Josie glanced at her, a pink blush of pleasure showing in her smooth cheeks. “Thank you. This is…oh, I guess it’s my special place. I love flowers. Here in the courtyard, the dogs aren’t allowed and the deer and rabbits can’t reach, so I can have all the flowers I want. Maybe I overdo, a little.”

“Oh, no-it’s beautiful. My grandmother loved flowers, too. She would have loved this…” She had to stop, suddenly awash in emotions she thought she’d gotten past. Hormones, she supposed.

Josie nodded, her eyes kind. “Your grandmother-she was Elizabeth. Sam’s first wife.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, and turned away, looking for the promised rocking chair, thankful for the distraction of her squirming son, whose snuffling, fussing noises were becoming increasingly insistent. She had no wish to talk about her grandmother. And especially not her grandfather-not yet. Soon, she would have to. But not now.

“Oh-here,” Josie said, and guided her to the glider-type patio rocking chair, holding her arm to help support the baby as Rachel sank gingerly into the thick cushions. “There-you just go ahead and nurse your little one while I get you something to drink. You need to drink lots of fluids, you know, to make milk.”

She bustled off, stepping back through the open French doors, and Rachel was left alone with the wind chimes and the chuckling fountain and the scent of hyacinths steeped in sunshine.

How strange…how unreal it all is.

And yet, she realized, that wasn’t quite true. What was maybe the strangest thing was how normal it seemed. Because it was happening to her, and that made it somehow normal. Or something. She wasn’t able to explain it very well, even to herself, but she knew it to be true. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she thought. Watching that movie as a child with her grandmother, she’d never understood how Dorothy could accept so easily meeting witches and munchkins and talking lions and characters made out of tin and straw. Now she knew that the unreal, once you are in it, becomes your reality.

Which makes all this just one more way station on my yellow brick road. And I’m off to see the wizard, the one who is supposed to solve all my problems…

And the wizard is…my grandfather?

She shook off the notion and the irony of it with a small, sobbing laugh.

She was getting better at this nursing business, she thought as she lifted her shirt and unhooked the special bra, one of several Katie had bought for her. She was able to get her swollen nipple into the baby’s frantically searching mouth on only the second or third try. As the baby began to nurse hungrily, she closed her eyes and eased herself back into the cushions. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and breath hissed between her lips as showers of tingles spread from her breasts through her whole body.

It’s almost like sex, she thought, then wondered where the thought had come from. It had been a long time since she’d had any thoughts about sex whatsoever. She thought she’d forgotten what it felt like…

She heard rustlings and quiet footsteps, and opened her eyes to see Josie placing a small tray on the table beside her chair.

“Sorry,” Josie whispered, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You didn’t,” Rachel said, and reinforced it with a smile.

“I brought you both milk and tea-decaf. And I didn’t know if you take sweetener, so I brought both sugar and low-cal stuff-the yellow ones. Hope that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” Rachel murmured, filled now with a sweet sense of contentment, listening to her son make satisfied, squeaky sounds as he nursed. “Thank you.”

Josie hesitated, seeming uncertain whether she should stay or leave her alone. She gestured toward the doors she’d just come through. “Is this room okay? It’s closest to the main wing-to the kitchen, you know-so I thought-”

“It’s lovely-thank you.”

“Your friend, the sheriff-J.J.-can have the room right next door. Unless you’d like to have him-” She broke off, clearly embarrassed, and gestured again toward the door to Rachel’s room.

Rachel just gazed at her for a moment, comprehension coming slowly to her in her mellow mood. Then her heart gave a funny kick and she half straightened. “Oh-no, no. No.” Laughing, she made erasing gestures with her hand. “We’re not-no. He’s just my-I guess he’s sort of my-”

“I know you are under his protection,” Josie said, coming finally to settle onto the edge of another chair half facing her. She shrugged. “I just thought, maybe there was…you know-something more.”

Now it was Rachel’s stomach that did an odd little flip. “Why would you think that? I mean-I just met him two days ago. He delivered my baby-saved both our lives, probably. But…no, there’s nothing…”

“I’m sorry,” Josie said, that pink blush coming again to her smooth round cheeks. “I just thought…you know, the way he is with you. The way he looks at you. Maybe he feels…I don’t know…responsible for you?”

“That’s probably it.” But Rachel’s heart was beating faster. The way he is with me?

It came back to her then, the way J.J. had put his hand on her back when they were walking. Was that what Josie meant?

Then she was trying to remember if Nicky had ever done that. She thought of all the times they’d gone places together, appeared at benefits and nightclubs and balls and posh parties where celebrities gathered to play. Nicky had loved to be out among the rich and famous, and he’d loved having her on his arm. But no, she couldn’t recall that he’d ever put his hand on her back in that certain protective way. Rather, it was almost as if he’d worn her, she thought, like an expensive accessory.

Chapter 8

Josie had fallen silent, evidently embarrassed by her gaff. Awkwardly, searching for a new conversational opening, Rachel tore her gaze from her son’s face and said, “So…Sage is your son. Does your husband work and live here, too?”

To her dismay, Josie’s cheeks got even pinker. “Oh-no, no, I’m not married.”

Now it was Rachel’s turn to feel her foot in her mouth. She stammered an apology, but Josie smiled.

“I was married. My husband, he beat me.” She paused and her eyes shifted slightly, and Rachel knew she was looking at the bruises still visible on her own face. Josie didn’t mention them, but caught a little breath, dropped her gaze and went on in a softer voice, “Sam Malone found me walking down the road. I had my little girl-Sage’s sister, Cheyenne-she was three, then-by the hand, my purse and a diaper bag with her clothes over my shoulder, and the clothes on my back, nothing else. Sam took us in.” She paused again. “He’s a good man, and I-” She broke off, and when she continued, Rachel had the feeling it wasn’t what she’d started to say. “I owe him everything.”

Rachel didn’t care to hear about her grandfather’s “virtues,” but something the other woman had said suddenly struck her. “You said, ‘is’? Do you mean, he’s still alive? Then where is he? Why isn’t he here? Why am I here?”

Josie slapped her hands on her knees and rose abruptly. She sidled away, avoiding Rachel’s eyes. “Everything will be explained. Soon. When the others arrive, then-”

“The others? Then it’s true-there are other grandchildren? Children?” I have cousins? Aunts, uncles…

Josie hesitated, then turned. “Children, no-they all died before Sam-Mister Malone. But grandchildren…oh, yes.”

“Oh, please.” Rachel shifted her now-sleeping baby to her shoulder and tugged her shirt down over her breast, then began to rock and pat his back in a way that already seemed as natural as breathing. “I’m an only child. To think of having cousins-family-is…well, it’s just so exciting. Please-tell me about them.”

Still Josie hesitated. Then she smiled apologetically as she gave in to the invitation to gossip. “I don’t know very much about them, to be honest. We-Mr. Malone-has never met any of his grandchildren.”

“That’s…sad,” Rachel said, but her voice was hard, a reflection of the anger that was never very far from the surface where her grandfather was concerned.

“Yes, it is.” Josie sighed. “He was married three times, you know. And each of his wives gave him a child. The first, of course, was Elizabeth-your grandmother. Their son, Sean-”

“My father.”

“Yes. He died in southeast Asia-but of course you know about that. And you probably also know that Sam and Elizabeth were divorced long before.”

“I know he left her,” Rachel said flatly. “For another woman. An actress.”

Josie nodded, and gave another of those little shrugs of apology-although for the life of her Rachel didn’t see why she should hold herself responsible for her employer’s behavior.

“Well, she was…very beautiful. Her name was Barbara.” Josie sighed softly. “Anyway… They weren’t married very long, but they had a daughter. They named her Savannah, and judging from her pictures, she was as beautiful as her mother. And very talented. She was a singer-folk music, mostly. But…I don’t know, maybe growing up without a father, in that Hollywood scene…anyway, she got mixed up with the fast crowd-in those days they all hung out in Laurel Canyon, those music people. She got into drugs and-” Josie lifted her shoulders “-she died. Of an overdose-suicide, maybe, or an accident. Who knows?”

“That’s terrible,” Rachel said, her voice hoarse and cracking. “But-you said she had a child?”

“Yes. A little girl.” Josie gave another sigh and hitched her shoulders. “We don’t know very much about her, except that her name is Sunny, and she lives in New York City. We haven’t heard from her yet, but we’re hoping.”

Rachel rocked in silence for a moment. She was surprised at the emotions this news of relatives she’d never met had stirred in her: sadness at lives cut short; fresh anger at the man who had fostered so much unhappiness. She took a deep breath and prompted, “So…wife number three?”