Texas on My Mind

by Delores Fossen

  “I wouldn’t have woken you up,” Claire added, “but you were talking and thrashing around. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. Do you need your pain meds?”

  He did, and needed them badly, but Riley shook his head. “I’m off the oxy, and the new stuff makes me drowsy.”

  Which explained why he’d fallen asleep in his uniform in the porch swing. It was spring, but in Texas that meant it was already hotter than hell. Of course, that pretty much described three and a half of their four seasons.

  Riley put his feet on the porch but didn’t risk standing just yet. The porch was swirling beneath him. However, there was maybe something he could do to get that look of pity off Claire’s face.

  “I nearly kissed you,” he admitted.

  As expected, the pity vanished, and she looked about as shocked as if he really had kissed her. “When? Wait, that wasn’t part of the dream, was it?”

  Uh, no. “I nearly kissed you just now when you were leaning over me.”

  Since he had never kissed her, this would have been the time when most women would have asked why he’d nearly done that. Or at least continued on the subject a bit until she got some more info. Claire didn’t. She dropped back another step.

  “What happened to the kid?” she asked. She hooked her fingers around the neck strap that was holding a camera. “The kid in the nightmare you were having?”

  Ah, hell. How much had he said? Apparently, too damn much. Since that was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her, with anyone, Riley went on the offensive.

  “I heard about Daniel’s proposal. Including the or else.” He wouldn’t give her his opinion about that.

  She nodded. “Trisha blabbed.” That was it. Her complete response on the matter before Claire suddenly got very interested in looking at her fingernails.

  “Do you think we can find a subject that we both will actually discuss?” he asked. “If not, this is going to be a very short visit.” And while he was at it, Riley added something else that was sure to get her mind off what he had said or hadn’t said while napping. “Why are you visiting anyway? Did you bring me flowers?”

  His tone alone should have put her off since it wasn’t very welcoming, but Claire didn’t huff or look insulted. She sank down on the seat next to him. “I’m just taking a break from stripping wallpaper and sorting boxes. And, no, the roses are for your mother’s grave. They’re the first batch from Gran’s garden, and I thought your mom would like them.”

  That put an instant lump in his throat. He wasn’t usually so lump prone when it came to the mention of his mother, but those flashbacks had left him raw, as if some of his skin had been stripped away. It made it too easy for the feelings to get in.

  “Mom would like them,” Riley settled for saying.

  Claire nodded, smiled, put the flowers on the railing. “I’ll swing by the cemetery on the way home, but Ethan wanted to play with Crazy Dog first. I brought my camera so I could get some pictures. He’s growing up so fast that I’m trying to hang on to the minutes by making sure I get at least one new picture of him every week.”

  Since Riley hadn’t heard a peep from Ethan, he looked at the yellow Lab’s usual resting spot, and as predicted Crazy Dog was there, sleeping, and Ethan was tugging on his ears, trying to get the dog to move.

  Good luck with that.

  “Crazy Dog’s not so crazy anymore,” Riley remarked. And he hadn’t been for the past six years or so.

  But before that, he’d been worthy of the name that Lucky had given him. Well, actually the name had been Bat-Shit Crazy Dog, but that hadn’t gone over well with Della and Stella. Neither had Ol’ Yeller—Riley’s suggestion. Logan hadn’t offered any name options, but he had been the one to call a dog obedience instructor.

  For the most part, Crazy Dog slept under that particular tree during the day, though there was a doggy door for the house so he could come and go as he pleased. The only time he went inside was to eat and do more sleeping. The vet had assured them that the dog wasn’t sick; all the tests had been done to rule that out. Apparently, Crazy Dog was more Lazy Dog now.

  “You’re wearing your uniform,” Claire commented.

  Riley hadn’t forgotten he had it on, of course, but he glanced down at it. “I was at the base getting physical therapy and a checkup first thing this morning. I’m healing,” he added so that she wouldn’t ask.

  Nor would he explain that wearing the uniform to the appointment hadn’t been necessary. Riley just felt better when he had it on. Not like the ordinary Riley with the head-exploding pain. In the uniform he was Captain McCord, CRO. People saluted him, called him sir and there was the awe factor of being special ops.

  Since his comments about the dog and his physical therapy hadn’t generated any safe conversation, Riley went back to an unsafe subject. “What are you going to do about Daniel’s proposal?”

  Her lips tightened as if she might tell him it was none of his business, but it was a sigh rather than a huff that left her mouth—which he was still thinking about kissing.

  “I don’t know.” She leaned back in the swing, sighed again.

  All right, so maybe she had come here to talk this over. It made more sense than Ethan playing with Crazy Dog since there was zero playing going on.

  “What would you do?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t marry him, but then I’m straight.” He flashed her a smile that had her rolling her eyes. Riley waited until the eye roll was done before he continued. And here was the six-million-dollar question. “Do you love him?”

  “Some.” She screwed up her face and shook her head. “I know, I know. Livvy said I shouldn’t grade love...or sex on a curve.”

  Livvy was obviously a font of wisdom. “You shouldn’t.” And, no, that didn’t have anything to do with Daniel himself. Or Claire. “Why would you have to grade sex on a curve anyway?”

  “Clearly, you’ve never had mediocre sex. But then you’re a guy. Lucky told me once that for guys, no sex is actually bad. Some times are just better than others.”

  Riley was sure he screwed up his face, too. “When the hell did my brother tell you that?”

  “Oh, I guess I was about nineteen or so and home from college. We ran into each other at Calhoun’s Pub.” She dismissed it with the flip of her hand.

  Riley sure as heck didn’t dismiss it, and the next time he saw his brother, he’d rip off Lucky’s ears—maybe his dick, too.

  Sheez. Was nothing sacred with Lucky? Because his brother had obviously been hitting on Claire if he’d broached the subject of sex with her. Of course, Lucky hit on every woman within breathing range, but even Lucky should have had enough brain cells to know that Claire was off-limits.

  And Riley really didn’t want to think about why Lucky would know that. He just would.

  Claire thankfully missed his little mental implosion because she groaned, scrubbed her hand over her face. “What am I going to do, Riley? There are only three days left on Daniel’s or else deadline.”

  Shoot, he might rip off Daniel’s dick, too. “I should probably stay quiet on the subject, but why would you let him give you an ultimatum like that, especially when you only love him some?”

  Claire’s attention drifted to Ethan who was now using Crazy Dog’s back as a track for two toy cars.

  Oh.

  Claire’s drifted attention gave Riley a reminder that he’d been trying to forget. That Daniel was almost certainly Ethan’s father.

  Well, shit.

  That explained Daniel’s ultimatum. If Ethan was Riley’s kid, he would have wanted to raise him, too. He was an all right kid. Creative, too, since he used the folds on Crazy Dog’s neck to hide one of the cars, and Ethan was doing it gently enough so that Riley knew the boy cared.

  “I’ve been with Daniel a long time,” she finally said.
“It feels a little like an investment, you know?”

  Riley didn’t have a clue, and that only riled him even more, but he nodded anyway.

  “Sometimes, I just think...” She paused. “Well, sometimes I wonder if my slogan is just a pile of sugar.”

  All right, he really, really didn’t have a clue. “Huh?”

  “I say sugar instead of shit because I don’t want Ethan to curse,” she clarified in a whisper. “And I meant my sugary slogan—Making Fantasies Come True. That’s the slogan Livvy and I picked for our business, but...”

  “Daniel’s not doing it for you, fantasy-wise?” Oh, he so should have given that some thought before it came out of his mouth. Too bad the new pain meds hadn’t made him comatose instead of just dizzy and drowsy.

  A teeny-tiny smile crossed her lips and then vanished. “Do you really want to talk about me and Daniel having sex?”

  Yeah, right after he slid down a mile-long stretch of razor blades. Riley hoped his silence, and possibly his wincing, let her know that it was not something on the discussion table.

  “Are you sleeping better?” she asked.

  Not exactly a safe subject, but they were running out of topics here. “Some.”

  And that led him to something else he’d been thinking about lately. He tipped his head to the flowers she’d brought. “How did you deal with the memories of what happened to my mom and dad?”

  Claire gave him a long look. “I don’t have a lot of memories. It’s more like little bits and pieces, you know?”

  This time, he did know, but bits and pieces could still come together for an ugly picture.

  “And the bits and pieces aren’t all of the accident itself. Your father told a joke,” Claire went on. “Your mother laughed. Then the crash happened.”

  He knew all of that. It’d been a knock-knock joke.

  His dad: Knock knock.

  His mom: Who’s there?

  Dad: Boo

  Mom: Boo who?

  Dad: Ah, don’t cry, honey.

  Riley hadn’t been there, but Claire had filled him in over the years. Those last moments of their lives were as clear in his head as if he had witnessed every second of it. Heck. He wished he had. Then he could have had the chance to say goodbye.

  He looked at her, hoping that her eyes weren’t burning like his. Because if Claire lost it, Riley would have to pull her into his arms. It wasn’t a good time for that to happen. Not with all this nervous energy zinging between them.

  But no tears. She smiled when she glanced at the roses.

  “You have nightmares about it?” he asked her.

  She drew in a long breath. “Not very often. Why are you asking? Are you having a lot of nightmares? Is that what was happening when I woke you?” Thankfully, she didn’t wait for him to answer. Or for him to flub around with an explanation. “Because what helped me was a picture of you.”

  Riley had to go back through that to make sure he’d heard her right. “Me?”

  She nodded. “You just seemed to be holding things together a lot better than I was. So when I’d have bad dreams and sad thoughts, I’d look at your picture in the yearbook—the one with you in your football uniform—and I’d remind myself that if you could do it, then so could I.”

  He definitely hadn’t been holding it together. But Logan had. He’d swooped in and taken care of all the funeral arrangements, the business stuff. Even Anna. Riley had put on a front, but it was just that—a front. It’d been good practice, though, for the front he was putting on now.

  “I still look at your picture sometimes,” she went on. “Because every now and then the dreams come back.”

  “And looking at my picture actually helps?” Riley wished he hadn’t sounded so astonished, but he was.

  “Sure. Well, for the nightmares but not for thunderstorms. You don’t work for me in thunderstorms.”

  Yeah, Claire had a thing about storms, spiders and zombie movies. But Riley hadn’t had a clue she’d even attempted to use his picture or anything about him to help her get through it.

  “Riley!” Ethan called out. The kid had obviously noticed he was awake and sounded excited to see him. Riley was mildly surprised that he was excited to see Ethan, too.

  Ethan had given up on his Crazy Dog playdate, and he barreled up the steps toward them. But he didn’t just come onto the porch. He crawled into the porch swing, wriggling his pint-size body in between Claire and him. He had a toy car in each hand. Several were crammed in his pockets, and the ones in his left pocket dug into the outside of Riley’s thigh. Since that was his sore leg, the pain nudged Riley a bit, but he didn’t move. Riley wanted to hang on to this closeness for a little while.

  “Angel,” Ethan said, and he pointed to the Combat Rescue Officer badge on Riley’s uniform. The kid climbed into Riley’s lap to get a better look at it.

  “No.” Claire immediately reached for her son, probably because she thought it would hurt Riley.

  And it did. More than just a nudge this time, but Riley stopped her from whisking him up. Instead, Riley fished out his phone and maneuvered Claire closer so that her head was right against Ethan’s.

  “Smile. It’s a picture for Anna,” he said, snapping the shot. “She wanted to see how big Ethan’s getting.”

  That was such a huge lie that Riley thought it might spur even Crazy Dog to action. Claire gave him that look, the one that let him know that she knew he was lying, but the look also told him that she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was simmering beneath the lie.

  Good.

  Because Riley turned the phone and snapped a picture of just her. She was caught with her mouth slightly puckered, as if she was waiting for that kiss he’d been considering.

  Hell. He just might have a cure for those flashbacks after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE MIGRAINE WAS chasing Logan McCord, and it was winning.

  The blind spots were already there. The little swirly bright dots, too. He figured he had less than a half hour before he would have to pretend he was so exhausted that he needed a morning nap.

  At least Della and Stella wouldn’t be around to try to mother him because they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow from their forced vacation. Riley wouldn’t be there, either, since he was at physical therapy. Lucky was still off doing things that Logan didn’t want to think about.

  But the reporter and photographer were a different story.

  The reporter, Andrea-something, came up the steps behind him, her heels sounding like a persistent woodpecker. She was persistent about getting this story, too, and if Logan hadn’t wanted this article to promote his new business venture, he would have sent her and those heels clacking.

  The photographer, whose name Logan didn’t bother to catch, lagged along behind her while he adjusted his camera. Occasionally, the photographer scratched his balls, too. Logan wasn’t opposed to ball scratching, but even that sound was amplified so it seemed as if the guy was scratching a hundred chalkboards.

  “We’ll just need a few more pictures,” Andrea said in between the clacking-heel sounds.

  She was a reporter for one of the San Antonio newspapers, and even though she’d already interviewed Logan at the office, she had insisted on snapping a few pictures here at the ranch.

  “One picture,” Logan said. He used the tone that he knew would set her teeth on edge. He knew all the tricks for doing that because people with their teeth on edge didn’t stay in his face pestering him.

  Trying to make as little noise as possible so he could buy himself some time with the migraine, Logan opened the front door.

  And the first thing he saw was the naked woman.

  “Ta-da!” she said, and then a split second later she shrieked louder than a horde of banshees with bullhorns.
>
  Trisha.

  Even with the blind spots and aura speckles, Logan could make out her face. Though he had to admit her face wasn’t the first thing that’d caught his attention. It was her huge breasts and the tiny patch of shiny red fabric that he supposed was meant to be panties. An eye patch would have more fabric than that little thing.

  Trisha shrieked again, and she scurried to the sofa to grab a dress that she held up in front of her like a shield. A piss-poor shield because it didn’t cover her left boob or that panty swatch.

  The photographer snapped a few pictures of her.

  Logan shot him a look to let him know that he was going to delete each one he’d just taken. A hard look wasn’t that difficult to manage since Trisha’s shrieks had caused the migraine to close in on him.

  “Logan, what are you doing here?” Trisha asked.

  “That was the question I planned to ask you.”

  “I was waiting for Riley,” she said as if that explained everything.

  And maybe it did.

  Logan hadn’t heard any rumors about Riley and Trisha getting back together, but maybe his little brother had found a new way to relieve pain.

  Logan closed the door, leaving the reporter and the ball-scratcher on the porch. “Riley’s at PT in San Antonio,” he told Trisha.

  “I know.” She huffed, blew at a strand of her hair that’d fallen onto her cheek. “I called one of the ranch hands, and he said Riley should be back by now. I, uh, wanted to surprise him. Please, Logan,” she repeated. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

  He wouldn’t, but the photographer would. Probably the reporter, too. By noon it would be all over town, possibly posted on the internet, and the gossips would add that Logan had stepped behind closed doors with her. That meant Logan needed to call his girlfriend, Helene Langford, and let her know what had happened. Since Helene and he had been together for years, she would believe he hadn’t cheated on her with Trisha, but he didn’t want Helene blindsided by the bullshit.