Ride the Rainbow Home Read online

  RIDE THE RAINBOW HOME

  Book One

  In the Rainbow Rock Series

  SUSAN AYLWORTH

  Copyright 1995 by Susan Aylworth * Originally published in hardback by Avalon Books

  Cover art by Ken Spencer * Titles by Stephanie Russell Aylworth

  Smashwords Edition

  Following the story, you will find some discussion questions for book clubs and reading groups plus an excerpt from At the Rainbow’s End, Book Two in the Rainbow Rock series.

  For my alpha readers:

  Hugh and Anonna Hubbard,

  Patricia Kimsey,

  Oleta Bryson, Lorena Norris, and Tess Hocking,

  And always, for Roger

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Discussion Questions

  Preview of AT RAINBOW’S END

  Chapter One

  "Oh!" Meg jumped as lightning crashed overhead. She swerved slightly, but fought her sports car back into her lane. July had come to the high plateau and with it, a typical afternoon thundershower. To Margaret Taylor, who hadn't seen the plateau for years, the storm was anything but typical. Lightning danced along the ridges and shimmered through the valley of the Little Colorado River, sending thunder rumbling in its wake. Giant thunderheads loomed thousands of feet above the red sandstone cliffs, pierced here and there by shafts of yellow light that brought heaven to earth. Meg watched in wonder as she pushed east along I-40, back to the land she had once called home.

  Home? Rainbow Rock had never been home. The five years she'd spent there had been the worst of her life. The jeers she had suffered as stepdaughter to Lon Ramsdell, the high school principal, had been ravaging: "teacher's pet," "killjoy," "goody-goody," and so much worse. With relief she had grabbed her diploma and hit the road for UCLA, vowing never to return.

  And she hadn't. Not for ten years, years she had spent putting adolescence behind her and building a career in management training. But time had softened the sting of those old wounds. Maybe it was time to make her peace.

  A phone call had begun this adventure, interrupting one of her busiest mornings. She had known the voice instantly. "Meg, I had twins! Sammy and Serena."

  "Congratulations, Sally." Meg had covered the phone while she mouthed to her secretary to hold all calls. "You have your hands full, don't you?"

  "No kidding! That's why I called. Can you come help?"

  "You're kidding, right?" She pulled the Sky Tech file as she mimicked the line from Gone with the Wind. "I don't know nothin' 'bout tendin' no babies, Miz Scarlett."

  But Sally had always been persuasive, and her arguments--a recent cesarean, an absent family, and four babies under four--were convincing. Add to that their ten-year high school reunion later in the month and Meg was hooked. "Okay, I'll come," she'd said, wondering why she'd ever fought it, "but I'll only help with the housework. You can take care of the babies!" She had finished some pressing business and arranged for her colleague, Allen, to cover her next six-week training tour. Then she had started for Arizona.

  Meg left the rain behind as she turned north from Holbrook toward Rainbow Rock, nervously drumming the dash. Would people even know her? The slim, poised businesswoman she saw in her mirror every morning was a far cry from the chubby, awkward teen known as Peggy Taylor, or behind her back, as Piggy. Her ivory skin was clear now, her figure trim, her glasses replaced by contacts that intensified the blue of her eyes, and her weight down by thirty pounds. She'd changed her long, limp hair to short, chic curls that had darkened almost to black, but none of that had quieted her insecurity.

  Brooding thoughts evaporated like the summer rain as she crested the ridge. Rainbow Rock lay before her, nestled in the bowl of a desert valley. Thunderclouds still rolled along the layered sandstone bluffs that had given the town its name, freckling their vivid colors in light and shadow, but the sky above the valley floor was clearing. Meg pulled onto the overlook and sat staring down on the town. For years she'd struggled to forget everything about Rainbow Rock, fighting so hard she had even forgotten the good things, like the rugged spectacle of the painted hills and the peace that followed a summer storm.

  Peggy Taylor, Sally Williams, and Little Jimmy McAllister had been "the three musketeers," indivisible against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or the barbed insults of the high school in-crowd. Meg's loyalty to those friendships had finally brought her back; it caused her to move forward now, nudging her car onto the highway. As she dropped into the valley, the clouds along the far ridge dropped a veil of shimmering rain. A shaft of sunlight struck it and burst into color, streaking the sky with a brilliant double rainbow that stretched above the distant hills like a welcome banner.

  Meg shook herself to ward off a growing sense of awe. She prided herself on being sensible, not given to seeing signs and omens. It was merely a coincidence that she had returned during one of the summer's loveliest moments, and that was all it was.

  A beep sounded and a light on her dashboard advised Meg to check her fuel. She grumbled, muttering a word her mother would not have approved. She'd probably have to stop before driving to Frank and Sally's. Sighing with frustration, she scanned the horizon for a gas station.

  The first signs were for tourist traps, like Thunderbird Indian Trading Post and Fort Huachuca Gifts and Curios. Tourists, blindsided by such signs, believed they could get a crack at real Native American crafts. Meg knew better. One summer it had been her job to peel "Made in Korea" stickers off the cheap kachinas and tipi trinkets at Fort Huachuca (she hadn't discovered it was illegal until she started business school in L.A.), and no one told the tourists that the Indians of northern Arizona had never lived in tipis, or that the real Fort Huachuca was on the Mexican border, having nothing to do with Navajos, Hopis, or any other Native North Americans. Meg smirked as she drove by; tourists who bought such trash got just what they deserved.

  She passed the Eagle Wing Lodge with its cabins in the shape of cement wigwams so unlike local hogans and pueblos, and then she spotted Kirby's Shell. She looked for a self-serve pump, then remembered that small-town Arizona seldom offered one, and stopped beside the only unleaded pump that didn't wear an "Out of Order" sign. A nice-looking towheaded teenager jumped to her service, his friendly smile turning wolfish when he spotted Meg behind the wheel.

  "What can I do for ya, little lady?" he drawled in a creditable imitation of John Wayne.

  "Just fill it, please." She flashed the boy a no-nonsense look that said, Whatever your line is, I'm not biting.

  Not the least discouraged, the boy leaned near her window as the pump rang her total. "What brings you to town?"

  Meg ran one manicured hand through her short, sassy curls. "Do you have a drinking fountain?" she asked, then noted the name on his uniform and added, "Kyle?"

  The boy flushed slightly. "No, ma'am, but there are paper cups by the sink in the ladies' room, 'round back." He opened her door.

  Something about the boy's face seemed familiar. "Kyle what?"

  He grinned, the wolf on the prowl again. "Willard, ma'am. Kyle Willard at your service."

  Meg opened her mouth in surprise, and quickly closed it again. No need to blow her cover by telling Kyle she had once been his baby-sitter. "Check the oil, please," she tossed over her shoulder as she rounded the building. She heard the boy whistling tunelessly as she rounded the corner--and caught her breath.

  Before her lay a stretch of red earth that reminded her just
how lovely the desert could be. Dotted with sagebrush and greasewood, it lay perfect and timeless in the pure golden light of the afternoon, its plane broken only by the small, flat hill that stood a lone sentinel on the valley floor.

  And that was when she saw him, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was climbing Valley Hill some forty yards away. His muscular upper body, bare and bronzed, was dappled by the spotty light as he worked his way up the bluff. He wore old, well-fitted jeans and climbing boots, and the light breeze riffled his leonine mane of thick blond hair. He seemed perfect, essential and ageless, at one with the bluff, the desert, and the endless sky.

  Meg let out her breath, unaware she had been holding it, then stared in fascination. A shaft of light fell over the climber, making his tanned skin gleam like polished gold. "Who is he?" she whispered, not realizing she had spoken aloud until Kyle answered.

  "He's a local guy. Name's Jim. Some kids spotted Indian relics and he's checking to see if there might be an old burial site."

  Disappointment cut through Meg like summer lightning, leaving a flat taste. "A grave robber."

  "No, ma'am, not Jim. He's not in it for the money. He locates burial sites and gets ‘em recognized by the state so nobody can mess with 'em."

  "Oh." Meg turned her concentration to the man on the hill. He was beautiful, to be sure, but there was also something mystical about him--ageless and elemental, something that called out to her, drawing her to him. As she watched, he rounded the curve of the bluff and disappeared. Disappointment cut through her as she realized she had never seen his face.

  Kyle shifted uneasily.

  "Well." Meg shook herself back to reality. "What do I owe you for the gas?"

  "It needed oil too." Kyle began an itemized list of charges as they rounded the building.

  Meg followed reluctantly, looking back to see if the man was really gone or if he had ever really been there at all. For a fleeting moment Meg wondered if he'd been nothing but a mirage, or a wish. She forced her attention back to the boy, pulling bills out of her wallet.

  It had been the moment, she told herself as she left Kirby's. The moment, not the man, had caused her sudden fascination, her trembling hands, her rapid heartbeat. It was the magic of the storm and the mystery of the desert that had caused her to lose her head, a quirk of timing, a trick of fate. She smiled, almost believing. She was halfway through town before she realized she'd never gotten that drink of water.

  * * * *

  "They're beautiful, Sally. They're all beautiful, but I can't imagine how you keep up!" Meg sat on the sofa in Sally's living room as raven-haired children tumbled about. She could have sworn they were multiplying as she watched, along with her second thoughts. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea.

  "I'm not keeping up," Sally admitted as she passed one fussy infant to her husband, who put the baby into a swing. "That's why I called you." Sally had gained weight since high school. She was probably a full fifty pounds overweight now, and it was clear she'd paid little attention to her appearance lately. Yet despite her baggy sweat suits and lack of makeup, Sally was rosy-cheeked, a picture of health. Having kids obviously agreed with her.

  "Surely you know someone better qualified, someone who knows about kids? I mean, what if I hurt one of them?" Meg snatched her expensive suede purse into her lap just as jelly-covered fingers reached for it.

  "Come here, Isabel. Let me wash those hands," Frank said, grabbing the three-year-old and heading for the kitchen. He still had the same dark good looks and football- player build Meg remembered.

  "I told you on the phone," Sally answered as she put the second infant to breast. "Mother is taking an anniversary cruise with her new husband, Mother Garcia is busy with her sick sister, and Frank's sisters have newborns of their own. You were the only person I could think of. Besides, it's high time you came for a visit."

  Meg thought she heard censure in Sally's voice. She shrugged. "My life is in California, Sal."

  "We appreciate your coming." Frank, back from the kitchen sink, picked up Meg's bags and started down the hall, shaking off a toddler as he went. "Sally really needs you." Meg had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to forestall her retreat. "We'll put you in Isabel's room."

  "That's not necessary." Meg trotted after him, suddenly sure she'd made a mistake. "I can get a motel. I expected to." She reached for the handles of her bags.

  "Nonsense." Frank warded her off. "We can't send you to a motel. Besides, Sally may need you in the evenings."

  That's what I'm afraid of, Meg thought as she followed Frank. She almost said it aloud. He set her bags beside a child-sized bed. Meg guessed she'd have almost enough room to stretch if she didn't mind her hands and feet dangling over.

  "Just make yourself at home," Frank said. "We cleared out the top drawers and the right side of the closet. There are extra blankets if you need them and the bathroom's across the hall. I think you'll be comfortable."

  Maybe when Tucson freezes over, Meg thought as she resigned herself. Putting on a hopeful smile, she asked, "How long can you stay to help?"

  "I'll be here tomorrow for the holiday," he answered, "then I'll have to leave first thing Tuesday." Meg thought he looked relieved. "I took family leave time at first, but I've just about used it up. The company has me repairing a power station near Phoenix that was damaged when the Salt River flooded. I'll be home on weekends and holidays, of course. Other than that, Sally would be on her own if it weren't for you. We're awfully glad to see you, Meg."

  "Yes, well. . ." Meg decided a small social lie was appropriate. "I'm glad I could come."

  Later, as she lay curled in Isabel's bed, she calmed herself by reciting her promise: she would help with the housework so Sally could watch the babies and recuperate from her surgery. But now, having seen both Sally and Frank in action, she knew she was unlikely to get off that easily. Four pre-schoolers were enough to drain both their parents, and they knew what they were doing!

  Still wondering whether this was why she had saved all those weeks of vacation, Meg drifted off, her sleep bothered once or twice by crying infants, her dreams invaded often by a beautiful man whose skin shone golden in the sunlight.

  * * * *

  "Any new men in town?" Meg kept the question casual as she stretched her legs on Sally's back lawn. It was the first time the women had sat down since the circus they called breakfast.

  "Why? You meet somebody?"

  "No, of course not." Meg didn't meet Sally's eyes. "I just wondered what the prospects were--you know, for the women here."

  Sally moved one fussy infant into the shade of the mesquite tree and scolded her daughter. "Isabel, stop teasing the cat!" She turned back to Meg. "There are some interesting men around." She lifted her brows, her voice rich with meaning. "Danny Sherwood's still here."

  Meg groaned. "Spare me."

  "You had quite a crush once."

  "That was a long time ago, when I was young and stupid. Besides, isn't he married? I heard he and Lucretia Vanetti--"

  "Ancient history. You're right; he's a jerk. Cretia got smart last year. She went around telling everybody how he hit her when he-- Tommy, shame on you! Get that out of your mouth!" She wiped Tommy's face and sighed. "How he hit her when he came home drunk. He denied it, of course, but the divorce went through just the same. But there are other men." Sally lifted one eyebrow. "Little Jimmy McAllister's still here."

  "That's good." Meg kept her voice neutral. "I hope to see him while I'm here, but you know that's not what I mean, Sally. I'm asking about interesting men."

  Sally shrugged. "People change. Darn, Sammy's crying again."

  "Sally, how do you do it? I can't even tell which twin is which."

  "You can't?" Sally's stare was incredulous.

  "No. Aren't they identical?"

  Sally giggled. "You're kidding, right?" Meg shook her head while Sally erupted into laughter.

  "Why? What's funny?"

  "I ought to have you ch
ange their diapers. Then you'd know."

  Meg blanched. "Oh, no. Don't tell me I confused--"

  "A boy and a girl. Samuel and Serena." Sally hee-hawed and slapped her leg. "Oh, Meg, thanks. That's the best laugh I've had all week!"

  "I couldn't tell," Meg said defensively. "They look pretty much alike with their diapers on. Besides, when you told me their names were Sammy and Serena, I assumed Sammy was short for Samantha."

  "Meg, you're hopeless. They're not at all alike. Samuel is smaller than his sister and Serena has more hair."

  Meg examined the infants. "I told you I don't know anything about babies, but now that you mention it . . ." She pointed. "Serena?"

  "See? It's not so tough."

  "It is," Meg answered. "It is tough. I'm surprised you're not a basket case. Honestly, I don't know how you do it."

  Sally sobered. "It's what I wanted, Meg. You know that. All through school you had your college applications and your dreams of a career. All I ever wanted was a home and family."

  "I'll bet you didn't expect to have them all at once!"

  Sally laughed derisively. "Oh, no! That isn't the way we planned it, but when does anything ever go as planned?" She shifted her position and picked up Serena, who was whimpering again. "Speaking of plans, the town's having the usual Fourth of July picnic. With Frank here, maybe the three of us can manage. What do you think?"

  "The town picnic, huh? What are they raising funds for this year?"

  Sally tilted her chin. "How did you know?"

  "They're always raising funds for something."

  "A water tanker for the volunteer fire department. The Connors' mobile home burned last winter. Trucks came from Holbrook, but all they could do was spread a little water on the ashes."

  "I'm surprised they're not raising funds for the Connors."

  Sally rolled her eyes. "We did that months ago. Then Father Muldowney and Reverend Phelps organized the parish and the church to do a house-raising. The Connors have a nicer place now than they did before the fire."