"Emily," Austin called from across the playground.
"Bye, Jackson. Ask your Mom about the party!" She ran toward her father. "Thanks, Miz Walker," she called back over her shoulder.
Jackson strutted in his new jeans and boots when they walked to the car, stopping to say goodbye to the children still waiting for their parents to arrive. Tracey hadn't realized how much he wanted to look like the other kids, how much confidence it seemed to give him to wear those jeans and boots that made him look like a miniature Austin Miller. He even walked like him, swinging his arms just slightly and tilting his head to one side. His smile was as winning as his dad's, Tracey thought ruefully. She'd always been a sucker for that irresistible lopsided grin.
"What party?" she asked him when they were finally in the car.
"Oh, me and Emily were planning a party together for our birthdays," he told her. "We could eat at a restaurant and then go play in the park, and," he held his breath, "maybe after that we could go to Tom Bean and I could see Maybelle."
"Oh, I see. Has Emily talked to her daddy about this?" she asked.
"Nope, not yet. We just thought it up today," he said. "I'm hungry. Let's go home and fix some 'sghetti for supper. And some of that long, skinny bread you put that shaky cheese on, and a big old root beer. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"
"Could you eat Maybelle?" she asked.
"Nope. Maybelle's not for eating, she's for riding. Riding in my new boots and my new jeans with Emily right up there beside me," he said proudly. "Emily said she'd ride with me at first so I won't be scared. But I will be. For just a little bit I'll be scared, Mom, because I'll be riding for the first time. But that's all right, ain't it?"
"Isn't it?" she corrected. "Yes, it's all right to be scared. Even mommies get scared sometimes." And how, she mused. Right now the mere thought of Austin Miller scared her half to death.
Jackson settled down to play with the action figures she kept in the car, and Tracey stared straight ahead, driving home in silence.
Tracey went into her bedroom and changed into a pair of worn gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with a faded picture of Minnie Mouse on the front. She looked around the room and sighed.
The decor was a far cry from the luxuries she'd grown up with and taken for granted. But at least everything was hers, and she and Jackson didn't owe one single solitary soul a cent. Tracey surveyed the odd assortment of furniture with sentimental affection.
Her iron bed frame had come from a garage sale. She'd stripped off all the old paint and rust, and repainted it sunshine yellow. The same yellow paint had freshened up a ten-drawer dresser that a teacher friend had passed along. Over it hung an unusual mirror of her own design made from an old six-paned window. She'd had the broken glass removed and replaced with six small panes of mirrored glass, and painted the frame emerald green.
Jackson still loved seeing six reflections of himself in it, when he could talk her into holding him up high enough to do it. Wouldn't be long before he was tall enough to see into it by himself, she thought wistfully.
Tracey looked at the old rocker in the corner, and sighed once more. Its green paint was chipped where he'd teethed on the seat long ago.
She'd rocked him to sleep there for years, and now he was almost too big for her lap. He was growing up fast, just as he should be, but sometimes she wished he'd slow down a little.
She caught her own reflection in the six-paned mirror. She'd aged in the past six years but then so had Austin. There were flecks of gray in his sideburns these days and she noticed crow's-feet around his warm brown eyes when he was talking to her today. She looked more closely for wrinkles, but there were only one or two. She still had a flawless complexion with only a few freckles. Tracey tightened her T-shirt around her waist, assessing her figure with a slight frown. She could afford to drop twenty pounds, but who could diet, teach and raise a son all at the same time?
"Hey, Mom," he called from his bedroom. "Come see this. There's a spider with legs as long as Emily's daddy right here on my bed."
She shivered. She hated spiders more than anything.
"Where?" she asked from the door to his room. There was a set of maple twin beds covered with bright red spreads. When Jackson had outgrown his crib her father sent them for him. Tracey had protested but he said his grandchild had to have a real bed plus one for a friend and she didn't need to be huffy about accepting them. The beds were separated by the chest of drawers he'd had since he was a baby. She'd bought it at an unfinished furniture store and finished it herself, rubbing maple stain into the wood and then sealing it, before coating it twice with spar varnish to make it watertight.
After four years of service in a little boy's bedroom, the piece still looked pretty good. Tracey ran a hand over its smooth top, and looked around for the spider.
There it was, right in the middle of the bed Jackson didn't sleep in. It was huge. "Mom, don't kill it. That kind of spider only eats bugs," he said. "Just get a grocery sack and scare it in it and then put it outside. I bet he heard us talking about 'sghetti and he thought he'd come to supper."
She got a paper sack from the kitchen, chased the spider in it and took it down the stairs to the yard to turn it loose. She folded the sack carefully and then she saw a pick-up driving into the courtyard of the complex where she lived. Austin was at the wheel.
He'd promised to give her a couple of weeks to think things over, not a couple of hours. Surely he hadn't followed her here from the school. She watched the truck go by, realizing that Austin hadn't seen her after all. He turned into one of the parking places across the yard from her apartment, got out, and put Emily on his back for a piggyback ride.
He fished around in his pocket for a key and opened the apartment door, then they went inside. Oh, no. It couldn't be. He actually lived across the yard and in a downstairs apartment in the same complex she lived in. That was just absolutely one hundred percent wonderful. Why hadn't she seen him before now?
Because, her overworked brain reminded her, you park your car behind your apartment and usually take the back stairs when you leave. And he's teaching that early morning class this semester so he leaves an hour earlier than you do.
"Oh, great," she said out loud.
"Hey, Mom," Jackson yelled down from the upstairs breeze-way. "Did the spider make it out of the sack okay?"
"Shhhhhh," she whispered loudly. "Go on back in the apartment or he'll hear you."
"Okay," he mouthed and minded her for the first time in months without a whole bevy of questions. Something in Tracey's tone told him that she meant business.
Chapter Five
Tracey unsnapped her briefcase, took out her trusty red pen and the first of thirty-five compositions from her eight A.M. class. She'd asked them to write about a person or place that had influenced their decision to go to college.
She picked up the first paper, read the opening sentence, and looked up at the wall in the dining room where she sat at the bistro table for two with the stacks of papers in front of her. There was a poster size photo of Jackson taken just last year in the garden behind her father's house. He was smiling and waving, and Tracey smiled back at the photo absentmindedly.
Lost in reverie, she continued to look at it for at least ten minutes before she realized she wasn't focusing.
She went to the living room window, opening it wide. The night air smelled wonderful and the stars were bright as diamonds in the black sky. A frog was singing the blues off in the distance and she could hear a few crickets trying to harmonize with him. Then someone cleared his throat and she looked down to see Austin standing on his narrow balcony, looking up at the same stars she was admiring.
Tracey suddenly felt a desperate need to talk to him. Really talk . . . and really listen. She checked Jackson to make sure he was sleeping soundly and slipped out the front door. Changing from sweatpants, T-shirt and house shoes into something nicer didn't enter her mind. She didn't care if her hair was straggling down in curls around her neck and fac
e. She wasn't going over there to flirt with him, after all. This was for Jackson.
Austin opened the door. "Trace?" He could hardly believe his eyes. He hadn't heard a car drive up, where had she come from? Good grief, in that get-up she looked like she used to in college, only a little rounder and ten times more beautiful.
"Hello," she said, feeling awkward.
"Where'd you come from?" he asked bluntly.
"Up there." She nodded toward the apartment with the open drapes. Her light shone down, making a square on the courtyard. "I live up there. I didn't know you lived here until this evening when you came home. I was outside setting a spider free when you and Emily came home."
"Well, I'll be damned," he said and she could see the flash of his big smile in the moonlight. "You mean to say you've lived there a whole month without me knowin' it?"
"Yes. Believe me, I wouldn't have moved in if I'd known—" she stopped herself, not wanting to sound so rude. "Anyway, you leave before I do. It's been hotter than sin before daylight so I haven't opened the drapes. I try not to spy on the neighbors," she explained casually. "I just happened to see you down here and I wanted to talk."
"Okay," he said slowly. "Come on in."
"I'll stay out here, thanks. I've decided to tell Jackson about you in a few days. By myself. He already likes you. I guess you know that," she started. "I want to do the right thing, Austin, I really do."
"Thanks, Trace," he nodded.
"How is Emily going to feel about this? She's had you all to herself for a long time, and she has no idea Jackson is her brother. Maybe we'd best tell them at the same time, so there won't be any surprises for her, either," she said.
"Okay," he agreed, lengthening the word in his slow drawl. Her heart skipped a beat. She could feel the warmth of that easy drawl right down to her toes, and strangely enough, she liked it.
"And Emily might also feel upset about something else. I mean, Jackson is going to have a father and a mother all of a sudden, and all she's got is a father. Up til now they've been equal. Jackson has a mother and she's got a father. One of each, you know," she tried to explain.
"Yes," he nodded again. "I see what you mean. But I think something else is bothering you. Remember, I know you, Trace."
"Yeah, you sure do," she admitted honestly. "Emily's a cute kid, and I like her. I think Jackson will love spending time with her, but we're adults and we know there will be competition after the novelty wears off. You do realize that, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. There's bound to be some conflict between them." He eyed her shrewdly for a moment. "But I still don't think that's what's on your mind."
Tracey took a deep breath, and plunged in. "Austin, I'm afraid that when I look at her I won't see the wonderful little girl she is. I'm afraid I might resent her because you chose her mother." Tracey looked up at him. She was standing close enough that she could see the five o'clock shadow of his beard even in the dark, and she could smell his distinctive fragrance . . . a combination of his soap, shaving lotion and just plain Austin.
"I can understand that, too," he said. "But you've got to admit, I chose Crystal at a time when I didn't even know you were pregnant. I was young and stupid and thought I was doing the right thing when I married her."
"Okay," she drew the word out just like he did. "But it doesn't change the past or shape the future. I think I can handle you being a part of Jackson's life, but I'm not sure I want to be a part of Emily's."
"I see," Austin said slowly. "Let me ask you something, Trace. Where do I stand in all this? Are you seeing someone else? Have you been married? There's a lot of questions I'd like to ask about these past six years."
"I'm not married. Haven't ever been. I'm not seeing anyone right now. Where do you want to stand?"
"I told you today. I still love you. I always have and probably always will. But I made a choice six years ago, right or wrong, with whatever knowledge I had to go on. I can just tell you that I love you and hope you believe me. What you do is up to you. You can tell me to go to hell all over again. I'm hoping that someday you'll love me back. But I won't pressure you. Right now, I'm just grateful that you'll let me be a part of Jackson's life." He laid his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze.
Just his touch sent a bolt of electricity right through her. The warm night and his soft tone put her in mind of their first summer together, when she'd been young enough to believe that love conquered all. But her life was a whole lot more complicated now, and she wasn't about to let her past feelings for Austin influence her thinking now.
She needed time—a lot of time—to think. Admitting to Austin that she was willing to let him be a part of Jackson's life was enough for this day.
"No strings attached?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't move her hand.
"None. My love is there for you. I can wait. When you decide what you want to do, let me know. We can go our separate ways, or build some kind of relationship. Once upon a time, Trace . . . I loved you Red River deep. Don't forget that." His voice was husky.
But you walked out and left me all the same, Tracey thought miserably. She wasn't going to give him a second chance to do that. Not with Jackson in the picture.
"Hey." Austin pulled her close and hugged her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. Stronger electricity coursed through her, and Tracey struggled briefly in his embrace, uncomfortable with its intensity. He released her, hoping that he hadn't gone too far.
He watched her walk away from him, back up the stairs to her apartment across the courtyard from his. She waved before she pulled the drapes and even that simple gesture made a burst of hope leap in his heart.
Tracey moved away from the window, and checked on Jackson. Asleep in his bedroom, his steady breathing reassured her. She'd had her son all to herself for six wonderful years. He did have the right to know his father, she told herself. Austin seemed to be a fine man and a good father to Emily, and he would be fair in his affections. But she had no idea what the future would bring for the four of them, and no idea why the thought of it scared her so.
She wandered into the dining room once more, and picked up the paper she had started to grade. This time she read it through and made several corrections in red pencil. Surprising how easy it was to straighten out other people's mistakes. Tracey picked up another paper and finished grading it. Before eleven o'clock they were all finished, ready to give back to the students tomorrow for rewriting, and she was tired enough for bed.
A quick shower relaxed her, and she slipped on a cotton knit nightgown that had been blue once upon a time. Now it was almost white and there were splotches of red, pink, yellow, and purple fingerpaint from a rainy-day art project she and Jackson had done. The paint was supposed to be water soluble and wash right out of anything. It never had, but she liked the gown so well she kept wearing it even with the paint stains. Besides, it reminded her of a happy morning she'd spent with her son.
Tracey crawled into bed with a romance novel, and read a chapter or two to make her sleepy. The hero was tall, strong, dressed in faded jeans that fit him just so, and he had a way of walking that made the heroine sit up and take notice. She ready a little more and realized the author could have been describing Austin. Yawning, she set the book aside, turned out the light, and fell into a sweet dream of her own hero holding her tight. He looked an awful lot like Austin, too. Tracey slept better that night than she had since she'd moved to Durant.
"Hey, Mom," Jackson called out to her while they were getting dressed the next morning. "I want a big belt with a silver buckle for my birthday." He zipped his jeans and bent over to bunch the extra length around his boottop. "You know, like Emily's dad has. Maybe you could find one with my initial engraved on it."
"You didn't tell Poppa Jack that's what you wanted, did you? I wouldn't want to get you the same thing you asked him for." She pulled on a pair of navy blue palazzo pants and a silk blouse, also in navy, and quickly buttoned up the front.
"Nope," he smile
d. "I didn't ask Poppa Jack for a buckle."
His little-boy grin and the twinkle in his eye made her think of Austin, and thinking of Austin made her think of the dream she'd had last night. Tracey blushed, remembering, as Jackson danced around her, unable to contain his secret.
"Want to know what I asked him for?" Jackson's bright eyes practically begged her to ask him just what it was he wanted.
"I don't know." She played along. "Maybe you'd better not tell me, especially if it's a secret between you and Poppa Jack. Let me see, did you ask him for some more jeans?"
"No, silly. You know he bought me five pairs so I can have a clean pair every day and you can wash them all on Saturday."
"Don't remind me," Tracey said wryly. "I never have liked to do laundry and I never will."
"Poppa Jack said to tell you to buy real starch and make creases down the legs when you iron them."
"I know how to iron jeans," she retorted. "I think I can get the crease right." Jackson grinned and slung his backpack over his shoulders.
"I'm ready."
"Me, too."
She picked up her briefcase and they walked out the door together.
"Guess again," Jackson said, enjoying the game. "Did you ask for another pair of boots? Are you really going to wear those every single day of school?"
"Yep, Emily's daddy wears them every day and he's a teacher just like you, Mom. Anyway, I asked Poppa Jack for a pony," he said blithely.
"A what?" Tracey said in disbelief.
"Yep. A real pony like Maybelle. Poppa Jack said he'd have to talk to you first and find a place to keep her."
"Good plan. This apartment building doesn't allow ponies in the living room. And neither do I."
Jackson looked a little disappointed with this new rule, until a familiar voice called to them.
"Good mornin'," Austin was across the courtyard by his pickup. "How are you this mornin', Jackson?"
"Emily!" he shouted and ran to the pickup. "Oh, hi, Emily's daddy. I mean, Mr. Miller," he laughed. "How did you get here?"
Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 21