Texas On My Mind
Claire nodded. “I came back about six months ago when Gran got sick. I still have my apartment in San Antonio, though. I’m still working as a wedding photographer, too. But I’m staying on awhile longer here to clean out Gran’s house so I can get it ready to sell.”
Yeah, that. He had no trouble hearing the grief in her voice. “I was sorry to hear she passed away.”
Claire didn’t even try to dismiss his sympathy. Probably because she couldn’t. She’d been close to her grandmother, and it didn’t matter that the woman was old and had lived a full if not somewhat eccentric life. Claire obviously hadn’t been ready to let her go.
Still multitasking, Claire took out two plates from the cabinet, scooped some of the eggs onto both of them and set the plates on the table. Apparently one of them was for him because Claire motioned for Riley to sit. The other plate was for the kid.
“And who’s the kid?” Riley pressed.
“That’s Ethan, my son. He’s two years old.” She smiled, this time one that only a mother could manage. Ethan gave her a toothy grin right back.
Riley’s attention went straight to her left hand. No ring.
Claire followed his gaze. “I’m not married.”
“Oh.” And because Riley didn’t know what else to say, he went with another “oh.”
Man, he was way out of the gossip loop. His sister, Anna, had told him about Claire’s grandmother dying two months ago but not about Claire being a mom. Better yet, Anna hadn’t said a word about who had made Claire a mom.
Probably Daniel Larson.
Except Ethan didn’t look a thing like Daniel. Ethan had dark brown hair more like the color of Riley’s own. Daniel could have passed for a Swedish male model with his blond hair and pale blue eyes. Maybe that meant Claire had met someone else. Someone who looked like him.
But Riley rethought that.
Of course it was Daniel. The kid just got his looks from some past ancestor with that coloring. Because Claire was with Daniel. Daniel had captured her heart and just about every other part of her their sophomore year in high school, and Claire had chosen him.
Over Riley.
It hadn’t been a particularly hard decision for her, either. And Riley knew that because she’d left her binder behind in chemistry class, and he had seen her list of why she should pick one over the other. Fifteen years later, Riley could remember that list in perfect detail.
Beneath Daniel’s name, Claire had written, “Cute, reliable, good listener, likes cats, no plans to move off and join the military.” Beneath Riley’s name, she’d written only one word.
“Hot.”
Hot had stroked his ego for a minute or two, but he definitely hadn’t stacked up against the cute, cat-loving Daniel. And while Daniel and Riley had once been close friends, it’d been nearly four years since Riley had seen him. That was plenty enough time to make a two-year-old.
Now Claire was a mother.
He supposed that was the norm seeing she was thirty-one, the same age as he was. People did that. They made babies. Stayed in one place for more than a year. Didn’t get shot at as a general rule. They had lives that Riley had always made sure to avoid.
Claire dodged Riley’s stare, looking at the plate of cookies instead. Then she huffed, put her hands on her hips. “Ethan, you took another one of those cookies, didn’t you? Where’d you hide it this time?”
“Logan’s bed,” Riley answered when Ethan didn’t say anything.
But, man, Riley wished he hadn’t ratted him out. The kid looked at him with wide-eyed bewilderment and betrayal. Ethan’s bottom lip even quivered. Riley felt as if he had violated a major man-pact.
“So, that’s what’s in your hair.” Claire plucked some crumbs from Riley’s head. “I’m sorry. Ethan knows he’s not allowed to have sweets without asking. He took at least two cookies last night when we were over here before you got home. He ate one, hid the other and now he’s taken another one.” She pointed her index finger at him. “No computer games for you today, young man.”
The kid’s look of betrayal intensified significantly.
“Sorry, buddy,” Riley said.
Claire put some toast on the table, poured Riley a glass of OJ from the fridge, topped off his coffee. She clearly hadn’t forgotten the waitressing skills she’d learned from her afternoon job at the Fork and Spoon Café in high school.
“Eat up, Ethan,” she told her boy. “We’ve got to get going soon. The next shift should be here any minute.”
Riley looked at her midbite. “Shift?”
Claire nodded, started washing the skillet she’d used to cook the eggs. “Misty Reagan and Trisha Weller. They’re coming to help you get dressed and then will fix your lunch.”
Both women were familiar to him. Intimately familiar. He’d had sex with only two girls in high school.
And it was those two.
“Misty’s divorced, no kids,” Claire went on. “That brings the total to nine divorced couples in town now in case you’re keeping count.”
He wasn’t, but divorce was a rare occurrence in Spring Hill—less than 1 percent of the marriages had failed. It was the cool springwater, some said. Most folks just fell in love, got hitched and stayed that way. Riley thought it didn’t have as much to do with the water as it did with lack of options. Little pond. Not many fish.
“Trisha never married. Oh, except for that time she married you, of course.” Another smile tugged at Claire’s mouth. This one didn’t so much light up the room as yank his chain.
“Trisha and I were six years old,” Riley said in his defense. “And she had brownies.”
That perked up Ethan. “Boun-knees.” Obviously, the kid had a serious sweet tooth, something else he had in common with Riley.
“Well, I guess a home-baked dessert is a good reason for marriage,” Claire remarked.
It sure seemed that way at the time. “It was Trisha’s version of put a ring on it. No marriage, no brownies.”
“And you did put a ring on it.” Claire dried the skillet, put it away and dropped the spatula in the dishwasher after she rinsed it. “I seem to remember something gold with a red stone in it.”
“Fake, and it fell apart after a few hours. Just like our fake marriage.”
That eyebrow of hers went to work again. “I think she’d like to make that marriage the real deal.”
Riley frowned. “Trisha said that?”
“Not with words, but she’s a lawyer in Austin and cleared her schedule for the next two weeks just so she could be here. I’d say she really, really wants to be here with you.”
Well, hell. Riley liked Trisha enough, but he hadn’t wanted anyone hanging around, including a woman who was looking for more than a plastic ring from a vending machine.
“Call them,” Riley insisted. “Tell them not to come, that I don’t need or want any help. I really just need to get some rest—that’s all. That’s why I told Della and Stella to take the week off.”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Riley heard the sound of car engines. Ethan raced to the window in the living room with Riley and Claire trailing along right behind him. Sure enough two cars had pulled into the circular driveway that fronted the house.
Wearing a short blue skirt and snug top, Misty got out first from a bright yellow Mustang, and she snagged two shopping bags off the passenger’s seat. She’d been a cheerleader in high school and still had some zip to her steps. Was still a looker, too, with her dark brown hair that she’d pulled up in a ponytail.
She might be trouble.
After all, she’d lost her virginity to Riley when she was seventeen after they’d dated for about four months. That tended to create a bond for women. Maybe Misty would be looking to bond again.
Then there was Trisha.
Riley had lost his virginity to her. And there’d been that wedding in first grade, possibly creating another problem with that whole bonding thing.
When Trisha stepped out of a silver BMW, she immediately looked up, her gaze snagging his in the window. She smiled. No chain yanking or “light up the room” smile, either. All Riley saw were lips and teeth, two things Trisha had used quite well on the night of his de-virgining.
“Oh, look,” Claire said. “Trisha brought you a plate of brownies.”
Yeah, she had.
And other things were familiar about Trisha, too. Like those curves that had stirred every man’s zipper in town. Now all those curves were hugged up in a devil-red dress. She still looked hungry, as if she were ready to gobble up something. And judging from the smile she gave Riley, she wanted him to be the gobblee.
Another time, another place, Riley might have considered a good gobbling. Or at least some innocent flirting. But there was that part about people seeing him in pain. Plus, there was always the threat of a flashback. No way did he want anyone around to witness that little treat.
“Come on, Ethan,” Claire said, scooping him up. “It’s time for us to go.”
“So soon?” Riley wanted to ask her to stay, but that would just sound wussy. His testosterone had already dropped enough for one day.
“So soon,” Claire verified. She waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and headed for the door. “Enjoy those brownies.”
She probably would have just waltzed out, but Claire stopped in her tracks when their gazes met. She didn’t ask what was going on in his head, and the chain-yanking expression was gone.
Hell.
He hadn’t wanted her to see what was behind his eyes. Hadn’t wanted anyone to see it. But Riley was as certain as he was of his boot size that Claire knew.
“Finish your breakfast,” Claire instructed. Her voice was a little unsteady now. “I’ll deal with them. I can’t guarantee they won’t come back, but you’ll have a few hours at least. Is that enough time?”
Riley lied with a nod.
He used actual words for his next lie. “You don’t have to worry about me, Claire. Soon I’ll be as good as new.”
CHAPTER THREE
“PAY DOUGH!” ETHAN squealed when Claire held up the picture of the painting.
Claire checked to make sure she was showing him the right one. Yes, it was van Gogh’s Starry Night, but there was no Play-Doh on it.
“That’s really close, sweetie, and the artist’s name does sort of rhyme with Play-Doh,” Claire encouraged.
“Pay dough!” he repeated, speeding up the words a little.
She tried not to look disappointed. The directions on the “Making Your Toddler a Little Genius” packet had said to make this activity fun. Or rather FUN!!!! Claire only hoped that the creators of this product had raised at least one semigenius child and that they hadn’t just tossed some crap activities together to milk her out of her $89.95, plus shipping.
“Try again,” she prompted, waving the picture at Ethan to get his already wandering attention. “You got this right yesterday.” And, according to the rules, she wasn’t supposed to move on to the next picture until he’d gotten this one right three days in a row. They’d been working on it for two weeks now with no end in sight.
Ethan studied the picture and grinned. “Money!”
Claire was certain she didn’t contain her disappointment that time. “No. Not Monet.” That’d been last month’s lesson.
She snagged one of his toy vehicles. A van. And she held it up with the painting while trying to make a running/going motion with her index and middle fingers. Her nails nearly tore a hole in one of the star blobs. Evidently, $89.95 wasn’t enough to buy higher-quality paper, and her example was obviously too abstract.
“Ri-wee!” Ethan squealed with more excitement than money or Play-Doh.
Frowning, Claire put aside the picture and the van. “No, not Riley.” Or rather Ri-wee. “Why don’t we work on this later? You can go ahead and play.”
You would have thought she’d just announced he could have an entire toy store and unlimited chocolate-chip cookies for life. Ethan scooted across the floor and went back to his cars. The auto crashes started immediately.
“Ri-wee!” he repeated like some kind of tribal shout with each new collision.
Even though he didn’t have the pronunciation down pat, Claire knew her son was only repeating what he’d heard her mumble for the past two days—Riley. For some reason, Riley’s name kept popping into her head and then continued to randomly pop out of her mouth.
And there was no good reason for it.
A few bad reasons, though.
Riley was an attractive man. Still hot. No denying that. He was also very much hands-off since he wouldn’t be around for long, as usual. Maybe her brain would figure that out soon enough and stop sending these ridiculous impulses to the rest of her body.
Claire stayed on the floor next to Ethan but grabbed her laptop from the sofa. Since she had struck out in creating a baby genius, she might as well get some work done, and she downloaded the last photo she needed to edit. When she finished, it would almost be bittersweet because it was also the last of her work in the queue.
More photo shoots would follow. They always did. But it was best if she didn’t have any free time on her hands right now.
Of course, she could fill that free time, easily, by sorting through more of her gran’s things. However, that was more bitter than sweet, and it was also the main reason she kept procrastinating. And overeating. She’d put on six pounds since the sorting had started. Soon, she’d either have to pay for therapy or Weight Watchers.
Her phone buzzed, and Claire saw Livvy Larimer’s name on the screen. Her best friend and co-owner of their business, Dearly Beloved.
“Well?” Livvy started.
No greeting. Which meant she expected Claire to dish up something exciting. And the dishing up that Livvy wanted was about Riley. Best just to give her a summary and hope it didn’t lead to too many other questions.
“Riley finally made it home day before yesterday after his flight was delayed. I fixed him breakfast, and I came back to Gran’s to get some work done on the Herrington-Anderson engagement photos.” An engagement that Livvy knew all about because she was the wedding planner for the event.
“That’s it?” Livvy asked.
Here come the questions. But Claire made Livvy work for the answers. “What else were you expecting?”
“Fudging details. Specifically, fudging you did with Riley.”
Fudging was the compromise they’d worked out instead of using the F word, one of Livvy’s many favorites. They also used sugar for shit and bubble gum for blow job, something that came up surprisingly often in her conversations with Livvy.
They were still working on one for asshole.
Ethan’s little ears picked up on anything Claire didn’t want him to hear while selectively shutting out van Gogh, and since Livvy cursed like a meth dealer in an R-rated movie, they’d resorted to acceptable substitutions.
“No fudging,” Claire explained. She was finally able to keep a straight face when she said it. “I only fixed Riley breakfast and ran interference from some unwanted visitors.”
Livvy made a yeah-right sound. “And you’ve fawned over him for the past decade.”
“Fawned over? What the heck does that even mean? Is that a new compromise word?”
“Yes, it means you dream of fudging and bubblegumming Riley.”
Claire huffed. “Does any woman actually dream of bubblegumming a man? I don’t. It’s more of something that just sort of evolves during foreplay.”
“Foreplay,” Ethan said with perfect clarity. Great, they needed a compromise word for that now.
“Sugar yeah, you dreamed of fudging him,” Livvy went on. “You pointed out his pictures in your high school yearbook. You’ve talked about him. And then there’s Ethan—”
“Riley and I were friends in high school. Friends,” Claire emphasized.
“You can fawn over friends. And fudge them, too. I’ve seen pictures of Riley, and he’d make a great fudge.”
“Riley has never fudged me.” Claire paused. “He’s hurt, Livvy.”
That reminder flicked away the annoyance she was feeling about Livvy’s interrogation. But Claire replaced the flicked-away emotion with one she’d been trying to keep out of her head.
Worry.
“Is it bad?” Livvy asked.
“Maybe.” Probably, Claire silently amended.
“God, I just can’t imagine doing what he does. Ever googled Combat Rescue Officer and looked at some of those pictures?”
Once. It had been enough.
Livvy made a shuddering sound. “And to think, he’s been doing that job for a long time.”
Nine years. Since he graduated from college and joined the Air Force. Riley had been on six deployments, and even though Claire didn’t know the exact locations, she was betting there’d been plenty of other times when he could have been wounded or killed.
Ethan grumbled something, clearly not pleased about his car-bashing game. Claire glanced over to make sure all was well. It wasn’t. One of the cars had broken. Again. Thank heavens it wasn’t one of his favorites so his reaction was mild. The Terrible Twos wasn’t just a cliché when it came to her baby boy. He often aimed high to live up to that particular label.
She needed to find a toddler genius kit to help her with that.
“You think Riley’s got PTSD or something?” Livvy went on.
This was even less comfortable than the fudge question. “If he does, I’m sure there’s help for that at the base in San Antonio. From what he told his sister, he’ll be starting physical therapy there soon.”
The military would patch him up, both physically and mentally if needed, and Riley would go right back out there on deployment again. To someplace dangerous. Because that’s what he did. What he’d always wanted since middle school.
“You haven’t asked me about the hot date,” Livvy said a moment later.
“Date-date, or are we talking fruit now?” And Claire was serious. Livvy had a thing for trying new foods and men. Lots of men. She had been married three times and was always on the lookout for ex number four. Thankfully, she didn’t live in Spring Hill or she would have single-handedly skewed their divorce stats.
“Date-date. You know, the guy I met from the dating site. I told you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t think so.” She’d been living vicariously—sexually anyway—through Livvy since having Ethan. “How’d it go?”
“Sugar hot,” Livvy declared. “His name is Alejandro just like the Lady Gaga song. He’s an albino drummer in a heavy metal band.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I predict lots of fudging in my future.”
Since Livvy seemed excited about his name/career/pigment/fudging combo, Claire was happy for her. Or rather cautiously optimistic. “Is he nice?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t go out with a grouchy asshole again. Sorry, we’ll work on that word. Anyway, other than his pinkeye, he’s perfect.”
“Uh, I don’t know a lot about albinos, but I think pink eyes are normal for them.”
“Not pink eyes,” Livvy quickly corrected. “Pinkeye. He’s using drops for it, though, so it should clear up soon. You really should use this dating site, Claire. It’s the best one yet.”
She’d rather have pinkeye. “I’m on hiatus from dating. Until I get Ethan potty trained.” Of course, there was no correlation. None. But thankfully it was an argument that always worked with Livvy.
“So, making any progress getting the house ready to sell?” Livvy asked.
Claire wanted to say a hallelujah for the change of topic. “Some. Gran wasn’t a hoarder exactly, but she didn’t throw away much. I’ll keep at it until a new job comes in.”
“Already got two. Wedding announcement photos. I’ll email you the dates and details.”
There were clearly more procrastination possibilities on the horizon. It was probably depression over Gran’s death, but Claire felt stuck in Neutral.
“Oh, and Daniel called the office, looking for you,” Livvy added. “Said his fudging phone died after a software update, and he lost all his sugar, including your phone number.”
The timing was odd. What with Riley’s arrival back in Spring Hill. Like her, Daniel no longer lived there, but that didn’t mean a gossip or two hadn’t called him in San Antonio with news of Riley’s homecoming.
Rather than come out and ask that, Claire took the roundabout route. “Did Daniel want anything specific?”
“Well, I’m guessing he wanted you. I gave him your number, so I figure you’ll get a call from him soon.”
“Good.” And Claire would be happy to hear from Daniel. Almost. “Gotta go,” she said when Ethan yawned and stomped on one of the cars. “I’ll send you these engagement pictures as soon as I’m done.”
The moment she ended the call, Claire hit the save button on her files and picked up Ethan. He started to fuss right away. In part because he knew nap time was coming. Also in part because he needed a nap.
She changed his diaper. Not an easy feat now that the grumpy boy had emerged. Still, she loved grumpy boy just as much as the other boys that materialized throughout the day. Ethan had her heart. And the little sugar knew it.
“No getting up,” she warned him when she put him in his crib.
He was quickly outgrowing it. Outgrowing naps, too. And it wouldn’t be long before he really would be ready for potty training.
Her baby was growing up so fast.
Not that she would miss the whole diapering thing and having him test his aiming skills by trying to pee in her eye. She’d convinced herself that it was a labor of love. But it was also time when she had Ethan close and he wasn’t running away from her.
Plus, she’d lose that excuse she kept giving to Livvy about not dating.
Since Ethan might or might not obey that no-getting-up part and since he might try to climb out of the crib again, Claire knew she’d need to spend at least fifteen minutes with him while he fell asleep. No use wasting that time, so she went into the hall to bring one of the cardboard boxes into the makeshift nursery with her. She had plenty of boxes to choose from. At least thirty that she’d already dragged down from the attic or found in the back of her gran’s closet.
There’d been spiders involved.
Something that made her shiver just thinking about it.
The various cousins had already gone through the house and taken items of furniture and such that they’d wanted. Which wasn’t nearly enough to clear out the place. Every room, every corner was still crammed with bits and pieces that reminded Claire of the woman who’d raised her. The woman she’d loved.
Damn it.
The tears came. They always did whenever she thought of Gran.
God, she missed her.
Opening the box wouldn’t help, either, but going through whatever was inside was the next step to getting the house ready to go on the market. Claire wasn’t exactly strapped for cash. Yet. But her savings had dwindled considerably what with all the time she’d taken off to be with Ethan.
She didn’t regret that time off, not for a second, but she didn’t have the comfortable financial pad that she needed. Since Gran had left her the house free and clear, anything Claire got from the sale would be hers to keep.
She put the box on the floor, glanced over at Ethan. Still not asleep, but his eyelids were getting droopy.
The tape holding the box was so old that it gave way with a gentle tug, and Claire opened the flap. Checked for spiders.
Nothing scurried out at her.
So she began the sorting. She’d set aside another area at the end of the hall to deal with the contents of each box. One pile for stuff to keep. Another for items to be donated. A final one for trash.
She’d yet to put anything in the trash pile.
Not a good sign.
Of course, it was probably wishful thinking on her part that a charity group would want copies of old magazines and newspapers, panties with shot elastic and mismatched socks. This box was pretty much the same. Magazines from the 1980s. More newspapers. A Gerber baby food jar filled with buttons. Another had sequins. There were some Mardi Gras beads, though Claire couldn’t recall Gran ever mentioning a trip to New Orleans.