Texas On My Mind. Delores Fossen
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and the time 7:00 p.m. No doubt a date. Claire had vague memories of the man. He’d worked for Riley’s family and had been seeing Gran around the time Claire moved in.
Claire did the math. Her grandmother had been in her late forties then, a youngish widow, and had no trouble attracting men. Apparently, she didn’t have trouble unattracting them, either, because six weeks later, Bennie’s name had a huge X through it, their date obviously off.
Beneath the X, Gran had scrawled, “Pigs do fly if you kick them hard enough in the ass.”
Ouch.
Claire moved on to the next calendar. There were more notes about doctor’s appointments, parent-teacher meetings and more dates with men who’d initially gotten their names enclosed with hearts. Then, had been X’ed out.
She hadn’t remembered her grandmother having an appointment book, and the woman didn’t use a computer, so this must have been her way of keeping track. A good thing, too, since there were a lot of date-dates to keep track of. Claire read each one, savoring the little tidbits Gran had left behind.
Get cash to pay McCord boys.
That was an entry for the September when Claire had been ten. There were two more for the same month. Events Claire remembered because she’d been close to the same age as the McCord boys and had begged to help Riley and Logan move the woodpile and do some other yard chores. However, Gran had insisted it wasn’t work for a girl and that she would pay Riley and Logan despite their having volunteered.
More entries. All of them brought back smiles and childhood memories. Until she landed on October 14 of that same year.
Give Claire the letter.
Claire frowned. What letter? It’d been a long time, twenty-one years, but she was pretty sure she would have remembered Gran giving her a letter. And who was it from?
Hoping she would find it, Claire had a closer look in the box. Not the careful, piece-by-piece way she’d been taking out the other things. She dumped the contents on the floor and riffled through them.
Nothing.
But there was a book. Judging from the battered blue hardback cover, it was old. She opened it, flipped through it, hoping the letter was tucked inside. But no letter. However, it wasn’t just an ordinary book.
It was a journal.
Her mother’s journal.
Her mother had scrolled her own name complete with hearts and flowers on the inside cover. Then Claire’s attention landed on two other words centered in the first page. Her mother had drawn a rectangle around it.
Fucking kid.
Claire slammed it shut and couldn’t toss it fast enough back into the box. She definitely hadn’t wanted to see that. She wanted to erase it from her head.
She didn’t want to cry.
Where the heck was that letter? It’d get her mind off those two words that were now burning like fire in her gut. She stood to get another box but didn’t make it but a few steps when her phone buzzed.
Riley.
And this time, the name didn’t just pop into her head. It actually popped onto her phone screen. She checked on Ethan. Asleep, finally, so she eased the nursery door shut and went into the living room to take the call.
She also took a minute to steady her nerves. No way did she want Riley to hear she was shaken up by two words written by a woman who’d abandoned her.
“Claire?” Riley greeted her.
Just the sound of his voice calmed her. It excited her in a different way, too, but for now, she’d take it. Claire needed something that wasn’t dark and heart crushing.
She scowled when she felt the little flutter in her stomach at the mere sound of his voice. “Eat any good brownies lately?” she asked.
“Very funny. You might have run off Misty and Trisha, but you still left me here with three women barely old enough to be classified as women. And Trisha and Misty didn’t stay away. They returned and didn’t leave until the swing shift arrived.” He cursed, and he didn’t use any of the compromise words. “At least I haven’t been involved with any of them.”
Not that batch. These were women from the historical society. Nobody under sixty in the bunch. Of course, it was possible one or two of them had the hots for Riley. He seemed to bring that out in women of all ages.
“They won’t be coming back,” Riley continued. “Neither will the twins, their sister or the midmorning shift.”
“Really? Trisha will be so disappointed.” But for reasons Claire didn’t want to explore, she actually felt good about disappointing Trisha. Probably because Trisha had used her 36-Ds to seduce Riley in high school.
Seriously, who had boobs that big in the tenth grade?
“Not sure disappointed is the right word for it,” Riley went on, “but she seemed upset that I didn’t want her here. Like I said, it’s nothing personal. I just need some peace and quiet.”
“But not peace and quiet right now? Or are you calling to tell me I’m off breakfast duty tomorrow?”
He huffed. “The peace and quiet doesn’t apply to you right now. And, yeah, you’re off breakfast duty.”
Good grief. That stung. What she should feel was relief. Being around Riley wasn’t good for her. He was a forbidden-fruit kind of thing, and she didn’t need any more choices of fruit, fudge or bubblegum in her life.
“All right. If you’re sure,” she said. “If you change your mind, though, just give me a call.” Claire was about to say goodbye, but she thought of that note. “By any chance, when we were about ten years old, did Gran ever say anything to you about giving me a letter?”
“Letter?” Claire couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe he hesitated. “What kind of letter?”
“Don’t know. It was something she’d marked on her calendar, and I thought maybe you remembered it since you did some yard work for her around that same time.”
Of course, it sounded stupid now that she’d said it aloud. At ten years old, Riley would have been less interested in some letter than in finishing the duties that Logan had no doubt volunteered him to do.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” Riley paused. Mumbled something she didn’t catch. Paused again. “But maybe you can help me. Is it my imagination or do some of those women who came over think I’m Ethan’s father?”
Claire was so glad he wasn’t there to see her expression. She was certain she’d gone a little pale. “Uh, do they?”
“Yeah. I heard some whispers about Ethan having my smile. As if anyone’s seen my smile since I got back. Has anyone come out and asked you if I’m his father?”
Several dozen times. “Once or twice,” she settled for saying. “I denied it, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“Even when you told them we’ve never had sex?”
“Well, I didn’t really tell them that. I sort of hoped they would infer it when I said you’re not his father.”
“They’re not inferring it right. They think the kid’s mine because he looks like me.”
“Does he?” No way in hell on a good day would Claire confirm or deny that, and she could practically hear the next question that was about to come out of Riley’s mouth.
Since I know I’m not Ethan’s father, who is?
Claire decided to put an end to it before it started. “Get some rest, Riley. I’ll call you soon.” And before Riley could utter another word, or ask another question, she hung up.