McKettricks of Texas: Garrett

by Linda Lael Miller

  Austin went pale behind his tan. “I’m not selling my third of the ranch,” he said.

  “Fine,” Tate retorted. “Maybe you’d like to buy me out, then. The old Arnette farm is up for sale—I could pick it up for a song. Bulldoze that shack of a house and raze the barn, then rebuild. I might even raise some crops.”

  If they hadn’t gone over this ground earlier, he and Tate, Garrett would have thought Tate was just jerking Austin’s chain. Since they had, he was pretty sure Number One Brother was serious.

  Even if Austin bought Tate’s share of the ranch and hired a whole crew of management types to run it, it wouldn’t be the same.

  “Why the urgency, Tate?” Garrett asked his older brother, genuinely curious as well as quietly alarmed. Who would he be without that ranch? Who would any of them be? “The Silver Spur has been in this family since Clay McKettrick bought the original parcel of land a hundred years ago. Now, all of a sudden, you want everything decided and the property lines redrawn before when? Yesterday?”

  “What happened to all that talk about how your daughters needed to grow up on the ranch, because they’re McKettricks?” Austin threw in. He’d been pale before, now he was flushed.

  “Things change,” Tate said gravely. “People change.”

  “And you expect us to believe that you’ve changed that much?” Austin retorted, coldly furious. “Goddamn, if this is what love does to a man, then I hope I die a bachelor!”

  Garrett rubbed his face with both hands, realized his beard was already starting to come in again—and it hadn’t been more than an hour since he’d shaved. The fatigue hit him between one moment and the next with the impact of a speeding truck.

  Back in the day, Tate’s temper would have flared up like an oil well set aflame right about then, but loving Libby had mellowed him.

  “We can talk about this some other time,” he said wearily. He met Garrett’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he added. “Austin and I came here to help you in any way we could, and here we are squabbling instead.”

  Austin let out his breath. Reached over to squeeze Garrett’s shoulder without looking at him. “Much as I hate to admit it,” he muttered. “Tate’s right.”

  The spread of Mexican food, delicious as it was, had lost its appeal.

  By tacit agreement, the meal was over.

  Austin and Tate cleared away the debris, while Garrett went into his room and exchanged the comfortable clothes he’d been wearing for the dark suit he’d left on the bed earlier.

  Standing in front of the mirror on the inside of the closet door, he straightened his appropriately sedate tie, shrugged his shoulders to make the jacket sit right across his back.

  Except for the black eye, he thought, with a rueful shot at a smile that went wide of the mark, he looked dignified enough to be a dead senator’s spokesman.

  He’d have been a lot more comfortable in jeans and boots, though.

  WHEN JULIE HURRIED INTO HER CLASSROOM the next morning, moments before the bell would bring a tsunami of first-period English students flooding in, Rachel was already at her desk in the second row.

  “I was worried,” she told Julie. “When you didn’t come to school yesterday, I mean.”

  Julie felt a pang, even as she managed a harried smile. A glance at the wall clock told her she had roughly thirty seconds before the wave of adolescent humanity would make landfall. “My son didn’t feel well,” she said. “I had to stay home and care for him.”

  “Is he better?” Rachel asked.

  “Yes,” Julie answered, with a sigh of relief. Calvin wouldn’t be able to attend kindergarten for the rest of the week, but he’d been well enough that morning to ride into town with Julie. He and Harry were spending the day at Paige’s apartment, where they would surely be fed and tended, fussed over and spoiled within an inch of their lives.

  Mindful of just how much this child had been through in her young life, Julie trained her full attention on the girl. “How about you, Rachel? How are you doing?”

  Rachel shrugged, looked away. “Well enough,” she said.

  The bell rang.

  The doors banged open and students streamed in.

  The day had begun in earnest, and Julie didn’t get another chance to speak to Rachel until after the last class of the day. Even then, the interlude was brief, because Julie had tryouts to oversee in the auditorium, and Rachel was in a hurry to get to her job at the bowling alley.

  “If you need to talk about the fire or anything,” Julie said, standing next to Rachel’s locker while the girl shoved books onto the overhead shelf and reached for the lightweight jacket hanging on a hook, “I’ll listen.”

  Rachel’s spine straightened, and something flickered in her eyes, a sort of shutting-down. “Right,” she said, in a that’s-what-they-all-say tone.

  Kids streamed past them.

  “Rachel,” Julie said, catching hold of the girl’s arm when she would have turned away, “I mean it. We can talk, anytime.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked, with the first note of sarcasm Julie had ever heard from her. Considering that the girl was a teenager, that was saying something. “Like you were going to talk to my dad, you mean? About how maybe he could set aside his stupid masculine pride for once and let people give us stuff my brothers and I have been doing without our whole lives?”

  Julie took a moment before answering. “Rachel,” she said at last, kindly but firmly, “I want to help, I truly do, but I’ve been especially busy lately and, well, the last time your dad and I talked, he wasn’t exactly receptive.”

  All the bluster seemed to go out of Rachel then; she literally deflated. “I know,” she said. “It’s just that I can’t think of anybody else to ask, and Dad’s talking about how he’s ashamed to show his face in public, what with folks bringing us clothes and food and even a real nice trailer to live in, like he can’t take care of his own family—and he’s making noises about moving on again, too—”

  “I’ll try again,” Julie broke in gently, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I promise.”

  “I don’t know what we’ll do if he won’t listen to you,” Rachel fretted.

  With that, she nodded a farewell, put on her jacket and hurried away.

  As Julie had learned that morning, Mr. Dulles had simply canceled the tryouts the night before, instead of putting Mrs. Chambers in charge in Julie’s absence or taking over the task himself. That meant, of course, that they’d made no progress at all.

  She listened dutifully to every song.

  She paid earnest attention to every reading.

  And the evening seemed endless.

  When the first round of tryouts was finally over, some two hours after they’d begun, Julie was tired and hungry, and she still needed to pick Calvin up at Paige’s apartment.

  Ron Strivens was waiting outside the auditorium, with Rachel and the boys, when she paused to lock up. Mrs. Chambers stayed close to Julie’s elbow, smiling nervously at the ragged little family.

  Julie smiled at them, too.

  “My girl said you wanted to talk to me,” Strivens said to Julie, pushing away from the lightpost he’d been leaning against to stand straight. “Here I am, Ms. Remington. I’m listening.”

  “Shall I stay?” Verna Chambers asked, hesitating as she pulled her car keys from her handbag.

  “No, no,” Julie said, patting her friend’s arm. “It’s all right.”

  Reluctantly, Verna nodded a goodnight to all concerned and headed for her car.

  “Would you like to go in?” Julie asked the Strivenses. “We could all sit down—”

  “Right here’s good,” Strivens said, indicating a nearby bench. He turned to his daughter. “Rachel, you take the boys and wait in the truck so your teacher and I can talk.”

  Rachel did as she was told, though she dragged her feet a little, pulling her younger brothers by the hand.

  Julie tried not to sigh as she took a seat on the bench in front of the auditorium. “I k
now things are very hard right now, for all of you—”

  Rachel’s father sank down beside her. He seemed weary in every muscle and bone, much older than his years. “Yeah, it’s been tough,” he said, almost shyly, “without Miranda—that was my wife and the kids’ mother—but we’ve managed.”

  Julie nodded, full of sympathy, but frustrated, too. “Rachel says you’re thinking of leaving Blue River. Where would you go?”

  Strivens shrugged. Shook his head.

  “People mean well,” Julie went on, when he didn’t answer aloud. “The stuff they’ve donated, the food, the clothes—it’s not charity in their view, Mr. Strivens. It’s just their way of helping you get back on your feet after the fire—like you might do for them if the situation was reversed.”

  Strivens swallowed visibly, gazing out into the dark parking lot. His shoulders stooped and his hands dangled between the patched knees of his pants. “Folks say it’s better to give than to receive,” he reflected slowly, without looking at Julie, “and they must be right, though I couldn’t say for sure. All my life, I’ve been on the receiving end.” He paused to sigh. “All I want is to do right by my kids, believe it or not.”

  “I believe you,” Julie said. And she did. Being a single parent herself, she knew how rough life could be at times, and how frightening, even with Libby and Paige helping out in every possible way. “It means so much to Rachel to stay in Blue River and graduate,” she said. “And your boys—they’ve probably settled in pretty well, too, haven’t they?”

  Strivens smiled, but he still didn’t look directly at Julie. “So what you’re saying is, I ought to swallow my cussed pride?”

  “That’s not what I meant at all,” Julie lied.

  He laughed. Met her gaze. “Sure it is,” he said. “But that’s all right. I was thinking—those McKettricks got so much land and money, they can donate a fine single-wide for the use of the needy, maybe they’d have a job for a hard-workin’ man, too.”

  “Maybe,” Julie agreed, smiling.

  “Reckon we both ought to be going,” Strivens said, rising.

  Julie did the same.

  The man walked her to her car, waited politely until she was inside, with the engine running and the doors locked. Then he waved one hand and sprinted toward his old truck, where his children were waiting.

  A few minutes later, Julie knocked on the door of Paige’s apartment. Across the street, the cottage looked lonely and dark.

  Paige greeted her with a bright smile, and Calvin, ensconced on the sofa in his pajamas, looked almost like his usual self. Apparently, his illness was only the twenty-four-hour stomach kind of thing.

  Tears of love and relief and who knew what else filled Julie’s eyes.

  “You’re staying for supper,” Paige said, pulling her inside and shutting the door. “And that’s all there is to it. No arguments, no excuses.”

  Paige’s place was small, but it was part of a Victorian jewel of a house converted into apartments decades before, and it had charm aplenty—tall mullioned windows with built-in seats, wood floors and a working brick fireplace, among other things. Julie particularly envied the huge claw-foot tub in the bathroom.

  Julie sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand, hoping Calvin hadn’t noticed that she was crying.

  No such luck.

  Even when he was sick, Calvin didn’t miss much.

  “What’s the matter, Mom?” he asked, with great concern, when she bent to hug him and rest her chin on top of his head for a moment.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I just had kind of a long day, that’s all.”

  Calvin took her hand and tugged, and Julie dropped to sit close to him on the sofa. Harry, curled at his feet, eyed her balefully but didn’t stir. “Guess what?” the little boy whispered.

  Julie smiled. “What?” she whispered back.

  “I drank a supersize ginger ale today—every last drop!”

  “Did not,” Julie teased.

  “Did, too,” Calvin insisted. “Aunt Paige bundled me up and put me in her car and we went to the drive-through. Harry went with us. He had part of a cheeseburger.”

  “Wow,” Julie said, exchanging glances with Paige.

  Paige, clad in jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt, made a face at Julie and went into the kitchenette, where she began ladling something savory-smelling into a bowl.

  “Beef stew,” she said, returning to set the food on the table in the small dining area. “Have some.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Julie answered. She washed her hands in Paige’s spotless bathroom, admiring the magnificent bathtub, then joined her sister at the table.

  The stew was delicious, and she felt better after the first bite.

  “I didn’t throw up even once today,” Calvin called from the sofa.

  Julie chuckled and shook her head, while Paige, seated across from her, smiled over the rim of her tea cup.

  “Calvin,” Julie said, “I’m eating.”

  “Oops,” Calvin replied. “Sorry. I guess you’re not supposed to talk about throw-up when people are trying to eat.”

  “Guess not,” Paige sang out. Her dark eyes were gentle as she watched Julie raise and lower her spoon. “You’re working too hard,” she added, very quietly, for Julie’s ears alone.

  “Can you suggest an alternative?” Julie asked.

  There were so many things she wasn’t letting herself think about. Like how soon she needed to have her and Calvin’s belongings out of the cottage, so the new owners could move in, for instance.

  Like Garrett McKettrick, and how she’d let herself get in deep with him, knowing better all the while.

  “You have your share of the money Marva gave us,” Paige said, referring to the tidy sum their mother had divided between the three of them before leaving Blue River a few months before. “Why don’t you take some time off from teaching, reconsider your options?”

  “Options?” Julie whispered back. Calvin was off the couch, gathering his stuff to go home.

  Paige propped her forearms on the table’s edge and leaned in a little. “Garrett?” she mouthed.

  Julie sighed. “Get real,” she said. “He’s not an option.”

  “Whatever you say, sis.” Paige smiled. “He looked good on TV this afternoon. Nasty shiner, though.”

  Julie had seen the press conference, along with the entire student body of Blue River High, since Mr. Dulles had called a special assembly for the purpose. Flags all over the state were flying at half mast, too.

  Her heart pinched, remembering. Although disillusioned by Senator Cox’s recent fall from grace, as he surely was, Garrett had spoken with quiet dignity of his political mentor’s years of dedicated service to the people of Texas.

  Time tripped back a few notches.

  I’ll be leaving in a few days, she heard Garrett say. She’d been holding the ice bag to his eye, and he’d pulled her onto his lap…

  “He won’t be sticking around long,” she said aloud, without thinking first.

  “Garrett is going someplace?” Calvin demanded, appearing at her elbow, with his jacket on over his pajamas and his glasses crooked. “Where?”

  Julie smiled and moved to straighten Calvin’s glasses, but he wouldn’t let her fuss. He stepped back out of her reach and blurted out, “Garrett can’t go away. He promised he’d teach me how to ride!”

  “Calvin—”

  “He can’t go!” Calvin almost shrieked.

  Paige didn’t say anything, but her eyes were sad as she looked at her nephew.

  “Your dad is coming back for a visit this weekend,” Julie reminded the boy calmly. “And you’re going to meet your grandparents. Won’t that be nice?”

  Calvin began to wheeze, and then to gasp.

  Before Julie could respond at all, Paige had his inhaler out of his backpack and up to his mouth. The familiar puffing sound the device made seemed to echo through the room like a series of small explosions.

  “E
asy,” Paige said, one hand resting on Calvin’s small back as he struggled to breathe. “Take it real easy, big guy. You’re going to be all right.”

  Slowly, the little boy’s breath began to even out. As soon as he’d had his medicine, Julie hoisted him onto her lap and held him, murmuring, “Shhh,” and then, “Shhh” again.

  “Garrett can’t go away,” he whimpered. “It isn’t fair if he goes away.”

  “Hush, now,” Julie said, meeting Paige’s gaze. She was still standing nearby, still holding the inhaler. “We can talk about this when you’re feeling better.”

  Calvin began to cry then. Since he rarely wept, the sound was especially heartbreaking to hear.

  Paige’s eyes glistened.

  Julie’s own vision was a little blurred.

  She held Calvin until he began to settle down. Even when the tears had subsided, though, tremors went through his small body, and Julie was afraid he’d have another asthma attack—a worse one, perhaps—one that wouldn’t stop when he used his inhaler.

  “I want to go back to the ranch,” he said, his voice muffled. “I want to see Garrett.”

  “Honey,” Julie told her son quietly, “Garrett might not be on the ranch. He had to go to Austin, remember? To hold the press conference you and Aunt Paige watched on TV this afternoon? I’m sure he has a lot of things to do there—”

  Calvin drew back, looked up at Julie. “Don’t you want to see Garrett, too?” he asked, with his heart in his eyes. And in his voice.

  “Sure, I do,” Julie answered, very gently. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure he’s working, that’s all.”

  Calvin studied her for a long time.

  “Maybe you should both spend the night here,” Paige said. “It’s late and Calvin isn’t feeling well. I’ll sleep right here on the couch, and you two can share my bed.”

  It seemed an odd conversation to be having, when the cottage, Julie and Calvin’s home for so long, was just across the road.

  But the cottage wasn’t home anymore.

  She and Calvin didn’t have a home.

  Paige was waiting for an answer, so Julie finally shook her head. “You’ve done enough,” she told her sister, giving her a hug. “We’re not throwing you out of your bed.”