by Marin Thomas
“I want you to be on your best behavior tonight with Ms. Baker,” Fletcher warned.
Danny climbed onto a stool at the bar and twirled. “Is she the lady I saw at the drugstore?”
“Yep. We’re old friends.” In truth, Fletcher didn’t know what he and Darla were anymore. Old friends? Old lovers? Old enemies?
“I don’t like her. She looks mean.”
Mean? “Ms. Baker’s a nice lady.”
“You’re grumpy. Did Grandpa yell at you?”
Deep breath. Exhale slowly. Danny’s headstrong attitude put Fletcher’s patience to the test on a daily basis and he found deep breathing worked best to release tension. “Go ask Grandpa if you can help with the bean salad.”
“He told me to help you.”
“Then—” Fletcher caught himself before the words stop bugging me escaped his mouth. He wished he knew how to handle Danny better. The school counselor had recommended a therapist after Sandi split. For three months Fletcher had driven Danny into Midland for therapy. Fletcher had participated in a few of the sessions, but in the end there had been little progress in Danny’s disposition. He hoped with time and love, his son would settle down. “I could use a clean plate to put the meat on.”
“Okay.” Danny hopped off the stool and dashed into the house. Fletcher worried he’d made a mistake in inviting Darla out to the ranch for dinner. He should have suggested a restaurant, but he knew his father would enjoy seeing her.
“I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.” Darla’s voice reached his ears and he spun.
The sight of her brought a smile to his lips and chased away his doubts. He set the tongs aside and turned down the flame. “Did you bring dessert?” He motioned to the shopping bag in her hand.
She held out the bag and he peeked inside.
German chocolate cake. Darla hadn’t forgotten his father’s favorite dessert. That had to mean she still…what? Cared? “You look nice.” She smelled nice, too. The sultry scent she wore was a far cry from the cheap dime-store stuff he’d given her for Valentine’s Day one year.
“I didn’t pack any jeans for the trip.” She rubbed a hand against the black dress pants that hugged her curves.
He pictured Darla in tight jeans and his mouth watered.
“Hey, Dad.” The back door banged against the house for the third time. “Here’s the…” His voice trailed off when he spotted Darla.
“Hello, Danny. It’s nice to see you again.” Darla held out her hand and Danny gave her the plate.
“I’ll take that.” Fletcher set the plate by the grill, then passed off the shopping bag to his son. “Give this to Grandpa and tell him that Ms. Baker’s here.”
Solemn-faced, Danny did as he was told, smacking the bag against the edge of the doorway when he went inside the house—probably on purpose.
“What can I get you to drink?” Fletcher motioned for Darla to sit at the bar.
“Wine, if you have it.”
“Sure do.” He poured her a glass of red and helped himself to a beer. “How’s life in Dallas?”
“Great.” Her smile didn’t give a clue how great. “I own a condo downtown and I love standing on the balcony at night and seeing the skyline illuminated by the city lights.”
“Sounds like you prefer a faster pace of life?” Fletcher had traveled with his father on numerous bull buying trips around the country but they’d mostly visited ranches and bypassed metropolitan areas.
“I didn’t like the city at first,” she confessed. “But the hustle and bustle grows on you. There’s plenty to do in your free time.”
“Are you insinuating that Junket is boring?” He grinned.
“It is what it is, Fletch.”
He liked that she used his nickname—made him feel as if a few intimacies remained between them. “You’ve got to miss something about your hometown.”
Her gaze slid across his face and settled on the grill behind him. She shrugged. “Now that Mom and Dad are living in Nevada there isn’t much here for me anymore.”
Her words sliced through Fletcher. “I should have guessed you’d study environmental law,” he said. In high school, Darla had been the president of the science club. “Remember the bungled experiment that—”
“That fire—” she pointed a finger at him “—was Lonny’s fault, not mine. He tipped over the Bunsen burner.” They chuckled at the memory.
“Darla Baker,” Daniel McFadden’s voice boomed through the screen door seconds before he stepped outside.
Grateful for the interruption, Darla slipped off the stool and hugged the older man. She hadn’t wanted to discuss her career or her last-minute decision to enter law school after learning Fletcher had married Sandi.
“You’re all grown up, young lady.”
Darla’s smile faded. “I’m so sorry about Marilyn.”
“You would have been proud of her. She fought the cancer right to the end.” Daniel blinked away the sheen in his eyes. “Marilyn loved yellow roses. We put your bouquet on her grave after the funeral.”
Darla should have done more than send a card and flowers. She should have returned for the funeral. But at the time she hadn’t the strength to face Fletcher, Sandi and their two-year-old child.
“Bean salad ready, Dad?” Fletcher asked, ending talk of his deceased mother.
“Table’s set.” Daniel motioned for Darla to follow him inside and Fletcher trailed with the fajita meat. Nothing had changed since she’d last visited the McFadden home. The same blue-and-white checked valance hung across the kitchen window…the cow cookie jar on the counter…the antique crock filled with dusty cooking utensils.
The kitchen table had been set for four—the familiar blue stoneware bringing back memories of all the meals she’d shared with the McFadden family. She’d spent as much time in this house as she had at her parents’ home. “What can I do to help?”
“Suppose you can fill the water glasses,” Daniel said. “Danny boy drinks milk.”
Fletcher set the meat platter on the table. “Excuse me, while I track down Danny boy.”
Daniel chuckled. “That rascal sure is a handful.”
“He seems like a nice boy.” The compliment was difficult to offer and that bothered Darla, but the boy reminded her of another broken dream of hers—having children with Fletcher.
“Danny’s an active kid, but since the divorce he’s been a troublemaker.”
“Divorce is tough on kids,” she said, treading on unfamiliar ground.
“My grandson might behave better if his mother paid more attention to him.” Daniel was a man who didn’t mince words. “She gave up full custody of Danny and didn’t bat an eye. Hardly ever sees the boy. Never calls.”
Guilt flooded Darla that she’d harbored even the tiniest bit of jealousy toward Danny. The poor kid had been all but abandoned by his mother. Darla appreciated the not-so-subtle reminder that Danny was an innocent victim and had nothing to do with how things had worked out between her and Fletcher.
Unsure what to say, she mumbled, “I guess some women aren’t cut out to be mothers.” Any further discussion of Sandi’s failure at motherhood was nixed when Fletcher escorted Danny into the kitchen with a hand on the back of the boy’s neck.
“What happened?” Daniel pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Everyone followed suit.
“It was an accident, Grandpa.” Danny’s gaze bounced between his father and grandfather.
“He broke the ceiling fan in my bedroom,” Fletcher said.
“Your dad’s told you a million times not to jump on the bed and grab at those blades.” Daniel passed a plate of warmed tortillas to his grandson.
“My hand got caught.” The boy’s face reddened with embarrassment.
Sympathy for Danny caught Darla unprepared and she blurted, “I cracked my mother’s antique flower vase.” All three males stared at her in surprise. “I played ball in the house with our dog. Bandit knocked over my mother’s favorite flower vase and it brok
e.”
“Did you get in trouble?” Danny asked.
“Yep. I said I tripped over Bandit and bumped into the table. When my mother vacuumed the rug she found Bandit’s ball beneath the couch and knew I’d been playing catch with the dog.”
“Did you get punished?”
“Yep. But not because I broke the vase. Because I lied about how I broke it.”
“The truth is always best,” Fletcher said.
Danny stared at Darla and the gleam in his eye told her he was up to no good. He reached for his milk and at the last second Darla’s hand shot out just as Danny tried to tip over the glass. She smiled. “Oops.”
The boy’s mouth dropped open, then he snapped it shut and scowled.
“I’ve been meaning to ask how the bull business is going, Daniel,” Darla said.
The tension at the table eased. Daniel McFadden loved his bulls and could talk bull pedigree for hours. The rest of the meal passed without incident. When dessert was served, Danny gulped his cake, then asked to be excused from the table. Both men visibly relaxed when the boy went into the family room to watch TV.
“How are your folks, Darla?” Daniel asked.
“Dad took up golf and Mom runs around with the Red Hat ladies.”
“You tell them I said hello.” Daniel pointed his fork at Fletcher. “When do you plan to get us a Christmas tree?”
“I don’t know, why?”
“The tree stand on route 37 opens tomorrow. If you wait too long all the good ones will be taken.”
“I’m not worried.” Fletcher carried an armful of dirty dishes to the sink. When Darla stood to help, he waved her off. “You’re company.”
She didn’t used to be company.
“Fletcher said you’re in town for the Keller baptism.” Daniel poured coffee into three cups. “Are you staying with your friend?”
Sissy had offered to put Darla up, but her small ranch house was packed with out-of-town relatives, so Darla had declined. “I’ve got a room at the C’mon Inn.” The only motel within a thirty-mile radius of Junket.
“That’s no place for a lady. Why don’t you stay here? We’ve got a guest room.”
Darla glanced at Fletcher, but he stood at the sink with his back to her. Did he want her to stay? Or go? Seconds ticked by. “Thanks, Daniel, but I’m fine at the motel.” She cleared her throat. “I should get going.”
“If you change your mind, you’re always welcome here.” Daniel added cream to his coffee.
Daniel and Fletcher might welcome her, but Danny wouldn’t. “Thanks for the lovely meal.” She hugged the old man.
“Stop in again before you leave for Dallas.” Daniel shuffled from the room.
Fletcher stood by the door. “I’ll follow you back to the motel.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
His husky voice sent shivers down her spine. Darla had no idea where this hometown visit with Fletcher might end up. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Three
Fletcher checked the outside temperature reading on the truck’s dashboard—52 degrees. Not bad for December. A warm front had stalled over the area the past few days, but the local weatherman predicted that old man winter was barreling their way next week. Maybe Fletcher would suggest a walk once he and Darla arrived at the motel. He wasn’t ready to say good-night.
As far as roadside motels went, the C’mon Inn was tacky but he liked the idea that Darla was only fifteen minutes from the ranch. He’d been secretly relieved when she’d insisted on returning to the motel. Even though he’d told Danny that Darla was an old friend, he didn’t want to chance upsetting his son by having a strange woman in their home—especially when Danny had been bugging Fletcher to ask Sandi to visit over Christmas break. He hadn’t had the heart to tell his son that he’d already extended the invitation, but Sandi had declined, preferring instead to spend the holiday with her bull rider boyfriend.
Up ahead the C’mon Inn’s neon green and flamingo-pink sign flashed Vacancy. Darla put on her blinker and turned in to the parking lot. Fletcher followed. Holiday lights had been strung around each of the room doors. A blow-up Mrs. and Mr. Claus stood outside the office swaying in the wind. Tinsel had been draped around the office door, which had been sprayed with fake snow.
Was he nuts to wonder if he and Darla could pick things up where they’d left off? Even if by some miracle Darla forgave him for cheating on her in high school when technically they’d been free to see other people, why would she want anything to do with raising another woman’s child? Besides, hadn’t he decided that a serious relationship was out of the picture until Danny’s behavior improved? And lest he forget…Darla’s back in town for a baptism not to rekindle an old flame.
She pulled the Lexus up to room 17. A sedan with an Enterprise sticker in the back window sat in front of 12 and a late-model Chrysler occupied the space at 9. Fletcher parked in a guest spot and caught up with Darla outside her motel door.
“We didn’t have a chance to talk tonight,” he said.
“There’s a pool around back.”
His ego winced. He’d been hoping for an invitation into her room. He nodded to the machine against the building. “Thirsty?”
“Sure.” They selected a soda, then entered the motel office. An older man sat behind the check-in desk talking on the phone. A small TV competed with the noisy washer and dryer running in the utility room.
The door on the other side of the lobby led to the pool and hot tub area. Christmas lights had been wrapped around the chain link fence enclosing the patio and green and red lightbulbs had been installed in the hot tub, which a middle-aged man occupied with a younger woman—probably a waitress from Larry’s Lounge up the road. Darla weaved through the tables and chairs, picking a spot in the far corner away from the giggling couple.
“How’s your dad coping with your mom’s death?” Darla asked once they were seated.
The last thing he wanted to talk about was his mother’s struggle with cancer. “Better than I anticipated. I think Mom held on longer than she’d wanted to for Dad’s sake.” His parents had been deeply in love and letting go had damn near killed his father. At the time Fletcher had wondered if he and Sandi would ever come close to the kind of relationship his mother and father had shared. He guessed the divorce settled that question. “A few months ago Dad began seeing a woman from Midland. He’s taken her out to dinner a few times.”
“Tell me about Danny.” Her expression softened, and Fletcher sensed her interest was sincere.
“He’s having a rough time since Sandi left.” Fletcher sprang from the chair and stood at the fence, staring into the night.
Darla joined him and her perfume blended with the smell of damp earth carried on the wind. The heady aroma made Fletcher want to grasp her hand and drag her back to room 17 and discover if this grown-up Darla had any new moves in bed.
“Your dad told me Sandi doesn’t spend much time with him,” she said.
Her words abruptly cut off Fletcher’s lust-filled thoughts. A gust of air exploded from his lungs. “All the boy needs is a little attention from her—a phone call once in awhile, a letter or package in the mail, a text message that says she loves him—anything to remind Danny that she hasn’t forgotten him.”
“I’m sorry.” Darla wasn’t surprised the woman had walked out on her child. Sandi had been a selfish, stuck-up princess in high school. Her daddy owned the bank in town and she got everything her heart desired, which made Darla wonder what Fletcher ever saw in the shallow woman.
“Shortly after school began Danny’s teacher called me in for a conference to discuss his antics in the classroom. Mrs. Tuttle suggested I spend more time with Danny, believing the extra attention would help him adjust to the divorce.”
“So what did you do?”
“Each morning I go back to the house after chores and Danny and I eat breakfast together. Instead of making him ride the bus, I drive him to school and pic
k him up at the end of the day. I help him with his homework in the afternoons. We always eat supper as a family and then I work on the ranch books in my office. When it’s bedtime I help Danny get ready and I read to him from one of his Harry Potter books.” He shook his head. “I’m trying, Darla, but he hasn’t responded.”
Wanting to comfort Fletcher, Darla squeezed his hand. His fingers tightened around hers and a current of warmth shot up her arm. Like the drop from the top of a roller coaster, memories shot through Darla’s mind at high speed. Their first intimate smile. First hug. First hand-holding. First kiss. First…
“I’m worried about how Danny will react when he learns that Sandi has no intention of spending Christmas with him.”
“Danny and I have a lot in common,” Darla said, her eyes following the back-and-forth brush of Fletcher’s thumb across her knuckle.
“I grew up with you, Darla Baker. You never acted out in the classroom or gave your parents a hard time.”
“No, but I know what it’s like to have a mom who ignores you.” At his raised eyebrow she explained. “My mom suffered from depression for years and never sought treatment. Not until I was in high school did my father give her an ultimatum—get help or he’d divorce her.”
“You never said anything to me about that.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know. I was ashamed and hurt by her indifference.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Not well when I was Danny’s age. I didn’t understand my mother’s illness. I rebelled and sassed her. I wanted her attention even if it was negative attention.”
“What did she do when you misbehaved?”
“Instead of spankings or threats she’d sit me down at the kitchen table and use words like shameful, embarrassing and immature to describe my behavior.”
“That’s rough.”
Yes, it was. “Later in life Mom got help and apologized for the way she’d treated me.”
“And you’re not angry with her anymore?”