A Conard County Baby. Rachel Lee

and that’s what makes this so strange.”

      “More of her resentment,” Hope suggested. “It’s got to be hard to lose your mother. What happened, if I’m not being too nosy?”

      “Peritonitis. Fast and hard, from what I understand, but I don’t have all the details. By the time Sandy felt sick enough to go to the hospital, it was too late. A matter of hours.”

      Hope nodded and looked down. “She must have been terrified. Angie, I mean. To have that happen so fast, and it’s not even like a car accident. Her mom was sick—they should have been able to help her.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that.” Cash contemplated that for a minute, realizing that he probably hadn’t spent enough time thinking of what his daughter was dealing with. He’d been too busy dealing with her. Ah, damn, another failure on his part.

      He looked at Hope. “I know I’m asking a lot, but try to be a friend to her. Before you, I had two very grandmotherly ladies apply for the job. This time I wanted someone closer to her age. Someone she could feel closer to, if that’s possible.”

      Hope nodded slowly. “I’d guess that right now the last thing she would want would be someone trying to stand in for her mother.”

      “Hell, she doesn’t even want a father. But I get what you’re saying. I’m not expecting miracles, though I’d like to see her a little happier and a little more comfortable here. I’m not totally oblivious. She didn’t just lose her mother—she lost her home, her friends, her school. The school counselor is trying to work with her, but so far she’s just not talking. Well, except to yell at me.”

      “I’m sure this is hard on you.”

      “I’m not looking for sympathy,” he said frankly. “I don’t need it. That girl needs something, and clearly I’m not giving it to her.”

      “I’ll try,” Hope said. “That’s all I can do.”

      “It’s all I can ask.”

      * * *

      Cash excused himself, saying he needed to get back to work. The stomping from upstairs had ceased, and Hope could only guess what Angie might be doing. Sleeping? Crying? Or just fuming? Anything was possible, especially since she didn’t know the girl at all.

      She hesitated, then decided to make a cup of tea and settle in for a while, awaiting the next development. The tea bags sat on the counter next to an electric kettle and a coffeemaker brimming with what smelled like fresh brew. At least she knew how to make tea, from her years at college. Beyond that, a kitchen was mostly alien territory to her, although she supposed she could have managed coffee. As a child she’d spent some time with her family’s cook in the kitchen, watching and messing with dough, but cooking a whole meal? No way.

      Nor would she ever have needed to learn if she had continued her directed path in life. Scott could have kept her in the same style she’d been raised to. She’d have spent her future on the boards of various charities, raising a child or two with the help of nannies, making public appearances for Scott when he wanted her to. A smooth and seamless transition from one life of privilege to the next.

      But it hadn’t turned out that way. Part of her was still reeling from the rape, but she had managed to lock that away in a tight box because she had more important things to worry about, like escaping that man and saving her baby.

      Perhaps the biggest shock of all, aside from the rape, had been her own family’s unwillingness to believe her. She was their daughter; surely they knew she wouldn’t invent such a lie? How could the change in her have been so invisible to them—one day the happy fiancée of a man who was going places, the next absolutely determined to ditch Scott? Didn’t that mean anything to them?

      Could people be so willfully blind?

      Apparently so. Sighing, she sat with her tea at the wooden kitchen table. She didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to explore the house on her own. One didn’t do that in someone else’s house, even if they were now an employee.

      Or did being an employee make it even more out of line? How would she know? God, she had a lot to learn.

      She heard footsteps on the stairs and tensed, wondering if she was about to be faced with another ragefest, or if Angie would simply slip out the door. If she left, was Hope supposed to follow her? Apart from the matters she didn’t know about caring for herself, there were a lot of big blanks in this job description. Try to be a friend to the girl? That would depend on Angie.

      But the steps crossed the foyer, and Angie was entering the kitchen. Hope hesitated, then said, “Hi.”

      The girl didn’t answer. She headed straight for the coffeepot and filled a mug, topping it with cream.

      Hope waited, half expecting the girl to disappear again. But she didn’t. Instead, she came over to the big table, put her mug down with an audible bang and yanked out a chair to sit. Clearly she wasn’t over her anger.

      “So who are you and what are you doing here?” Angie demanded.

      “My name is Hope. Your dad hired me because he’s concerned about you being alone so much.”

      “If he cared, he’d spend more time at home.”

      Hope didn’t respond to that. Angie still wasn’t looking at her, and her long dark hair concealed most of her face.

      “I don’t need a babysitter,” Angie snapped.

      “I don’t think you do.”

      “Yeah?” The girl looked at her, her eyes snapping with anger. “Then what good are you?”

      Good question, thought Hope. “I guess that’s for you to decide. Your dad said he didn’t have many rules so it seems it’s up to you and me to work out something.”

      “That sounds like him. Let someone else figure it out. Well, you can go, because as far as I’m concerned, I don’t need you.”

      “But I need this job, at least for a while,” Hope said honestly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d help me out.”

      Some infinitesimal shift took place in Angie’s expression. She didn’t appear to soften, but something changed. Hope tensed, wondering if she’d just made a huge mistake. Basically she’d given this child power over her, and if there was one thing she had learned, it was how the strands of power flowed.

      “Where are you from?” Angie asked after a few seconds. “Not from around here. Your accent.”

      “Texas.”

      “You came a long way for a crappy job.”

      “So it appears.”

      “But you didn’t come all this way for this job.”

      Obviously not, Hope thought, but how much did she want to say. She’d already been through her personal wringer explaining to Cash, and besides, this girl was young. She didn’t need the ugly details. “No,” she finally answered cautiously.

      “Something wrong at home?”

      That put Hope squarely on the horns of a dilemma. If she said yes, she was running away, Angie might get her own ideas about running. She picked her words carefully. “There’s a guy. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

      “Not a nice guy?”

      “Definitely not.”

      Angie nodded slowly. “My mom had a problem with one of those. She got a restraining order, but she was still frightened. For a while she wouldn’t even allow me to walk to school by myself.”

      “That must have been scary for you.”

      “Sort of.” Angie guzzled some coffee with little finesse. “Did you grow up on a ranch?”

      “No.”

      “Well, it’s the most boring