A Texas Family

by Linda Warren

  “Mama, Asa Corbett has had a stroke. Hilary told you.”

  Norma frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  Hilary had said their mother had memory lapses and was out of it a lot these days. It was unsettling to witness.

  “He has. He’s in a wheelchair, and he’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s been so long ago no one cares anymore.”

  No one but me.

  “I don’t know,” Norma murmured in a faraway voice.

  “Mama, I’m going to be staying a few days, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  The screen door banged and Hilary breezed in with a Styrofoam takeout container in her hand. “Hey, sis, you made it.”

  “Yeah.”

  People said they looked alike, and Jena supposed they did with the same dark eyes and hair and similar facial features. But the resemblance ended there. They were totally different in personality. Hilary was a bubbly scatterbrain who talked constantly. Jena, on the other hand, was reserved and quiet. She’d been called uptight more than once. Jared was the only one who’d seen she was a warm, compassionate person in need of love. Desperate for love.

  “Did you bring my dinner?” Norma asked.

  “Sure did, Mama. I’ll put it on the kitchen table. It’s Mabel’s pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade rolls. Peach cobbler for dessert. You better eat it while it’s warm.” Hil hurried into the kitchen.

  “Okay.” Norma followed her and so did Jena.

  Hil fixed a glass of iced tea and placed it and a napkin on the table.

  Jena watched this, rather mystified. Her mom was a wonderful cook and was capable of making delicious meals with the little food they’d had. Why wasn’t she cooking?

  Jena went back into the living room, and soon Hilary joined her. “I had no idea Mama was this bad.”

  “Ever since Dad was murdered and Mama got you out of town so quick, she hasn’t been the same. Every day she gets a little worse.”

  “Did she just stop cooking?”

  “She left grease on the burner twice, and it caught fire. I just happened to be home or our—” she glanced around the drab room “—mansion would have burned down. I had one of the guys turn off the gas to the stove. I can turn it on if I need to, but since I work at the café I bring her food.”

  Hilary had worked at Mabel’s Café ever since she was sixteen. There weren’t many jobs in Willow Creek, a town of four hundred. Her sister would be stuck here for the rest of her life, taking care of their mother.

  She reached out and hugged her. “Thank you, baby sis, for all you do.”

  “Aw.” Hil pulled away. “You gonna make me cry.”

  “I know it’s not easy dealing with Mama.”

  “It’s like dealing with a child.”

  “I know we talked about her doctor visits. Is there nothing else he can do?”

  Hil shook her head. “He said severe trauma from the murders has altered her personality, and dementia has set in, but I know her moods. We’re okay.”

  The bucket caught Jena’s attention. “I hate to sound critical when I’m so appreciative, but what happened to the money for the roof?”

  “Oh, that. Don’t get upset. Wait till you see.”

  Jena followed her sister through the kitchen and suddenly stopped. There was a utility room off the kitchen—a bright cheery room painted a soft yellow with a white washer and dryer. One wall had a mural of a rainbow, clouds and birds.

  Jena was speechless.

  Growing up, they hadn’t had a washer or a dryer. On Saturdays, they usually went into Dripping Springs to a Laundromat. But if they didn’t have money, their mother washed their clothes in the bathtub—a backward way of life for the poor people who lived across the tracks. A stigma that would be with her for the rest of her life, as would so many other things from her childhood.

  “You built a utility room?”

  “Fresh, isn’t it?” She pointed to the mural. “It would have cost more money to put a window in, so I painted a scene to liven up the place.”

  “Who built this?”

  “The guys. I bought all the supplies, and they did the rest.”

  “What guys?”

  “The ones who come into the café: Billy Jack, Clem, Bobby Joe, Bruce, Lenny and...”

  “The labor was free?”

  “Yes. Bruce is a carpenter, Lenny a plumber, Clem a Sheetrock guy, Billy Jack a painter and Bobby Joe a roofer. They had it up in two days.”

  “For free?”

  Hil grinned. “I just promised to cut their piece of pie a little bigger at the café. They’ll do anything for an extra piece of pie.”

  Jena believed they did it for Hilary. She had a way with people.

  She looked at the white ceiling. “I’m assuming this has a roof on it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why didn’t you roof the whole house?”

  “Well—” she tilted her head slightly “—I ran out of money. I can get the guys to do hard labor, but I can’t get them to fork over any cash. So Bobby Joe put tar on it, and he’s coming back to repair that one spot that’s still leaking.”

  “If you’re happy...”

  “I am.” She did a dance, swung around in a quick move and did a ta-da with her hands pointed toward the washer and dryer in a typical Vanna White gesture. “I can wash clothes anytime I want. I feel empowered.”

  Jena laughed, something she hadn’t done in a long time, but in her heart she felt guilty. She had those conveniences in Dallas and more, while her mother and sister lived in poverty. While she was here she would try to improve things as much as she could.

  Arm in arm they walked into the kitchen. Their mother sat at the table, staring off into space, her food barely touched.

  Hilary went to her. “Hey, Mama, why aren’t you eating?”

  “What? Oh.” Norma looked up, her eyes blank. “I’m not hungry. You can—” She stared at Jena. “What are you doing here? You have to go. They’ll hurt you. C’mon.” She stood up so fast the chair went flying into the stove.

  Hilary immediately hugged their mother, motioning for Jena to go into the other room. Her legs trembled, but she did what her sister asked.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” Hil was saying. “A little nap and you’ll feel much better.”

  “Why do I keep seeing her?”

  “Because you’re worried about her, but Jena is fine. Remember I told you she’s coming for a visit.”

  “No. They’ll hurt her again.”

  “That was in the past. Things are different now.”

  “I’m so cold.”

  “Lie down and I’ll get a blanket.” In a few minutes Hilary was back in the living room.

  “Is she always like that?” Jena asked.

  “It comes and goes. Today’s a bad day. She’ll wake up and be almost normal. It’s strange.”

  “She shouldn’t be left by herself.”

  Hilary shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. I have to work, but I check on her all the time. It’s not that far to the café, and the good thing is she won’t leave the house. This is familiar, and if I force her outside for fresh air she gets all nervous.”

  “We have to talk about this, Hil.”

  “I’m not putting her in a home,” Hilary said with a stubborn lift of her chin.

  Jena didn’t want to do that, either, but they’d have to have a serious conversation soon.

  “Enough with the depressing thoughts.” Hil jerked off her boots and socks. “I want to try on those shoes. Off with them.”

  Jena smiled and really looked at her sister’s attire for the first time. She wore a denim skirt that flared out around her thighs, a red-and-white-check blouse and cowgirl boots with red tops. Bracelets d
angled on her wrist; large silver earrings hung from her ears. She looked as if she was going square dancing.

  Undoing the tiny strap around her ankles, Jena said, “Love the outfit.”

  “I make sure no one forgets me.” Hilary slipped on the four-inch heels. “Wow.” She tottered across the living room and then mimicked the walk of a runway model, tripped and fell onto the sofa, laughing. “How do you walk in these things?”

  “You get used to it, and I have to dress nice for my job.”

  “Oh, yeah, the big attorney.”

  Jena didn’t miss the sarcastic tone. “He’s been nice to me, Hil.”

  “You deserve it, Jen-Jen.”

  She felt a warm glow at the nickname her sister had given her.

  Hilary placed the shoes on the coffee table. “I saw the Accord parked at Carson’s. A lot of people did and wondered who you were. I didn’t say anything.”

  “I don’t care who knows I’m back.”

  Hilary played with the hem of her skirt. “They’ll wonder about the baby.”

  Hearing the fear in her sister’s voice, she got up and sat by her on the sofa. “It doesn’t matter. The truth is going to come out.”

  “What did Carson say?”

  “Not much. I told him I want to see my child and he could either get the information from his father or the authorities would. I’m not afraid of them anymore.”

  Hilary continued to pick at the hem. “Sometimes I have nightmares about that night.”

  “Me, too,” she murmured as her stomach cramped.

  “Mama and I were so worried. You didn’t come home from your shift at the convenience store. Just as we were getting ready to go look for you, Roland Stubbs and Curly Sanders dragged you into the house. Your clothes were bloody. Roland said, ‘Get her out of town before Asa kills her.’”

  Hilary took a breath. “Then you told us what had happened, and Mama was furious. She put you to bed and borrowed Mrs. Carter’s car because the sheriff had seized Dad’s truck for evidence. She and I went to the Bar C. She demanded the baby, and Asa pushed her against one of those huge pillars on the porch and threatened to kill all of us. He didn’t care, he said. His son was dead.”

  Jena wanted her to stop talking. She didn’t want to remember, but in truth she thought of that horrible night vividly almost every day. And every night.

  “We came home, and Mama called cousin Nan in Dallas, and she drove through the night to get you out of Willow Creek. You lay on the backseat in a blanket and cried the whole way. I cried, too.”

  Jena wrapped her arms around her waist to still the trembling.

  “Cousin Nan said you could stay with her, and Mama gave her some money. I don’t know where she got it. Funny how I remember that. Mama and I returned to Willow Creek, and I didn’t realize until weeks later that you weren’t coming back. I cried myself to sleep that night.” Hil wiped away an errant tear. “For weeks I looked for newborn babies in Willow Creek. There weren’t any, except with women who had been pregnant. Do you...don’t get upset...do you think Asa might have killed it?”

  Jena tensed. “Sometimes. But I don’t think even Asa could have been so cruel as to kill the baby if he thought there was a chance it was Jared’s child.”

  “But he’s crazy.”

  Jena stood, needing to move to stop the flood of memories.

  “Jen-Jen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I know you’re set on finding your baby, and I would be, too, but have you thought the child would be almost nine years old now and probably with a family who loves it dearly?”

  “I’ve thought of a million scenarios.”

  “It’s been a long time. You have a good life in Dallas. Wouldn’t it be best to leave the past in the past?”

  “I have to know where my child is.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt again.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not young and scared anymore. It’s illegal, even in Willow Creek, to steal someone’s baby, and Asa Corbett is going to pay for what he did.”

  She’d come back for revenge, just as she’d told Carson. She now had access to resources for justice, and she intended to make that happen—with or without the constable’s help.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EVERY TIME CARSON drove under the wrought-iron arch for the Bar C Ranch, his chest filled with pride, which was quickly replaced with anger for a brief second. When he’d finished his tour of duty, he was excited to see his wife and son again. And to be there for his dad, who Beth had said had sunk into deep depression since Jared’s death. But that was just one of Carson’s many worries.

  Even before Jared was murdered, Asa had turned over the reins of the ranch to Roland Stubbs, allowing him to sign checks. That was a big mistake. Roland sold all the cattle, horses, equipment and drained the ranch bank account. All that was left was the house, barns and land.

  Carson’s return home was bittersweet. His dad sat brooding in his chair and didn’t show much interest in the ranch or in his daughter-in-law or grandson. Beth had been dealing with a newborn and hadn’t noticed anything strange going on except for the cattle trailers going in and out, which she’d thought was normal ranching business.

  He’d contacted the sheriff, and Roland and Curly Sanders were soon arrested and convicted. Curly was released last year, but Roland would be in prison for some time to come. When Jena had mentioned goons, he’d had a bad feeling in his gut. Those two were ruthless enough to do anything.

  He never quite understood his dad’s reasoning in handing the ranch’s responsibilities to Roland. He’d said it was Carson’s fault for not being here. The Bar C was his legacy, and neither he nor Jared showed any respect for what he’d built. So if the ranch was in trouble Carson had only himself to blame.

  But Carson accepted only so much of that blame. According to Beth, his dad was spending a lot of time with a lady he kept in Austin. That meant he’d been ignoring his business, which had allowed Roland to weasel his way into a cushy job. As long as Asa saw money rolling in, he hadn’t questioned Roland or his activities.

  “Dad, you better get your money ready,” Trey said from the passenger seat. “I made all A’s again, and it’s five bucks for every A. Remember?”

  “What?”

  “Dad.” Trey sighed. “You’re not listening.”

  “Five bucks for every A. I got it.”

  “Me, too, Daddy,” Claire said from her car seat in the back.

  “You got it, princess.” He looked in the rearview mirror at his blonde beauty. She looked just like her mother except she had green eyes like him, as did Trey.

  “You don’t get grades,” Trey told her. “You’re too little.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are, too.”

  Carson held up his hand. “Enough. What are you going to do with your money, Trey?”

  “Buy a new fishing rod. This summer I’m gonna catch that big ol’ catfish in Willow Creek.”

  “I don’t like fishing,” Claire said. Like her mother, Claire would rather stay indoors.

  The large two-story French colonial-style house came into view. It had an expansive veranda with a balcony above and the stately Greek columns typical of a Southern plantation. The Corbett home had been in the family for years, and Asa had completely renovated it for his wife, a Dallas socialite. She’d stayed long enough to have two sons and then returned to the city without them. Asa refused to let her take them, according to Carson’s aunt Fran. Asa’s wife had died one year later in a plane crash. Carson vaguely remembered the funeral.

  He drove around back to the garages. The kids jumped out and ran through the breezeway to the sunroom. Aunt Fran, his dad’s sister, had a snack waiting for them. After Carson and Jared’s mother had left, their aunt came to help. She was th
e only mother figure they’d had in their lives. When he and Jared were older, she decided to travel and see the world. She’d returned for good when Jared died. Carson didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t. She could deal with Asa better than anyone.

  “Where’s Pa?” He kissed his aunt’s cheek.

  “In the den,” she replied, pouring milk into glasses. “He’s sitting in there with a picture of Jared in his lap. One of these days I’m going to hide it. It’s not healthy for him to stare at it all the time.”

  In her late fifties, Aunt Fran had a reddish tint to her short, bobbed, graying blond hair. She was strong-willed and determined, like Asa, except she was a much softer version of him.

  Carson walked into the den. Asa sat in his motorized wheelchair. He could work the joystick with his right hand. A physiotherapist was working with him, and Asa could stand and shuffle a couple of steps, but his left side was weak and stiff.

  In his younger years, Asa had been a formidable, well-respected rancher. Governors, senators, congressmen courted Asa for favors. Many barbecues had been thrown on the Bar C to support the candidate of Asa’s choice. He’d ruled Willow Creek. Nothing had been done here without his approval. That was then. Now it was disheartening to see his robustly strong dad reduced to a shell of his former self.

  “Hi, Pa,” he said.

  Asa turned the chair to face his son. “K-ids.”

  “They’re having a snack. They’ll be here in a minute.” The only bright spot in his dad’s life was his grandkids. Claire would crawl into his lap and help to work his fingers for exercise. Trey would help to work his legs, and he’d read to him. It was good for his kids. It taught them how to treat the disabled and the elderly...except his dad was only sixty-five.

  Carson intended to bring up Jena Brooks but decided to wait. He didn’t want to upset Asa without showing him some hard evidence. He had to prove Ms. Brooks was lying, and the only way to do that was with facts.

  The kids ran in, and Claire climbed up to sit in Asa’s lap, looking at the photo of Jared. Trey sat at his feet, telling his grandfather about his good grades.

  “I’ve got to go out, guys. Trey, do your homework, and, Claire, I’ll help you when I get back.”