Tangled Memories. Marta Perry

Чтение книги онлайн.

      You know me inside and out,

       You know every bone in my body;

       You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,

       how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

      —Psalms 139:15

      This story is dedicated to my grandson,

       Bjoern Jacob Wulff, with much love from Grammy.

      And, as always, to Brian.

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      ONE

      For twenty-nine years, Corrie Grant had thought she’d never know who her father was. Now she knew, and no one would believe her.

      No one, at this point, was represented by a pair of smooth, silver-haired attorneys with Southern drawls as thick as molasses. They looked about as expensive as this hotel suite, where she sank to the ankles in plush carpeting. The denim skirt and three-year-old sweater she usually wore for her monthly shopping trip had definitely not been right for this meeting. She hadn’t known Cheyenne, Wyoming boasted a hotel suite like this.

      She slid well-worn loafers under her chair and straightened her back. You’re as good as anyone, her great-aunt’s voice echoed in her mind, its independent Wyoming attitude strong. Don’t you let anyone intimidate you.

      “I’ve already told you everything I know about my parents.” Her words stopped one of the lawyers—Courtland or Broadbent, she didn’t know which—in mid-question. “I came here to meet Baxter Manning.” Her grandfather. She tried out the phrase in her mind, not quite ready to say it aloud yet. “Where is he?”

      “Now, Ms. Grant, surely you understand that we have to ascertain the validity of your claim before involving Mr. Manning, don’t you?”

      Courtland or Broadbent had the smooth Southern courtesy down pat. He’d just managed to imply that she was a fraud without actually saying it.

      She gripped the tapestry chair arms, resisting the impulse to surge to her feet. “I’m not making any claims. I don’t expect anything from Mr. Manning. I just want to know if it’s true that his son was my father.”

      Twenty-nine years. That was how long Aunt Ella had known about her mother’s marriage and kept it from her. Corrie could only marvel that she hadn’t pressed for answers earlier. She’d simply accepted what Aunt Ella said—that her mother had come home to Ulee, Wyoming, pregnant, at eighteen. That she’d died in an accident when Corrie was six months old. That her mother had loved her.

      Pain clutched her heart. Was that any more true than the rest of the fairy tale?

      The attorneys exchanged glances. “You must realize,” one of them began.

      She shot to her feet. “Never mind what I must realize.” Coming on top of the struggle to stretch her teaching salary and the meager income from Last Chance Café to pay Aunt Ella’s hospital bills and funeral expenses, she didn’t think she could handle any further runaround. “I’m done here. If Mr. Manning is interested in talking to me, he knows where to reach me. I’ll be on my way.”

      She was halfway to the door when the voice stopped her.

      “Come back here, young woman.”

      She turned, pulse accelerating. The man who’d come out of the suite’s bedroom was older than either of the lawyers—in СКАЧАТЬ