The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes. Emilie Rose

frowned a little, pulled his hand through his hair. “How’d she take it?”

      “She said we needed to be careful. That this is all so new.”

      “But it won’t be.” His gaze sought hers, holding her captive. “Not after we get to know each other better.”

      “Then I’ll go with you. I’ll arrange to take some time off.” To be with him, to meet his high-society family, to discover who Walker Ashton really was.

      Walker sat on the steps of his mother’s porch. Tamra was still at work, and Mary was inside, puttering around the kitchen, doing whatever domestic things women did. She’d returned from her job about an hour ago, giving him the opportunity to talk to her, much in the way he’d spoken with Tamra earlier. And just like her non-Hunka daughter, she’d left him with mixed emotions.

      Good and bad, he supposed.

      “You’re not brooding, are you?”

      “What? No.” He turned to look at Mary, who’d come outside with a glass of lemonade in her hand.

      She handed him the drink. “Then you must be deep in thought.”

      “Maybe. I don’t know.” He took a sip and noticed that she’d added just the right amount of sugar.

      “Are you upset about the checking account?”

      “That both you and Tamra turned me down? Yeah, it bugs me. I’m trying to do the right thing, and no one will let me.”

      She sat beside him. “The thirty thousand Spencer gave me was enough. I don’t want to take money from my own son, too.”

      He squinted at her, trying to shield his eyes from the late-day sun. “I thought Indian families were supposed to help each other. I thought that was the message around here.”

      “It is. But I’m not poor anymore. I’m not struggling to pay my bills.” She smoothed her blouse, a polyester top she’d probably bought at a discount store. “I was ashamed of my house when you first got here, but it was wrong for me to feel that way. It’s nicer than what most people have around here.”

      In Walker’s eyes she was still poor. Not destitute, like the out-of-work population on the rez, but a two-bedroom mobile home and a tired old Buick certainly didn’t make her rich. “At least you and Tamra agreed to go to California with me. I’m glad about that.”

      “So am I. I can’t wait to see Charlotte.”

      “She’s anxious to see you, too.” A rabbit darted by, scurrying into the brush. He watched it disappear, feeling like a kid who’d missed out on his childhood, a boy who’d grown up too fast. “I wish you’d reconsider about the money.”

      “Goodness gracious. You’re just like your father.”

      “Stubborn?” he asked.

      “Pigheaded,” she replied.

      He snorted like a swine and made her laugh. He knew they were still trying to get used to each other, to have stress-free conversations. “Did my dad have a temper, too?”

      “Not as bad as yours.”

      “Gee, thanks.” He bumped her shoulder, and she smiled. He wondered if his father was watching them, if angels existed. Walker couldn’t remember his dad, at least not to any degree. But he couldn’t remember his mom, either, and she was sitting right next to him.

      She sighed, her voice turning soft. “I loved David so much.”

      Suddenly he didn’t know what to say. He’d never been in love. He’d never given his heart to anyone. A bit lost, he stared at the grass, at the coarse, wild groundcover.

      “Do you know how I met him?” she asked.

      “No. How?”

      “I was hitchhiking, and he picked me up. It was my second day on the road, and I wasn’t getting very many rides.”

      “Is that the first time you left the rez?”

      She nodded. “I was twenty-three years old, determined to get away from this place and never come back.”

      “Where were you headed?”

      “Omaha. I figured it was big enough to find a job and start my life over.”

      “Did my dad offer to drive you there?”

      “No. He offered to take me as far as Kendall, the town where he lived.” Her tone turned wistful. “You should have seen me when I climbed into his truck. Talk about nervous. He was so handsome, so tall and strong, with the greenest eyes imaginable.”

      Curious, Walker studied her, noticed how girlish she seemed—a woman reminiscing about the man she loved. “I guess you never made it to Omaha, considering Charlotte and I were born in Kendall.”

      “David offered me a job. He said he was looking for a housekeeper, someone to cook and clean for him and his farmhands. But later I discovered that he just wanted to keep me around.”

      Walker couldn’t help but smile. His old man must have been quite the charmer. “Crafty guy.”

      “And proud and kind. Everything I could have hoped for. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him.”

      He glanced away, then frowned, his memories as tangled as the weeds spreading across the plains. “What happened on the day he died?”

      “Your father had a heart attack behind the wheel. I was with him, riding in the passenger seat. We were on our way home from the mortgage company, trying to get them to discount the loan, but it was too late. They refused to work with us, to help us save the farm.”

      “Did you try to take the wheel?”

      “Yes, but I couldn’t. Everything happened so fast. We hit a tree. Between the heart attack and the accident, David didn’t stand a chance.”

      “Charlotte and I were at a neighbor’s house. An elderly woman.” He remembered a gray-haired lady, but he couldn’t recall his own parents.

      Mary blinked back tears. “She was a widow who used to baby-sit now and then. That’s where you stayed until Spencer came and got you.”

      “What did my uncle tell her?”

      “That he was going to care for my children until I was well enough to take you to the reservation. She had no reason to question his motives.”

      As silence stretched between them, he placed his lemonade on the step. The glass had been sweating in his hand, making his palms damp. He wanted to comfort Mary, to abolish her pain, as well as his own. But he didn’t know how. He was still struggling to bond with her, to behave like her long-lost son.

      “I should get started on dinner.” She stood and dusted off of her pants, looking old and tired.

      He got to his feet, envisioning her when she was young, like the pictures he’d seen in her photo albums. “How do you say mother in Lakota?”

      “Iná,” she told him.

      “Iná,” he repeated.

      Her breath hitched, causing a lump to form in his throat. “I’ll help you with dinner,” he said, even though he was a lousy cook.

      She touched his cheek, her hand warm against his skin. They gazed at each other, but they didn’t embrace. Before things got too awkward, she led him into the kitchen, where she taught him how to make Indian tacos.

      Walker was out of his element, but he did the best he could, trying to please his mother. By the time Tamra arrived on the scene, he was knee-deep in fried dough, lettuce, tomatoes and a pan of ground beef.

      Tamra pitched in, and the three of them prepared the evening meal. But soon, he thought, they would be in Napa Valley. On the estate. The mansion where he was raised.

      The