Lone Star Hero

by Jennie Jones

  Her cell rang. Heart still heavy with the weight of despondency, she turned from the window, picked up her cell, and answered. “I told him.”

  “How did he look when you told him?” Momma asked.

  “Shocked.” Almost as shocked as Molly had been when Momma told her.

  “Of course he’d be shocked, honey. He loves your cute little everything.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Momma, that’s not helping.” It was as though someone had taken away a present before she’d unwrapped it, saying it had to be returned to the shop because they’d just realized it wasn’t the right present for her.

  “Molly, honey, things have got to move faster than they currently are. I don’t have time to wait another decade, and neither do you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Things have got to change. For all our sakes.”

  So Saul could leave earlier—and Molly could begin her business for everyone’s sake.

  “This issue needed a push,” Momma said. “Don’t go fretting. It’s all going to work out exactly as it’s supposed to.”

  But why did it need a push? It was pushing Saul away earlier than she’d expected.

  She opened her laptop, then instinctively and stupidly opened her photographs folder and flicked through the latest photos.

  “You know, honey, nothing gets done when people can’t make up their mind about what ought to be done.”

  “You sound as cryptic as Alice,” Molly said absently, still focused on her photographs. “Who can’t make up their mind?” She stilled when she opened the photo she’d taken this afternoon of her and Saul. She was gazing up at him. If Donaldson’s and the Texas Portal got hold of this one, they’d see it for what it was. Molly Mackillip in—No. She shut the folder down. There was no way she could be in love. Infatuation maybe. Possibly veering toward an in-sexual-lust type of condition—not that she knew what that would feel like. Or maybe she was just a stupid woman who ought to be thinking how lucky she was and not how lonely she was going to be without him. Without his presence, somehow guiding her as much as she guided him. They had a lot of emotional issues, she and Saul. But they’d been working on them—together. Even if it hadn’t been an optional exercise, it had happened and an understanding had blossomed.

  “He’s more than just a handsome man, isn’t he?” Momma said, as though she’d read her daughter’s mind and was privy to her innermost thoughts and fears. But mothers could do that.

  “He is,” Molly admitted. It was the inside of him she liked as much as the outside.

  “Guess what’s happening with my blog!” Momma said.

  “What?” Molly turned her back on her laptop and gave Momma her full attention.

  “Last look, I had four thousand, nine hundred and twenty-three subscribers.”

  “No!”

  “That was an hour ago. They’re queuing up to hear my thoughts on just about everything I can think of.”

  “Wow. You’re doing so good. Are you becoming some sort of agony aunt?”

  “Could be, honey. Could be. Just think how this is going to help the grandmothers’ businesses too. There’ll be a virtual link to the psychic world. All through Momma’s Hopeless Blog site. People will flock to the valley.”

  “Don’t get too emotional.”

  “Like I said, Molly—you’ve already generated enthusiasm and—what was it the bedroom devil said you had?”

  “He’s not a bedroom devil!” Not that she knew. Not that she was ever likely to discover now either, given that there was only three days left to enjoy his company.

  “Skill sets,” Momma said. “He was spot-on. You know, he was meant to come here, Molly.”

  “I know.” But why was he meant to leave? “So how’s it going with my issue?” she asked, removing all thoughts about her lonely future in a manner only the most determined, making-a-stand-for-herself woman could. “Is my name cleared yet? Or at least a little cleaner than it was? Have you done the interview with the Amarillo Globe?”

  “Interview done. I pressed my business card onto the reporter—a lovely young man. Even with seven earrings. We chatted about body art and piercings.”

  “That’s cool. What about me? Did you chat about fixing up my issue?”

  “He was charming, and you know what, Molly? We engaged, reporter to reporter style.”

  “You’re being evasive, Momma.”

  “Of course we talked about you, baby! I made you sound so dull and miserable I think he lost interest entirely.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “They’re not even going to put in a quarter column copy. No article. No photos.”

  Thank God!

  “Unless something else happens in which case he said they’d run with a feature spread.”

  “A spread?”

  “Page two. And all publicity is good publicity.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Calm down, honey. It’s all working for our benefit now. Let me explain.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Molly shredded pork from bones with a fork and let the tender meat fall back into the pot on the stove. The chilorio—Mexican pulled pork in a spicy sauce made from ancho and guajillo chiles and another of Alice’s recipes—had been simmering since midday. She felt Saul’s presence behind her like an extra thick blanket on a too-hot night. She glanced up at the fluorescent lights and grimaced. In just over a week’s time she’d be getting rid of the temporary lighting because the roof would be up and the tiles in place. It’s good. Come on, it’s great! You get to start your life all over again.

  She moved to the fridge to get salsa and cotija cheese, and Saul moved to the stove and lifted the lid off the chilorio. She picked up a spoon and handed it to him. He took it without looking at her.

  They’d been working alongside each other in silent cooperation—but they hadn’t actually looked at each other. She’d prepared the dish earlier. He’d checked on it two hours later. Now, they’d both showered and were about to eat dinner. Molly had gone to the bathroom first because he’d been in his bedroom doing whatever he was doing—packing, probably—and twenty minutes ago he’d joined her in the hacienda kitchen.

  While their meal simmered gently, she’d washed dishes, and he’d dried. He handed her the paper napkins and cutlery and Molly set their places. Once, when he accidentally brushed against her as he leaned over her shoulder to grab the packet of tortillas, she felt a spark of electricity. Like one of those joke handshake devices, except the spark had penetrated much more than her skin. It had shot to her heart, like an explosion.

  “I’ve got a bit of a problem,” he said suddenly, breaking the tension of silence.

  Molly turned to look at him. He kept stirring the chilorio. Not that it needed it, but she didn’t say so. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s about Marie and that newsletter—and the Texas Portal newspaper. Remember that girl who isn’t my ex-girlfriend?”

  “Sally-Opal.”

  He didn’t stop stirring but Molly couldn’t miss his brooding expression. “She’s discovered where I am and she threatened to visit. I’ve put her off, but if you get any contact from her, let me know and I’ll sort it out.”

  “I’ll tell her I don’t know where you’ve gone.”

  She waited, but didn’t get an answer. So he didn’t want to tell her where he planned on heading next.

  Fine. Great start to their third to last evening together.

  She put the warmed tortillas onto two plates, but this Sally-Opal was on her mind.

  “Sounds to me like Sally needs a man in her life.”

  “It’s not going to be me,” he said, sounding pissed.

  Molly guessed he would be, this woman had given him some big problems. “I don’t mean any man, I meant she sounds like the sort who needs a protector.”

  He stopped stirring, and looked at her, then away, quickly. As though actually having made eye contact for the first time since this morning
had been too much for him.

  “An older man,” Molly continued, talking to his back. “Like a father-figure.”

  “I’d like to help her. Her daddy’s no use to her. But I’m not sure where to find an older man for her.”

  He lifted the pan off the stove, turned off the gas and put the pan onto a board on the countertop.

  Molly removed the lid and took the spoon he offered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s my problem. I’ll figure it out.”

  Silence reigned once more.

  I am not going to be intimidated by this horrible non-talking attitude. “Momma’s newsletter started a really good thing as it turns out,” she said chattily.

  He watched her spoon the pork and sauce into the tortillas.

  “The blog is working, too. Momma’s gotten lots of interest in the town and the valley. People are laughing at us.”

  He looked up and met her eyes. “Laughing?” he asked in a flat, hard tone.

  “Not at us, exactly,” she explained. “Sort of with us.” She handed him his plate. “All the negatives are turning into a positive because people want to come visit us and see what all the fuss is about. Momma’s getting queries on the blog about tickets for the open day, or if we could accommodate bus loads. Imagine that!”

  “Well,” he said in the same dry, flat tone, “that’s one good thing to come out of all this.”

  “Isn’t it?” Molly agreed with a nod and a fake smile. He wouldn’t notice that it was a fake smile though, since he wasn’t looking at her. “So Momma’s advertised our open day in the Amarillo Globe—and also, which I think is a stroke of genius—in the Texas Portal.”

  A hint of a smile crossed his face but he gave no further comment.

  Molly turned. She still wanted to ask his advice on so many things. Not so much his advice, but she wanted his insights. “The thing is,” she said, taking her stool at the counter they shared to eat at, “I ought to concentrate on the town open day plans, but I can’t get over these rumors. In case they never go away.”

  “It’s easy. Hit one, you get the other.”

  Her mouth dried. He’d engaged in the conversation! “What do you mean?”

  He put his plate onto the counter, then paused and looked up with a grimace. “Okay, how about we forget what I said the other night, and you light your candles? Because this fluorescent lighting is going to make me blind.”

  She was on her feet in a tick. She’d missed the candles too, and the glare from the blue canvas was making them both look like dead zombies from the ice age. “You really don’t mind?” she asked as she lit a third candle with a match.

  For answer, he switched off the temporary lights and they were instantly bathed in a cozy glow. It was lovely. More than lovely, it was intimate.

  “That’s better,” he said, then picked up the bowls of salsa and cheese.

  “It’s not that romantic,” Molly said, taking her stool again and picking up a spoon. “I’m sure it would look completely innocent if someone walked in now and saw us here, sharing dinner, surrounded by all my fat candles.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He offered her the bowl of salsa.

  She spooned some, then handed it back as he pushed the bowl of cheese her way.

  Her meal smelled delicious and cheese and salsa were her favorite toppings but she didn’t have an appetite.

  Neither of them had mentioned the only-three-more-days-to-go issue while they’d continued their work with the rafters earlier. They’d talked about what had to be done. He’d given a few curt orders and Molly had given him the finger—behind his back. They’d circumnavigated their way around the only-three-more-days issue with talk of what was to be done, and what needed doing first, without mentioning that it all had to be done quickly because he’d only be in town three more days.

  Don’t just sit here staring at your plate.

  “I sent a printed leaflet out with Davie,” she said, determined to keep the conversation going. “Asking our valley residents to fill in a talent pool survey. It got a lot of interest, and Davie says he thinks they’re keener to fill out my survey than Donaldson’s.”

  “So what talent did you discover?”

  Molly’s heartbeat rose. He wanted to know!

  She pulled her Town Open Day folder toward her.

  “Mr. Fairmont from Surrender can squirt milk in his eye and not blink.”

  He didn’t answer. Molly didn’t blame him, so moved on. “Mrs. Fairmont can twirl rifles.”

  He looked up.

  “True. She said she learned how to do it when she entered the Miss something-or-other beauty pageant in 1972.”

  “Sounds exciting,” he said, not looking in the least bit impressed. “Possibly also dangerous.”

  “Yeah, I said maybe we’d leave that one.” She flicked a page. “How about this? Walter Wyatt is a ventriloquist. Says he can make his pig puppet sing ‘How Much Is That Doggy In The Window’ backward.” She looked up for a reaction and found him staring at her.

  “That’s a winner,” he said, deadpan.

  “I’ll tick him in the possibly included box then,” Molly said, and reached across the table to pluck Saul’s worn pencil stub from his shirt pocket.

  She bit the end of his pencil while she studied her list. “Mrs. Kenney from Reckless can beatbox. And Mr. Frye from Reckless can yodel.”

  He paused, fork midair. “Another winner.”

  “Wow.” Molly ticked possibly included against Mr. Frye’s name. “Reckless has a wealth of talent. That’s three people made it onto the possibles list.”

  “Thank God it’s only a possibles list.”

  Yes! He’s talking! “You’ll like this one—Ingrid Gerdin can walk like a crab.” Molly looked up. “Truly impressive, since she just turned ninety-three. Imagine how bendy she must be. Apparently she still has her synchronized swimming costume from 1935 when she was at the height of her career as a water nymph contortionist.”

  He scrunched up his paper napkin and pushed his plate away. “Please, Molly. Not while I’m eating.”

  Molly laughed, and threw her possibles list down. “I made that last one up. She can’t really still walk like a crab. Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your appetite.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table, his hands together beneath his jaw. “You didn’t. I’m not that hungry tonight.”

  A seriousness entered the air.

  “Three more days,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye. “Want to talk about that?”

  “Do you?”

  He nodded, then stopped. “Kind of yes, but sort of no.”

  “Me too. So let’s leave it.” She pushed from her stool and gathered the salsa and cheese bowls. Now she had the opportunity to discuss it, she didn’t want to. It was too much like making it formal.

  “No. Let’s not leave it,” he said.

  She halted. She’d started this. She’d see it through. She sat. “It was Alice’s idea and Momma pitched in with her savings too.” Although where either her grandmother or her mother had suddenly found savings from Molly didn’t know. “Momma said she’s found a roof tiling company who has an excellent reputation.”

  “Really good of your family to help you like this.”

  It was. She’d repay them the money too. But why now? Why not give it another week and see what happened? “That’s what love and family is all about, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He said it as though it was an automatic response.

  As though he didn’t know. Or perhaps he’d forgotten about the depth within families, and all the lending a helping hand stuff that went on.

  “You deserve it,” he said. “The endeavor wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.” He pushed back from the counter. “Look, this is a great dinner but I’m just not hungry tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll head to my room. We’ve got a lot to do in the next two days. I’ll wash the dishes and pots in the morning.”

  “No
need. I’m a bit restless. I’ll wash up. It’s my kitchen, after all. There’s no need for you to do anything.”

  He looked at her for a long while and she thought she might have caught a fleeting softening in his eyes.

  “Good night, Molly.”

  “Night, Saul.” She might as well have said “goodbye.”

  He made his way to the door, then turned. “By the way, I’m going to need your help checking the joists and valleys beneath the tiles on the two-story section tomorrow. I want to make sure you know what you’re going to need to spend on removal and replacement of the tiles, and on a new felt underlayment. So you can get up on the roof with me.”

  “I can?” Sunrise rose in her chest.

  She’d be up on the roof with him. Alongside him. Then sense prevailed. What was she thinking? It was her roof. She could do what she liked with it and on it.

  “You are so generous. I’m overwhelmed.”

  “You do as I say, though.”

  “No, I don’t. But thanks for letting me up on my roof anyway.”

  He grinned, which melted her sudden fury at first being ignored, then being given something, then being told off.

  “Just be careful when we’re up there,” he finished.

  As if she’d ever been anything but careful.

  She’d carefully omitted to mention her wacky family to Jason. She’d cautiously gone along with Jason’s plans for their marriage. All because she was worried about the persona she presented to the world. The wacky part of her persona the world didn’t know about—although a lot of them did know now, thanks to Momma’s newsletter.

  “You know what?” she asked, leaning her chin in her hand and gazing at him, not bothered if he saw the adoration or not. “It is romantic in here.” Even if he wasn’t.

  His eyes lit with a smile and the sides of his mouth curled. “I thought so, too,” he said, and walked out the door. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

  “Like I do every night,” she said to his back. “Like I did before you got here, and like I’ll do when you leave in three days’ time.”