Tom raised a brow. “Aren’t you going to call her?”
“Nope.”
Tom gazed at him for several long moments. Waiting.
Bret rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I spent two weeks with her. I can’t handle any more of her right now.”
“Father home yet?”
“No, although his attorney called me and said it would be within the week.”
“That should take the pressure off, right?”
“One would hope.” He tossed the message into the garbage.
“Did you hear? The Amarillo police arrested Ace Gordon last night. Finally, someone caught up with the bastard. He confessed to hitting you.”
“Do directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.” He couldn’t work up more reaction than that.
“He had his partner with him. Guess who was fencing the stolen goods?” Tom leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve been off for two days. I haven’t heard.” Off and moping around home, fighting calling Meg to hear her voice. He cleared his throat. “Who was it?”
“Trevor Dupree.”
Bret dropped his pen, his feet hit the floor, disgust flooded through him. “I knew I hated that guy.”
“Yeah,” Tom agreed.
“No, you don’t understand. He spiked Meg’s drinks on Valentine’s Day, made her sick. I almost beat him to a bloody pulp then.”
“What?” Tom’s face flushed with anger. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugged. “I solved it. Took care of her. I didn’t think about it again until now.” He lapsed into silence and stared out the window, remembering the kiss she’d laid on him when he’d taken her home.
“You’ve got it bad.” Tom chuckled.
He felt the air sap out of him. He missed Meg like a part of him was gone. He was damn tired of being stuck on that one moment when she walked away from him. He’d never felt so chewed up emotionally. “I love her. Not that she’d listen to me right now. I made such a big deal out of no commitment.”
Tom beamed. “Go after her. She loves you, too.”
Hope flickered. “She never said that in so many words.”
“Then she lied by omission.”
“Lied?”
“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.” Tom sighed.
“She told me—”
“What you’ve been telling her. That you didn’t want a commitment, that you were walking away. She was destroyed when she got to Grandma’s and talked about what she’d done. She insists she’s trying to honor what you told her. Maybe you should try telling her something different.”
Hope and frustration warred inside him. “It’s not going to be that simple.”
Tom smirked at him. “Of course it isn’t. She’s a woman.”
“I’m not sure what I’m doing. This is uncharted territory for me. I don’t want to make a mistake we’ll both have to live with.” He straightened in his chair.
“I know the right person to help you. Come on.” Tom rose to his feet.
He tossed his pen on the desk. He’d come back later and write his reports. A few hours wouldn’t make any difference to that, but it might make all the difference to his future with Meg.
“Where are we going?” Bret followed Tom out to his truck.
“To the family matchmaking expert.”
“I need some advice about Meg.”
Olivia stood near the raised hood of her Cadillac, greasy rag in hand, and gave Bret the once over.
His stomach churned like a freight train had blasted through. Her grave perusal made him feel as if a low voltage charge skated along his skin.
Tom leaned up against the side of the garage, arms crossed over his chest, not coming to his aid.
“You hurt her.” Olivia pulled the dipstick from under the hood and stared at the reading.
“I didn’t mean to. I don’t...” His mouth froze on the words. I don’t know if I can be a good husband, if I can make a marriage work.
Tom’s cell phone rang. He answered, listened for a moment, and paled. “I’ll be right there.”
Olivia wiped her hands on her overalls. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“Warren LeFey’s had a seizure. He’s being moved from the nursing home to the hospital. I have to go. Can I take the Mustang?”
“Of course, dear. Keys are by the back door.” Tom tossed his truck keys to Bret. “I’ll catch up to you later.”
Bret watched as Tom raced to the back door, reached for keys, and jogged down the porch to Olivia’s white ‘66 Mustang parked at the curb. “Why does that name sound familiar and why does Tom have to go?”
“Tom’s been taking care of the man for years, since Summer left.”
“Summer LeFey?”
Olivia nodded. “Yes, the artist.”
“I have three of her paintings.”
“She hasn’t been home in ten years. You’d think she’d come back at least once before he dies.” Her eyes clouded. Then she was all business again. “Why should I help you?” With a jab of a finger, she silently asked him to hand her the jug of oil.
Gone was the woman he’d had pleasant lunches with. In her place was a fierce, protective grandmother. Bret reached to hand her the oil and thought of all the reasons. He stated the only thing he knew would sway her to his side. “I love your granddaughter with every breath I take. I was too stupid to tell her before she left, before I hurt her. Too stupid to figure out that I want her with me always. I’m not sure I can be a good husband, that marriage is something I can give my whole heart to. And it’s the one thing she wants from me above all else. I know that. Knew it before we even got involved.”
Olivia studied his face while she unscrewed the bottle and poured the oil in the fill slot. “What makes you think you can’t be a good husband?”
“I haven’t had the best example.”
“Seems like you’ve had plenty around here.”
Bret gave a small chuckle, then sobered. “Yes, I have. With you, Helen and Bill. But my parents...” He let his voice trail off, not knowing where to start.
Olivia tossed the empty oil jug in the recycling bin and screwed the cap back on. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Hand me that wrench, will you?”
He bent to her toolbox and picked up the one laying across the top. “This one?”
She nodded. “How long have they been married?”
“Too long, if you ask me.”
She loosened the bolts on the battery. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He leaned a hip against the bumper and watched her. “They fight. Always have. Loud, long, and ugly. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t so.”
“You’re an only child, right?” She leaned to pick up a small penknife from her tool chest and began scraping the inside of the battery connectors to clean off the debris.
“Yes. Makes it all the more difficult. I think they wanted me, but the reality of having a child didn’t sink in until after I was born. I had nannies and private schools, not parents. I probably learned more from the butler than I did from my father.”
Olivia touched his arm. “I’m sorry, honey. It shouldn’t have been that way. Do you get along with your mother?”
Bret snorted and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Nobody gets along with my mother. She’s demanding, shrewish, calls me every damn minute for every damn thing. Usually to make demands for things I can’t or won’t do for her.”
“And your father?”
“Travels to avoid her. He’s so engaged in his life outside their marriage, I’m not sure he even recognizes at times that he’s left me to deal with her. Maybe he doesn’t care.”
“Why do they stay together do you think?”
“I don’t think. I know. Money. The business. Their import-export business was built on monies from both families. It’s a partnership that would be a nightmare to split.”
Olivia dropped the knife back in the toolbox. “What does this have to do with how yo
u feel about Meg?”
Bret sighed and stared up at the sky. “I learned how to close off parts of myself, to protect myself from my mother, you know? Meg and I had a huge argument about my mother before she left. How closed off I’ve been. I’d have to open those parts up to Meg, to make a good husband—that’s what I’d want to be, if I ever get married. I’m not sure I can.”
“I know about the argument. She told me. And you can open up—if you want to.” Olivia slipped the connectors back on the battery and tightened them with a wrench.
“I’ve tried some. It’s hard.”
She loosened the cap of the radiator and peered inside. “You’re scared. But hasn’t Meg already done the same for you? Opened up? Let you in?”
“She went away.” Anguish ripped at his heart, coating the words.
Olivia leaned on the bumper to study his face. “To give you space and time. She wants you to come to her because it’s what you want, not because she’s pushed for it.” She screwed the cap back on the radiator. “Can’t you see that your parents’ relationship is unhealthy? You need some boundaries from the two of them, hon.”
“I joined the Army when I turned eighteen and I haven’t gone back, even though she wants me to. Isn’t that a boundary?”
She reached up to close the hood, slamming it with purpose. “Yes, but not enough of one. They are still pulling at you, undermining who you are, who you can be. It’s up here.” She tapped her temple.
“They are my family, my blood.”
Olivia gripped his arms and shook him. “They may be your blood, dear, but we are your family. For the last four years you’ve sat at my table, been part of my family. When you were hurt, we were there for you. Your parents are such an important part of your life that this is the first I’ve heard of them and all of this,” she scoffed. “Are you going to give up Meg for that?”
Everything inside him rebelled at losing Meg. He couldn’t face how bleak the road ahead of him appeared without her. “No. I’m not giving up Meg.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Olivia challenged.
Bret put his hands on his hips and looked up at the trees. Even though the driveway was shaded, the air was hot and muggy, making his shirt stick to his back. It wasn’t making him any more uncomfortable than Olivia’s questions.
Could he be what Meg needed? Would he forgive himself if he didn’t try?
“I’ll try,” he promised, looking her in the eye. “I have to try.”
Olivia bent to slam the lid on her toolbox. “Don’t try. Do.”
Three days later, Bret’s cell phone rang and he stared at it. It wouldn’t be Meg. She hadn’t called. Not once. This giving him time thing sucked.
It had to be his mother.
Boundaries. His conversation with Olivia made up his mind. Bolstered by his newfound resolutions, he answered it.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Where have you been? Out with that woman? You need to think more about my needs. I’m in crisis here.”
Bret cringed at her high pitch. “What woman, Mother?”
“The one who answered the phone a couple of months ago.”
“No, actually, I haven’t been out with her. But her name is Meg and I’m going to marry her.” He grinned. It felt good to finally put it into words.
His mother sputtered and huffed. “You can’t marry her. Your father is divorcing me. You have to come home.”
He stared at the phone. His father asked for a divorce?
He finally regained his equilibrium. “I’m not coming home, Mother. In fact, I want nothing to do with this problem or you.”
“But what am I supposed to do,” she wailed. “He wants everything. I can’t let him have it, of course. I need your advice. I need your support.”
“My advice, Mother, is hire a good divorce lawyer. I am not now nor have I ever been at your beck and call. Don’t call me anymore with this. I’m not discussing it.”
“Bret David Cara, you will not talk to me like that.”
“I just did, Mother.” He hung up and put his phone on mute.
Week Six.
Bret parked in front of Olivia’s house and stared at the front porch. Cars cluttered the driveway which meant everyone was here. He’d done a great deal of thinking and had several more talks with Olivia, and one with Chad, Rick, and Tom. It was hard to let the walls down, but a relief, too. As soon as Meg got home, they would start over. She was going to be romanced to the tips of her pretty pink toes.
He had two tasks left to do.
Apologize to Meg’s father and ask him for permission to marry her.
He wouldn’t blame the man if he said no. Couldn’t blame him if he was still mad. It was past time to make amends. Meg loved her dad and there was no way he wanted this between the two of them. It needed to be repaired and it started with him.
He got out of his truck and walked to the front door. Before he could ring the bell, Chad opened it. “Come on in. Dad’s in the study watching baseball.” He patted Bret on the back, leaning in to whisper. “Glad you took our advice about talking to him. Say it straight out. Look him right in the eye. Don’t squirm. That will help,” Chad advised.
“Thanks,” he whispered. He’d thought about what to say, but nothing came to mind, so he was going to wing it and hope the man listened.
He took a deep breath and walked down the hall. He paused in the doorway to get his bearings. Bill Applegate was in the leather recliner, remote in one hand, a drink in the other, his eyes focused on the television, the volume muted.
Bret knocked. “Sir, may I talk to you for a minute?”
Bill looked up and watched him for a moment, but didn’t answer. Bret took that as a somewhat good sign, since he didn’t outright deny him.
He walked into the room and sat on the sofa, adjacent to the recliner. Bill dropped the remote and his drink on the side table and sat up straight in his chair. “I’m listening.”
A hundred things came to mind, but only one thing came out of his mouth. “I love Meg. That’s what I should have told you. I’m sorry for that.”
“You don’t disrespect me or my family.”
“I know that, sir. And I don’t. Your family is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I have no excuses, other than I hadn’t thought that far ahead and didn’t know what to say. Meg and I hadn’t talked about our future, what we wanted, how we felt. I didn’t feel it was right to discuss it with you, without talking with her first.”
“Seems to me some talking should have been done before your truck was parked at the curb.”
“I agree. My only defense is that I’ve never met anyone like your family or Meg. It shook my entire belief system. But I know now that I love her, the forever kind, and I’m asking you to forgive me for being such a jerk.”
Her father sat quiet in the chair for a long time, like a judge mulling over a sentencing. Finally he nodded. “I don’t like carrying around hard feelings. It’s tiring.” He reached out his hand.
Bret shook it, relief running though him. “I agree. Thank you, sir. There’s one more thing.”
Bill looked resigned to the question, but Bret plowed on anyway.
“I’d like your permission to ask her to marry me.”
“She’s my little girl. I’ve held her when she’s been sick, celebrated with her when’s she’s succeeded, and loved her through everything and will continue to do so. She doesn’t need my permission.”
“Maybe not, but she...we need your blessing. I don’t want her hurt any further by my actions and bad choice of words.”
“I’ve heard good things about you.”
Bret didn’t say anything.
Bill nodded. “You both have my blessing.” He rose from the chair and clasped Bret’s shoulder. “Good luck with Meg. I hope you fix things with her. I really do.”
“From your mouth to Meg’s ears, sir.”
“She’s coming home. She’ll be here today.” Bret looked up as Helen Appl
egate rushed into Chief Hudson’s office, out of breath and frazzled. He, Tom, Bret, Matt, and Rafe were discussing shift rotation.
“What?” Bret rose from his chair.
“Sorry, Chief.” Helen waved off the man, gripped Bret’s arms, and shook him. “Go home. Get ready. She’ll be here in two hours.”
Bret stared at her. “I have four hours left on my shift. I thought she was going to the beach for another two weeks.”
“Nope. She changed her mind.” Helen turned to Chief Hudson. “Paul, give him the afternoon off.”
Hudson grinned. “Is that an order Madame Mayor?”
Helen glared at him. “Yes. This man is going to marry my daughter and he needs time to crawl on his knees and beg forgiveness.”
Chief Hudson bit his lip, obviously stifling a chuckle. “Cara, you’re off for the afternoon.”
“But that leaves patrol short.”
“I’ll cover you. Get out of here.” Hudson tossed the schedule into his in basket and picked up his hat.
Bret’s stomach plunged. “Leave it to her to come home early.”
“That’s our Meg.” Tom grinned, enjoying his discomfort.
Bret hugged Helen. “Oh, God.”
All the men chuckled. There were also a few swiftly hidden smirks that Bret swore he’d get even for. But not now. He hurried from the room, hearing only part of the next conversation as he scurried down the hall.
“That boy’s got it bad,” Chief Hudson said.
“He better have. He’s marrying my daughter.”
Yes, he double damn was. He jogged to his truck and raced home, prepared to implement what he’d come to think of as Operation Marry Meg.
Meg dragged herself in the door, exhausted and gritty-eyed. She stopped for a moment and sniffed. The house smelled fresh, like someone had cleaned. There was a hint of roses. She hadn’t told anyone except her mother she was coming home and she hadn’t done that until she was a few hours out. How had she had time?
She walked through to the kitchen, stopped along the way to turn the air conditioning down, dropped her plastic cup on the counter, looked around and froze. Nary a dust bunny, but there was a gorgeous ivory damask tablecloth on her kitchen table with a large flower arrangement. The fuchsia pink old-fashioned roses from her father’s garden spilled over a large crystal cut-glass vase mixed with gladiolas and daisies.
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 39