slung a white bag over her shoulder and ran down her porch steps and got in the truck. Her shining dark brown hair was tied in a neat knot, and her blue eyes were the color of the summer sky, as she put on dark glasses that Kate suspected cost more than the bag on her shoulder. Gemma always looked fabulous and spent a fortune to do it, which was part of why she was in debt now.
Kate was wearing jeans and a plaid work shirt. She’d ridden for two hours that morning with Thad, while they talked ranch business and checked the livestock. She had on battered cowboy boots she’d had for at least fifteen years, and one of her father’s straw Stetsons she’d grabbed from a peg in the barn, since she’d forgotten her own at home.
“Do we look like stereotypes or what?” Gemma laughed, looking them both over. “The cowgirl and the Hollywood slut.”
“Not slut, ‘star,’ ” Kate corrected her. “Can I have your autograph?”
“I charge for that nowadays,” Gemma said, as they both saw Caroline run out of her house, waving her arms. She was wearing a denim skirt and espadrilles and a crisp white shirt. Kate stopped the truck to talk to her.
“Something wrong?”
“No, I decided to come. Thad said he’d watch the kids,” she said, as she opened the door and hopped into the backseat of the truck. Kate and Gemma exchanged a glance and didn’t comment. They were both trying not to smile. But at least Caroline had come out of hiding to get a glimpse of their mother. Gemma was amused to see that she looked like the suburban housewife she was, all prim and proper and squeaky clean, with her blond hair in a ponytail. Kate was wearing her hair in the familiar braid down her back, so it didn’t get in her way.
Kate turned the radio on to ease the tension. She chose a country music station, and Gemma flipped the dial to rap. Caroline groaned from the backseat.
“God, Gemma, you’re as bad as my kids. They listen to that crap all the time. Peter yells at me about it, but I can’t stop them. It’s all kids listen to these days.” Gemma mimicked it and knew the words to the song, and did such a good imitation of it that she had them laughing for the next several songs, as she got more and more outrageous, and then turned the music down. It had helped to relax all three of them. Gemma was a born clown.
When they got to Santa Barbara, they took the Montecito exit, which was the posh part of Santa Barbara where the expensive homes were, and some very famous people lived. Hollywood types who bought houses in Santa Barbara usually lived there.
“Shit, I hope she’s rich,” Gemma said to break the tension. “Maybe we can blackmail her or something. I wonder if she has a husband and other kids who don’t know about us.”
“We weren’t illegitimate, for heaven’s sake,” Caroline said to her. “We’re not like those people who show up on someone’s doorstep and say ‘Hi, I’m your daughter. You gave me away when you were fourteen. Remember me?’ And then the mother drops dead from the shock, right after the husband says ‘Who’s that, honey?’ ” Her sisters grinned. All three of them were nervous, and had no idea what they were getting into, whether they’d even see her, or what kind of reception they’d get if they did. She might refuse to speak to them, throw them out, or call the police. “Maybe she has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t remember us,” Caroline offered as an alternative. Kate slowed the truck. They were on a street of handsome homes, not the fanciest in Montecito, but pretty houses of human scale, the right size for a family, with neat landscaping and attractive gardens. Then she stopped.
“That’s the house.” Kate pointed. It was a medium sized, fairly elegant traditional house, with a flower garden in front and well-trimmed hedges. It was attractive and well kept. It looked like proper people of comfortable means lived there.
“Now what do we do?” Gemma whispered, as though their mother could hear them if they talked too loud.
“I don’t know,” Kate answered. “Do you want to sit here for a while and see if someone comes out?” She hadn’t formulated a plan for what to do when they got there. All her energies had been focused on finding the address, which