Texas on My Mind

by Delores Fossen

  “I’ve got something for my favorite boy,” Livvy announced. She set him back down on the porch and plucked a silver toy car from her cleavage.

  Another squeal from Ethan. Another laugh. God, he was such an easy kid to please. Despite the car stash he already had on the porch and in the house, he obviously thought this one was special.

  “And this is for you, Claire. I stopped at the grocery store for this.” Livvy held up a bottle of wine, the sweet, cheap stuff they both favored. She gathered Claire into her arms, smacked a kiss on her cheek and added in a whisper, “These two saw me in town, and I wasn’t able to shake them.”

  Of course, Livvy didn’t actually whisper it softly enough for Daniel and Trisha not to hear her. Which was probably Livvy’s intent all along. She played a little passive-aggressive with people she didn’t like.

  “Claire,” Trisha said, obviously taking Livvy’s cue and hugged Claire, too. She looked as if she were about to head off to a photo shoot for Chanel number whatever. Smelled like it, too. “We came to check on you. To make sure you weren’t wallowing in your grief.”

  “No wallowing,” Claire assured her, sounding as genuine in her response as Trisha had been with the comment.

  No genuineness whatsoever.

  Daniel stayed back, waiting his turn, and when Trisha stepped away, he moved in for his own hug. “Good to see you, baby,” he said in a real whisper, and he went in for a kiss. Not a cheek smacker like Livvy, but the real thing.

  Claire felt her muscles go stiff. Felt that knot in her stomach tighten. Nerves, she assured herself. Not repulsion.

  Daniel stepped back, taking in everything with a sweeping glance. Her shorts and top. Bare feet. Ethan’s car menagerie. The boxes she’d been sorting through. The bits of wallpaper stuck to her hair and face.

  “I thought you’d be further along in clearing out this stuff,” he commented.

  Daniel started a lot of sentences with those three words, including the contraction—I thought you’d. Anything that came after that would almost certainly be a drawled dressing-down that he would then punctuate with a smile.

  Right on cue, he smiled.

  Livvy wasn’t the only one who liked to play the passive-aggressive game.

  “I’m making progress,” she assured him though it didn’t look like it at the moment.

  This latest round of boxes was mostly paper—more calendars, magazines and old bills. Claire had put some rocks and terracotta pots with dead plants on top of the various piles to keep the wind from blowing anything away.

  “Did you find the letter?” Livvy asked. She had plopped herself down on the porch with Ethan and the cars and didn’t seem to notice the way her question snagged Trisha’s and Daniel’s attention.

  “What letter?” the pair asked in unison.

  Claire had to shrug. “It was just something Gran mentioned on a calendar. But she never gave me a letter.” She waited to see if either of them knew anything about it, but Trisha had moved on to checking her phone and Daniel was more interested in observing her half-up, half-down ponytail.

  “I thought you’d have called me by now,” he said. The smile came just as the now was slipping from his mouth.

  The mess on her porch actually came in handy. “I’ve been busy.”

  He made a sound that could have meant anything and picked up the folder beneath the pot holding a dead spider plant.

  “How’s Ethan doing with the Little Genius kits?” Since Daniel had been the one to recommend them, he clearly had an interest in them.

  Claire made a so-so motion with her hand.

  “Maybe I can give it a try. Sometimes boys respond better to a man’s voice.”

  She would have liked to challenge that, but Daniel did do a lot of reading about child development. More than she did.

  Daniel took the picture on top, van Gogh’s Starry Night, and he held it up. “Ethan?” Of course, he had to repeat it because Ethan was bashing his new car into the old ones. By the time he’d said Ethan’s name four times, Daniel’s voice was more of a bark.

  “Remember the FUN! part of this,” Claire mumbled to herself.

  Ethan finally realized he was being summoned and looked at the picture. “Money!” he yelled.

  “He means Monet,” Claire translated.

  “No.” Daniel drew that out a few syllables, probably not nearly as frustrated with Ethan as he was with not proving the point about that whole male-voice thing. “Try again.”

  “Riley!” Ethan shouted. And no Ri-wee, either. This was very, very clear.

  Trisha and Daniel turned to her so fast that Claire heard necks pop. “Riley’s been working with him on these?” Daniel’s question sounded a lot like a jealous accusation.

  Which it probably was.

  “Of course not,” Claire answered. “Riley’s recovering from his injury. He doesn’t have time to play with Ethan.”

  Daniel looked at her as if he expected her nose to start growing. But it wasn’t a lie. It’d been three days since Riley’s visit, and he certainly hadn’t played with Ethan then. Riley had fixed Ethan’s car and then left looking as if he was about to collapse from the pain.

  “Give me that.” Livvy craned her long, lithe body up enough to snatch the picture from Daniel. She didn’t even have to say Ethan’s name to get his attention. “Okay, see this.” She held up the toy van.

  Claire nearly confessed that she’d already tried that, but she decided to watch and see how this played out.

  Livvy tugged off one of her shoes, wiggled her toes and put the van right next to all that wiggling.

  “Van Gogh!” Ethan squealed.

  Claire laughed.

  But Daniel huffed. “How does that help him, giving him a clue like that?”

  “Seriously? It helped because he got it right.” Livvy put her shoe back on, plucked another car from her cleavage—a candy-apple-red Mustang—and gave it to Ethan. “Here’s your prize for guessing right.” That brought on more squeals of delight, more giggling.

  More huffing from Daniel.

  And a bitchy look from Trisha. “What else do you have in there?” Trisha tipped her head to Livvy’s boobs.

  “A picnic basket.” Livvy stood and patted Trisha’s arm, and Claire could almost feel the condescension coming. Livvy looked at Trisha’s breasts, which were impressively sized but looked more like fried eggs when compared with Livvy’s. “Maybe you can try growth cream on them or something. Then you’ll have a place for a Lunchable or maybe just some Goldfish crackers.”

  Time for some interference since Trisha was no doubt gearing up her bitchy-response generator. Claire looped her arm around Livvy’s waist. “Livvy and I will get some iced tea.”

  Trisha must have taken that as a call to arms because she followed them, leaving Daniel and Ethan on the porch.

  “Are you falling for Riley again?” Trisha asked the moment they were out of Daniel’s earshot.

  Claire kept moving toward the kitchen. “That’s an are-you-still-beating-your-wife question. Because you’re assuming I’ve fallen for Riley before.”

  Claire had, but that wouldn’t help her win this argument, and if she started losing too much ground, Livvy would step in and try to win the argument for her. It could turn into a catfight. Not an actual one, but there’d be some name-calling and shouting. Something that Claire didn’t want Ethan to hear.

  “Riley won’t be as good with Ethan as Daniel,” Trisha added as if it were gospel.

  And, of course, if Riley was indeed with Ethan and her, then he wouldn’t be with Trisha. That’s really what this was all about, but Trisha skittered out of there before Claire could remind her of that. Trisha probably hurried so she could tell Daniel he needed to watch his back, that he had some competition.

  Livvy unscrewed
the wine bottle, dumped a generous portion into a glass measuring cup that she took from the drying rack in the sink. “You want a side of backbone to go with that slice of milquetoast?”

  Claire didn’t have to ask for clarification. Livvy was talking about Daniel’s and Claire’s reactions, or Claire’s lack of reaction, to each other.

  “I can’t imagine you ever having sex with that guy,” Livvy added.

  Claire skipped a glass and drank right out of the bottle. “Daniel’s really good-looking.”

  “So is that painting by van Gogh. Doesn’t mean it’d be great in bed.” Livvy downed half a glass of the wine in one long swig. “Was he ever a great?”

  “Of course.” Claire had more wine. Figured she’d regret what she was about to say but said it anyway. “If I grade it on a curve.”

  Livvy leaned in and lowered her voice to a real whisper. “Never grade a fuck on a curve, Claire. Never.”

  And with that screensaver-worthy advice, Livvy gave a satisfied nod.

  Probably because Livvy knew she was right. Still, there were other things more important than sex. Like being with a man who hadn’t had a hole blown in his shoulder. A man who would go back for another hole-blowing as soon as he could.

  Gosh, that was a dismal thought. One that ate away at that safety net she’d spent too long building around herself.

  Since it seemed as if Livvy was about to dole out more advice, Claire went on the offensive. “How are things with the albino? Did his pinkeye clear up?”

  Livvy had more wine before she answered. “It didn’t work out. He said my tits were hard as rocks.”

  “They are.” Claire went to the fridge, took out the pitcher of iced tea, a juice box for Ethan and some glasses. “Hugging you comes with risks. I think you inverted one of my nipples once.”

  “Ha-ha. I’m not arguing with you, but he said my tits bruise his chest when I’m on top.”

  That wasn’t an image Claire wanted in her head. Too late. It was already there. “So, you’re not going to see him again?”

  “Nope. I have another date next week. I’ll call you afterwards and tell you all about it. Come on. Give them their tea so they’ll get the hell out of here and we can have a good visit.”

  Livvy helped her with the glasses, and they made their way back to the porch. Trisha and Daniel were having a whispered conversation, but they broke away as if they’d just been caught picking their noses.

  “Is there a problem?” Claire asked.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “I thought you’d want me to correct Ethan. I told him not to keep crashing the cars.” He paused, gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Because it might bring up old memories for you.”

  Maybe it was the rush of sugary wine to her head, but it took Claire a moment to make the connection. He was talking about the accident that’d killed Riley’s parents. “Uh, I know the difference between a toy car crash and a real one.”

  And thankfully Ethan seemed to get that, too, because he kept playing his crashing game, which pretty much shot that theory about boys listening better to men.

  Maybe that’s what put Daniel in such a sour mood, but Claire was betting it had to do with the gossip floating around about Riley’s visit to her place. And the other five-hundred-pound elephant on the porch—gossip about why Ethan looked so much like the man whose name her son loved to squeal. Whatever it was, it caused Daniel to slip his hand in Claire’s and maneuver her to the other end of the porch. Away from the metaphorical elephant. Away from Livvy and Trisha, too.

  Of course, since Livvy and Trisha weren’t actually talking to each other, and the porch was only about ten feet wide, this likely wasn’t going to be a private conversation.

  Or one that she especially wanted to have.

  “Look, Daniel, Riley will be going back soon, so there’s really no need for us to discuss him.” There. She’d gotten that order of backbone after all, and it felt good.

  “I don’t want to talk about Riley. I know you’re not interested in him and haven’t been since high school.”

  Oh, if only that were true.

  Claire didn’t mention that, though.

  “Besides,” Daniel went on, “if he was Ethan’s father, he would have manned up and told me that he’d stabbed me in the back by sleeping with you. Riley’s got a lot of faults, but lying isn’t one of them.”

  And he stood there, clearly waiting. Claire didn’t have to guess what he was waiting for. This was the part where he wanted her to tell him who Ethan’s father was. One way or another, it came up every single time they were together. After a dozen or so interrogations in which she hadn’t confessed, Daniel had let her know that he forgave her for being with another man. Since, after all, they’d been in an off phase at the time it’d happened.

  Claire didn’t confess today, either.

  She wouldn’t.

  Because a confession would only lead to a second confession and an admission that Daniel was not going to want to hear.

  “I thought you’d have made up your mind about us before now,” Daniel went on. Of course, he smiled, but it was brief and strained. “I mean, you know how I feel about you and know I’d love Ethan as my own. I’m good for you. I know what you need.”

  God. Not another proposal, and she didn’t have time to stop it. Daniel took a box from his pocket and dropped it into her hand.

  A box just the right size for an engagement ring. And the right color, too, since it was Tiffany blue. She didn’t have to look at it to know that it would be big and budget breaking.

  “Don’t say anything right now.” Daniel made sure she didn’t by kissing her again.

  “Fudge,” Livvy mumbled.

  Trisha squealed.

  Claire wanted to throw up. That knot in her stomach was now making its way to her throat, and it didn’t ease up even when Daniel broke the kiss and stepped back.

  “I thought you’d have made up your mind by now,” Daniel repeated, “but since you haven’t, I’m giving you one week.”

  Daniel waved to Trisha and Ethan and delivered the rest of his proposal from over his shoulder as he walked away. “Or else.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  GET THE HELL out now!

  The words roared through Riley’s head, but he couldn’t listen to that warning even if he knew gut deep that it was more than just a warning. The only thing that mattered right now was time.

  He had one minute left, and those seconds were ticking off.

  Riley couldn’t see shit. The wall of sand had rolled in, swallowing him up and had erased everything within view at the rescue site.

  Everything but the sounds.

  He could hear the thump of the Pave Hawk’s blades behind him. Could hear the cry for help just ahead.

  His extractions.

  An airman and a kid, injured from an IED. Riley knew why the airman had been there. He’d been doing his job, but Riley didn’t want to guess about the kid. Didn’t want to think about the kid, either.

  Focus.

  A quick in and out.

  Forty-five seconds left.

  Riley trudged forward. Fast but cautious steps toward those sounds. His crew was around him, nearby, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of them from the corner of his eye before the sand curtained them again.

  His heartbeat was drumming in his ears. His pulse too fast like those seconds that were ticking away. He’d done rescues like this nearly a hundred times but never with that warning punching him in the gut.

  Get the hell out now!

  “I got a visual,” one of the crew said. Not a shout but loud enough for Riley and the others to hear. “McCord, your one o’clock.”

  Riley automatically adjusted, moving slightly to the right, and he spotted the extractions.
Both down. Both injured. He knew after just a glimpse that the airman wouldn’t make it, not with the blood spurting from his femoral like that. The kid was fifty-fifty.

  Sixty-forty if Riley went in even faster and got him back to the Pave Hawk in under thirty seconds.

  So that’s what he did.

  Riley pushed forward, his boots bogging down in the sand, and made it to the kid. He scooped him up, knowing someone would be right behind him to take the airman. Riley focused on the kid. He would save him and get the rest of his crew and the airman back on the Pave Hawk.

  But that didn’t happen.

  The sounds stopped. Everything stopped. Like that split second of watching and waiting for a pin to drop onto a tile floor.

  This was no pin, though.

  The pressure exploded in his head. And the pain came, cutting off the air to his lungs. Strangling him. Riley couldn’t move, couldn’t run, but he could feel the blood, all warm and thick. His blood.

  Get the hell out now!

  “Riley?”

  The sound of someone calling out his name gave him a jolt. Riley’s eyes flew open, but since the nightmare was still with him, it took him a moment to realize this wasn’t one of his extractions.

  It was Claire.

  And she was leaning over him, her mouth so close to his that he nearly kissed her. She was a welcome sight, all right. A lot more welcome than the flashbacks. But she was sporting a very concerned look on her face.

  “You were dreaming,” she said.

  Yeah, that was a good word for it. Better than the brain-fuck label that Riley had slapped on it. Because it hadn’t been just a dream. All of that, and more, had happened in the blink of an eye.

  Since Claire’s mouth and therefore that kiss was still within striking range, he waited until she backed away a little before Riley sat up in the porch swing. He only grunted once. Only felt the blinding pain twice.

  She looked amazing. Since this was Claire, looking amazing was a given. Her face was a little shiny with sweat. Her top, a little clingy—also from the sweat. But she didn’t smell like sweat. She smelled like roses. Except he soon realized that smell wasn’t coming from her. She really did have some roses in her hand.