Huntington Family Series Page 30

  “I had a late night,” he felt obliged to say. He drew a hand through his brown hair, which was barely short enough to be acceptable to his family. Parted near the middle, his hair reached to the bottom of his ears, falling forward whenever he dipped his head.

  “You’re Mitch Huntington?” She sounded as if she hoped he’d say no.

  He wondered if he’d done something wrong. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m Dolores Clark, attorney for Lane and Ashley Grayson.”

  “Lane and Ashley?” Mitch’s stomach twinged, warning that something was wrong. He and Lane had been like brothers during their missions to Brazil, sweating together over Portuguese verbs while tracting in the humid temperatures near the equator. Their friendship had continued after they left Brazil—even when Ashley Steele entered the picture. In fact, if Lane hadn’t married Ashley, Mitch would have tried to marry her himself. Instead, he’d remained their best friend.

  Dolores Clark shifted her slight weight to her other foot. Her high, thin-heeled shoes didn’t look comfortable, and Mitch was sure they added to her impatience and irritation. “Yes,” she said. “I’m their attorney and the executor of their estate.”

  “They’re in Texas,” he began. “Wait a minute, did you say executor? What do they need an executor for?” His friends and their baby daughter had moved from Utah to Texas six months earlier when Lane graduated from Brigham Young University and started a new job. Mitch had kept in touch by phone and e-mail. Only last week Ashley had e-mailed a snapshot of their family. He’d marveled at how much Emily Jane had grown. Looking like a baby doll, she was in her mother’s arms, one hand caught in Ashley’s long curly red hair, as it always seemed to be. They had all looked happy.

  “You haven’t heard?” For the first time there was an emotion other than annoyance in the lawyer’s pretty face. But what? He couldn’t tell.

  He was beginning to feel light-headed. “Heard what?” he asked, gripping the doorway.

  “Five days ago the Graysons were killed in a boating accident. I’m sorry, I thought you might have heard.”

  Mitch shook his head slowly, knowing there was no one to tell him anything. Lane was an only child whose parents had died when he was in high school. Ashley’s mother had died when she was a child, and she hadn’t talked to the rest of her family since they’d disowned her when she joined the Church four years ago. “Lane and Ashley didn’t have anybody,” he said for the lawyer’s benefit, still reeling from shock. “Except each other . . . and me.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. You’re listed in their will.”

  Mitch stepped out onto the porch and sat down in the doorway, tears blurring his vision. He felt sick and dizzy, as he did each time his allergy to cold temperatures kicked in. But the porch had been warmed by the morning sun, and there wasn’t even a whisper of a breeze in the air. Not since his brother-in-law’s death a year and a half ago had Mitch felt so horrible and lost. “Oh, Lane,” he murmured. He couldn’t even say Ashley’s name. And when he thought of the baby . . .

  Tears slid down his cheeks. “She was only a year old,” he murmured. “That’s too young. Way too young.” He tried telling himself it was better that they were all together, but he found it impossible to bear the thought of never seeing them again in this life. Why hadn’t he gone to visit six weeks ago in April for Emily Jane’s first birthday? They’d invited him, but instead he planned to fly out during his vacation time in August. He let his head drop to his hands and wept.

  A comforting hand squeezed his shoulder. He was surprised to find the lawyer hunched down next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I did try to call repeatedly this week before the funeral, but you don’t have an answering machine, and there was no time for a letter. Emily Jane needs to get on with her life. Of course, I have some papers you’ll need to see.” She tapped the briefcase she’d set down on the porch. Standing, she went down the stairs toward the sedan parked out in the street.

  Mitch stared after her. What did she just say?

  The car door opened before Dolores reached the sidewalk, and a short, older woman emerged with a baby in her arms and a fat diaper bag slung over her shoulder. She moved aside as Dolores brought out a car seat and a large suitcase.

  Mitch stared, hope bursting to life in his heart. The baby had a mass of fine, curly hair a shade or two paler than a carrot. Just like Ashley’s. Emily Jane, he thought. Could it be? He urged himself to meet them halfway, but he only managed to stand, his tears abruptly halted and drying on his cheeks in the morning sun.

  The short woman came up the stairs and pushed the baby in his direction. “I was the Graysons’ neighbor,” she said, with a Texas drawl much heavier than the lawyer’s. “I run a day care. Emily Jane came over in the mornings while Ashley went to school. She’s been staying with me since the accident.”

  Mitch’s arm instinctively secured the baby to his chest. She opened her blue eyes wide at him as though unsure how to react. “Emily Jane,” he breathed. He recognized her now. Would she remember him?

  The baby glanced at the short woman and then back at him. Her face wrinkled as she started to cry. “It’s okay,” he murmured, patting her back awkwardly. He tried to return her to the woman, but she shook her head.

  “Better keep her,” she said, her hazel eyes kind and compassionate. “She’ll stop in a minute. Usually she’s good with strangers, but she’s been sad and upset. Probably misses her parents. She’ll get used to you. Just talk to her.”

  The baby’s large eyes reminded him of a wounded or frightened animal. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he told her. “You remember me, don’t you? Okay, so maybe you don’t. Anyway, I know your mom and dad.” He stopped. He had known them. He tried to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, biting back his own tears. “It’s okay. Don’t cry, sweetie. You know what? I have something to show you. Come inside with me.” Vaguely aware of the women following him, he walked to the large dog kennel in the kitchen where Muffin was yipping in excitement.

  “This is Muffin,” Mitch said to Emily Jane. “He normally sleeps in my room, but I had to put him in here last night. I promise he won’t hurt you.” He bent down with the baby on one knee and opened the kennel door.

  Muffin shoved his wet nose into Mitch’s hand before exuberantly sniffing Emily Jane. The baby’s tears stopped, but she clutched at Mitch in fear, trying to climb up his chest.

  “Oops. Sorry. Down, Muffin! Down boy!” Mitch stood to keep Emily Jane out of reach. At least she was no longer crying.

  “I’ll leave these papers,” Dolores said, placing something on the table. “There’s a list of finances and other items regarding custody. You’ll need a lawyer here to finalize everything. As Emily Jane’s lawyer, I’ll be happy to help things along in Texas, although you may have to make an appearance there. I’ll keep in contact with you about that and about the rest of the estate. I’ll need to know what you want done with the house and car. And of course the Division of Child and Family Services here will be in contact to make sure everything’s okay on this end.”

  “The suitcase by the door has Emily Jane’s clothes,” the older woman added. Mitch was too stunned to reply to either of them.

  “We’ll get out of your hair now.” Dolores walked to the door, followed by the other woman whose name Mitch had never learned.

  “Wait! What about Emily Jane?” He hefted the baby in his arms.

  Dolores arched an impatient brow. “You’re her godfather, aren’t you? The will stated clearly that I was to bring her to you.”

  Mitch remembered signing something in front of a lawyer soon after Emily Jane was born. Ashley, weighed down with the responsibility of new parenthood, had planned for every possibility. “If something ever happened to us, I’d want Emily Jane to be raised in the Church,” she had said. “I can’t bear the thought that she’d go to my dad or my sister. It would be different if they were members. Please, Mitch. Will you do this for me?”

  Mitc
h had agreed—anything to set Ashley’s mind at ease. Besides, he’d loved Emily Jane from the minute she was born. But he’d never imagined that being named her guardian would mean anything more than pony rides on his shoulders, presents at birthdays and Christmas, and maybe an occasional day at the circus. It simply couldn’t mean that Emily Jane now belonged to him.

  The women descended his steps, and Mitch panicked. It was one thing to be an exceptional uncle to five nieces and nephews or to be a godfather—but to be solely responsible for a child?

  “Hey, I don’t know anything about babies!” he protested. “What am I going to do with her?” He felt guilty saying the words with little Emily Jane watching him so seriously, her lightly freckled face rigid with fear.

  Dolores shrugged. “We just came to bring her to you. Of course, if you’d rather, Mrs. Sumner and I can turn her over to Texas state custody. I’m sure an adoptive family could be found for her. She’s young enough.”

  Ashley’s voice echoed in his head: I’d want Emily Jane to be raised in the Church.

  “No,” he said, backpedaling quickly. “We’ll be okay. I have sisters with children who’ll help. My mom lives only fifteen minutes from here. Less, maybe.”

  He was about to say more to convince them, but the women nodded and continued to their car, relief apparent on their faces. As they drove away, Mitch clung to Emily Jane as tightly as she clung to him.

  Chapter Two

  Cory Steele held her breath. She was in more danger right now than at any other time during this photo shoot—maybe more than she had been at any other time during the fourteen months she’d lived in the Amazon. The Brazilian jaguars, called onças, had so far allowed her to crouch this close to their den located under the heavy foliage, but if she made one false move, the mother might decide to retract that reluctant invitation. Of course, Cory was prepared for that, with a tranquilizer gun and her .38 special, though she wondered if she would be capable of using the handgun on one of these magnificent ebony creatures.

  Sweat ran in rivulets down the back of her green tank top. The evening temperature had dropped from the high nineties of midday, but the humidity made her clothes stick to her skin. She longed to remove her green cap and free her sweaty head from its plastered layering of reddish orange ringlets. But she didn’t dare. The jaguars could be startled by much less.

  The calls of several macaws and a monkey or two echoed over the jungle. Cory wondered idly if Meeko, the official camp mascot, was nearby, if maybe he had followed her as he sometimes did. Even if he had, he wouldn’t come to her now; she was much too close to the jaguars.

  She took one hand from her digital camera and ran it across her forehead, wiping the wetness on the strong, lightweight pants that were a must for squatting in bushes. She’d removed her long-sleeved shirt, though, unable to bear the heat. The tips of her fingers grazed the long new scratch on her arm, extending from her shoulder and curving down to her elbow. That was the trouble with a tank top, but at the moment she would rather have scratches than endure long sleeves. Chewing off a piece of fingernail, she waited. She was good at waiting.

  The mother jaguar had dragged home a small white-tailed deer for her twin cubs to devour. One of the cubs tugged the carcass away from his sibling. The sibling pounced, growling under his breath. The mother watched with apparent unconcern. Cory had seen this scene repeated often over the years with different animals, and she had lost her initial sense of disgust. Animals needed to eat; they were only following instinct.

  She began snapping photos. Soon the cubs finished eating and started playing, jumping over their mother and wrestling each other until at last they sprawled, exhausted, their fat tummies moving in and out with their quick breaths. It was great footage.

  When she had exhausted the memory card in her digital camera and taken several rolls of 35mm film in the old Nikon that had been her high school graduation present eight years ago, Cory was satisfied. More perfect shots for Wildlife Conservation, the magazine that paid her well to do the work she loved.

  “Next it’ll be National Geographic.” The idea brought a smile.

  She inched backward through the bushes that had made such a great hideout these past few days. At first her muscles rebelled from the long hours of inactivity, but gradually she made progress. Her foot stepped on a thin branch. Snap!

  The mother jaguar’s black ears shot forward, and she gave a warning growl to her cubs. The small black shadows jumped to their feet and hid, whining, behind their mother.

  Silently cursing her clumsiness, Cory froze, debating whether she should remove the tranquilizer gun from the sling around her shoulder. She broke into a cold sweat. With a loud snort, the mother jaguar prodded her cubs into their den. Before entering herself, she gave one last look around, accompanied by a low, challenging growl. Then her inky body disappeared into the bushes.

  Cory moved again, still slowly, feeling unseen eyes upon her. Only when she was a hundred yards from the den did she breathe a sigh of relief. She no longer felt hot. Digging into her pack, she saw that her thermometer read eighty degrees. Practically cold by Amazon standards. At least for early June. She took a swig of warm water and pulled off her green cap, fluffing her hair from its plastered state. The orange-red locks fell in loose curls to her shoulders.

  Refreshed, she clomped through the jungle in her hiking boots, following a path barely discernible to her eyes. The bamboos, trees, and creepers were so thick that at times she had to skirt around or climb over them. The great vastness and majesty of the Amazon amazed her at moments like this, and she savored the lush, unspoiled beauty. Several hundred yards from the jaguar den, she crossed under a group of dense trees, setting off a cacophony of jitters and calls from an audience of white-bellied spider monkeys. Laughing, she waved at them and continued on.

  After a few more minutes, a small monkey skittered down from a low-hanging palm, landing on her pack and scrambling over to sit on her shoulder. “Hello, Meeko,” she said. “Careful. You’re scratching me.”

  The creature chattered, sounding seriously offended. Cory laughed. “I know you wanted to come with me. Good thing you were too scared. You’d hardly be a mouthful for that mother jaguar. Don’t be mad. You know I have to earn a living, and as cute as you are, only so many magazines are looking for a picture of a dwarf cebus.” She slipped him a piece of dried apple from her pocket, and he settled down to munch on his treat. Cory continued her way through the jungle, glad that Meeko had singled her out from the others at camp. He was more than a pet; he was a friend.

  When Cory entered camp, several people looked up from the large communal table to greet her. She lifted a hand in response. The split-log table and cooking area was covered by a huge wooden canopy that shielded the cooking fires and the diners from rain during the wet season. The area was the main gathering place when work hours were over.

  Many of the camp inhabitants were biologists on grants to study the Amazon, a few were photographers like herself, and several were writers. All had come to this camp off the Black River—Rio Negro—because of its remoteness and relative safety. The camp, built in a large, mostly natural clearing, was run by a group that sponsored the protection of the rain forest. For a nominal fee, anyone dedicated to a similar cause could pitch a tent and stay awhile. Dinner was provided by natives employed to tend the camp.

  As Cory passed the table on the way to her tent, one of the men separated himself from the others and came to meet her. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, offering a piece of fruit to Meeko.

  “Working. What else?” Cory smiled to soften the words. Evan Kammer was the talented writer who had been assigned by Wildlife Conservation to work with her. Standing a few inches taller than her five and a half feet, he was good-looking, though rather out of place in the Amazon. Oh, he wore the clothing and talked the talk, but she’d discovered quickly that he wasn’t good for long-term hiking, lifting, or climbing. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him break into a s
weat that wasn’t induced by the weather. Even so, he was witty, fun, and attractive, and she liked him a lot. They’d spent many hours together since his arrival two months ago.

  “You left so early this morning.” Evan fell into step beside her. “Why didn’t you wait for me? It could be dangerous out there.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s always dangerous out there. Look, I haven’t answered to anyone since my father died, and I’m not about to start now. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” On her shoulder, Meeko chattered at him, echoing her annoyance. Swiftly touching her ear in a farewell caress, the little monkey jumped down and disappeared into the forest.

  “Sorry.” Evan made a face. “Must be the primitive male in me. Every time you’re gone all day, I start to worry.” He put his arm around her, and she had to admit it felt good having someone worry about her. There hadn’t been anyone like that in a long time.

  “I get better pictures when I’m alone,” she said, fighting the tenderness.

  “Yeah, but it’d be funner with me.”

  Okay, so she probably should have let someone know where she’d be and what time to expect her back. People here looked out for each other. Of course, the last time she’d told Evan where she’d be, he’d appeared with a picnic lunch and a bottle of wine. Not exactly her idea of a successful photo shoot, especially since he lacked patience when it came to waiting for just the right picture.

  “Maybe next time,” she said lightly.

  “You took pictures with that?” He touched her Nikon hanging from its strap around her neck.

  “Why not?” The camera had been top of the line when she’d graduated from high school, and it still turned out incredibly clear, brilliant photographs.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. It just looks ancient.”