Even Cowboys Get the Blues
Page 25
“What is it?” Rene asked a she threw two packages of Oreos into the grocery cart.
“Nobody wants Oreos for Toenail Night,” I said as I held up the phone. It’d been a month since I’d written to John Tomas. Apparently my father had been so enraged over my running away, he’d divorced my stepmother and spent years trying to find me.
“I do. Are you gonna read it?”
“Not here,” I said, glancing up and down the empty aisle. “And your grandmother is making brownies, so put one package back.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes but did as I asked. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to read my first email from my daughter on my phone!”
“Well I want to know what it says!”
“You have the patience of a gnat.” I wanted to know what it said, too, but losing my shit in the grocery store wasn’t on my Bucket List.
“I know. So, let’s get the hell out of here.” She grinned and grabbed the buggy, pointing it toward the front of the store.
“Language!” I admonished, following.
My hands were sweating and shaking so badly as we checked out I couldn’t get the credit card in the reader.
“Let me.” Rene took it from me and shoved it in the slot, then loaded the bags while I finished up.
Rene bugged me about the email all the way home, but I made her wait, and as punishment, made her help me put up all the groceries first.
“Now?” she demanded.
“Now,” I said, then started reading out loud.
Dear Mom,
“She called you mom.”
I turned my head and stared up at Rene who shrugged.
I know you’ve been waiting to hear from me. Sorry it took me so long to write but I wasn’t sure what to say. I’m glad you’re not dead. Sounds kind of weird, I guess, but I am. Papa never stopped believing you were out there, and we lit a candle for you on every birthday, even when Uncle Will said it was silly, and you probably wouldn’t ever come back. But that’s just Uncle Will—always grumpy!
I’m so glad he was wrong.
Papa says you’re in Texas, and that Uncle John can bring me for a visit soon. I hope you can come visit us, too, because Papa isn’t doing so great, and I know he’d love to see you.
I have to get ready for school now, but I’ll write more later.
Love
Nikki
I whimpered a little at the thought of my father dying before I got a chance to make things right with him.
“We could go one weekend.” Rene squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve never been on an airplane.”
“Me either.”
“What about this weekend?” said the voice that always sent chills up my spine.
“Dad,” Rene squawked as we both spun around.
He held up a couple of pieces of paper and gave us both his famous shit-eating grin. “Who wants to spend Valentine’s Day in New Orleans?”
Fighting the urge to run into his arms, I stood and crossed the room to hug him.
“All of us?” Rene asked.
“All of us.”
Amie Stuart is the last of a dying breed: a Native Texan. She writes sexy, emotional contemporary romances set in small towns. In the past, she's worked as a receptionist, a daycare office manager, delivered pizzas, and was even a hairdresser for five years--all fodder for the writing gig. That and all those Barbara Cartland romances she cut her teeth on.
None of those careers can compare to her favorite job: writer. She's a storyteller through and through, even when she's keeping tabs on her almost-grown sons and many pets, or organizing promo and planning trips for her day job as a personal assistant. She smokes, she drinks, she writes, she curses—sometimes at the same time.
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