by Terri Osburn
Relieved she hadn’t imagined the pet name, Lorelei nodded. “Yeah,” was all she could say.
Granny gave her a hug from behind. “That’s a good memory. We don’t think about those often enough.”
Lorelei agreed. This week she would ask Mike to share some stories from his high school days with her mom. She wanted to hear more about the girl Donna Pratchett had been.
“So what did you two do today?” Granny asked. “Besides turn out all these cookies.”
The game went to commercial, and Spencer stepped into the kitchen with an empty beer bottle. Lorelei glanced his way with raised brows. They hadn’t discussed if he intended to tell Granny about his new discovery. Since it wasn’t her news to share, Lorelei stayed quiet, content to support his choice of whether to spill or not.
“I received an interesting piece of mail today,” Spencer said, dropping the empty bottle into the recycle bin under the sink.
“How did you get mail on a Sunday?”
“This one came through my mother.”
Granny sobered. “Oh. Was this mail good or bad?”
Leaning on the counter, he crossed his arms. “A little of both.” Reaching around to his back pocket, Spencer said, “Shit.”
“Now, Spencer,” Granny scolded.
“Lor, where’s the letter?”
“I don’t know. You had it.”
“I thought it was in my pocket.”
“It isn’t there?”
“Would I be asking if it was?”
She dropped the wooden spoon into the mixing bowl. “You don’t have to get snippy. It has to be here. Where was the last place you had it?”
Spencer checked the couch, flipping the cushions to check underneath. “I was reading it on the porch swing, and then . . .” His words trailed off as they both remembered where he’d put it.
Lorelei reached the door first and barreled down toward the swing. The wind was blowing the rain sideways, spraying drops down her side.
“Is it there?” Spencer yelled over the sound of rain hitting the tin roof. She didn’t have to answer, since he could see the swing was empty.
“We’ll find it,” she said, running back to the steps, then across the yard to the end of the porch. Spencer took a shortcut and hopped over the railing. There, drenched and stuck in the mud, was the precious envelope. Lorelei picked it up, noticing immediately that the return address had washed away. “It’s just a little wet,” she lied, handing it over.
“It’s more than that,” he said, wiping off a chunk of mud with his thumb.
“We can fix it. We need to let it dry.” Taking him by the hand, she dragged Spencer back to the porch, where Granny stood near the door looking confused.
“Is that your piece of mail?” she asked, pointing to the letter in Spencer’s hand.
“It was,” he said.
“I’m telling you,” Lorelei said, “we can dry it out and it’ll be fine.”
“Lorelei, the address is gone. We can’t bring that back.”
“Come on,” Granny said, holding the screen door open and waving them both inside. “You won’t be fixing anything if you get pneumonia.”
Champ met them inside the door, sniffing at the envelope. “Back up, buddy,” Spencer said, ignoring the water dripping from his hair. “Rosie, can you bring me a towel so I don’t soak your floor?”
Granny brought them each a towel from the basket, then stepped back to sit on a stool beside the island. “What’s in this letter that sent you two running out into the rain?”
Wiping down his arms, Spencer answered, “My dad.”
By the time they’d shared with Rosie everything that Spencer had learned that afternoon, the envelope had dried enough to examine without shredding to bits in his hands. The return address was definitely gone, but he’d hoped the letter might be intact. As soon as Lorelei gently unfolded the yellow paper, his hopes vanished with the running ink.
“At least the picture is okay,” Lorelei said. She’d apologized twice already, as if his leaving the letter on the swing was somehow her fault. Which it wasn’t.
“You do look a lot like him, Spencer.” Rosie held her reading glasses low on her nose as she examined the image.
“Do you remember him at all?” he asked.
Rosie shook her head. “Not the name or the face. They were rebuilding the old Franklin Street bridge around that time. Lots of young men came into town to do the work, then moved on.” Handing the photo back, she added, “Sorry I can’t be more help.”
Spencer shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for. We’re talking thirty years ago. I doubt anyone would remember him.”
“There’s always your mother,” Rosie said. “She should be able to tell you something about him.”
“She’s been keeping this secret for three decades. It’s unlikely she’d be willing to talk about him now. And I’m not sure I’d believe anything she told me anyway.” He laid the photo on the island countertop. “What I need is his side of the story. And it’s too late for that.”
“It isn’t too late,” Lorelei said. “We’ll find Annie Ramirez.”
“Lorelei, the return address was somewhere in Dallas. What are the odds she’s the only Annie Ramirez in that area?”
Waving his words away, she said, “We have the Internet. You can find anyone with the Internet. She’s probably the only Annie Ramirez linked to a Doug Crawford.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“We’re not tracking this woman down.” The letter had not included an open invitation for contact. If the family wanted to know him, this aunt of his would have said so. Spencer’s gut told him that no good could come out of pursuing this further. The man was gone and nothing was going to bring him back, especially not an unwelcome letter to some mystery aunt.
The stubborn look he knew all too well settled over Lorelei’s features. “You have an entire family living in Texas. Relatives, Spencer. Blood relatives. You have to pursue this.”
There was nothing to be gained by contacting his father’s family, which was how he thought of them. They belonged to the stranger who’d had a fling with his mother and never looked back. They had no connection to Spencer. Now that he’d had some time to think about things, he knew hunting them down would be a waste of time. Nothing he learned would bring his father back.
“When I woke up this morning,” he said, “I didn’t know who my father was and thought I never would. Now I have a name and a face. And that’s enough.”
“But—” Lorelei started, until Rosie cut her off.
“It’s his choice, Lorelei. If Spencer doesn’t want to contact them, you need to let it go.”
The younger woman crossed her arms as her jaw worked from side to side. Spencer appreciated Lorelei’s tenacity, especially since it was on his behalf, but this time he needed her to give in.
“I’m serious, Lor. This ends here.”
Her lips snapped together, and her eyebrows shot up. “Fine. You don’t want to contact them, that’s your call.”
“Yes, it is.” She was dying to argue. He could see it practically vibrating through her. But instead, she said, “I have more bread to make,” and turned to wash out the mixing bowl in the sink.
Chapter 18
Lorelei tried going to sleep, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer and the mistake he was making by not contacting his family. Whether he agreed or not, that’s what they were. The man could have siblings, or grandparents, or at least a cousin or two. After a lifetime of nothing, he deserved to know more. To feel part of a family where people cared about you. Maybe even looked like you. How could he ignore that?
Though she knew the answer to that question. What if they rejected him? What if they didn’t want anything to do with the son Doug Crawford had abandoned? Or worse, what if they thought he only wanted money? Not that there was any indication the man had any, but still. There were plenty of ugly roads this family hunt could go d
own, and Spencer had likely thought of every one of them.
She didn’t blame him. The letter hadn’t really read like an open invitation, but maybe the aunt assumed Spencer was the one who wouldn’t want to see them? He’d been the abandoned one, after all. But if he made an effort, maybe they would as well. Surely they’d give him something. Medical history if nothing else. On top of finding out his mother had spent a lifetime keeping his father a secret, and then finding out that father died before Spencer could meet him, he learned that he now had a family history of something.
Cancer. Such an ugly word.
Lorelei didn’t want to think about Spencer getting cancer. What would she do if she lost him?
Sitting straight up in bed, she searched the darkness for the intruder who’d put that thought in her head. When had she started thinking about a forever with Spencer? And for that matter, when had she stopped thinking about leaving Ardent Springs? Lorelei couldn’t pinpoint the moment, but the idea of leaving hadn’t crossed her mind in days. Maybe more than a week.
Good Lord. Had she sniffed too much flour? Lorelei threw off the covers and crossed to the window seat where she had a clear shot of Spencer’s apartment. This was all his fault. Helping her find something she enjoyed doing. Getting her a job on top of that. One that she didn’t hate and didn’t require her to spend long hours on her feet serving ham and eggs to obnoxious drunks.
And then there was that easy charm. Spencer’s sweet nature and chiseled body had wormed their way under her skin and back into her heart. Though if she were being honest, Lorelei would have to admit he’d never really left her heart. For twelve years she’d compared every man to Spencer Boyd. None had measured up. And then she’d settled, and look where that had gotten her. Homeless, penniless, and right back where she’d started.
Which wasn’t so bad after all. Who’d have guessed Ardent Springs would win her back, the same as Spencer had. And he most certainly had.
Leaning her head back against the wall, Lorelei noted that a light still shone through his window, which meant he was still awake. Couldn’t hurt to try to convince him that finding Annie Ramirez was the right thing to do. Since neither one of them was sleeping anyway.
Right, honey child. Tell yourself that’s why you’re going down there.
Lorelei ignored the voice of her conscience and mentally stuck to her story. This was about making Spencer see reason, and that was all.
She kept up the delusion as she slipped on a pair of pajama shorts and crept down the stairs, skipping the ones she knew would squeak beneath her weight. There was no reason to wake Granny, after all. This would be a quick visit, and Lorelei would be back in her bed in no time.
And I have a bridge in Arizona I could sell you, whispered the annoying inner voice.
“Shut up,” she whispered back as she fluffed her hair in the mirror of the tiny bathroom at the base of the stairs. As soon as she realized what she was doing, Lorelei turned off the light and marched toward the front door.
Ginger meowed as if to say, “Hussy.”
“Hush, fur ball,” Lorelei ordered, and then she stepped out of the house, pulling the door shut quietly behind her.
Spencer had tried calling it a night, but there was no use. He’d tossed and turned thinking about his father, his mother, the family he didn’t know and never would. There was still time to change his mind. He didn’t doubt Lorelei was right that they could find this Annie Ramirez if they really tried. But he couldn’t do it. There was no way he was invading a family in mourning.
The only real answer he’d needed had been in that letter. His father was Doug Crawford, and he’d regretted not being in Spencer’s life. That little bit of knowledge made all the difference.
But that didn’t mean sleep would come anytime soon, so he’d turned on one of the late-night talk shows to drown out the voices in his head, leaning back on the couch with a lap full of black Lab. The moment the interview ended and the show cut to commercial, a knock sounded on his door.
Champ hopped up, wagging his tail as if the person on the other side came bearing treats. “You’re a shitty watchdog, you know that?” he said to the animal bouncing with his usual enthusiasm. “Someone ever breaks in here, you’ll probably lick him to death before he can steal anything. Not that there’s anything here to steal.”
Spencer moved the curtain on the door an inch to the right and spotted Lorelei hovering on his porch. It was too dark to see what she was wearing, but it didn’t look like much. He’d wanted a distraction, and this was a far better option than Jimmy Fallon. As he pulled the door open, Lorelei stood up straighter and tugged on the hem of the oversized gray shirt that hung precariously low off one shoulder.
He leaned his weight on the doorknob and said, “Little late for a visit, isn’t it?”
Lorelei shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you climbed out of bed, crept across the yard”—he glanced down at her bare feet—“with no shoes on to tell me that?”
She huffed. “Why are you being hateful?”
“’Cause it’s fun to see you get mad like that.” Spencer couldn’t help himself. She was so damn delicious when her temper flared.
With flushed cheeks, she cocked a hip and crossed her arms, which dropped the shirt even lower off her shoulder. By the looks of things, she was cold. Or at least parts of her were. Parts that made Spencer’s mouth water.
Tapping a toe, she asked, “Are you going to let me in?”
Spencer pushed the screen door open for her to pass through. “Why not?” he said. “I’m not sleeping either.”
“I know,” she said, curling her toes into the carpet. “I saw your light on.”
The AC in his apartment cranked from the window behind the TV, keeping the temperature inside cool enough to hang meat, which was how Spencer liked it. But when Lorelei shivered, he crossed the room to turn the unit down. “Have a seat and I’ll get you a blanket.”
“How can you stand it so cold?” she asked, hopping onto the brown tweed and tucking her feet beneath her bottom. “I’m surprised it isn’t snowing in here.”
“Careful, Lorelei.” Spencer dropped an old quilt across her lap. “Your drama queen is showing.”
She gave him a one-finger reply.
“Very mature.” After settling himself at the opposite end of the couch, he muted the idiot box. As if he didn’t already know, Spencer asked, “So what’s on your mind?”
Lorelei toyed with the edge of the quilt. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
“And what mistake is that?” He really didn’t want to get into this again. Regardless of how much she argued, Spencer had no intention of changing his mind.
“You know what mistake.” Before he could shut her down, she held up her hand, palm out. “Listen for a minute. I know that the letter didn’t include any mention of wanting to get to know you or have you meet the family that is rightfully yours.” He opened his mouth to argue again, but she shushed him. “I’m not done. I also know that it would suck if you sent something and no one answered. If they rejected you, or worse, accused you of wanting something from them. But you still have to try.”
Spencer scrubbed his hands over his face. “Lor, the man died a month ago. Less than a month before that, he announced he had a son somewhere. That’s a lot for any family to deal with.”
“Maybe having a piece of him there would make them feel better. You could be something good in a tough time.”
“Or I could be an interloper.”
She leaned an arm along the back of the couch, making the nightshirt fall off the other shoulder. “One conversation and they’d know you had good intentions.” Seeing so much smooth skin showing, Spencer struggled to focus on what she was saying. “You have to stop being so stubborn about this.”
Shaking the lust fog from his brain, he said, “I’m not being stubborn.” In an effort to change the subject, he asked, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Not unless
it’s hot chocolate.” She shivered again. “This blanket isn’t helping.” He knew one way to warm her up, but he didn’t think she’d be open to his idea. “Get over here,” she said, holding the blanket open for him to crawl in with her. Spencer hesitated, trying to determine if she was setting him up for something. “Come on. I know you’re a damn heater over there. Help a girl out.”
He could help her out all right.
Obeying the order, he scooted down the couch and put his arm around her shoulders as Lorelei settled the blanket around them both. “That’s better,” she sighed, cuddling in tight against his side and laying her head on his shoulder. When she dropped a kiss on his neck, Spencer pulled her in tighter.
“Lorelei?”
“Mm-hmm?” she purred.
“Did you come down here to seduce me?”
Another kiss, this time on his collarbone. “Would that be a bad thing?”
Spencer gave the question real thought. There was still a lot of fragile ground between them. She wasn’t offering a lifetime or, for all he knew, anything beyond one night. But when she threw a leg over his lap, his brain function faltered, and the feel of her warm body wrapped around him squelched any ability to protect himself from harm. This had been what he wanted from the moment he’d spotted Lorelei sitting on that airport bench. What he’d dreamed about for years before that.
“Should I take your lack of argument as encouragement?” she asked, lifting off the couch and sliding across his lap until she was straddling him between her thighs.
“Yes,” he said, the word coming out as a croak. Spencer cleared his throat. “I highly encourage you to keep doing what you’re doing.”
Lorelei shot him a smile he remembered all too well, turning his bones to putty. Well, all but one.
“To be clear, I didn’t come down here to have sex with you.” Her teeth nipped his bottom lip.
“I never said you did,” he murmured, sliding his hands around to her bottom. “But we’re not going to have sex, Lorelei.”