Roaring Fork Rooker, page 5
“I might have an idea,” I said in a low tone of voice.
While Flynn didn’t appear interested, Irish did.
“I can have Lisa meet you there. She and Rick put on a puppet show they might enjoy. Then perhaps a special dessert?”
Flynn nodded, but her smile seemed forced. Throughout the rest of the meal, her eyes never met mine. Even when I returned to the table after speaking with Lisa and Alton about the kids’ surprise.
When the family prepared to return to their cabin, I asked Flynn if I could have a word.
“I’ll be right there,” she told Irish, who nodded and walked over to the fireplace with all three children. She turned to me once they were out of earshot. “I want you to know that I won’t stop asking questions. Whatever connection you have to my family, whatever reason we’re here—”
“There’s a chapel not far from here. Would you like to meet me there tomorrow? It would be best if we met alone.”
Her eyes widened. “What time?”
“Talk it over with your husband, and let me know what works best for your family.”
She nodded once. “And you’ll tell me why I’m here?”
“Yes. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”
“Good,” she said before joining her family for the walk back to Pueblo Moon.
I watched from the lodge’s windows until they disappeared into the night, then made my way to my private quarters. The predicted blizzard may be holding off for now, but tomorrow, I’d walk into another kind of storm. One I hoped Flynn and I were able to weather.
6
JW
“Sarah asked me to deliver this to you,” Cora said the next morning when she brought my coffee, then handed me an envelope. I opened it and read the short note inside.
I’ll be at the chapel at 11 this morning. -F
“You’ve been expecting this,” Cora said after I folded it and stuck it in my pocket.
“Yes.”
“Are you ready?” she asked without having any idea how loaded those simple words were.
The question I couldn’t answer sat between us. “I’ve been preparing for this for a very long time,” I responded.
Her expression softened. For a moment, I thought she might say more, but instead, she turned and left.
After she was gone, I tried to focus on the ranch business—reviewing the occupancy projections for spring, approving menu changes Alton had suggested, and responding to correspondence that had accumulated over the holidays.
At ten-thirty, I made my way through the main lodge, checking that everything remained in order.
I was about to put on my jacket when the front door opened and Flynn came in.
“I thought we could walk to the chapel together,” she said.
“I’d like that.”
We set out in silence, our footsteps the only sound. I watched her as we moved along the path. She carried herself with dignity, so different from what I might have expected, based on the updates I’d received over the years. Motherhood and marriage had clearly strengthened her—there was a confidence in her movements that spoke of someone who had found her place in the world.
The chapel sat nestled among the pines, its white adobe walls bright against the dark trees. Morning light caught the stained glass windows, throwing patches of color across the snow. I opened the door, and we stepped inside together.
She made her way toward the altar, running her hand along the smooth wooden pews as she passed. I hung back, letting her get comfortable in the space.
This place had been my mother’s refuge when we first came to New Mexico. Where she could hide when the weight of the new identities and old secrets became too much. After she died, I came here to think, to plan, to figure out how to keep the promises I’d made.
Flynn stopped in front of the window where my mother had pressed columbines between the glass. They represented a piece of Colorado she hated to leave behind.
When she turned to face me, we both started talking at once.
“I need to ask you—”
“There’s something I should—”
I gestured for her to go ahead. “Please.”
She took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. “Are you the trustee?”
She didn’t need to explain which trust. If I wasn’t—if this was all some strange coincidence—I’d be asking what she meant.
But I was. And after thirty years of keeping secrets, she deserved a straight answer. “I am.”
She let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping.
“How long have you suspected?” I asked.
“Part of me knew from the day we got here. But I wasn’t sure until right now,” she said. “The way you looked at me sometimes, like you were seeing someone else. And this gut feeling that you were waiting for us. For me.”
“As I said, I have a lot to tell you.”
Color rose in my cheeks. I’d gotten used to staying in the shadows, watching from a distance. Standing here with her made me feel exposed in a way I hadn’t expected.
She smiled as she pointed at my face.
“You’re blushing,” she said. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. “I guess I am.”
She looked at me differently now, like she was seeing me for the first time. The wall that had gone up between us yesterday came down with my admission. We weren’t adversaries, just two people with a complicated history to sort through.
I felt the pressure of everything else I needed to tell her. I’d been planning this conversation for years, rehearsing what I’d say and how I’d explain it all. But now that we were here, I realized no amount of planning could make this easy.
“Shall we sit?” I asked, motioning to the pews.
We settled facing each other, close enough to talk without raising our voices, but with enough space that neither of us felt crowded.
“Why was my stipulation only a month when my brothers each had to commit a full year?” she asked in a voice stronger than I’d anticipated.
“With you, I only needed to confirm that you and Irish were truly happy together. Once I was certain of that, my plan was to tell you everything.”
She looked puzzled. “But with my brothers?”
“Each stipulation served a different purpose.”
She shook her head. “None of this makes sense. How are you related to my mother? To us?”
“For you to understand, I have to start at the beginning.”
“I’m listening.”
“Fifty years ago, a young woman named Ursula Marquez was working at a restaurant called the Goat, in East Aurora, New York.”
“Right,” Flynn said. “I know about the original.”
“It was owned by Ursula’s parents, Felipe and Ambrosia Marquez. Ursula’s siblings—Pilar and Victor—also worked there.”
“Victor,” she repeated. “Is that Keltie’s father?”
“He is.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples, then stood and moved to the pressed flowers, tracing the outline of the delicate petals with her finger. “They’re from Colorado, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Brought here many years ago.”
“By you?”
“By someone who loved the mountains there.”
She turned to face me, studying my face, searching for something familiar. “How did you know my mother?”
“That’s further ahead in our story. First, you need to understand how it all began, before Patricia entered the picture.”
The mention of her mother’s name made her shiver. The way I said it—with familiarity—told her the relationship had been significant.
“This is…a lot.”
“I know.”
She looked overwhelmed, and I realized I needed to pace this revelation with care. “Perhaps we should continue tomorrow, when you’ve had time to absorb this first piece.”
“No,” she said, turning back to me. “I need to know more. The story you started—about Ursula Marquez. What happened to her?”
“One night while working at the restaurant, Ursula met a man named James D. Rooker Jr.—everyone called him JD. They fell in love and married later that year.”
“What does this have to do with my mother? With the trust?”
“Everything. But to understand it, you need to know what happened next. JD and Ursula had twin sons a year later. James D. Rooker III and John William Rooker.”
Her eyes widened as she processed the initials. “John William. JW—not Javier Wyatt.”
“That’s right. People called me Johnny back then.”
The realization struck her. “Ursula was your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And your brother?”
“Jimmy stayed with our father in East Aurora when we left.” I couldn’t keep the sadness from my voice. “We took different paths.”
She reached for the pew, then sat back down. “When you left? You and your mother and…?”
“Your mother. Patricia.” The name felt heavy on my tongue. “We all left together.”
She stared at me. “You knew my mother.”
“We were more like siblings than aunt and nephew.”
“Aunt and nephew?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Yes, Patricia was my aunt. My father was her brother.”
The chapel fell silent except for her sharp intake of breath.
“Your mother was pregnant when we left East Aurora. With Buck. JD—my father—tried to force her to end the pregnancy. My mother and I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.”
“So you all fled.”
“We had help. Someone with resources who cared about Patricia. Someone who arranged for us to disappear.”
Her hands were trembling now. “Who?”
“Her name was Cena Covert. She was Patricia’s and my father’s aunt and had more money and influence than any of us realized. She orchestrated our journey.”
I watched her process this, seeing the moment when she understood that her entire family history—everything she’d believed about how her parents met, how they ended up in Colorado—had been orchestrated by forces she never knew existed.
“I know that name. Cord talked about her.”
“Yes. It was her estate where he spent his year.”
“My mother didn’t just happen to end up at our ranch in Colorado.”
“No. Cena arranged it. She sent Patricia to stay with someone she trusted.”
“Who?”
“Irma Wheaton. Your father’s mother.”
Her face went white. “My grandmother? She was part of this?”
“Cena and Irma had been friends in college. When Patricia needed somewhere safe to go, Irma agreed to help.”
“So my parents meeting…”
“Wasn’t chance. Though their feelings for each other were real.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Everything was arranged. My mother’s entire life was manipulated.”
“She was eighteen and pregnant. Alone and scared. The people who cared about her did what they thought was best to protect her.”
“Including you.”
“Including me.”
She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “How old were you?”
“Eighteen as well. We graduated high school together before we left.”
“And you’ve been watching our family ever since.”
“Not the whole time. When your mother was diagnosed with cancer, she made me promise to look after her children. The trust was her idea—a way to ensure you were all taken care of and that you would know your history when the time was right.”
She stood again, pacing to the altar. “That’s why Cord was sent to East Aurora—to learn about our mother’s past.”
“Yes, that was part of it.”
“But the others…Porter at the Morris Ranch, Holt staying in Crested Butte. Those weren’t about her history, were they?”
“No. Some were about learning Patricia’s story. Others were about healing, about finding what each of you needed.”
“And me? Why here?”
“Because this is where we ended up after leaving Colorado. My mother and I lived in Crested Butte for six years before relocating to New Mexico. This ranch became our home.”
She turned to face me, her eyes showing full understanding. “You’re not just the trustee. You’re my cousin.”
“Yes.”
“Family.”
The word sat between us, loaded with thirty years of separation and secrecy. I’d watched her grow up from a distance, influenced her life through the trust, but hadn’t met her until two weeks ago.
“There’s still more to tell you—about your parents’ marriage, about what happened after we came here, about why Patricia felt the need to create the trust, in the first place.”
She wiped tears from her cheeks. “I need some time. To process this.”
“Of course.”
“But I want to know everything. All of it.”
“Tomorrow?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow.”
As we prepared to leave the chapel, she paused at the door. “JW—Johnny—why now? Why tell me about yourself after all these years?”
“Your mother said she trusted I’d know the right time to share everything with you.”
She reached out and touched my arm. “Thank you for taking care of us. Watching over us. Even when we didn’t understand why certain things were happening.”
“It’s been my honor. Your mother and I were very close.”
We returned to the lodge in silence, the truth settling between us. Tomorrow would bring more difficult conversations, but today had been enough. The secret I’d carried for three decades was beginning to unfold, and she—Patricia’s youngest daughter—was handling it with the same strength her mother had shown all those years ago.
I’d been awake since four-thirty, unable to silence the voices from the past that had been stirred up by yesterday’s conversation. By six, I’d given up on sleep and made my way to the kitchen, where Alton was already preparing for the day.
“Storm’s coming,” he said without looking up from his prep work. “Jim says we’ll get hit around noon.”
“How are we set for provisions?”
“Good for a week, maybe more. I made sure we had extra of everything before the Warricks arrived.” He paused in his chopping. “Should be cozy enough with just the one family here, although they might get stir crazy.”
I poured myself coffee from the pot Alton kept brewing. “They’re from Colorado—they’re used to winter storms.”
I returned to my office and waited for Flynn to arrive.
At nine-thirty, a knock interrupted my thoughts.
“JW? It’s me,” said Flynn.
“Come in.”
She entered, unwinding her scarf as she closed the door behind her. She looked more rested than I’d expected, though I didn’t doubt her questions had multiplied overnight.
“Good morning,” she said. “Irish is keeping the kids occupied while we talk.”
“How would you feel about continuing our conversation in the library? It’s more comfortable than my office, and we’ll have privacy. Also, severe weather is heading our way—should hit around noon. We’ll likely be snowed in for several days, so it will be a better place for these conversations than trudging back and forth to the chapel.”
“That makes sense. We’re used to getting snowed in at home—probably more than you are here.” She smiled. “I’m relieved we’ll have the uninterrupted time we need.”
I led her to one of my favorite rooms in the lodge—a cozy space lined floor to ceiling with books, anchored by two leather armchairs positioned near a stone fireplace. I’d lit the fire earlier, anticipating we’d need the warmth and comfort it provided.
She settled into one of the chairs while I took the other, the portfolio resting on the small table between us.
“Where would you like me to start?” I asked.
“Before we do, you should know I called my brothers last night and told them you were the trustee.”
I waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, I asked, “What was their reaction?”
She grinned. “Buck said he was heading here immediately.”
I smiled too. “And?”
“I told him this was my journey, and if you’d wanted him here for it, the codicil would’ve said so.”
“Good for you, Flynn.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed, but her gaze was direct and steady. “Anyway, I know the basics of why my mother had to leave East Aurora, but not any of the details. I’d like to start with that.”
I slid a color snapshot of three teenagers standing in front of a small house across the small table between us. Patricia was in the middle, flanked by a younger version of myself and my twin brother, Jimmy.
“This was taken not long before we left,” I said.
She studied the image, her finger tracing the edge. “You all look so young.”
“We were seventeen years old. Your mother was living with us after our grandparents died. While she and my father were siblings, almost twenty years separated them. He was more like a father figure to her.”
“Did you spend a lot of time together?”
“We did. We went to the same school, shared the same friends. Patricia was the best person anyone could know—kind, smart, always looking out for others. That’s why what my father planned to force her to do was so heinous.”
“The abortion,” she whispered.
“When my father discovered Patricia was pregnant, he decided she would terminate the pregnancy. He told her she was going, whether she wanted to or not.”
Flynn’s hands tightened around the photograph. “How awful.”
“Ursula discovered what he was trying to do and paid a visit to Cena. She was my father’s employer as well as his aunt. My mom explained the situation, saying she knew people in Colorado and we could go there. Cena agreed to help Ursula and Patricia disappear.”
“And you went with them?”
“Patricia and my mother were the most important people in my life. I couldn’t let them face an uncertain future alone.”
