She coughed in disbelief, in indignation. Her parents had married young, just after their first year of college, but that was different than a shotgun wedding. “It’s not the truth. I can prove it. I just went through a box of my grandparents’ memorabilia, including one of my parents’ wedding invitations.”
Landon shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just forget I mentioned it.”
Little chance of that. She stood, marched into the hallway, and gingerly fished a blue album out of one of the boxes stacked there. She returned to the living room with the album. “My grandfather never forgave my mother for not wanting to live on the ranch, and so he considered my parents’ marriage some sort of tragedy.” Handling the book with bandaged hands wasn’t easy. She flipped through it with her fingertips. “I turned twenty-two in January, and my parents will have their twenty-fourth anniversary this June.”
She found the invite and triumphantly flounced over to Landon to show him. “See, this June will be…” She stopped because she’d just done the math. According to the date on the invitation, it would be their twenty third anniversary. And then she did the rest of the math. June fourteenth to January seventh was a week shy of seven months.
That couldn’t be right. She recounted. Still seven months. A high-pitched squeak escaped her throat.
“I’m really sorry,” Landon murmured. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known—are you okay?”
“Yes,” she managed. She could have come premature. Only, she’d weighed seven pounds and that didn’t seem like a preemie weight.
Landon’s eyes went wide with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
Her parents had told her they hadn’t waited to have a family because they knew they had infertility issues. Shouldn’t they have told her the truth at some point? She’d thought she had known them. Now the world seemed like it had shifted and was off center. The album slipped from Kate’s hands and crashed onto the floor, pages fluttering like the wings of downed bird.
She hadn’t seen Landon get off the couch, but he was beside her, taking hold of her elbow. “You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine.” People received worse news than this all the time. However she’d arrived, her parents loved her. They were still together. “I’m…”
The word sounded disconnected, as though spoken by someone else far away. Her vision was starting to go dark around the edges. She reallywasgoing to faint. This was so uncalled for. So tacky.
Her legs went limp and the room tilted. Before she sunk to the floor, Landon grabbed hold of her. He lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing and laid her on the couch. The room slowly jumbled back into place.
Landon leaned over her, watching her with his snowflake speckled eyes. “Kitty?”
Kitty. Her Arizona name. The version of herself that rode horseback under a wide-open sky.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her vision was normal again. She just felt lightheaded. And maybe breathless because he was so close.
She shifted to sit. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Rest for a few minutes.” He sat on the edge of the couch, probably to make sure she didn’t try to get up again.
Fine. She lay back down. She felt so stupid, like some antebellum Southern belle who wilted at bad news. “I don’t know why they didn’t tell me.”
Landon’s gaze flicked over her. “Maybe they were afraid you wouldn’t take it well.” The man knew how to deliver an understatement.
“I’ve never fainted before. This was… I don’t know what this was.”
“Are you diabetic? Hypoglycemic?”
“No.”
“Did you keep hydrated while you were out shoveling in the sun?”
The smell and the flies had stifled any desire to eat or drink. “Oh. I guess not.”
He nodded. “That probably had a lot to do with it, then. I’ll get you some water.” He stood and headed into the kitchen.
Kate had meant to get some water when she’d come inside, but she’d been in a hurry to shower and dress. “The glasses are in the…” Maybe she still wasn’t thinking clearly. She’d forgotten where the glasses were. As she pictured the cabinets, her only thought was that they really needed to be painted. They were ugly orange oak, an unfortunate style from the nineties.
Sooner than expected, Landon returned with a large glass. “You found them,” she said.
“This isn’t my first time in your kitchen. Your grandmother fed me nearly every time I was over.” He handed her the glass, opened a drawer in the coffee table, and pulled out a box of Thin Mints. “Cal always kept a stash in here. These will get your blood sugar up.”
Landon knew where her grandfather kept treats. They really had been close. Kate hadn’t even bothered checking the drawers of the coffee table to see if anything was inside. She took a long drink and then ate one of the cookies. Mint and chocolate. One of the tastes of her childhood.