by Carly Bloom
“No,” JD said, adjusting his hat on his head. Once, twice, three times. He jerked his chin at Travis. “I guess you’re pretty surprised.”
Travis wiped his greasy chin and fingers on a napkin—motherfucking excellent onion rings—and took a sip of iced tea because he hadn’t had the foresight to order a beer. “Not really.”
JD’s mouth fell open and he raised the rim of his Stetson. His eyebrows rose in incredulity. “You aren’t?”
“Nah. You can’t keep a secret in Big V.”
“It’s the pressed Wranglers, right?” Gabriel said with a grin. “With the seam down the front?”
“There’ve been a few rumors going around,” Travis said.
JD looked downright incensed. “About me?”
“Who else? People have been saying you’re seeing someone in Austin. We just didn’t know who.”
JD grunted. “Well, just wait until they find out.”
“I’m not going to tell them,” Travis said. And he meant it. He wasn’t even going to tell Maggie, although he sure wished JD would.
“Have you two known each other a long time?” Gabriel asked.
“I went to school with him and his brother, Scott.”
“Is Scott still in Big Verde, too?”
“Scott’s in prison,” JD said.
It irked Travis just a little that JD blurted that out. But maybe he wanted to share somebody’s secret, too.
“Oh, wow,” Gabriel said. “That’s rough.”
“Actually, he’s out,” Travis said. “Mrs. Garza just called and said he came by the ranch.”
JD leaned forward in his seat. All his embarrassment and misery seemed to fade away as he said, “Did he see Henry?”
JD cared about Henry. Shit, it seemed the whole motherfucking town cared about Henry. It was his home. Maybe the crazy ideas creeping into Travis’s head about turning Happy Trails into a real ranch—one that earned money—weren’t so crazy. Something inside him shifted. It didn’t quite settle yet, but it had definitely shifted.
“Travis, did you hear me?” JD asked. “Did he see Henry?”
“No. But he’ll be back. Jesus, I hope he doesn’t want to stay at the house.”
“Who’s Henry?” Gabriel asked.
“My five-year-old nephew.”
“Your brother is the boy’s father?” Gabriel asked.
Travis nodded.
“And where’s the mom? Out of the picture?”
“You could say that,” Travis said. “She died earlier this year. Cancer.”
“That’s too bad,” Gabriel said. “My condolences.”
“Anyway, I’m Henry’s only family, other than Scott. And I think I’d like to…” He swallowed, knowing the words he wanted to say but fearing the reality of giving them form. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to adopt Henry. That is, if Scott goes through with giving up his parental rights.”
There. He’d said it. And the noose that had been tightening around his neck for the past few weeks was finally loosened.
“That’s great news!” JD said. “Really great news, Travis. You and I both know Scott has no business—”
“Are you sure your brother will relinquish his rights?” Gabriel asked.
“Scott doesn’t want Henry,” JD said. “He’s a selfish bastard. Everybody in Big Verde knows that.”
Travis agreed. “And even if he didn’t want to give Henry up, wouldn’t the courts see that I’m the better choice?”
“That would depend on a lot of things. But the state of Texas generally tries to reunite families. Scott is the biological father, so as long as he makes a good faith effort to turn himself around and live by the rules—”
Travis snorted. “He can’t.”
“Still. If he wants his son, it won’t be an easy termination,” Gabriel said.
A throbbing pain began building behind Travis’s eyeballs. He didn’t like the thought of Henry caught up in anything messy. “I think I might need a lawyer.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” Gabriel replied. He pulled out a card and set it on the table next to a ketchup-smeared napkin. “I practice family law.”
Travis took the card with gratitude. “Thanks, man. I might take you up on it. I don’t have a lot of money right now—”
“Let’s not talk about that. You’re a friend of JD’s. I’ll do whatever I can to help you and Henry.”
Relief washed over him. A month ago, it had been him and Henry against the world. Now he had friends and people who felt like family.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maggie sat awkwardly on Alice’s sofa, watching as everyone took dainty bites out of the brownies. Something was wrong. You shouldn’t look like you had a cockroach in your mouth when eating a brownie.
“Mm,” said Alice. “Yummy.”
If it was so yummy, why did Alice look like she was suffering from a leg cramp?
“I’ll just save the rest for later,” she said, setting her plate on the coffee table.
Claire raised her eyebrows at Maggie. What the heck did you do to the brownies?
Maggie shrugged. She’d followed the recipe. Maybe she’d been a bit distracted because she’d been wearing an old frilly apron of Honey’s and nothing else.
She picked up a brownie. It looked perfectly fine. She sniffed it. It smelled fine, too. She took a small bite, and her taste buds seized. Her salivary glands gushed in an attempt to wash out the offending foreign object. Maggie shuddered, looking for a place to spit.
“Here,” Claire said, holding out a napkin just as a string of chocolate drool escaped Maggie’s mouth in a slow descent toward Alice’s carpet. Maggie took the napkin and spit the brownie into it.
“Well, now I’m intrigued,” Claire said. “And clearly a glutton for punishment.” She picked up a brownie and took a tiny bite. She managed to keep it in her mouth, but her scrunched-up face said she definitely detected what was wrong.
“God, Maggie. How much salt did you put in these?”
“I think just a spoonful.”
“What kind of a spoon?”
“I don’t know. Just a spoon.”
“A big spoon? Or a teaspoon?”
How was she supposed to know? There were soup spoons, serving spoons, dessert spoons, and teaspoons. Who could keep them all straight? “It was one of the medium-sized spoons, I think.”
“Do you even own measuring spoons? Next time you can bring the wine.”
Maggie was more of a beer girl. And she wasn’t too sure about a next time. So far, book club was like pretzel sticks—salty with very little substance.
Alice brought out glasses of water for everyone, and they guzzled them down like parched shipwreck victims on a desert island.
“Maggie, we’re just so glad you’re here,” Alice said. “All you ever need to worry about bringing is yourself. But if you want to practice your cooking or baking skills, the Big Verde Book Club is happy to be your guinea pigs.”
“Here, here,” Claire said, raising her empty water glass.
Maggie laughed. There was nothing but kindness in the smiles of everyone in the room, except for maybe Anna, but kindness wasn’t her strong suit, and she was at least looking pleasant. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.
“You know, I once used baking soda when it called for baking powder,” Alice said, blushing. “I took the cookies to the library’s Christmas party and they tasted like copper. At the end of the evening, paper plates were scattered about, and the only thing on any of them were my cookies, each with a single bite taken.”
“I put chili powder instead of cinnamon on the toast at Sammie’s tea party,” Trista said, rubbing her pregnant belly and bouncing a toddler on her hip. “Bubba ate it, of course. But the little girls, not so much.”
“Oh, goodness,” Miss Mills said, fanning herself with her daily devotional. “I still remember the first time I baked a buttermilk pie. The custard didn’t set, and when I cut into it at the church potluck, it was a runny mess. I man
aged to sneak it into the trash when nobody was looking.”
“You make delicious pies now,” Alice said.
“Practice makes perfect. I had a particular young man in mind when I baked that buttermilk pie.”
Maggie wondered if she’d baked it while wearing only an apron and thinking about being pushed up against the counter and ravished by a man in a wolf mask.
Miss Mills let out a long, ragged sigh. “It broke my heart that he didn’t eat my pie that night.”
“Yeah, I bet,” said Maggie, avoiding eye contact with Claire, because that would be disastrous.
“That’s what bakeries are for,” Anna quipped. “I’ve never baked a pie in my life. But I set the kitchen on fire once when I tried to fry an egg.”
Soon all the women were telling stories about their culinary catastrophes. It escalated into a weird competition between Alice’s burned lemon bars, Claire’s twenty-five-pound frozen turkey, Miss Mills’s cornbread full of weevils, and Trista’s chicken and dumplings dripping from the ceiling.
Alice finally stood and spoke above the din, “Would everyone like to begin a discussion of the book now?”
One by one the ladies regained their senses, took their seats, and picked up their copies of the latest in literary porn. Claire leaned over to Miss Mills. “If you sat this one out, everyone would understand.”
Miss Mills set her devotional down on the coffee table and dug in her bag. “Goodness, no. I never fail to complete a reading assignment.” She pulled out a ragged and well-read copy of Bound and Determined. Post-it flags popped out from between every other page.
Somebody had done some deep, reflective studying.
“I really found myself identifying with the heroine,” she said. “Sometimes you just want to let everything go—all of the trials of life and infinite worry with decisions.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Alice recovered her voice first. “I guess it’s a let go and let God type of thing, isn’t it?”
Well, hell. It was going to be extremely disappointing if this discussion strayed from smut to Bible study.
Miss Mills looked at Alice as if she’d grown a second head. “Oh, goodness, no! Let’s not bring the dear sweet Lord into this. And I don’t approve of the premarital sex in this book. Not at all. And there was just so much of it. Nine sex scenes total, eleven if you count oral only.”
There was a pause while everyone let that sink in. Then Trista said, “But who’s counting?”
A few giggles here and there turned into howling laughter pretty quickly, and Alice had to fight to regain control. “I think Miss Mills is probably referring to letting the story’s hero, Ethan Manning, take control with that paddle he loves so much.”
Miss Mills picked her devotional back up and commenced fanning. “Ethan reminds me of Mr. Barret Hymes. Do you girls remember him? He taught sixth grade when I worked as a secretary at the school.”
A general murmur went through the group. Who could forget Mr. Hymes? He was the meanest teacher Big Verde Middle School had ever seen or would likely ever see again. And he’d dressed like an undertaker.
Anna shuddered. “I was terrified of him in school. What in the world could he possibly have in common with our hot, sexy Ethan?”
“He had that paddle hanging by the door, didn’t he?” Miss Mills asked. “I used to think about it sometimes.”
It took another few seconds for Alice to get everyone settled down. She was like a referee. “Miss Mills, you never cease to surprise us.”
“Don’t think I’ve joined the ranks of those for whom fornication is the sin of choice. And I didn’t choose this book, remember?”
“I’m sure Jesus understands,” Alice said.
“I admit to enjoying the occasional spanking,” Trista said out of the blue. “Once the kids are in bed, of course.”
“Really?” Alice asked, eyes round. “I think I might have a problem with it in real life. And I hate to see women submit to men.”
“Who said I was the one getting the spanking?”
“Bubba lets you spank him?” Claire squealed. “You realize we’re all imagining it now. And that we can’t unsee it?”
“Sometimes he’s a bad boy,” Trista said with a shrug and a wink.
“Goodness,” Alice said. “I just didn’t know that sort of thing went on here in Big Verde. Spanking, sexting—”
Anna perked up. “Sexting? Who’s sexting?”
What the actual heck? Was Alice about to spill the beans?
“Yes,” Alice said with a grin. “You might want to ask Maggie about it.”
Shock must have shown on Maggie’s face, because Alice immediately began apologizing.
“Oops. I’m sorry. I got carried away with the conversation and wasn’t think—”
“Who on earth are you sexting?” Trista asked. She was clearly surprised that anybody would be sexting Maggie. “I mean, it’s a man, right?”
“Not everyone with short hair is a lesbian,” Maggie said. “And no, Trista. It’s a cat. I’m sexting a cat.”
“I’m not sure that’s legal,” Miss Mills said.
Anna had a fork of pea salad halfway to her mouth, but she set it back down on her plate. “I’m sure Maggie is sexting with a big, handsome hunk of a man. Am I right, Maggie?” Anna wore a sly grin that made Maggie distinctly uncomfortable. But that was the only kind of grin Anna ever wore.
“If you all must know, yes.”
“Oh! Maggie has a suitor,” Miss Mills happily exclaimed.
“And it’s not a cat,” Claire added helpfully. “He’s distinctly more canine.”
Anna’s eyes narrowed as if she were connecting dots. The chance that Anna knew the wolf—he’d been at her party—both excited and terrified Maggie. Sometimes she forgot to think of him as a real person. Like, the Big Bad Wolf had a name. And a car or truck. Friends. And Anna might know all those things about him. It felt weird.
“It’s just a guy and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What’s his name?” Trista asked.
“She doesn’t know,” Claire said.
Maggie shot Claire the evil eye and then risked a nervous glance at Anna, who’d set her plate on the coffee table and was dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“You don’t know his name? What if he’s a serial killer?” Miss Mills asked.
“He’s not a serial killer. But he wishes to remain anonymous. And so do I for that matter.” Another glance at Anna.
Anna cleared her throat. “I recently received a very dirty text,” she said.
“From who?” Claire asked.
“It was a wrong number,” Anna said.
“How odd,” Alice replied.
“It was hot, though. He sounded like a Big Bad…”
Maggie’s breath caught in her throat.
“Dom,” Anna finished. “A big, bad dom. Which reminds me, let’s get back to this book.”
Maggie pulled her library copy of Bound and Determined out of her bag. A vague hint of unease hovered about, but she swatted it away by taking two big gulps of sweet wine fresh from a box. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand as Alice asked the group if they could all relate to the heroine’s desire to relinquish control.
Maybe she just had something in her eye, but Maggie could swear Anna winked at her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Travis slammed the truck door and stared at the windows of Maggie’s little house. They glowed with a warm yellow hue. Pop blazed through his doggy door, yapping hysterically. But he stopped and wagged his stub tail when he saw Travis, who leaned over and patted the French bulldog. “Nobody’s sneaking up on Miss Mary Margaret while you’re on the job, huh, fella?”
Travis straightened, looked around, and realized his truck was the only vehicle here except for Maggie’s Jeep. Where was everybody else? He wasn’t especially early. Maybe they were just running late.
“Let me out,” Henry whined.
> Travis reached in and unbuckled him, and Henry hopped down and began rolling around in the grass with Pop. “Don’t get dirty,” Travis said absentmindedly. “You’re already in your pajamas.” So was he. He’d stopped by Walmart and picked up a pair of Spurs pajama bottoms, which he’d paired with a black T-shirt. Henry was over the moon about the pajama party scenario.
He grabbed the bag of organic chicken nuggets he’d picked up at the burger joint and started for the porch. Henry wouldn’t eat wings, but he’d do nuggets.
“Can I give a nugget to Pop?” Henry asked.
“You’ll have to ask Maggie. He’s her mutt.”
“Kind of like Maggie asks you before she’ll give me anything sweet,” Henry said.
“Yeah. Because you’re my mutt.”
Henry laughed and dropped to all fours, yapping like a puppy.
“Get up. You’re getting dirty.”
“I don’t care.” Henry began digging a hole with his hands, tossing the dirt between his legs.
Travis bent over and scooped him up, then carried him to Maggie’s screened-in back porch. Maggie opened the door and Pop jumped up and licked Henry on the nose. Henry dissolved into a fit of laughter. Travis set him down and held out the paper bag. “I brought some chicken nuggets to go along with Bubba’s wings.”
She stood back and held the door open. “Bubba’s not coming. Neither is Claire or JD.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s see. JD says he has a headache. Claire is washing her hair. And Bubba says he has to watch some paint dry.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. I suspect they’re at Tony’s gossiping about us.”
Henry began running around on all fours, yapping and growling. The kid really knew how to make an awkward situation even worse.
“We can leave,” Travis said.
“Why would you do that? You’ve already missed the first quarter. Come on in.”
Henry upped the yapping to full-blown barking.
“Sorry, Henry. I don’t have room for another dog in this house, so you’d better turn back into a boy.”
“I don’t know how. I’m a dog forever now.” To prove it, he started to howl. Pop tilted his head to the side as if witnessing a freak show.