A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) Page 3

  Dalton knew from the clothes that Noah was partying in Tallgrass tonight. Local girls seemed to appreciate the genuine cowboy look more than they did in the cities an hour away in each direction.

  The scent of cologne reminded Dalton that he stank, his skin was taut from the gallons of salt he’d sweated, and his clothes could probably stand on their own. His mother would have thought twice about letting him inside even the back door.

  Noah sat on the rail. “Me and some guys are going out to dinner, then hitting some of the clubs. Wanna come?”

  Dalton gazed to the west. He was twelve years older than Noah and his buddies. He’d likely changed diapers on every one of them when he was a kid. They would eat like refugees, party it up, and at least some of them would find girls who appreciated genuine cowboys to spend the night with.

  Would one of them be a pretty redhead with exotic green eyes? Willing, wearing clothes that fit her hard little body as if made just for her, tossing back more than a few drinks with them before singling out one and suggesting the nearest motel? And would she forget their names before the booze was out of her system, the way she’d forgotten him?

  “No, thanks.”

  “Aw, come on. You haven’t gone out drinking in longer than I can remember.”

  “Maybe that’s because you go out drinking too much.”

  Noah didn’t even have the grace to make his grin abashed. “College,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You can at least have dinner with us. Anywhere we go’s got to be better than what you fix.”

  “Nah. I’m tired.”

  Noah pushed away from the rail, tall and lanky, strong but leaner than Dalton. “You know the Smith family motto. Work hard, play hard, live hard, love—” Abruptly his face turned red, and he clamped the hat on his head. “If you change your mind, you’ve got my number.”

  Love hard. Dalton had done that twice. He’d loved Dillon like a best friend and his wife like his life. Dillon could be dead for all anyone in the family knew, and Sandra was dead, buried in a sunny plot at Fort Murphy National Cemetery. She’d died in Afghanistan.

  Because she hadn’t loved him enough to live.

  Grimly, as Noah drove down the gravel lane, Dalton shoved to his feet and stomped to the door. He stopped long enough to toe off his boots, then shucked his dirt-crusted jeans and left both in a heap next to the door. In grimy socks, ripped T-shirt, and boxers, he stepped inside, then scowled at the dog. “You coming?”

  As if he’d been extended the most gracious of invitations, the mutt got up, trotted across the threshold and down the hall to the kitchen.

  Yep, Dalton definitely had a dog.

  * * *

  It was five thirty, and Therese was curled in her favorite easy chair in the living room when her cell phone rang. She didn’t have to look to see it was Carly. “Happy Together” was the song she’d programmed in for her best friend just yesterday. She considered leaving the phone there on the table, on top of the Bible she’d been trying to find comfort in, but it was a general rule that she didn’t ignore her margarita sisters.

  “Sorry I missed your call earlier.” Carly sounded the same as always, just somehow lighter. Happier. A few months ago she’d been in the same situation Therese was in, minus the Princess of I-Hate-You, then Dane had come into her life and suddenly she wasn’t alone anymore. She wasn’t just a widow. She was a woman in love with a man who loved her every bit as much. It made Therese happy and sad and so very hopeful.

  Not for herself. She wasn’t looking for love. She just needed courage and sanity and peace. But Fia, Ilena, Marti, Lucy, Jessy—all the other members of the margarita club—deserved it. They were all too young, even the oldest ones, to live the rest of their lives alone.

  “Don’t worry,” Therese said drily. “I’m sure you had way more fun this afternoon than I did.”

  “I know a place just outside town that’s isolated. Do I need to bring over a shovel and a flashlight?”

  Therese’s smile was faint. “She’s much too alive to bury. Though if you made the same offer to her, she’d probably take you up on it since she’s been praying for me to die.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then, “Aw, Therese.”

  The sympathy in Carly’s voice was almost Therese’s undoing. Her eyes grew damp, her nose got stuffy, and she was sure she would cry if she gave herself half a chance. And what good would it do? How many gallons of tears had she cried over Abby, Jacob, and Paul, and how much difference had it made?

  “So tell me about the platinum hair and the streetwalker clothes. And just what size are those high heels? I know I could never squeeze into even two of her outfits, but my feet just might fit the shoes, and Dane has this thing for trampy shoes.”

  Therese chuckled. “Don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but she really looks amazing. The teenage boys across the street were too stunned to move when they saw her. But she’s thirteen. It would break her daddy’s heart to see her dressed like—like her mother.” Of course Catherine had approved the clothes. It was her own style. Fine for a thirty-some-year-old woman in most universes. Not for a barely adolescent child.

  “Did you take the clothes away?”

  “I did. They’re in the attic, in the dustiest corner in a box marked Old Drapes.” Therese heaved a sigh, massaging her temples with her free hand. “So what have you and Dane been up to?” The last time she’d seen Carly was Tuesday, when Dane had gone down on his bionic knee and proposed to her in front of everyone on the Three Amigos restaurant patio. Carly wasn’t the only one who’d gotten teary-eyed at such a public profession of love and commitment. “He took you home?”

  “He did.” Small words to contain so much pleasure.

  “I noticed your car was still in the parking lot Wednesday night. Or was it Thursday?”

  “I picked it up Wednesday night. Very late Wednesday night.”

  “I guess sex isn’t on the list of things you miss anymore.”

  A loud rumble came from across the room, and Therese looked up to see Jacob coming down the last few steps. His scowl was tinged with red. “There are kids in the house, you know.”

  A comment from Jacob when normally he would have walked past without noticing her. Better, a comment lacking the sullen tone both kids affected so well. “Sorry, Jacob.”

  “He asked me to marry him, Therese,” Carly said with a sniffle.

  “I know, sweetie. I was there.”

  “He wants to set a date. He wants to buy a ring. He wants to meet Jeff’s family and mine. He really wants to marry me.” She sounded so full of wonder and awe. Therese understood. She’d felt that way when Paul had proposed to her. It seemed an eternity ago, so special and amazing that she wondered if she could possibly ever feel that way again.

  At that instant, a door slammed upstairs and footsteps that would do a dinosaur proud headed down the steps. She couldn’t be in a worse possible place for even thinking about falling in love. She had nothing of herself left to offer. It took all her strength to get through everyday life, and even that required medication. Her only list right now consisted of things to survive. Romance, sadly, didn’t make the cut.

  Abby stomped down the stairs and turned down the hall toward the kitchen. She didn’t spare even a glance toward the living room, but Therese felt the hatred radiating from her. A direct look from her enraged brown eyes probably would have pulverized Therese where she sat. Nothing left but a layer of dust, the cops would say, shaking their heads in amazement while sweet, angelic Angry Girl looked on from the sidelines.

  Forcing her stepdaughter from her mind, Therese concentrated on Carly. “Have you set the date yet?”

  “We’re thinking the first weekend of June. I know that seems fast since we only met in March, but…”

  She didn’t need to say it. Life was short, time was fleeting, and so on. No one had ever expected Jeff and Paul and all the others to die as young as they did. That was why so few of them had started a family. They ha
d plenty of time. One deployment here, another there, the war would surely end, the troops would draw down, their husbands would come home. There was always next month, next year, the next duty station.

  Except when there wasn’t.

  “Will it be here in Tallgrass?”

  “Yes. My friends and church are here. His friends are all over the world. His mom can come up from Texas, and it’ll do my family good to come out of their labs into the real world for a few days.” Carly hesitated. “I told Mia and Pop. We cried. But some of it was happy tears.”

  Carly had remained very close to her former in-laws. Therese envied her that. About the only contact she had with Paul’s parents involved their grandchildren, whom they didn’t want to raise, but they didn’t believe Therese was doing a competent job, either.

  Her latest decision regarding the kids would probably sever contact between them forever. At the moment, she couldn’t decide whether that would be a good thing or a bad one.

  “You know Jeff’s parents will always love you, and it sounds like Dane’s willing to include them in your lives.” I want to have little Jeff Juniors and Dane Juniors and Carly Juniors to chase after with you, he’d said when he’d proposed. He knew she’d loved Jeff dearly, and he didn’t feel threatened by it because he also knew she loved him dearly.

  Could Therese ever have that again? Maybe when the kids were gone. Maybe when she’d regained control of her life. But perfect loves weren’t out there floating around for the taking. She’d already had one. Unlike what happened with Carly, one might be all she was entitled to.

  “They’re going to come down before the wedding so they can meet,” Carly was saying when Therese tuned in again. “It’s going to be fine, isn’t it? We’re all adults, and we can work things out.”

  “It’ll be better than fine. Mia and Pop already love him just for making you happy, and they’ll love him even more for himself. They’ll probably adopt him for their own, the way they did you.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” Carly murmured. “Is there anything I can do to help with Abby?”

  “Just pray.”

  “I always do. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  With a sigh from deep in her heart, Therese repeated the answer. “Just pray.” For strength, for courage, for wisdom.

  * * *

  Saturday night in Tallgrass, Oklahoma, was like being nowhere at all.

  But almost immediately Keegan contradicted that. Tallgrass was much bigger than Leesville, where he lived, and offered a lot more than miles of businesses butted up to one busy road. He arrived around sunset and drove through the town. There were the usual fast-food restaurants, bars, and churches that any town had, but also a sense of a real town, not just a place that existed to support the Army base. It had a thriving downtown, and there was action other than prostitutes and drugs—restaurants open, a few shops getting ready to close for the day, regular people strolling the sidewalks.

  Murals of oil rigs, cowboys herding cattle, wild horses, buffalo, and Indian encampments covered entire brick walls, along with old-timey ads for soda fountains and cigars. The downtown area looked solid, as if it had endured the Dust Bowl, drought, and tornados just fine and wasn’t planning on surrendering to any other disaster. It had a sense of permanency that appealed to him.

  He’d driven down Main Street from one end to the other, past the national cemetery and the two main entrances to Fort Murphy, then took First Street all the way from the south edge of town to the north. He would find food, then a room, just as soon as he checked out something else.

  The address was already in his Garmin, and the cheeky Australian voice he called Matilda led him through a few blocks of commercial property, then into residential neighborhoods. The houses in this part of town were mostly old, mostly well maintained, with mature trees that towered overhead and neatly mowed yards. The farther north and east he went, the bigger they got, the pricier, until finally he found himself at the curb across the street from 718 Cheyenne.

  It was two stories, white wood, dark shutters, redbrick steps and foundation. The porch ran the length of the house, but it wasn’t very wide, not like the porch on his mom’s house that functioned as an outdoor living room. There was a swing and a wicker chair at one end, two wooden rockers at the other, with big pots of red flowers evenly spaced along the porch.

  In the dim light, a piece of metal gleamed dully on the supporting post at the left of the steps, an anchor for hanging a flag. Flower beds lined the porch and the sidewalk that led to the driveway, where a silver minivan was parked in front of the garage. There were no toys visible—no three-wheelers or bikes, no basketball hoop, no abandoned skateboards. Inside, lights shone through sheer curtains in various rooms downstairs and were muted by blinds in one upstairs room.

  So this was where Mariah’s father lived. Keegan didn’t know much about him beyond his name, and what he did know wasn’t encouraging. The guy had been married when he’d gone to Fort Polk for training and hooked up with Sabrina. Then he’d come back home to Fort Murphy, and she’d never heard from him again. He hadn’t even had the decency to respond when she told him she was pregnant. One e-mail going astray, maybe, but four? All going to his army.mil account? Not likely.

  The house was nice, one Keegan couldn’t afford on his salary. Of course, majors made significantly more than sergeants, and the major’s wife probably had a job of her own. And kids of their own, judging by the size of the place. He’d guess four, maybe five bedrooms.

  His chest tightened, and he shifted the air-conditioning to high, turning the vents so they blew straight at his face. There had to be room in a house like that for Mariah. Her father might have ignored her existence until now, and his wife might not know a thing about her, but things were about to change. Things had changed, the day Sabrina dropped her off and kept going.

  Guilt settled in his gut, and he would have cursed his mother for putting it there if he hadn’t been afraid God would smack him down for it. He wasn’t Mariah’s father. He’d dated her mother for two years, lived with her for one before she confessed to her affair with the major. That didn’t make him responsible for her child. It wasn’t his job to find her real family. It was just something he needed to do.

  He was going to talk to her father, scope out the situation with his family, to make sure they would provide a good home for her. He wasn’t abandoning her, because she wasn’t his to abandon.

  Now, if he could just get those damned big, solemn brown eyes out of his mind…

  He’d sat there long enough to see everything and learn nothing. Shifting into drive again, he eased from the curb and headed back to Main Street. After a stop at a drive-in for a cheeseburger and onion rings, he drove a few more blocks to a motel on the west end of town. It was a genuine old-fashioned motor court, or at least made to look like one, with tiny individual structures for each room. A metal lawn chair in familiar faded green occupied each stoop, and neon buzzed and perfumed the air.

  The metal key to Room 9 was bent. Getting it into the lock required a little jiggling, but soon enough the tumblers fell and he opened the door. Nothing luxurious—he’d known that from seeing the outside. But the room wasn’t shabby. The vinyl floor was clean, the area rug showed marks from being recently vacuumed, and the bed was neatly made. Instead of stale-motel, it smelled like something baking—his mother’s sticky buns, maybe.

  The window air conditioner cooled with a hum instead of the deafening racket he’d expected, and the sofa was comfortable. With a tiny kitchenette—dorm fridge, two-burner cooktop, sink—he’d do fine for however long he had to be here. Best hope: a day. Realistic hope: a week or more.

  That was okay. He had forty-five days’ leave on the books. If it took every one of them to get Mariah settled elsewhere, so be it.

  After eating dinner, he brought in his bag, then pulled out the phone to call his mother. She’d already let him know, not long after he’d hit the interstate, that she an
d Mariah were back home in Natchitoches. Call me when you get to Tallgrass, she’d instructed him again. He grinned at the thought of all the times she’d told him that. Call me when you get to basic training. Call me when you get back from leave. Call me when you get to Iraq. Call me when you get to Afghanistan.

  He had four brothers and sisters to prove there’d been a father in his life, but not one that had mattered much. Ercella was twice the man Max Logan was, mother and father to her own kids, now to Mariah. Isn’t it possible she’s yours? she’d asked more than once. I think I see your eyes in hers.

  It wasn’t possible. Not unless Sabrina had had the longest pregnancy on record, or the shortest with a healthy, full-term baby.

  “I’m in Tallgrass,” he said when his mother answered the phone.

  The television sounded in the background, along with kids’ voices. It didn’t matter where Ercella went, she always attracted kids. With her own grown and her grandkids living an hour or more away, she entertained the neighborhood kids on Saturday nights and most any other time they wandered over. “Is it nice?” she asked over the noise.

  “Well, it’s no Natchitoches,” he said drily.

  “Naturally. Have you decided how you’re going to…”

  He silently finished the question for her: give away the grandbaby who wasn’t her grandbaby in any place except her heart. “I thought I’d go by and meet the guy tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What? And just say, ‘Hey, remember when you had an affair with my girlfriend? Well, here’s a cigar, it’s a girl’?”

  His scowl fixed on the silent television. “I haven’t exactly figured that out.”