by Pamela Tracy
Finally, he rolled down the window and leaned out. The smell of West Texas sage grass reminded him of being at his grandparents’ house. Lord, he could use Grandpa’s advice now. “Look, Natalie, you know you’re going to wind up talking to me. I’ve got plenty of questions and seems you’re the only one who can answer them.” He shook his head. “Saturday you told me that I’m an uncle. Surely after that bombshell, you know I’m not going away.”
Her expression didn’t change. He’d dealt with friendlier bulls.
“Okay,” he finally said. “The next time we talk, it probably won’t be you and me. It will be you and me and my lawyer.” The next words out of his mouth shamed him, but she’d left him no choice. “And I don’t think you can afford that.”
He fired the engine and backed out. Just when he hit the street, he paused, stuck his head out the window again, because he couldn’t stand feeling this low, and shouted, “I’m staying at Bernice Baker’s place. You can call me anytime. I know you can find her number.”
With that, he pointed his truck toward Bernice’s, but his white knuckles and clenched teeth convinced him that no way, no how, could he sit in Bernice’s living room and not look like something was wrong. Holing up in Mary’s bedroom wouldn’t work, either. He was driving away from one headache and heading toward another. He needed to tell his family, and soon. Because if they found out about Robby from someone else, he’d never hear the end of it.
Selena in November was a riot of colors. The trees were shades of orange, red and yellow. The grass was turning brown but still had hints of green. None of the scenery matched Lucky’s mood. He needed some black or at least a lot more brown. He drove out of town and headed toward Delaney. Maybe there he could recover some feeling of peace.
Delaney was even smaller than Selena and just as colorful. A small sign announced the town and its population. An even smaller sign pointed to a café and general store. Both were new. School was in session. The building, the same size as the combined café and general store, had four trucks and one Ford Taurus parked in front. Lucky turned at the corner and saw a playground much improved since the days he had climbed the metal slide or fallen onto dirt and grass from the monkey bars. He still wasn’t seeing the colors that fit his mood. While the playground of old had been brown, green and silver, the playground of new was sunny yellow and fire-engine red.
Down from the school was the church his grandparents attended. It still looked good; getting declared a historical marker had that effect on property. Lucky pulled into the parking lot and almost couldn’t get out of the truck. The church looked good but lonely. The minister who’d been there during his grandparents’ time had passed away five years ago.
The sight of his childhood church looking pristine but unused did not help Lucky’s mood.
He left Delaney’s few businesses and traveled five miles of dirt roads, finally reaching his grandfather’s house. He stopped just in front and let his foot hover over the gas as he reflected back on the best memories of his life. A discarded bike, a tiny pretend lawn mower and a wagon gave evidence that life indeed went on. Lucky didn’t know the family who’d purchased Grandpa’s land, but he liked them already. The place looked pretty much as it always had, even the horses running in the distance. The only thing missing was the carpet-covered barrels over by the barn and Grandma standing on the porch yelling at Grandpa to turn down the music so she could think.
Believe it or not, Grandpa said there was nothing like Jimi Hendrix to get the adrenaline pumping. He said it was necessary for bull riding.
Lucky relaxed enough so his knuckles returned to their normal color.
The cemetery was a good twenty miles away and one of the oldest and biggest in the area. He’d been to Grandpa’s grave often, every time the rodeo brought him near, but today the pull was more than paying respect. It was a place to reflect.
He certainly could have handled his encounter with Natalie better this morning.
And it looked like he’d need to work hard to handle his mother now. In the distance he could see her standing in front of her parents’ graves. On a patch of land that usually inspired the wearing of black, his mother wore a pink button-down dress and white high heels. Yup, she was an avid member of the June Cleaver fan club. At least that’s what his friends all claimed. No one ever surprised Betsy Welch in an awkward moment. She always looked like she’d just left the hairdresser.
He parked alongside a Virgin Mary statue. The cemetery didn’t have a fence surrounding it. To the best of Lucky’s knowledge, the need to escape Delaney ended at the grave. It took him only a minute to join his mother in front of her parents’ graves. The headstones were weathered yet dignified. A Bible verse was engraved under his grandfather’s name:
Thomas William Hitch
1917–1999
He followed the Lord.
“We should have buried Marcus here.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what your father was thinking. My family’s here. The cemetery back in Houston is full of strangers.”
“Mom, it’s okay. Marcus really doesn’t care where he’s buried.”
“But I care! And I should have brought flowers today.”
There was a grave, fairly new, just one row up. The wealth of flowers stacked there caught the sunshine. Another wasted life? Or did the grave, like Lucky’s grandfather’s, denote he followed the Lord?
Lucky took his mother by the elbow and started leading her away. “We can come out again.”
“I checked out that grave over there,” his mother said.
“The one with the flowers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that person?”
“No, but Bernice mentioned him this morning. Leo Crosby.”
Lucky slowed his pace. “Natalie’s father? Wonder why he’s buried here instead of in Selena?”
“I checked around. There are lots of Crosby graves, some from as early as 1862.”
“Hold on, Mom. I want to go take a look.”
A moment later, staring down at Leonard Crosby’s headstone, Lucky reassessed his day. He’d thought he’d come here for conversation with God and Grandpa. Instead, he got his mother and now Leo Crosby, who was lying under a covering of not only flowers, but also a brown teddy bear with a toy train nestled between its legs.
Maybe his mother was right. Maybe if Marcus were buried here, he’d have flowers on his grave and maybe even a little toy train.
He knew what his mother wanted—someone to listen, someone to understand and someone to grieve with her, someone to fill a void. Since his brother’s death, it was the only thing she wanted.
A grandchild would surely comfort her grieving heart.
Chapter Four
L oss of sleep became a way of life over the next few days. Natalie didn’t go to town, afraid of confrontation, and she didn’t tell Robby the truth, afraid of his desire to know a real cowboy and just how much said cowboy and his family could change their lives.
On Friday morning, she took Robby for a walk around the property. It might be mid-November, but he only needed a sweater. West Texas weather was a bit like Robby, sunny one minute, tears the next, and oh, when he was mad, he certainly knew how to freeze a body out. Today, the ranch smelled like sage and felt like Indian summer.
After an hour, they headed back for a snack and some downtime. Okay, Robby wanted the snack; she wanted the downtime. He stomped into the living room and plopped onto the floor. Natalie made sure he was busy with his trains and then walked around the house, turning on lights and trying to ignore the feeling of loss that followed her. Even with Robby’s noise, her father’s absence was tangible.
His accounting books were still open on the kitchen table. She no longer had so many questions; she had a few answers. Still, she needed to know what had happened to Dad’s share in the business. Why was his checking account wiped out?
Slowly, she took a seat at the kitchen table and flipped open Daddy’s checkbook. She should have taken
an interest long ago. He’d always told her that he’d make sure she—they—didn’t need to worry.
Hey, Dad, I’m worrying here.
She rubbed her finger over the black ink. He had tiny handwriting, always print, and it slanted ridiculously to the right. He’d chase down a penny if his balance didn’t add up. Sighing, she pushed away the evidence she couldn’t change, at least not at the moment and not in her current frame of mind.
Heading for the living room, she joined Robby on the floor. He’d managed to crawl under the coffee table and was running a little green train across a terrain of brown carpet. She started to get up, but he said, “Stay, Mommy, stay.” He could play for hours and loved having her sit right beside him. He didn’t want her to play, just to be by his side. Apparently, she hadn’t inherited the I-know-how-to-push-trains-across-the-carpet gene. If she reached for one, he would say, “Noooo.”
It was okay if Pop Pop reached for one, though, and choo-chooed around the room. And if one of Natalie’s or Pop Pop’s friends stopped by, they were welcome to play. Just not Natalie. There were other things for her to do, like hold her hand at the ready so Robby didn’t bump his head when he finally wriggled out from under the coffee table. Her hand often made the difference between smiles and tears.
There’d been too many tears her hands couldn’t prevent lately.
She leaned against the couch and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Robby remained happily entertained, sprawled under the coffee table. Natalie stared at the photographs hanging on the living room wall. The earliest showed the ranch as it looked in 1910, with lots of brush and dirt, four cowboys, two dogs and six horses. Natalie didn’t know if the building in the background was the beginnings of the ranch or an outhouse.
The newest photo, one taken by her father, showed a ranch with trees and lots of green grass, no cowboys, no dogs and, since her accident, no horses. The house—white, sprawling and two-storied—had two chairs on the porch and Robby’s tricycle on the path.
The phone rang loud, unwelcome and jarring. She’d left it off the hook too often lately. Condolences from those who had loved her father seemed to deepen her sorrow, not relieve it. Then, there was Lucky Welch, the bull rider who was staying with the Bakers, who knew where she lived and who could definitely find her phone number.
She let it ring. Maybe he’d go away. Maybe hiding out was working. But she couldn’t hide for long. The postman knew where she lived. Robby heard the sound of the mail truck. He loved the postman, who often had peppermints in his pockets.
“Mama!” Robby was at the door and twisting the knob before she made it off the floor. She needn’t have hurried. The postman was out of his truck and coming up the walk.
“You got something official,” he said. “Probably about your daddy.”
Natalie took the envelope, the official-looking envelope, and stared at the return address.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t swallow, either.
Opening the screen door, she wandered onto the front porch and collapsed in a wooden rocker. The smooth wood creaked under her weight, or maybe it creaked because she held the weight of the world upon her shoulders.
How had it all gone so wrong?
And though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she went inside and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet on fancy letterhead. She’d been right to berate herself for a foolhardy action, right to worry about a custody battle, right to wonder what kind of man Lucky Welch was.
He wasn’t his brother, that was for sure. No, instead, Lucky got things done.
Attending the rodeo and approaching Lucky had been stupid. She’d done this on her own. With no help from anyone else, she’d made her life a soap opera. Suddenly, losing her home didn’t seem such a disaster, not when she compared it to losing Robby.
The lawyer’s letter was straightforward. Lucas William Welch requested a meeting. The letter suggested it be in Selena. Lucky’s lawyer would travel here, and it specified a date and a time next week. If the date and time were not convenient, she was instructed to call.
With trembling hands, she laid the letter on the kitchen table and looked into the living room where Robby busied himself by pounding on the coffee table with a toy train.
“Robby, stop!”
He looked at her, looked at the train, and then gently tapped it on the coffee table.
For the past three days, she’d been faced with a curious child and no words to explain what had happened. Robby had so many questions. Who was the cowboy and why did he come to the house? Why was Mommy crying all the time? Why couldn’t he go to a friend’s house? She’d settled for telling Robby that she didn’t feel well, and that the rodeo brought back old memories and so did Lucky. It wasn’t a complete truth, but it certainly wasn’t a lie, either.
Oh, what had she done?
For the last three days, instead of holing up, she should have been busy finding herself a lawyer because no way could she bear to lose Robby, especially so soon after her father’s death, or any other time, for that matter.
Selena had two lawyers. One had been her father’s. He was old-fashioned and spent more time patting Natalie on the hand when she asked questions about her dad’s money than he had investigating where the money had gone. Sunni Foreman was brand-new to the community and trying to make a dent in what had always been, at least in Selena, a man’s world. A quick phone call got Natalie an afternoon appointment. A second phone call arranged for Patty to watch Robby. Robby was more than ready for an afternoon of play with other kids, and he didn’t even cry when she left him.
Sunni Foreman shared office space with an accountant and a wedding planner. They didn’t share a secretary. Natalie noticed that the waiting room was clean and had current magazines. The chairs looked new and, before she could knock, Ms. Foreman, as the plaque on the door read, stuck her head out of her office and said, “Come on in.”
The good news was that everything happened so fast that before Natalie could get nervous, she was sitting in a comfortable maroon chair in an office with a picture of George Washington on the wall and the scent of cinnamon apples all around. Ms. Foreman started to sit down, then left the room for a moment. “Call me Sunni,” the lawyer said when she returned, bringing Natalie a glass of water.
Sunni stood over six feet tall, had frizzy blond hair that certainly deserved the woman’s moniker, and wore a white top with a blue jacket over a pair of well-worn blue jeans. Natalie had seen her around town at the grocery store, the library and such. She wasn’t the type of woman likely to be missed.
Opening her purse, Natalie handed Sunni the letter.
Sunni sat at her desk, reached for glasses and held them instead of putting them on. “Before I read this, why don’t you, in your own words, tell me what’s going on.”
Natalie took a drink of the cold water. Setting the glass down carefully, Natalie took a breath, and the words poured out of her so fast they tumbled right over each other. She started with her father’s death, the money situation and the mistake at the rodeo, then went on to finding out she did have money, and finally arrived at Lucky’s visit to the ranch and the letter Sunni was holding.
When she finished, she almost felt better, but not quite. Her father’s death wasn’t the beginning, and with her lawyer, she needed to start at the beginning.
Tisha showing up at Natalie’s place in New Mexico, a tiny baby in her arms, was the real beginning.
Sunni opened the letter from Lucky’s lawyer and read. After a moment she said, “Seems pretty straightforward. By your own admission, Marcus Welch is the father. His family does deserve visitation, and you are the one who initiated contact. Tell me what you want out of this upcoming meeting.”
“I—I want it so that nothing changes.”
“That’s a pretty broad request and judging by this letter, it’s not an option.”
Reaching down, Natalie put her hand in her purse and curled her fingers around a stif
f manila envelope. She didn’t bring it out, couldn’t yet, because she didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to acknowledge the fear threatening to spill over.
The tick, tick, tick of the office’s plain brown clock seemed to get louder before Sunni, who looked at Natalie like she could see right into her soul, gently continued. “Is there any reason to deny them a chance to get to know Robby? Fathers, and their families, have rights. Unless you’re worried they might abduct Robby, I don’t see why you need me. My best advice is to call this Lucas Welch, apologize for how you ended his last contact and ask if you can meet without lawyers.”
Natalie swallowed. Nowhere in the television shows about lawyers, the books she’d read about lawyers and in the dealings she’d witnessed with her dad’s lawyer had she heard the words…without lawyers. Well, she’d wanted an honest lawyer; looked like she’d found one.
Natalie’s fingers still curled around the envelope. Now, she tightened her grip and slowly brought the envelope to the desk. “There’s a reason why I need a lawyer and a reason why I don’t want this meeting with the Welches.” Leaning forward, Natalie asked the question that she most dreaded hearing the answer to. “Anything we discuss in here is private, privileged, right?”
“Yes.” The lawyer waited silently, as if knowing Natalie needed time to regroup. Silence was a type of pressure.
“Well, um, the letter instructed me to bring one thing. Robby’s birth certificate.”
“Do you have it?”
“I do.”
Before Natalie could change her mind, Sunni Foreman’s hand reached across the desk and Natalie relinquished the packet.
Inside was a copy of Robby’s birth certificate. Sunni pulled that out first, glanced at it, glanced at Natalie, and then pulled out the rest of the papers. After a moment, she looked at Natalie again. “Okay, I see your dilemma. What is it you hope I can do for you?”
“I can’t negotiate any rights for Robby,” Natalie said. “I can’t sign any paperwork. But I want, I deserve, to be the one who calls the shots. That little boy is mine, and I want what’s best for him.”
