by Laura Drake
Tears rush to my eyes. “What? What did you say, baby?”
“Mamamamamama.” She gazes up at me. Her eyes have lightened a bit over the past several weeks.
I clasp her to me, trying not to squish too hard, but I want to love the stuffing right out of her. She may not know what she’s saying, but I don’t care. Wetness traces down my cheek. “Yes, I’m your momma. When you can understand, I’ll tell you about your other momma.” I take a few waltz steps across the floor and twirl, pulling a giggle from her. “Then, when you’re old enough, I’ll teach you to dance. Ballet, tap, whatever you like.” We dance, around and around the corners of the room. I wonder if Reese can dance. Probably not, being raised on a remote ranch.
Well, that was judgmental, and I’d be mad if he made assumptions about me. I’ve got to work on that.
I dip Sawyer, and her little fingers clutch my shirt. “And then, when some handsome guy comes to take you out, you’ll know how.” I spin. “You’ll show all those girls how it’s done.”
I didn’t get my dream to dance, but maybe Sawyer will like it. Though I’m not going to be one of those mothers trying to push their daughters into their mold. Whatever Sawyer wants is fine by me.
And if it’s something expensive, I’m sure her uncle will step up to pay for it. I suddenly realize I’m imagining him in her life long-term. When did that happen? As I look at my daughter’s face, that doesn’t rankle quite as much as it used to. I want the best for her. And so does he. That much I’m sure of.
I dip her again, and she squeals.
“Okay, enough of that. We’re going to wake up Grandma.” I kiss the hand that’s wrapped around my thumb. “Let’s go get some milk, so we can both sleep, okay?”
* * *
First thing in the morning, I call the staff together for a five-minute confab.
“Guys, I’ve got an errand to run around ten. I should be back before noon, but if I’m later, y’all hold the fort, okay? I could call Carly, but then she’d have to find a sitter, and—”
“Jeez, chick, chill.” Nevada shoves her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “What are we, incompetent?” She cuts her eyes to Sassy, who’s picking her cuticles. “Well, most of us aren’t, anyway.”
Sassy’s head snaps up, but Nevada is looking at me again. “Go. It’s not like you’re indispensable or something.”
“Yeah, we can handle it,” Sassy says. “We can always call in Carly’s nana if we get in trouble.”
I pull in a gasp and choke on my own spit. I bend over, coughing.
Nevada pounds on my back hard enough to leave bruises. “You need the Heimlich? I know the Heimlich.”
Now I’m laughing and coughing at the same time. “No, I’m good.” Carly’s nana is outspoken, and her filter blew out years ago. I take a deep breath and straighten. “Y’all want to look for new jobs, go for it. Nana would drive away business faster than rats in the kitchen and you know it.” I shoo them away. “Back to work. We have hungry people to feed.”
Sassy pushes through the door into the diner, and I turn to see Nevada watching me.
“What?”
“You don’t have appointments. I’ve seen you drag in here with walking pneumonia. You okay?” She tips her head.
I know she won’t go all Carly on me. “I’m taking Reese St. James out to Floyd’s to buy a car. You know Floyd; he can judge a man’s wallet by the cut of his clothes. I don’t want him ripping off Reese.”
She nods. “Yeah, because getting ripped off on a car would have him eating PB&J for a month.”
“I—”
“Nope.” She holds up her hands and backs away. “Just pointing out the obvious. No skin off my a—nose.” She turns, puts her earbuds in, and walks to the order wheel.
I head for my office to get my purse, reminding myself not to be swayed by dark, sexy eyes and a whiff of cologne. I take a moment to lock down my hormones, my resolve, and my office, then head for my car.
When I pull in my drive, his plane is at the end of his little runway, shining in the sun. I had just braked to a stop when he steps out the screen door of my house. A spurt of familiar jealousy hits my bloodstream. He’s been hanging with Sawyer, probably for hours. Must be nice to not have to work for a living.
He pulls open Einstein’s door and folds himself into the passenger seat. “Thanks for doing this, Lorelei. I really appreciate you taking the time.”
“How long have you been here?” I try for offhand, but it comes out like an interrogation. He fills the car with his body and that damned cologne. The fit is too tight. He’s too close.
“An hour, and wow, are you right. Sawyer has really learned a lot.” He sighs. “Wish I could watch it happen in real time.”
I back down the drive. His tone is so wistful, I almost feel sorry for him. I only see her for a few hours a day, but he’s not getting anywhere near that. I loosen my jaw. “She is the smartest child on the planet. Did you doubt it?”
“With both our family’s genes? Not for a heartbeat.” He squinches into the door enough to turn a bit to face me. “Tell me about your sister.”
I take the two-lane county road that will skirt town and eventually lead to I-40. “She was the star of our family. People say, ‘So-and-so lit up a room,’ but Patsy really did.” My face relaxes into a smile. “Everyone loved her. I think the word is ‘charisma.’ In high school she was voted most likely to make it in Hollywood.”
“She was beautiful, then?”
The road wanders through arroyos and small hills, and I have to watch for critters. It takes me a moment to put my thoughts to words. “Not in the classic sense. She was pretty, but it wasn’t her face—it was as if her joy were glitter and a little bit rubbed off on you just by being around her.” I shake my head. “That sounds silly to say, but that’s as close as I can come to explaining it.”
“You loved her very much.”
“Of course I did. She was my sister.”
It could be road noise, but I think I heard a soft snort.
“Tell me about Carson. Did you guys have that ‘twin’ thing everybody talks about?”
Now I know it wasn’t road noise, because he does it again.
“We were pretty much opposites. I had less insight into how Carson thought than I do Sawyer.”
“What was he like?”
He stares out at the road, flickering with heat shimmers. “He was a carbon copy of my father. All brag, all brave, all bluster. He was the real cowboy of the family.”
“I wonder if he and Patsy were in love, or if they were just together for the baby.”
“One of the guys who rodeoed with Carson came to his funeral. He said those two were mad for each other, and even more crazy about Sawyer. Said he figured they’d have gotten around to getting married eventually.”
I sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I can’t imagine why Carson wasn’t driving.” His voice goes low and tight.
“News flash: women drive now.” I lift my hands off the wheel for a moment to point at it. “I didn’t take you for a chauvinist.”
“I’m not. I just don’t think the accident would have been fatal if he had been driving.”
Fire leaps in my chest. “Are you saying this was Patsy’s fault?”
“No, I’m just saying that a bull rider’s reflexes are better.”
“Because I hardly think a deer can be somebody’s fault. Patsy—”
“Look, as usual, I’ve said the wrong thing, and I didn’t mean to. I was just thinking out loud.”
I huff impatience. “Well, think silently, then. Patsy was not at fault. The police report makes it clear. You want to find someone to blame, find that deer.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
And he looks it. When I hit the button, the windows slide down and fresh, dry air rushes in, cutting his cologne. But it fans the wildfire in my chest. “Don’t you dare think my sister was some kind of bubblehead who chased rodeo cowboys and couldn’t drive worth a lick.”
“Did I say that? I didn’t say that.” His voice is loud over the wind, and a lot chillier. “I do a good enough job putting my foot in my mouth without you trying to shove the other in.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Patsy did have more than one cowboy boyfriend since she was on the circuit, and the only reason she went to high school was to see her friends; her grades just squeaked through. But she wasn’t a buckle chaser, and I’m not going to explain the distinction to him. “I still wonder, though. Why didn’t they tell us about Sawyer?”
“I went through Carson’s things, looking for clues, but there was nothing. Did you do the same with Patsy’s?”
“Wow. I was so busy scrambling to be sure Sawyer wasn’t put in foster care. Then there was the funeral, and…I guess I just forgot to track them down.”
“Maybe there’s something there that will help put your mind at ease.”
It would hurt to see the clothes and everyday things that Patsy fully expected to come back to that night. But if there’s a chance of an answer, I need to try. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with the girl who was babysitting that night.”
We ride in silence until I hang a right at I-40. Floyd’s is only a mile down the road. I pull into the lot and shut Einstein down. I grab my purse and pat the dash.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” The door squeals when I push it open.
“Pat the dash.” He uncoils from the seat, stands, puts his fist in the small of his back, and stretches.
“With an old car, you have to appreciate the effort.”
One of his brows goes up.
“Hey, you buy an old enough car here, you’ll see what I mean.” Not much chance of that; I’ll bet he’s never bought an old car in his life.
“Well, if it isn’t Miz Lorelei.” Floyd saunters up, his pointy rattlesnake-skin cowboy boots clicking on the hot asphalt. “And…haven’t had the pleasure, sir.”
He knows danged well who this is. “Floyd, this is Reese St. James.”
Floyd puts out a meaty hand, and Reese’s disappears in it. “Pleased to meet’cha.”
Reese looks a bit…surprised. Between Floyd’s belly, his big hat, and his bravado, he can be a bit much to absorb all at once.
“Reese is looking for a used car.”
“Well, you came to the right place, sure as God made little road apples, I promise you that,” he booms, looking Reese up and down. “Country gentleman like yourself, you’re gonna want you a truck. I’ve got a few you’ll like the look of, right over thisaway.”
I put a hand to my temple. “Floyd, please, dial back on the country bumpkin a bit, will you? You’re giving me a headache.”
Reese laughs. “Lead on, Opie.”
I chuckle under my breath.
Floyd leads us to the back row, populated only by trucks. “You timed this right. Got a shipment in just yesterday. Hardly had time to wash ’em.” He parades in front of a mishmash of pickups. “We got everything from little quarter-pounders to quarter-ton. We got almost new to um…classics.” He stops in front of a massive black truck that’s jacked up so high the hood is taller than my head. “Now, this would suit a man of your stature.”
Reese looks at me with a raised eyebrow and that cute half smile.
I blurt, “I always thought men who bought huge trucks were making up for small—er—equipment.”
Reese’s brows shoot up, and he lets out a long, loud laugh.
Seeing Floyd’s red face, I remember he drives a truck that could be this one’s brother.
I slap a hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“Sorry…”
“Well, that sure won’t do, then, will it?” Reese strides down the aisle, lingering here and there, and Floyd follows, chattering like a squirrel on Red Bull.
God, it’s hot out here on the asphalt. I swipe a runnel of sweat from my temple, and I’m blinded by a laser of light reflecting off a bumper. I stop in front of a gold Chevy Silverado King Cab. The price on the neon poster board in the window would make me flinch, but this isn’t for me. “Hey, Reese, what do you think of this one?”
They walk back my way.
“Oh, you’ve got an eye for trucks, Lorelei. That’s a good ’un,” Floyd says. “A pick of the litter, really.”
Reese looks it over. “I like the color.” He walks around it. “What year is it?”
“It’s a 2006, but it’s got low mileage. It belonged to—”
“Don’t even try to tell us an old lady only drove it to church on Sundays.” I put a hand on my hip.
He tips the hat back on his head. “Y’all aren’t going to believe this, but the previous owner was Reverend Dooley, of the First Baptist. And he did drive it to church on Sundays.” He grins like it’s the truth.
“For real?” I squint at him, but trying to read a used-car salesman’s face? Easier to read a coyote’s.
He sweeps off his hat and lays it over his heart. “I swear. Got his name on the title in the office, if you want to see it.”
Reese walks over and opens the hood. He spends several minutes looking and tapping and shaking things in there.
I lean over and whisper, “Good idea—make Floyd think you know something about engines. He’s not acting nervous, but he’s a pretty good horse trader.”
Reese turns his head, and his lopsided smile is close. Too close. I straighten a bit.
“I do know engines. I could pull, overhaul, and reinstall this puppy in two days. Less, if you’d help me.” He drops the hood. “Our ranch is twenty miles from a dealer, and most times, stuff breaks down a long way from the house. I got to where I could fix just about anything with baling wire and bubble gum.”
Wow. That’ll teach me to assume. “You’re starting to sound more like a mechanic than a cowboy.”
He winks. “Cowboys are the fathers of invention, darlin’,” he drawls in an imitation of Floyd’s sales pitch.
Floyd mops his face with a red kerchief. “Hop in and check out the mileage.”
“Come on.” Reese strides for the driver’s side.
I open the passenger door, and stale heat smacks me in the face. I climb up, leaving the door open for whatever cross breeze might wander by.
“He’s right. Only 60K on the odometer.” Reese’s head swivels. “And neat as a pin. What do you think? Worth a test-drive?”
“If only for the air-conditioning.”
He leans out the window. “Got keys for this thing?”
Floyd takes off his hat and wipes sweat. “Under the floor mat.”
Reese mutters, “Yeah, because a thief would never think to look there.” He bends and comes up with a key.
His cologne in this heat shoots to my head…and down to the south forty. God, he smells good enough to eat.
He shoves the key in and cranks it. The engine roars, then settles to a purr.
I roll down the window while he plays with the AC knobs.
“Take her for a spin,” Floyd says, backing up. “You’re gonna like ’er.”
Reese eases the truck out of the space and rolls to the edge of the highway, looks both ways, then floors it. He cuts left and the truck fishtails, then lines out.
“Whoop! He’s got some guts under the hood.”
My heart climbs into my throat, looking for a safe place in case of a wreck. “Slow down!”
“Why?” He looks over at me with a huge grin. We must be going eighty.
“We are the last survivors to see that Sawyer gets raised, you idiot,” I yell so he’ll hear me over the wind.
His grin melts and his foot comes off the floorboard. “Oh yeah, sorry.” He holds his hand in front of the vent. “The AC works, anyway. I think you can roll your window up.” He gives me an apologetic look and places his hands at ten and two on the wheel. We’ve slowed to two miles below the speed limit.
I feel bad, yelling like a fishmonger. “You called this thing a ‘he.’ I thought all guys had female vehicle
s.”
“Depends on the vehicle. This here is a guy.” He pats the dash. “What would you name him?”
“You going to buy it?”
“If Floyd replaces all the fluids and the belts and takes five hundred off the price.”
Another assumption I was wrong about. I needn’t have worried that Floyd was going to rip him off. I think for a minute. “Murphy.”
“Seriously?” The smile is back.
“Yeah, I’d call it the Murphinator.”
He laughs. “You’re funny.”
“Hey, it’s not as good as Einstein, but you can’t have everything.”
“Why don’t you look and see if there’s anything you like on the lot.” He hesitates. “It’s about time you retired Einstein, don’t you think?”
I suck in a breath to let him have it.
“I mean, you have Sawyer now, and that little roller skate of yours wouldn’t stand a chance in a collision with the big trucks around here.” He looks both ways, and finding the road empty, pulls a U-turn and heads back to Floyd’s.
I deflate on my exhale. “I’ve thought of that. But a new roof on the house comes first. I’m really careful—”
“Lorelei.” His hand crosses the expanse of seat coming to rest on mine. “Why don’t you let me loan you—”
“You don’t know me better than that by now?” I pull my hand from under his. “Why do we have to keep having this discussion?”
“Because the money won’t mean anything to me, and it’ll keep you safe—you and Sawyer.”
His look is so warm and sincere, my anger turns to a warm puddle of goo in my chest like fudge before it sets. His eyes are brown, but not the usual cow-patty brown. They have golden flecks, and…I jerk my head to look out the window. “I know you mean well. And thank you for the offer. But I can’t borrow money that I don’t know how or when I can repay.” I tuck stray hair from my ponytail behind my ear. “Fish has offered to do the labor, which will help a ton, but—”
“A fish is going to reroof your house? A bit out of his element, no?” He lifts an eyebrow and one corner of his lips.
“No, you doofus. Fish is our former cook at the diner and our current cook Nevada’s boyfriend. Joseph Fishing Eagle King.”