed at her mom’s house right across the street on the lake side, but divided her time between the two houses.

  As she approached the Beemer the evil cherub on her shoulder gave her a jab with his tiny pitchfork. She pushed her hand on the horn and honked. Mr. GQ glanced in his mirror and frowned, then motioned to her to go around. She smiled brightly and shook her head. Nope, not going to play leap frog all the way into town. He studied her in the mirror a moment and his mouth flattened. With a shake of his head he tossed the map aside and drove off.

  Ha, score one for her!

  As she continued more sedately, she glanced at her mom’s white timber cottage. Zoe’s immaculate black hatchback and her mom’s dusty white sedan were in the gravel driveway. Carly, Zoe’s four-year-old daughter, was riding her bike with the training wheels around the driveway. When Zoe and her ex-husband had split up three years ago, Zoe and Carly had moved in with their mom. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary but it suited the three of them. Zoe had a built-in babysitter and their mom loved having her granddaughter around.

  Emma drove on. Before she went home she would do her ritual cruise through town, past her old haunts. Main Street was bustling for a Sunday afternoon, tourists slowly strolling along, looking at the galleries or drinking coffee in outdoor cafes, or heading to the Montreau Hotel for a drink or late lunch. She spotted plenty of locals, too, people she’d known most of her life and waved or tooted her horn. The town had an excited buzz in anticipation of the festival next weekend. Work had already started on the makeshift stage at the entrance to the lakeside park where Mayor Calloway would give a speech and award prizes.

  She pulled into the right turn lane at the red light at Main and Swan Street to go into town and came level with Mr. BMW in the through lane. At least her hunch had been right. He was staying on Route 35 heading out of town. Eyes straight ahead, she told herself. Don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him think you’re the least bit interested. She gripped the wheel, determined not to give in to the temptation of a sideways glance, and tapped in time to the Dixie Chicks. Would this light never change?

  He responded by turning up his radio, some stock market report, which totally clashed with the lovely summer Sunday. She turned to glare. He lifted his sunglasses and gave her an ironic “gotcha” salute, his dark eyes mocking above sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Even though he was pissing her off mightily, his broad shoulders, tanned biceps and lock of black hair falling onto his forehead made her pulse jump like a frog in a sock. Not her type, though. Not in a million years.

  Gritting her teeth she smiled sweetly and waggled her fingers. The light changed, the BMW’s powerful engine growled and the car leaped ahead as if it was on a race course and not a small town’s main street. Emma put her car into gear and carefully navigated the turn onto Swan Street. With any luck Sheriff Hayes would be on duty and give him a ticket.

  She continued down Swan for a couple of blocks and made a left on Sweet Street, driving past her old school friend, Lil’s, house and a mix of small, old houses on large lots and newer houses with driveways stacked with boats and camper vans.

  Gram and Gramps’s old house was a Craftsman, two-story cream timber house with brown trim circa 1900, one of the original homes in the area. It had a deep front porch and a peaked roof. The walk was lined with colorful petunias and a huge horse chestnut tree shaded the front yard. Behind the gable was the attic bedroom she’d slept in as a kid with its steeply angled walls and sunny curtains. It was her happy place where she went in her mind when she was feeling down.

  She slowed to a halt in front. Wait, was that a For Sale sign on the front lawn? Oh my God, it was. Jackson Realty had the listing. Four bedrooms, two baths, country kitchen…. Wow, look at that asking price, no doubt inflated due to the heritage listing. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the steering wheel, chewing her bottom lip. A young family with three or four kids would probably snap up the house. Once sold it might not go on the market again for years.

  This house had been a haven where she, Mom and Zoe stayed in between following her dad around the rodeo circuit. Finally her mother got fed up with that life. Her dad couldn’t, or wouldn’t, settle down. Too handsome and popular with the ladies, too successful at what he did, he thought he was too good for Cherry Lake. And by extension, his family.

  Mom had finally divorced him when Emma was six years old. They’d lived with Gram and Gramps for a couple of years until Mom saved enough to buy the cottage across from the Jacksons. Then ten years ago Gram and Gramps had sold this house to move into a retirement village in Bose. Emma had tried to convince Mom to buy it to keep it in the family but she hadn’t had the money.

  Emma put the Honda in gear and drove back to her mom’s, abandoning plans to stop in at her favorite hangout, the Cherry Pit diner, to see who was in town for the festival. What if she put in an offer on the house? All her money was locked into long term savings bonds earmarked for a special purpose, to start her own sustainable agriculture consultancy. She could break the bonds to get a deposit together but that would mean losing interest and also delaying her dream. But if she didn’t act quickly on the house, she might not get another opportunity.

  She parked behind Zoe’s car and grabbed her bag and metal sampling case out of the trunk. Carly had gone inside, her pink and white bicycle left at the foot of the steps up to the front door. The screen door banged behind her as she entered the cottage straight into the living room. The painted wood floor was softened by an area rug and the low windowsills with the view of the lake were lined with pine cones, birds eggs, chunks of agate, blue jays feathers and other treasures of nature that Emma had brought home ever since she was old enough to explore. And which her mom never threw out.

  “Hi, Mom, Zoe. I’m home.”

  “In the kitchen,” her mom, Karen, called.

  “Auntie Emma!” Carly ran out to greet her, curly brown pigtails bouncing above a pink top emblazoned with a pair of Disney princesses. “Mommy’s painting all our nails.”

  “Hey, cutie pie.” Emma hugged her niece and admired the tiny splayed fingers painted in a rainbow assortment of colors. “Very pretty. Let me get rid of my bags and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  “I’m going to ride my bike some more,” Carly announced and ran out the front door.

  Emma dropped her things in her old bedroom—now Carly’s—cleared an assortment of stuffed toys off the spare twin bed, then wandered back out. Mom had her feet up on a kitchen chair, a cup of tea in her chapped hands. She managed housekeeping at the Lake View Motor Inn north of town and often had to pitch in and help with the laundry and cleaning. Zoe, who worked at the Beauty Spot salon and loved practicing on her family and friends, was painting their mo
ther’s toe nails a brilliant scarlet.

  “Hey.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, pleased to see the sparkle in her mom’s dark green eyes and bounce in her chin-length auburn hair. She gave Zoe a hug. Grabbing a soda from the fridge she leaned against the counter and took a long, cold swig. “Nice color,” she said, nodding at the nail polish.

  “Cherry Cola Crush. I’ll do yours, too, if you want.” Zoe’s long shiny black hair was swept back in an elaborate updo that emphasized her big dark eyes and hollow cheeks.

  “Thanks, but polish makes my nails feel like they’re suffocating.” Zoe was the beauty in the family. Comfortable and practical, that was Emma’s motto. And she needed to be, in her line of work. Half the time she was tromping through mud or climbing trees.

  “You don’t think it’s too much?” her mother asked, waggling toes separated with cotton. “I wanted something special for the festival.”

  “It’s perfect.” Emma glanced at her sister, a past Miss Montana and still very popular around town. “Are you riding in a float in the parade?”

  “Clinton Calloway offered to let me sit on the back of his Cadillac convertible.” She made a face. “I told him no thanks. Every time he gets close he tries to grope me.”

  “He’s such a sleaze ball.” Emma swiped a path through the condensation on the can with her thumb. “I went by Gram and Gramps’s house on my way here. Did you know it’s for sale?”

  Zoe and her mom exchanged a glance. Zoe bent over her mom’s foot, resting on her knee and carefully applied a second coat.

  “What?” Emma said. “You know I want to move back to Cherry lake. I’ve wanted that house, like, forever. You never thought to let me know?”

  “I thought you were saving for your sustainability company,” Zoe said.

  “I am.” Emma chewed on a thumbnail. If she bought the house, her dream of starting up her own consultancy would recede even further into the future. Damn it. She wanted both.

  “I would gladly help you, honey, but I’m still paying the mortgage on this place,” her mother added.

  “The Beauty Spot is starting to turn a profit,” Zoe said. “How much do you need?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll figure something out.” Zoe had thrown everything she had into her salon. No way was she going to let her sister risk losing it if for some reason Emma couldn’t make mortgage payments. “Maybe Robert Jackson will co-sign a loan to tide me over.”

  “Honey, you shouldn’t presume upon your friendship with them,” her mom said. “You know you can always live here. We’d love to have you. It’d be like old times.”

  “That’s not the point, Mom, but I appreciate the offer.” As much as she loved her mom and sister, moving back home would feel as if she was going backward. She’d thought—hoped—she would be in a solid relationship by age twenty-eight but that hadn’t happened. She wasn’t going to wait around for Mr. Right to do all the things she wanted to do in life.

  “I wouldn’t be asking Robert for a handout. I fully intend to pay him back.” She hopped off the counter. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Will asked me to sample for fruit flies for them.”

  “Will you be here for dinner?” her mom asked.

  “Depends on what Linda’s making,” she teased. They all knew Linda was an awesome cook who made elaborate meals whereas Karen wasn’t much interested in food and Zoe was always on a diet. “Seriously, would you mind if I stayed if I’m asked? I would like to talk to Robert about the house, see how much interest he’s had in it, and if the owners are prepared to negotiate.”

  “You go ahead, do what you want,” her mom said.

  “Thanks, you’re the best.” She leaned down to give her mom another big hug. “I’ve got two whole weeks. You’re going to be sick of me before they’re up.”

  “That will never happen.” Her mother smiled fondly. “Go on, get your bug net and get sampling.”

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  “I’m sorry, we’re booked solid. Always are at cherry festival time.” Margery, the buxom woman with tight gray curls behind the desk at the Lake View Motor Inn, gave him a worried frown. “There’s one cabin available but it’s not renovated. It’s pretty rustic.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Now that he’d seen his father’s house—a family home judging by the size—he realized that simply knocking on the front door out of the blue wasn’t going to work. He needed to formulate a plan and for that he would need to stay overnight.

  “If you’re sure…” She handed him a registration form and a pen decorated in bright red cherries.

  The timber walls of the office were covered in original landscape paintings of cherry trees with a backdrop of either the lake or the mountains. Shelves and racks held cherry mugs, cherry tea towels, cherry greeting cards, T-shirts with cherries on them, even a cherry-colored shoe horn. Whoever was responsible for marketing the town was overdoing the cherry theme but he guessed there wasn’t much else to recommend the place. Lake looked good if you were into fishing, which he wasn’t.

  “We renovated all the other cabins this summer except that one. Hoped to have it done by now but the contractor got sick,” Margery prattled on.

  “Sorry to hear that.” Alex had been on the road nearly eight hours and he was having trouble focusing on Margery’s steady stream of commentary. He needed to email his Cancun hotel and tell them he’d be few days late. “Do you have WiFi?”

  “Oh, yes, we’re right up to date. How many nights, Mr…Chernoff?” Margery asked, reading upside down.

  “Just one. No, better make it two.” That should be ample time to make sure his father was alive and well and be on his way. Chances were he and his dad would have nothing to say to each other after so many years. Already he was thinking this was a wild goose chase. If Robert couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see him, he could always get a flight from Spokane and pick up his car later.

  “Are you sure?” Margery adjusted her red-framed glasses more firmly on her nose and peered at him sternly. “You don’t want to miss the Cherry Festival next weekend, not after coming all the way from Seattle. You won’t find any other accommodation at this late date.”

  “I’m sure. Two nights,” he said firmly.

  “Well, you let me know if you change your mind. Once folk get a taste of Cherry Lake they often don’t want to leave.” Margery handed him an old-fashioned iron key. “You’re in Cabin Number Five. You have the use of the row boats and if you haven’t brought your own fishing rod you can borrow one from here.”

  Alex took the key. “I won’t be doing any fishing but I appreciate the offer.”

  “You’re here on business then?” Margery clasped her hands comfortably above her rounded stomach. Her bright brown eyes reminded him of a bird eyeing a juicy worm.

  “In a way.” At the door he paused. “Oh, do you know a young woman, late twenties, long red hair in braids, drives a blue Honda with an I Love Cherry Lake bumper sticker? Bit of an attitude.” It was a long shot but he hadn’t been able to get her laughing green eyes out of his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or attracted or a bit of both.

  “That sounds like Emma Stanhope. Lovely girl. So smart, too.”

  “So she lives here?” She needed a little talking to. Let her know he didn’t appreciate being mocked.

  “Her mom and sister do. Her mom works here at the motor inn, in fact. I expect Emma’s in town for the festival. I can look up her phone number if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay, thanks.” On second thought best to stay right away from her. He was here for one reason only, to check on his father.

  He got back in his car and drove the short distance down a lane to his cabin, a tiny log house with a rickety front porch and a path down to the lake. Margery wasn’t kidding about it being rustic. The steps were loose and the linoleum floor creaked with every footfall. Basic kitchen, well-worn furniture in the tiny living room, one bedroom and a bathroom with the shower over the tub. No airconditioning but there wa
s an electric fan in the living room. Not even close to the five star accommodation he had booked in Cancun. But it was clean, spotless in fact.

  After emailing the hotel in Mexico to postpone his arrival date he showered and changed into a fresh polo shirt and shorts. Then he drove slowly back through the commercial end of town, telling himself he was looking for a restaurant for dinner later. The Montreau Hotel looked promising. There was also a pizza place, a diner called, naturally, the Cherry Pit, a few cafes and a tavern that looked as if it served food.

  He rolled his shoulders and moved his jaw, conscious of the tension. It was only three pm. Forget dinner, forget making a plan. He could drive up to the house right now. Why put off confronting his father? Because now that he was here, he realized it wasn’t to make sure his father was okay. He’d come to demand to know why the hell Robert had abandoned Alex all those years ago.

  He wanted answers to other questions, too; questions that had bothered him for years. Like, what had Robert and his mom talked about that day in the cherry orchard that left Robert sad and his mother angry? His mom had always been close-lipped when it came to his father, refusing to speak about him after he’d left.

  He’d never gone looking for his father before this. He’d been too angry. Maybe his mom’s attitude had put him off. Maybe he’d just figured that if his dad didn’t need him in his life, then he didn’t need his dad. But he was here now. He needed to get this over with.

  Retracing his route through town he located Jackson’s Cherry Farm again easily enough. He turned in the driveway and drove up to the two-story log house sitting proudly on a rise looking west over the lake. Surrounded by ornamental trees, broad manicured lawns and colorful garden beds, it was an impressive home.

  One door in the three car garage was open. Stored on shelves or along the wall were bicycles, skis, tennis rackets, all the paraphernalia of an outdoor lifestyle in various sizes and types. His hunch had been correct. Robert had a family. He pressed a hand to his solar plexus as a rush of adrenaline flooded his system. He had half-brothers or sisters and never known it.