by Diana Palmer
* * *
She was able to go to the table for breakfast the next morning, even if she moved with a little difficulty. Her medicines worked slowly, but at least they did work. She had prednisone to take with the worst attacks, and it helped tremendously.
“You look better today,” Mrs. Brown said. “Going to church?”
“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “I’m hitching a ride with the Farwalkers.”
Mikey frowned. “The Farwalkers? Wait a minute. Farwalker. Carson Farwalker. He’s one of the doctors here. I remember.”
Bernie laughed. “Yes. He’s married to Carlie Blair. Her dad is pastor of the local Methodist church. I don’t have a car, so they come by to get me most Sundays for services. Sometimes it’s just Carlie and their little boy, Jacob, if Carson’s on call.”
He didn’t mention that he knew that pastor, Jake Blair. He also knew things about the man’s past that he wasn’t sharing.
“My whole family was Catholic,” he said. “Well, not Paulie. But then, he always went his own way.”
“The Ruiz family here is Catholic,” she said. “He’s a Texas Ranger. His wife is a nurse. She works in San Antonio, too, so they commute. They’re very nice people.”
“I never met Ruiz, but I heard about him. Ranch the size of a small state, they say.”
Bernie grinned. “Yes. It is rather large, but they aren’t social people, if you get my meaning.”
“Goodness, no,” Miss Pirkle, one of the tenants said with a smile. “Your cousin and his family are like that, too, Mr. Fiore,” she added, her thin face animated as she spoke. “Down-to-earth. Good people.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“We have a lot of moneyed families in Jacobsville and Comanche Wells,” old Mrs. Bartwell interjected with a smile. “Most of them earned their wealth the hard way, especially the Ballengers. They started out with nothing. Now Calhoun is a United States senator and Justin runs their huge feed lot here.”
“That’s a real rags-to-riches story,” Miss Pirkle agreed. “Their sons are nice, too. Imagine, two brothers, three children apiece, and not a girl in the bunch,” she added on a laugh.
“I wouldn’t mind a little girl,” Mikey said, surprising himself. He didn’t dare look at Bernie, who’d inspired the comment. He could almost picture her in a little frilly dress at the age of five or six. She would have been a pretty child. He hadn’t thought about children in a long time, not since his ex-fiancée had noted that she wasn’t marrying some famous criminal. It had broken Mikey’s heart. Women were treacherous.
“Children are sweet,” Bernie said softly as she finished her bacon and eggs. “The Griers come into our office a lot with their daughter, Tris, and their son, Marcus. I love seeing their children.”
“The police chief,” Mikey said, nodding. He chuckled. “Not your average small-town cop.”
“Not at all,” Bernie agreed, tongue-in-cheek.
“That’s true,” Miss Pirkle said. “He was a Texas Ranger!”
Bernie caught Mikey’s eyes and held them. He got the message. Their elderly breakfast companion didn’t know about the chief’s past. Just as well to keep it quiet.
“Are you from here, too?” Mikey asked Miss Pirkle.
“No. I’m from Houston,” she replied, her blue eyes smiling. “I came here with my mother about two years ago, just before I lost her.” She took a breath and forced a smile. “I loved the town so much that I decided I’d just stay. I don’t really have anybody back in Houston now.”
“I’m not from here, either,” Mrs. Bartwell said. “I’m a northern transplant. New York State.”
“Thought I recognized that accent,” Mikey teased.
Mrs. Bartwell chuckled. “I have a great-niece who lives in Chicago with her grandmother. Old money. Very old. They have ancestors who died in the French Revolution.”
“My goodness!” Miss Pirkle exclaimed, all ears.
“My sister and I haven’t spoken in twenty years,” she added. “We had a minor disagreement that led to a terrible fight. My husband died of cancer and we had no children. My great-niece’s mother was from Jacobsville. She was a Jacobs, in fact.”
“Impressive,” Bernie said with a grin. “Was she kin to Big John?”
“Yes, distantly.”
“Big John?” Mikey asked curiously.
“Big John Jacobs,” Bernie replied, because she knew the history by heart. “He was a sharecropper back in Georgia before the Union Army burned down his farm and killed most of his family, thinking they were slave owners. They weren’t. They were poor, like the black family he saved from real slave owners. One of the Union officers was going to have him shot, but the black family got between him and the Army man and made him listen to the truth. They saved his life. He came here just after the Civil War with them. He didn’t even have a proper house, so he and their families lived in one big shack together. He hired on some Comanche men and a good many cowboys from Mexico and started ranching with Texas longhorns. He made people uncomfortable because he wasn’t a racist in a time when many people were. He married an heiress, convinced her father to build a railroad spur to the ranch, near present Jacobsville, so that he could ship his cattle north. Made a fortune at it.”
“What a story,” Mikey chuckled.
“And all true,” Miss Pirkle said. “There’s a statue of Big John on the town square. One of his direct descendants is married to Justin Ballenger, who owns one of the biggest feed lots in Texas.”
“All this talk of great men makes me weak in the knees,” Mikey teased.
“Do you have illustrious ancestors, Mr. Fiore?” Mrs. Brown asked with a mischievous grin.
“Nah,” he said. “If I do, I don’t know about it. My grandmother was the only illustrious person I ever knew.”
“Was she famous?” Mrs. Bartwell asked.
“Well, she was famous back in Jersey,” he mused. “Got mad at a don and chased him around the room with a salami.”
There were confused looks.
“Mafia folks,” he explained.
“Oh! Like in The Sopranos, that used to be on television!” Miss Pirkle said. “I never missed an episode!”
“Sort of like that,” he said. “More like Marlon Brando in The Godfather,” he said, chuckling. “Afterwards, he sent her a big present every Christmas and even came to her funeral. She was fierce.”
“Was she Italian?” Mrs. Brown asked.
He laughed. “She was Greek. Everybody else in my whole family was Italian except for her. She was a tiny little thing, but ferocious. I was terrified of her when I was a kid. So was Paulie. Our folks didn’t have much time for us,” he added, not explaining why, “so she pretty much raised us.”
“I never knew either of my grandmothers,” Bernie said as she sipped coffee.
Mikey was studying her closely. “Where were your grandparents from?” he asked.
She closed up like a flower. She forced a smile. “I’m not really sure,” she lied. “My father and mother were from Jacobsville, though, and we lived here from the time I was old enough to remember things. I have to get ready for church. It was delicious, Mrs. Brown,” she added.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Brown said, and grimaced a little. She knew about Bernie’s past. Not many other local people did. She could almost feel Bernie’s anguish. Not Mr. Fiore’s fault for bringing it up. He didn’t know. “Want a second cup of coffee to take with you while you dress?”
“If I drink two, I can fly around the room and land on the curtain rods,” Bernie teased. “I’m hyper enough as it is. But thanks.”
She glanced at Mikey, puzzled by the look on his face. She smiled at the others and went back to her room.
* * *
Jake Blair was a conundrum, Bernie thought as she walked in line out the front door to shake hands with him after the very nice sermon. He seeme
d to be very conventional, just like a minister was expected to be. But he drove a red Shelby Cobra Mustang with a souped-up engine, and there were whispers about his past. The same sort of whispers that followed Jacobsville’s police chief, Cash Grier, wherever he went.
Bernie gripped her dragon cane tightly and glanced at the toddler in Dr. Carson Farwalker’s arms as he and Carlie walked beside her.
“Imagine you two with a child.” Bernie sighed as she went from one face to the other.
Carlie grinned. “Imagine us married!” she corrected with a loving look at her husband, which was returned. “They were taking bets at the police station the day we got married about when he’d do a flit.”
“They’re having a long wait, don’t you think?” Carson chuckled.
“Very long,” she agreed. “Imagine, we used to fight each other in World of Warcraft on battlegrounds and we never knew it. Not until my life was in danger and Dad had you watching me.”
“I watched you a lot more than he told me to,” Carson teased.
She laughed.
They’d moved up to Jake by now and he was giving them an amused grin. “There’s my boy!” he said softly, and held his arms out for Jacob, who was named after him.”
“Gimpa.” The little boy laughed and hugged the tall man.
Jake hugged him close. “If anybody had told me ten years ago that I’d go all mushy over a grandchild, I guess I’d have laughed.”
“If anybody had told me ten years ago that I’d be practicing medicine in a small Texas town, I’d have fainted,” Carson chuckled.
“I like having family,” Jake said, and smiled at his daughter and son-in-law. “I never belonged anyplace in my life until now.”
“Me, neither,” Bernie said softly.
Jake looked at her kindly, and she knew that he’d heard the rumors. She just smiled. He was her minister, after all. Someday maybe she’d be able to talk about it. Mrs. Brown knew, but she was a clam. Not a lot of other people had any idea about Bernie’s background because she’d lived for a few years, with her parents, in Floresville before coming back here with her father just before he died. She didn’t like to think about those days. Not at all.
Jake looked behind his family at the few remaining, obviously impatient worshippers and handed his grandson back to Carson. “Ah, well, I’ll see you all at the house later. I’m holding up progress,” he added, and looked behind Carson at a man who actually flushed.
“Not a problem, Preacher,” the man said. “It’s just that the line’s already forming for lunch at Barbara’s Café...”
“Say no more,” Jake chuckled. “Actually, I’m heading there myself. I can burn water.”
“You can cook,” Carlie chided.
“Only when I want to. And I don’t want to,” he confided with a grin. He kissed her cheek and shook hands with Carson. “I’ll see you all for supper. You bringing it?”
“Of course,” Carlie replied with a grin. “We know you can’t boil water!”
He just laughed.
* * *
Bernie walked into the boardinghouse a little tired, but happy from the few hours of socializing with friends.
She wasn’t looking where she was going, her mind still on the Farwalkers’ little boy, whom she had sat beside in the back seat and cooed at all the way home. She ran right into Mikey and almost fell.
Chapter Three
Mikey just stared at her, smiling faintly as he caught her by both shoulders and spared her a fall. She did look pretty, with her long, platinum blond hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a pink dress in some soft material that displayed her nice figure without making it look indecent. He thought of all the women he’d known who paraded around in dresses cut up to the thigh and slashed to the waist in front. He compared them with Bernie, and found that he greatly preferred her to those glitzy women in his past.
“Thanks,” she said, a husky note in her voice as she looked up at him with fascinated pale green eyes. It was a long way. He was husky for his height, and his head was leonine, broad, with a straight nose and chiseled lips and a square chin. He looked like a movie star. She’d never even seen a man so handsome.
“Deep thoughts?” he asked softly.
She caught her breath. “Sorry. I was just thinking how handsome you are.” She flushed. “Oh, gosh,” she groaned as that slipped out.
“It’s okay,” he teased. “I’m used to ladies swooning over me. No problem.”
That broke the ice and she laughed.
He loved the way she looked when she laughed. Her whole face became radiant. Color bloomed on her cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled. Amazing, that a woman with her disability could laugh at all. But, then, his little grandmother had been the same. She never complained. She just accepted her lot in life and got on with living.
“You never complain, do you?” he asked suddenly.
“Well...not really,” she stammered. “There’s this saying that the boss has on the wall at work, a quote from Saint Francis of Assisi...”
“‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference,’” he quoted.
She smiled. “You know it.”
He shrugged. “My grandmother dragged me to mass every single Sunday until I was old enough to refuse to go. She had a plaque with that quote on it. I learned it by heart.”
“It’s nice.”
“I guess.”
He let her go belatedly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Sorry I ran into you.”
“Feel free to do it whenever you like,” he said, and his dark eyes twinkled. “You fall down, kid, I’ll pick you up every time.”
She flushed. “Thanks. I’d do the same for you, if I could.” She eyed his height. Her head came up to just past his shoulder. He probably weighed twice what she did, and the expensive suit he was wearing didn’t disguise the muscular body under it. “I don’t imagine I could pick you up, though.”
He laughed. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll see you later.”
She nodded.
He went around her and out the door, just as she heard a car pull up at the curb. His driver, no doubt. She wondered where he was going on a Sunday. But, then, that was really not her business.
* * *
It was the next morning before Bernie saw Mikey again, at the breakfast table. He was quiet and he looked very somber. He felt somber. Somebody had tracked Tony to the Bahamas and Marcus Carrera had called in some markers to keep him safe. Tony had used one of his throwaway phones to call Mikey—on the number Mikey had sent through a confederate.
Carrera, he recalled, was not a man to mess with. Once a big boss up north, the man had done a complete flip and gone legit. He was worth millions. He’d married a small-town Texas girl some years ago and they had two sons. The wife was actually from Jacobsville, a girl who used to do clothing repairs at the local dry cleaner’s. Her father was as rich as Tony. Her mother had pretended to be her sister, but the truth came out when Carrera was threatened and his future wife saved him. Mikey knew Carrera’s in-laws, but distantly. At least Tony was safe. But if they’d tracked him down, they probably had a good idea where Mikey was. It wouldn’t take much work to discover that Mikey had been down here in Jacobsville three years ago to help out his cousin Paulie. That being said, however, it was still the safest place he could be. He had as much protection as he needed, from both sides of the law.
He looked around at the women at the table. His eyes lingered on Bernadette. He didn’t want to put her in the line of fire. This had been a bad idea, getting a room at a boardinghouse. Or had it?
“Deep thoughts, Mr. Fiore?” Mrs. Brown teased. “You’re very quiet.”
He laughed self-consciously when he felt eyes on him. “Yeah. I wa
s thinking about a friend of mine who’s been in some trouble recently.”
“We’ve all been there,” Miss Pirkle said warmly. “I guess friends become like family after a time, don’t they? We worry about them just as we would about kinfolk.”
“And that’s a fact,” he agreed.
“My best friend drowned in a neighbor’s swimming pool, when my family lived briefly in Floresville,” Bernie commented.
“Did you see it?” Mikey asked.
She looked down at her plate. Her whole face clenched. “Yes. I didn’t get to her in time.”
“Listen, kid, sometimes things just happen. Like they’re meant to happen. I’m not a religious man, but I believe life has a plan. Every life.”
Bernie looked up at him. Her face relaxed a little. She drew in a long breath. “Yes. I think that, too.” She smiled.
He smiled back.
The smiles lasted just a second too long to be casual. Mrs. Brown broke the silence by putting her cup noisily in the saucer without glancing at her boarders. It amused her, the streetwise Northerner and the shy Texas girl, finding each other fascinating. Mrs. Brown’s husband had died years ago, leaving her with a big house outside town and a fistful of bills she couldn’t pay. Opening her home to lodgers had made the difference. With her increased income, she was able to buy this house in town and turn it into a new boardinghouse. The sale of the first house had financed the purchase and remodeling of this one. The new location had been perfect for her boarders who worked in Jacobsville. She found that she had a natural aptitude for dealing with people, and it kept her bills paid and left her comfortably situated financially. But romance had been missing from her life. Now she was watching it unfold, with delight.
Mikey glanced at his wrist, at the very expensive thin gold watch he wore. “I have to run. I’m meeting Paulie up in San Antonio, but I’ll be home in time for dinner,” he told Mrs. Brown. He got up and leaned toward her. “What are we having?”
“Lasagna,” she said with a grin. “And yes, I do know how to make it. Mandy Swilling taught me.”
