Bringing Maggie Home Read online

  Hazel dropped the basket and leaped in front of her sister. The snake changed course, but now it headed in the direction of the rabbit burrow. She couldn’t let that awful snake eat the bunnies for lunch! She pushed Maggie closer to the bushes where blackberries from the basket dotted the thick grass. “Start puttin’ the berries back in the basket. I’ll be right back.” She snatched up a dead tree branch and darted after the snake, whacking the ground as she went.

  The snake eased one way and then another, but it persisted in moving toward the burrow. Hazel skirted slightly ahead of it and waved the branch. It paused for a moment, its tongue flicking in and out and its bright eyes seeming to stare directly at her. She smacked the grass hard. “Get outta here, you dumb snake! You go on!”

  The snake lowered its head and slithered away from her. She chased after it, yelling and swatting, until she was certain she’d frightened it into the woods. She swiped her brow and blew out a breath of relief. The bunnies were safe. She tossed the stick aside and hurried back to the thicket. Triumphant, she burst through the bushes.

  “I did it, Maggie! I scared it off!” She stopped short. Maggie’s doll lay in the grass near the overturned basket, but her sister wasn’t there. She sent a frowning look right and left. “Maggie?”

  Hazel inched forward, searching the area with her gaze. Squashed berries littered the area, proof that her sister had trampled through them. Had Maggie decided to play hide-and-seek? She singsonged, “Ma-a-aggie, where a-a-are you?” She listened for a telltale giggle. Only the whisper of wind replied. She didn’t have time for games. She balled her hands on her hips. “Margaret Rose Blackwell, I’m not playin’. You better come out right now if you know what’s good for you!”

  A pair of bluebirds swooped from a scraggly oak, but Maggie didn’t step out from the bushes. A chill wiggled down Hazel’s spine despite the heat making her flesh sticky. “C’mon, Maggie, this isn’t funny.” She turned a slow circle, repeatedly calling her sister’s name. Maggie still didn’t answer. The stillness unnerved her. No squirrels chattering, no birds singing, not even a rabbit nibbling at the tender grass under the trees.

  Worry churning in her gut, she searched the thicket. Then the surrounding area. Her heart gave a leap when she found Maggie’s limp hair ribbon caught on a shoulder-high tree branch. She jerked it free and stared at it. Maggie had gone at least a hundred feet from the thicket. How had she wandered so far in such a short time?

  Hazel shoved the ribbon into her pocket and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Maggie, wherever you are, you better stop right now an’ let me catch up or you’re gonna be in big trouble!” She waited several seconds, waiting, listening. More silence.

  She hugged herself, battling tears. Why didn’t Maggie answer? Maybe she’d curled up somewhere, like a bunny, and fallen asleep. She began hunting again, moving slow, peeking into bushes and under the thick branches of pine trees.

  Minutes slipped by with no sign of her sister, and Hazel’s fear grew so intense a bitter taste flooded her mouth. She broke into a run. She zigzagged through the woods, forming a rough circle around the blackberry bramble, always calling. Sometimes she cajoled, sometimes she threatened. Sometimes she choked back sobs and other times angry growls. She searched and called until her throat was too dry to make a sound and her leg muscles quivered.

  She stopped, leaning forward and resting her hands on her knees. Her breath heaved. Her chest ached. Sweat dribbled down her face and mixed with her tears. Daddy and Mama would be so disappointed in her for losing Maggie in the woods, but she’d have to face them. She needed help. Sucking in a big breath, she gathered her bearings and then took off toward home.

  Two

  Seventy Years Later

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Meghan D’Ann DeFord

  “Let me get that for you, miss.”

  Meghan shuffled a few inches forward and allowed the cowboy whose knees had consistently bumped the back of her seat on the flight from Little Rock to Las Vegas to remove her carry-on from the overhead bin. She enjoyed the strain of his plaid snap-up shirt across his chest as he reached for the duffle. One thing about having to use these blasted crutches—she’d discovered gentlemen still existed. And some of them, like this one decked out in Western attire, from Stetson to Tony Lamas, weren’t too bad on the eyes, either.

  “How’re you gonna carry this?” He eyed her from beneath the curved brim of his cream-colored hat. Clearly he was one of the good guys.

  “If you’ll hold my crutch for a minute, I’ll strap the duffle on my back.”

  “Huh-uh.” He flung the duffle over his shoulder.

  “But I—”

  “I’ll carry it for you.” He grinned at her, his tan cheeks sporting a pair of adorable dimples. “It’ll keep us from holdin’ up the line.”

  A glance behind him confirmed a crunch of impatient faces. He was kind to say us instead of you. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  She limped her way up the aisle, slowed partly by the crutches and her cast but mostly by the narrow space. Maybe she should have stayed in her seat until everyone else cleared the plane. Most of the chatter on the flight had been about slots and blackjack and poker. These folks were eager to throw their money away at the casinos, and she was delaying them. But she was eager, too. She hadn’t seen her grandmother for three years.

  As much as she rued the accident that had forced her to take a company-enforced six-week leave of absence, she wasn’t unhappy about getting to spend the time with Grandma. Neither Grandma nor Mom was getting any younger, although Mom would spew some strong words if Meghan mentioned her age. Her partner from the detective unit, Sean Eagle, called her unexpected vacation a God-kiss. Some of the guys in the office found Sean’s religious murmurings overbearing, but she wouldn’t deny the hidden blessing in this trip.

  They exited the plane, and a perky young airline worker bustled over to Meghan, her long brown braid swinging. “Over here, ma’am.”

  Meghan glanced around. “Me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Meghan frowned. Since when were unmarried late-twenties women called “ma’am”?

  “I’ve got a wheelchair waiting.”

  “I didn’t order a wheelchair.”

  The woman sent a confused gaze up and down the crutches. “But…”

  A genuine smile formed. “Really, I don’t mind walking.” If she spent six weeks sitting in a wheelchair, she wouldn’t be able to wear her business suits afterward. She eased to the side so the other travelers could pass by and turned her smile on the cowboy. “I’ll take that bag now. Thanks for carrying it off the plane for me.”

  His brows pinched. He glanced up the Jetway leading to the airport. “You sure you don’t want me to carry it to baggage claim? I don’t mind.”

  She couldn’t wait to tell her mother that true gentlemen still existed in the world. At the unit, none of her male counterparts made allowances for her. In a way the cowboy’s attentiveness embarrassed her, but mostly it pleased her. She discovered she liked being treated like a lady.

  Of course, Mom would say the solicitous treatment was because of the crutches. Always so cynical…

  She coughed a short laugh. “No, really, I can do it. It’s just a matter of getting it strapped on.”

  He shrugged and passed the duffle to the uniformed woman standing near. “All right, then. Enjoy your time in Vegas, miss.” He tipped his hat and sauntered off, blending in with the milling stream.

  The helpful airline worker looped the strap across Meghan’s chest over the top of the slim strap from her cross-body purse and situated the duffle on her back. The thick strap bit into her neck, but not enough to draw complaints. She might never again complain about nitpicky things like biting straps after walking away from the three-car pileup that stole two other people’s lives.

  Why’d she been so lucky when others weren’t?

  Meghan pushed aside a prickle of guilt and thanked the woman. Then she fell in at the
rear of the line, the thump of her crutches echoing against the metal floor. She moved from the stuffy Jetway into a blast of air-conditioned air. And a mass of humanity. Slot machines were centered down the wide walkways, nearly every seat filled and observers forming small crowds around the players. The raucous tunes, clangs, and dings of the machines combined with the chatter of voices made her want to plug her ears.

  She followed the signs to baggage claim, forgoing the moving sidewalk and staying as far to the right of the hallway as possible to avoid being trampled by those with two good legs. Two different times, cart drivers stopped and offered her a ride, and she declined both opportunities. After sitting for so long, it felt good to be up and moving.

  Mom would probably scold her for her stubborn refusal—“Sometimes you are too independent for your own good, Meghan D’Ann”—but Mom wasn’t a good one to talk. Sometimes Meghan wondered if her mother had served as president for the entire generation of women’s libbers. She even did her own plumbing.

  A row of sober-faced limousine drivers waited near baggage claim, all holding signs. Curious, she glanced across the black letters printed on white squares of cardboard. Maybe a performer from one of the many shows available in the tourist town had flown in. She wouldn’t mind sneaking a peek at Bette Midler or one of the Osmonds.

  Terrence Blake. Huston Family. Dexter Inc. Meghan DeFord…She jolted to a halt. Meghan DeFord? That couldn’t be meant for her. There must be another Meghan DeFord. Then again, it would be like Grandma to do something special to surprise her. Mom often complained about Grandma’s penchant for extravagant gifting, and Meghan never understood why her mother found the trait annoying. But then, lots of things about Mom and Grandma’s relationship puzzled her. Maybe during this long vacation with Grandma all to herself, Meghan would be able to sort things out.

  She rolled her shoulder to adjust the duffle strap and then stumped up close to the driver who held the sign bearing her name. “Excuse me, I’m Meghan DeFord. From Little Rock, Arkansas. You…” She chuckled, glancing around self-consciously. “You’re not here for me, are you?” If he said no, she’d melt of embarrassment.

  He whipped the sign into the closest trash bin and stuck out his gloved hand. “Yes, ma’am, sent by Mrs. Hazel Blackwell-DeFord.”

  Just as she’d suspected. She smiled, memories flooding her. “What a treat.”

  He slipped the duffle from her back, and she allowed a sigh of relief to escape. He kept a grip on the duffle. “Do you have more luggage?”

  She swallowed a snort. Did she ever! When Sean had dropped her off at the airport early that morning, he’d teasingly accused her of moving lock, stock, and barrel to Nevada. “I do.”

  “Let’s go get it, then.”

  With the duffle dangling from his hand, he escorted her to the luggage carousel. It took some doing to work their way through the crowd, but they moved in close enough for her to see the bags passing on the black rubber conveyor belt. The flow of bags was almost mesmerizing after her long day of travel, but she shook off her sleepiness when she spotted her luggage.

  “There’s mine, those two red ones.”

  If he held any scorn about her battered luggage, he hid it better than the pair of teenage girls standing a few feet away. They pointed, laughed, and made faces at each other.

  Meghan rolled her eyes. She didn’t need them to tell her the suitcases looked awful. Mom constantly fussed about her still using them—“Good heavens, you earn a decent salary. Buy some decent luggage!” But they were a gift from Grandma for her high school graduation nine years ago. Even if they fell apart, Meghan wouldn’t give them up.

  The driver pulled the pair of scarred, duct-taped rolling suitcases from the carousel, flopped the duffle on top of the biggest one, and then shot her a nod. “This way, please.” He rolled the cases in tandem away from the carousel.

  She followed, stumping double time to keep up with him. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to hurry. She’d dated a taxi driver once, and when she’d goaded him about speeding, he’d explained that the more riders he transported, the better his pay. The limo driver probably wanted to drop her off as quickly as possible and then move on to his next fare.

  He led her to a sleek, silver limousine and opened the door. She considered asking him to snap a picture of her in front of the vehicle before she got in, but it would delay their leave taking. And who would want to see it? Her mother? The guys at the office? She could imagine their responses. Besides, even though awnings shaded the area, the heat radiated off the sidewalk through the sole of her slip-on sneaker. People said Nevada had a dry heat, but even with zero humidity, 110 degrees was still hot.

  She handed the driver her crutches and climbed clumsily into the back. Cool air blasted her face and enticed the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail into a wild dance. She flopped into the middle of the long leather sofa with a sigh. The vehicle bounced twice, the weight of her suitcases hitting the floor of the trunk. A resounding thud signaled the trunk lid closing, and then the driver slipped behind the wheel.

  He sent a quick peek into the back. “All set?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He closed the window separating them, and the limo eased into the flow of traffic with a few accompanying honks.

  Meghan didn’t bother gawking out the tinted windows during the ride from the airport to Grandma’s house in Kendrickson. She’d seen Vegas before and, frankly, it wasn’t her cup of tea. Give her a small town any day of the week and twice on Sunday. But she did enjoy the cushy seat, the floral-scented chilled air tousling her hair, and the bottled Dr Pepper from the built-in ice bucket. There was even a box of Junior Mints inside the wood-paneled bucket. It didn’t have her name on it, but she knew it was meant for her. She and Grandma always shared a box when they watched television movies on one of the family-friendly channels.

  Grandma…Funny how thinking her name raised so many memories. When she was a kid, Meghan’s favorite part of the whole year was the summer month she spent at Grandma’s house. Mom always tried to talk her out of going—tempted her with swimming or tennis lessons, trips to amusement parks, a new puppy. But nothing compared to those weeks with Grandma. Meghan loved her mom and she knew her mom loved her, but Grandma had a way of showering affection, of listening, of paying attention so intensely it seemed no one else in the world mattered. To Meghan, Grandma was the definition of unselfish love. And it’d been far too long between visits.

  The limo turned a slow corner, and Meghan sat up to glance outside. A little tremor of excitement wiggled up her spine. They’d reached Grandma’s cul-de-sac. She tossed the empty bottle in the trash and slipped the half-full box of candy into her pocket. She’d share the rest with Grandma.

  She waited inside the air-conditioned interior, fidgeting, while the limo driver retrieved her luggage from the trunk and stacked it at the end of the driveway. Then he opened the door for her and helped her out. Sweat immediately broke out over her body. She hoped Grandma’s AC was on high.

  He handed her the crutches. “Here you are. Enjoy your visit now.”

  Meghan unzipped her purse. “Hang on. I need to—”

  “The tip’s covered. Thank you.” He bustled off.

  She shook her head, chuckling. Grandma had thought of everything.

  She made her way up the curved driveway and through splashes of shade cast by a trio of dwarf palm trees. A chorus of barking dogs, their yips muffled by solid walls, serenaded her. She cringed at the intrusive sound. The neighbors must have a whole pack of hounds. How did Grandma handle it? She’d never had a pet. Not even a goldfish. Mom had a whole zoo—dogs, cats, a saltwater aquarium, and half a dozen guinea pigs. If Mom didn’t resemble Grandma so strongly, Meghan would suspect they weren’t related. Opposites in every way.

  She crossed the rock-paved patch that served as a porch and paused at the double doors. She frowned, puzzled. The barking was louder. Sharp. Insistent. Were the dogs in Grandma’s house? No way…Mayb
e Grandma moved and somehow Meghan hadn’t gotten the message. She wouldn’t put it past Mom to keep something like that from her. But Grandma hadn’t mentioned a new address when Meghan called to ask if she could visit. This had to be her house.

  Even so, apprehension nibbled at her as she rang the doorbell.

  The barking rose in volume and shrillness. Someone called, laughter tingeing her voice, “All right, all right, settle down.” The door swung open and Meghan’s jaw dropped.

  “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  Three

  Mid-July 1943

  Cumpton, Arkansas

  Hazel Mae

  “Why, Hazel Mae Blackwell, what’re you doin’ racin’ up the road like the devil’s on your tail? You’re gonna give yourself heatstroke.”

  Hazel caught hold of the edge of Miss Minnie Achard’s wagon. Her chest heaved so hard she could hardly talk. “Gotta…get home…quick.”

  “How come?”

  “My little sister…she’s lost.”

  “Where?”

  “The blackberry thicket.”

  The old lady’s rheumy eyes went wide. “In them thick woods? Oooh, girl…” She scooted over. “Climb in. Me an’ my mule’ll getcha to your daddy.”

  Miss Minnie meant well, but her old mule was slower than a turtle. Hazel shook her head. “No, ma’am. Th-thank you, but I’ll run. Can…can you tell any folks you see along the way we…we’re gonna need help lookin’ for her?”

  Miss Minnie nodded, the brim of her floppy straw hat bobbing. “I’ll surely do that, but you slow yourself down or—”

  Hazel took off. Dust flew as her feet pounded the ground. Her lungs screamed for relief, but she pushed herself up the hill, legs quivering, arms pumping, sweat stinging her eyes, propelled by worry and guilt. Daddy’d take the strap to her for sure, and she’d accept every lick. A prayer begged in the back of her heart, never ceasing.