Texas on My Mind

by Delores Fossen

  Claire figured it wasn’t the latter because there was nothing to celebrate.

  “Summer had car trouble, couldn’t come,” Livvy said, not addressing the treats. “So Ethan got me as a sitter today.”

  Both Ethan and Livvy seemed pretty happy about that, but the happiness could have been just a sugar high.

  “Thanks for staying with him,” she told Livvy.

  “No prob. And hey, you did a great job covering up the bruise on your face. I can hardly see it.”

  That was a very bad lie. The couple that Claire had photographed had noticed it first thing. So had the attendant at the gas station where she’d filled up. And now so did Ethan.

  “Boo-boo,” he said, pointing right to it.

  He’d been asleep when Claire had gotten home from jail—now, that was something she thought she’d never say about herself. Home from jail. Anyway, Ethan had still been asleep when she’d left for work, so this was his first chance to see the proof of the bad decisions she’d made the night before.

  “Mommy’s fine,” Claire assured him, and she kissed his cheek. She hugged him, too, despite the fact he was holding a spoon dripping with ice cream. “What’s with all the sugar?”

  The confused look on Livvy’s face let Claire know she needed to clarify. “Sugar-sugar.” Not shit.

  “Oh, this,” Livvy said in the tone of something not even worth mentioning. “Riley dropped by earlier and brought it. Oh, and Ethan peed on the tree in your backyard. Is that okay?”

  No, it wasn’t. She was trying to redirect his bodily functions in the direction of a real toilet, but since his diaper usage had been cut by half, it was hard for Claire to dispute the temporary potty-training method. However, that wasn’t what had her attention now.

  “Riley was here?” Claire asked.

  “Riley!” Ethan squealed, and he clapped his hand against the drippy spoon.

  Livvy nodded. “He brought ice cream, cookies and a new wallpaper scraper for you.” She pointed to the scraper on the counter. “He said word around town was you’d broken your other one.”

  She had but was miffed about how something so mundane had made the gossip factory when there were so many other juicy things for people to discuss.

  “Did Riley, uh, say anything else?” Claire asked.

  “Sor-ree,” Ethan supplied.

  “Yes, sorry. Riley did say that a lot,” Livvy continued, talking around the egg-size bite of ice cream she’d just stuffed into her mouth. “He really is sorry for what happened at Calhoun’s. I think all this was his idea of a peace offering. A sugar-hot peace offering if you ask me.”

  Yes, it was, but Claire would have liked to have been there for his visit. Or maybe not, she quickly amended. She was embarrassed and not at all sure what to say to him, so maybe it was a good thing she’d been at work.

  “Don’t worry,” Livvy went on. “I had Ethan eat some healthy stuff before he got dessert.”

  “Ickin, tarrots,” Ethan attempted. “Bocci.” Chicken, carrots and broccoli. The first two were his favorites, the broccoli not so much, but her son must have known there was sugar and lots of it at the end of the proverbial veggie tunnel.

  “Did Riley say anything else?” Claire pressed. The first time she’d asked it, Livvy had barely spared her a glance. But she stared at Claire now.

  “He didn’t bring up j-a-i-l, and neither did I. Didn’t bring up the k-i-s-s-y stuff, either.”

  Ethan stared at her, too. “K-i-spell-y?”

  Livvy cackled with laughter, causing Ethan to laugh, too, and while it normally would have gotten a smile or chuckle from Claire, her funny bone was broken today. She’d left it and her dignity on the floor of Calhoun’s Pub.

  Riley hadn’t mentioned something as huge as jail and the kiss? Of course, Claire hadn’t wanted him to talk to Livvy about either of those, but she’d figured he would have mentioned it in a roundabout way. Ditto for the roundabout approach to the kiss since he might have figured that she had already discussed it with Livvy.

  She hadn’t. Not in detail anyway.

  Despite Livvy’s best attempts to get her to bare her soul, Claire had only acknowledged the kiss and nothing more. Since Livvy had been the one to get out the final splinter, Claire had decided that baring her butt to her friend was plenty enough for one night.

  “There was so much ice cream. Three half gallons,” Livvy went on, still eating. “I put some in the freezer for later, and we gave Whoa a scoop of the vanilla.”

  Sure enough Claire could see the cat through the glass door on the back porch, and he/she and his/her companion were licking away. It probably wasn’t good for a cat to have that much sugar, either, but considering this was Whoa, she doubted anything would do much more harm. He didn’t just look as if he’d been cooking meth, more as though he had been using it frequently.

  “If you want to go over to Riley’s and thank him,” Livvy added, “I can watch Ethan a little longer.”

  Claire didn’t even consider it. She looked like hell, felt even worse. What she really needed was a bath and a nap.

  After some ice cream, of course.

  Claire was about to sit down and see if she could start her own journey toward type 2 diabetes when her phone rang. For one heartbeat-skipping moment she thought it might be Riley, and she had to fight back the panic of what or what not to say to him. But it was a different McCord.

  Anna.

  Oh, no. Had the gossip managed to reach Riley’s sister even though she was miles and miles away in Florida? In case it had, Claire stepped into the living room to take the call. She didn’t want to have to explain j-a-i-l in front of Ethan.

  “I hate to bother you,” Anna greeted, “but I wondered if you’d heard from Riley?”

  That was such a loaded question that Claire went with one of her own. “What’s this about?”

  Anna made a sound of frustration. “I just got a call from Lucky, who said Riley had gotten news from the military base. He has to show up tomorrow morning first thing for a meeting with the brass.”

  “This is the first I’m hearing about it.” Claire tried not to be alarmed. However, Anna clearly was. “What’s the meeting about?”

  “Well, Riley didn’t get into a lot of details. He just said it was a meeting about his medical review. Lucky said Riley’s expecting good news, that he’ll soon be returning to active duty. God, Claire. Is he ready for that? I mean, has his shoulder healed? Has Riley healed?”

  “He’s healing,” she settled for saying. But it’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d had a flashback. How would he deal with those if he was right back in a situation that had caused those flashbacks in the first place?

  “And Riley thought this meeting would actually put him back in uniform?” Claire asked.

  “That’s what Lucky was pretty sure he heard, and he said Riley went straight to his room and started packing. Listen, Claire, if you hear from him, let me know. I’ve tried calling, but it goes straight to voice mail.”

  Oh, God.

  Claire felt stunned. Then furious. Riley could teach her son to pee on a tree, he could bring over a mountain of ice cream, but he couldn’t tell her something as important as this?

  Then the sickening feeling came. And the heart-crushing ache.

  So, maybe the ice cream and cookies hadn’t been an apology after all. Maybe that had been Riley’s way of saying goodbye.

  * * *

  “CAPTAIN MCCORD,” the first lieutenant greeted him when Riley walked into the office.

  According to his name tag, his last name was Silverman. Riley didn’t know him, but he was probably the colonel’s exec, which was the military’s equivalent of an assistant. Riley hoped this would be the last time he’d ever see him.

  Because Riley wanted to walk out of th
is building with an assurance that he’d be returning to duty, immediately, as a Combat Rescue Officer.

  “Colonel Becker will call you back when he’s ready.” The lieutenant motioned toward some chairs. “You can sit there and wait...with your guest.”

  Riley certainly hadn’t forgotten about his guest. Lucky. Apparently, the lieutenant hadn’t, either, because he eyed Lucky, who’d not only already sat down but was in his usual lounging pose, slumped in the seat, arms folded over his chest, his jeans-clad legs stretched out in front of him. He was wearing a shiny silver rodeo buckle the size of a child’s head. If this wait went on very long, Lucky would probably pull down the brim of his Stetson and take a nap.

  Lucky wasn’t the ideal person to bring along for moral support, but his shoulder was still giving him trouble when driving in the city traffic during rush hour, and the base was situated right in San Antonio. That’s the reason he’d scheduled his PT and doctor’s appointments at hours when the traffic wouldn’t be so bad. But he hadn’t had control of the timing for this meeting.

  Riley hadn’t wanted to risk showing up while on pain meds, especially since he was weaning himself off them.

  “This reminds me of the Spring Hill jail,” Lucky remarked.

  It would look like that to Lucky. Anything resembling structure and rules would make him feel hemmed in. But when Riley looked at it, he saw the polished tiled floors. The tasteful, patriotic artwork on the walls. The lieutenant’s neatly organized desk. Everything was in its place. All the expectations spelled out in black-and-white in the regulations.

  Unlike life in Spring Hill.

  He was never sure what Logan expected or wanted from him. Claire, either, for that matter. Especially her. He needed to call her soon. Maybe after this meeting was over and things were settled. He owed her a face-to-face apology.

  That mentally stopped him.

  Was that all he owed her?

  After all, he had gotten close to her over the past month. And he’d kissed her. Plus, she’d gotten him through the bad flashback at Calhoun’s even if it had taken him a half hour of showering to get the smell of beer off him.

  “You’re doing some deep thinking.” Lucky rubbed his jaw where Riley had punched him. “You’re not thinking about hitting me again, are you?”

  “No.” At least not here. “And you deserved that, by the way.”

  Lucky didn’t argue, which meant he likely knew it was true.

  “Claire’s not in love with me,” Riley mumbled.

  Lucky didn’t argue with that, either, but damn it, his silence felt like an argument anyway. Or maybe he was just losing it. He needed to get his mind on something else.

  “Thanks for driving me,” Riley told him. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  Lucky shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d want me to come.”

  “I didn’t,” he admitted. “But thanks anyway. I didn’t want to have to ask Logan.”

  “Logan,” Lucky repeated. “On the drive over he would have talked you into doing some work for the family business. Not that he needs you specifically to do it. Or me. He’s got people who know that business better than I know my own toenails. I’ve got a theory, though, that Logan wants us involved because it gives him validation.”

  Riley wasn’t following him. “Validation for what?”

  “That he did the right thing by staying behind and building the company.” Lucky shifted in the seat so he could face him. “You see, part of my theory is that he’d like to be off doing things we’re doing.”

  Riley never considered Lucky the model for human logic, but he might be on to something. Either that or Logan just wanted McCord Cattle Brokers to grow, grow and keep on growing. Sometimes, it was a uniform—or a silver rodeo buckle—that fueled people, but maybe at the root of it, all three of them were just running from being ordinary. And in their own varying ways, they had succeeded.

  At least Logan and he had. Riley wasn’t sure about Lucky.

  “Logan will still try to suck you back in before you manage to run for the sandy places where you rescue people,” Lucky continued. “My advice—don’t let him bully you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  Bully was sure a harsh word. Logan had more of the make-’em-feel-guilty approach. “He bullied you into coming back,” Riley reminded him.

  “No. I didn’t come back because he asked me. I came back for you.”

  Riley turned toward him so quickly that it caused the lieutenant to look up from a file he was reading.

  “For me?” Riley shook his head. “How’d you figure that?”

  “I knew Logan would be coming at you with guns loaded. That’s a metaphor,” Lucky added, glancing at the lieutenant in case he was still listening. “I thought you could use somebody on your side to make sure you get to live the life you want to live. When it’s time for you to go, just go. I’ll deal with these horse trainers that Logan keeps pissing off. Will deal with the horses, too. Heck, he pisses them off, as well. I get along with horses, women and trainers just fine.”

  “Does that mean you’re moving back home?”

  “Heck, no.” Lucky didn’t hesitate, either. “But Logan’s not the only one with sneaky skills. I’ve got a rodeo up in Abilene in a week, and I’ll be there.”

  Riley didn’t doubt it, but all this talk made him realize he really didn’t know much about Lucky’s life. Or Logan’s for that matter. Logan had a longtime girlfriend—perfect, of course. Helene.

  Well, perfect for him anyway.

  Beautiful, polished, business savvy. She’d look good on those magazine covers Logan was always appearing on. Riley figured one day they’d get married and be the perfect couple together, on and off the magazine covers.

  But Lucky was a different story, and Riley had his own theory about Lucky’s future. Definitely not picture-perfect by most people’s standards.

  Of the four McCord kids, Lucky had been the closest to their mom. Losing her and their dad had been hard on all of them, but that’s when Lucky had started to pull away from the family. And the pulling away had only caused Logan to try to herd them all back together. Logan had stayed and been the responsible one. Lucky had joined the rodeo, which was a Texan’s version of running off to join the circus.

  “Are you happy?” Riley asked his brother. It wasn’t something guys usually asked each other, but he figured this might be as close to a heart-to-heart as he’d ever get with Lucky.

  “Sure.” But it took Lucky too long to answer. “Don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to bull ride though. There’s only so much ball-busting a man can take before the balls start to protest.”

  Lucky didn’t change his expression, but Riley heard it in his brother’s voice. The fear of losing what made him Lucky McCord. Yeah, Riley got that. His uniform was like that rodeo buckle that Lucky was always trying to win.

  Before Riley could ask more about that sneaky skill set, a skill set Riley might want to learn, the colonel’s door opened, and he motioned for Riley to go inside his office.

  Unlike the lieutenant, this was an officer that Riley did know. Colonel Becker had visited the base during Riley’s second deployment, and Riley had escorted him into a classified area for a briefing. The colonel hadn’t changed much in those couple of years. A little more gray at his temples. Maybe an extra wrinkle or two, but he was someone Riley trusted to give it to him straight.

  Riley only hoped that straight was good news.

  However, judging from the colonel’s expression, maybe it wasn’t as good as Riley had hoped for.

  Riley reported in by saluting. “Captain McCord reporting as ordered.” He held the salute until the colonel saluted him back and then lowered his hand. With the formalities over, Riley took a seat when the colonel gestured for him to sit.

  “You didn’t pa
ss your physical,” he told Riley right off.

  Riley nodded. Not exactly a news flash. “But the shoulder’s improving, and I should be able to pass the next one. The physical therapist said I could up my home exercises to three hours a day.”

  Colonel Becker looked him straight in the eyes. “Can you pass a physical in two weeks?”

  “Sure.”

  Riley didn’t have a clue if that was true or not. But it was something that was partially in his control. He was doing all the physical therapy exercises and then some. He was up to five hours a day with what he was doing at PT and at home. And convincing the mental health folks was doable, as well.

  If he didn’t mention the flashbacks, that is.

  However, it was possible the exercises still wouldn’t be enough to get him through the physical. His shoulder simply might not be able to take the weight that he’d be required to lift.

  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Hell, yes. He’d try. That’s why he’d gone ahead and packed because when he got orders, he wanted to be ready to go.

  “The flight surgeon doesn’t think you can pass the physical,” the colonel went on. “Not even in a month, much less in half that time. He thinks your injury will give you limitations—permanent ones. Ones that you can’t have and still be a Combat Rescue Officer.”

  Riley sure hoped he didn’t look as bad as he suddenly felt. Each word was like a punch from a fist.

  “You personally talked to the flight surgeon?” Riley asked.

  The colonel nodded.

  Good. Riley continued, “And did he or she give you odds as to whether or not I could pass that physical in two weeks?”

  Colonel Becker blew out a long breath. What he didn’t do was answer.

  “Was it fifty-fifty?” Riley pressed. “Because I can win if it’s fifty-fifty.”

  “Maybe when it comes to extractions in the desert, but this isn’t a fifty-fifty kind of situation.”

  “Then what is it?” Riley insisted.

  “Twenty-eighty at best.”

  Oh, hell. Yeah, that was bad, but he’d won with odds that bad before, too. Once. But if he had been able to do it then, he could do it again.