by Anna Jeffrey
And Amanda was free to go. Her contract with the Drinkwell school system had expired last year. But in typical loosey-goosey Drinkwell fashion, the school system hadn’t addressed it. When asked, the superintendent said it was being processed. The consensus was that the contract would be renewed and life would go on as usual. Largely because of her relationship with Pic. No part of her life was unaffected either directly or indirectly by her connection to the Lockhart family.
What a difference a day makes, Amanda mused. Who knew better than she how life could make a 180-degree change in a minute? Like back in high school, not hearing from Pic for weeks, then learning through school gossip that he had married a college rodeo champion that she, Amanda, had never heard of.
Or being at home straightening the kitchen after supper one night and having the cops show up and haul her ex-husband away in handcuffs, then the nightmare that had followed and lasted for years.
Or getting a phone call while at college that her mother had been severely injured in a car accident. She hadn’t even had time to get from Lubbock to Drinkwell before her mother passed. Then her dad being diagnosed with lung cancer when had had rarely been sick in his life and had never smoked. The cruel Finger of Fate had landed on her more than once.
And now, another sudden, potentially fateful change from out of the blue had given her life new purpose. All she had to do was decide if leaving Drinkwell for a larger school and a larger job was what she wanted and how badly. Walking back into her house, she couldn’t hold back the excitement bubbling through her.
If she took on the girls’ swim program at Odessa High School and had the same success she’d had at Drinkwell, she could spring from taking a large high school to championships to a job coaching in a college. She could go back to college herself and get her Masters. Such thoughts had flickered in the far recesses of her mind for years, but life had kept getting in the way and those thoughts had remained fantasies rather than goals.
Her return to Drinkwell to care of her ailing father had been a step backward that had put her career on hiatus. Then, after her dad’s death, in her grief, she and Pic had drifted together again after he and Bill Junior had attended her dad’s funeral. In the last couple of years, her focus had been on her relationship with Pic. And now, he was the one cloud that darkened her delight.
Eric’s visit had lasted most of the afternoon and she was hungry. In the kitchen, she pulled a package of sliced ham, a tomato and a head of lettuce from the refrigerator and began to build a sandwich, all the while trying to imagine what would happen if she told Pic she was thinking about leaving Drinkwell. If she stepped out of his life, would he miss her? Perhaps, for a little while. Would he beg her to stay? Maybe. But would he give her a reason to stay? Who knew? What’s more, if he did, did she want to?
Of course she did. She loved Pic with all of her heart. In spite of his mother.
She filled a glass with ice cubes and tea, carried it and her sandwich to her small dining table. She sank to a chair, her mind traveling backward to when she and tall, rangy, always-smiling Pic Lockhart were in high school and were madly in love. She had been his only girlfriend and vice-versa. She had freely given herself to him and never been sorry. Back then, she had believed that he was her destiny and at some point, they would get married, make a family and live happily ever after.
Then he had left home for college. And in one sudden move, he had dashed her schoolgirl daydreams and turned her life upside down.
After that, for fifteen years, though she had left Drinkwell, graduated from college and gotten married, a part of her had never stopped loving her childhood hero. Could or should she abandon that emotional investment? Start over on a coaching career hundreds of miles away in an environment where most likely she would never see him again?
Did she have an either/or choice, really? Common sense told her that if Pic hadn’t made a commitment by now, he wasn’t going to. She wanted to believe, had let herself believe, that he loved her, though he hadn’t said so. Was it time she stopped fantasizing about something that not only wasn’t true now, but would never be true?
You need to think about your future, a voice in her head told her. That was true. She had passed the “thirty” landmark. No longer a kid. The only family she had left were an aunt and some distant cousins in Lubbock with whom she wasn’t even very well acquainted. She certainly couldn’t call on them for support if she needed it. In terms of a family network, since her father’s death, she had been totally on her own.
As an only child, she had been alone her whole life. She wanted a husband and kids and a home filled with warmth and love, where she would never be lonely. But if that wasn’t in the cards with Pic, she had to face some cold hard facts.
She had to think of Drinkwell High School itself. The school population shrank every year as parents with kids moved to larger towns to find work and young people left for good as soon as they graduated. When she had first taken over the girls’ swim program, she’d had forty kids. In the coming year, she would have fewer than thirty. The athletic program overall was understaffed, underfunded and poorly equipped. How much longer would a niche sport like girls’ swimming last? With concentration on football and basketball, the school had never even launched boys’ swimming except in an elective PE class.
She had found a home in teaching. The kids looked up to her and strived for her approval, whether in the swimming pool or in her English class. Nothing bolstered her spirits more than seeing the “aha” moment when some kid got it, seeing that look of wonder when an awkward teenage girl realized she could do something she hadn’t known she could. And knowing that she, Amanda Breckenridge, had put that light of discovery in her eyes and helped her find new self-confidence. Or when some boy who hated reading suddenly found a new world in a reading assignment she gave him and helped him understand. In Drinkwell, those moments were all the more priceless. Leaving that behind would be tough.
The start of the new school year wasn’t that far off. Thinking about the short notice she would have to give made her frown. But was it her fault no one had mentioned contract renewal to her? Wasn’t it time to consider herself first for a change, something she hadn’t always done? At thirty-one, she was in prime shape physically. The best she would ever be. If she stayed in a dying town waiting for Pic and squandered this opportunity to move to a larger school, she might regret it for the rest of her life.
If another Lucianne Shepler had already appeared in his life via his mother, he might very well abandon Amanda Breckenridge again.
She thought she had gotten past his elopement with Lucianne, forgiving it by blaming it on his immaturity and his leaving for the first time the sheltered life everyone in Drinkwell led. She tried not to think about the fact that the blond, green-eyed Lucianne was scary beautiful and steeped in the cowboy culture, which she had in common with Pic. No one more thoroughly epitomized the word “cowboy” than Pic.
Looking back, whatever the reason Pic had been so drawn to her that he eloped with her, that one on his part had deeply scarred Amanda’s eighteen-year-old heart and her self-esteem. Even years later, she hadn’t been able to dedicate herself to her marriage because all through it, she had still been carrying a torch for Pic.
And now, his spending one-on-one time with yet another beautiful woman sent by his mother had turned her into an anxiety-driven wreck. But it had done more than that. It had also unearthed an ugly jealous streak she thought she had outgrown and a profound realization of just how insecure she really was in her relationship with Pic. As easygoing and gregarious as he was on the outside and as well as she thought she knew him, she had to admit she usually had to guess at what was really going on inside his head.
One thing she believed she knew with certainty. He was drawn to beautiful women. And while she didn’t consider herself chopped liver, she didn’t think of herself in the same league as Kim Kardashian and she sure didn’t have Pamela Anderson boobs.
So if that was wh
at was most important to him, perhaps it was time for her to move on anyway.
****
By the time supper ended, Pic knew for certain Zochi wouldn’t make an appearance, even a late one. Thank you, Jesus. Today’s trip to the old homeplace should have ended her mission, whatever it was. A boulder had been lifted from his shoulders.
Troy hadn’t been at supper either and Pic wondered why.
Dad retired to the den to watch TV. Pic couldn’t sit still. He went to his suite, changed into a T-shirt, shorts and old athletic shoes and walked out to the workout room attached to the garage. When he and Drake were in high school sports, Dad had built it at the same time he built the garage. Nowadays, everyone in the family, even Dad, used the equipment.
Drake had probably abandoned working out—he looked a little soft these days—but Pic had never stopped it. He enjoyed pushing his body and staying in shape. If a strong back was needed or an extra hand, he liked being able to hold his own. Now, managing the ranch took so much of his time, his exercise routine was confined to the Bowflex and sometimes the elliptical trainer.
While he worked through numerous reps on the Bowflex, his thoughts centered on Mandy. The incident with Zochi had crystallized his focus on the only woman he really cared about. Instinctively, he knew and had known for a while, that it was time for him to stop being a coward about her. Still, things were complicated. He didn’t know exactly what to do.
After he had worn himself out and sweated his clothing through, he showered again and returned to the house. It was still too early for bed. Too antsy to read or sit in the den and watch TV with Dad, he strolled to the office. The temperature had to be in the high nineties.
It would be over a hundred tomorrow, for sure. He picked his phone off his belt and called a friend who owned an electrical company and arranged to have a couple of big fans hauled to the ranch and set up on the dance floor corners. The ranch hands worked in the Texas heat day after day, but this was supposed to be a relaxing day for them and their families. He and his dad wanted them to be as comfortable as possible.
Plenty of catch-up work awaited him. On the way to his desk, he gathered the several trade journals the ranch subscribed to and a few newsletters. He plugged in his iPod and sat down with George Strait in his ear. He opened the latest issue of The Cattleman, leaned back in his desk chair and propped his feet on the desktop. After thumbing through half the magazine, not one thing he had read had stayed with him.
He got to his feet and went to the cleaning supplies closet, pulled out the rolled swimming pool and pool house blueprint and carried it back to desk, unrolled it over the desktop. He propped his chin on his palm and stared down at the drawing, remembering why he’d hired it done in the first place. As it always did when he thought about the reason, panic seized him. He drew his hands down his face. “Jesus,” he mumbled.
He badly needed to talk to somebody, but who? Mandy? He couldn’t. Not yet. He needed all of his ducks in a row for that conversation.
He had many acquaintances around Drinkwell—old high school pals, hunting buddies, old partying friends—but he had nobody in whom he confided. Nobody like his big brother used to be. Back in the day, when something nagged at him, he would call or visit Drake and they would talk out what was on his mind. His older brother’s opinions had always carried more weight with him than anyone else he knew, even their dad’s. But now that Drake was married, with a new life, he might not want to hear his little brother’s whining.
Still…
Taking a chance, he picked up the receiver and pressed in Drake’s personal cell number.
Drake answered after only two burrs. “Hey.”
“You busy? Got time to talk a minute?” Not knowing how much Drake shared with his new wife, Pic added “In private?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
Pic gave a silent sigh of relief. He was lucky to have a brother like Drake. The guy never failed to come through. “I need to discuss a couple of things. One of them is a legal issue.”
“Has something happened at the ranch?”
“No, no. It’s personal.”
“We just finished supper and I’m doing some work in my office. Why don’t you come on up here where we can talk face-to-face?”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Pic disconnected with a smile, glad Drake now lived in Camden. He could be at his house in less than forty-five minutes. When Drake had lived in Fort Worth an hour and a half away, Pic had never made a spur-of-the-moment visit.
Carrying the swimming pool drawing, he walked back to the house, changed to a shirt with a long tail and hooked his 9MM onto his belt. He grabbed a bill cap and informed his dad he was going out.
The first thing he noticed as he approached Drake’s sprawling new house was a barely visible black Suburban parked on the side of the road a short distance from the driveway. Drake had bought the unimproved property on either side of his house, so his neighbors were too far away for the Suburban to belong to one of them.
That security bunch was Pic’s thought. A year ago, security was a word that was not part of his or his siblings’ lexicons.
With it being nighttime and the SUV having dark-tinted windows, Pic couldn’t see a person inside it, but he knew somebody was there. He had gotten acquainted and was on a first name basis with Marcus Mayweather and Chris Lytle, the two guys who hung around the Double-Barrel, but he didn’t know who shadowed Drake and his family.
He might never get used to looking in his rearview mirror and seeing one of those black rigs. He and Dad both questioned the necessity of it and Dad bitched about it every day. They had acquiesced to Blake Rafferty and Drake, but with limitations. Neither of them wanted those rigs trailing them like bird dogs or interfering with the ranch’s operation.
Drake’s wife met him at the front door. She was dressed in black slacks and a green T-shirt. Every time Pic saw her, he was struck again by what a beautiful woman his brother had married. And she seemed to be a warm and friendly person. Pic, as well as his dad, wanted to know her better, which was one of the reasons why he had been looking forward to Drake bringing her down to the ranch tomorrow. He would be disappointed if Mom and her friends’ visit somehow threw a kink into that.
Wearing a T-shirt, her swollen belly showed, reminding Pic that in a few months, he would be an uncle. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel or what it would be like to have a baby in the family. He lifted off his cap and brushed cheeks with her. “Hope I’m not intruding, ma’am.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, smiling. “You’re always welcome. And you don’t have to call me ma’am.” She took his cap and set it on a table in the entry. “Drake’s in his office. You know where it is. Just go back there.”
Pic sauntered up the long hallway to his brother’s office, his boot heels thudding on the hardwood floor. He stepped into the office, looking around. Drake’s home domain wasn’t as large as his office in downtown Fort Worth, but it was bigger than the offices at the ranch. It was brown and tan with dark wooden furniture. One long wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Camden Lake. Both a desktop computer and monitor as well as a laptop sat on his expansive desk.
Three flat-screen TVs were mounted on the solid wall to the left of the desk, one streaming video after video of buildings and shopping centers, another broadcasting current news and the third tuned to some financial channel. All three had been dark when Pic had been in the office previously, but now with all of them on, the room felt alive.
Pic found Drake’s office fascinating. It reminded him just how much Drake was responsible for and how diversified his business was. Pic couldn’t imagine what would cause him personally to need so much electronic information all at one time, though he used his computer almost every day.
Drake rose from his desk, rounded one end and they man-hugged and back-slapped.
Pic stepped back, grinning. “Hey, man, guess what. There’s a bl
ack SUV parked outside by your driveway.”
Chuckling, Drake rested his hands on his hips. He was wearing long shorts and a T-shirt, clothing Pic had rarely seen him wear since high school. In shower shoes, he was a good three inches shorter than Pic in cowboy boots. “What the hell,” he said. “If a Texas Ranger thinks your ass might be in danger, you ought to take him seriously, right?”
“I guess so,” Pic replied, mirroring his brother’s stance. “But those rigs are driving all of us crazy. They’ve put a cramp in Dad’s social life big time. Kate’s, too. All of a sudden she has to be a little more discreet about who she drags home with her.”
“I know y’all take issue with the whole idea,” Drake said. “But we have to tolerate it. Just remember, these guys are the best I could find. Most of them are ex-military and they’re serious about what they do.”
“They look it, too. Mandy thinks they look ominous.”
“We’re counting on the bad guys thinking the same thing. I thought at first they would mostly keep an eye on Shannon and her grandmother, but lately, one of them insists on following me or driving me when I go to Fort Worth or Dallas. I finally decided it’s easier to let them drive me than it is to argue with them.”
Pic shook his head, unable to stop a laugh. “Jeez, Drake. That’s wild. A few years ago, who would’ve thought we’d be doing this? Who would’ve thought I’d be taking classes in self-defense with a gun or carrying when I drive from Drinkwell to Camden?”
Since Blake and Jack had concluded that the whole family was in some kind of danger, Pic, along with his dad and all of his siblings, had taken classes on defending themselves and he was now a better marksman than he had ever been. Shooting in self-defense, he had soon learned, was different from hunting and sport shooting.