by Jodi Thomas
Then the rain came. The election was over. Her candidate had lost. She’d lost. No job would be waiting for her at dawn. No David standing in the door of their apartment this time, ready to comfort her.
Her third loss as a campaign manager. Three strikes, she thought, and you’re out.
She walked through the rain alone, not caring that she was soaked. She’d given her all this time and she’d ended up with nothing. The candidate who she’d fought so hard for hadn’t even bothered to phone her when it was over.
She unlocked the door to her apartment, which now looked more like a storage unit than a home. She flicked the switch and wasn’t surprised the lights wouldn’t come on. David had always taken care of minor things like paying the bills.
She sat down on one of the packing boxes and pulled out her phone before she realized she had no one to call. No friends. No school buddies she’d kept up with. All the numbers in her contacts were business-related except the three for her family. She scrolled down to the Hamiltons.
First number, her parents. They hadn’t spoken to her since she’d missed her sister’s wedding. Jubalee shrugged. Really, how important is a bridesmaid?
Destiny’s wedding was beautiful anyway. Jubalee had seen the pictures on Facebook. One missing too tall, too thin sister would only have upset Destiny’s perfect wedding photos.
She moved down the list. Destiny. Her sister, six years older, always prettier, always smarter, had never liked having her around.
Memories of her childhood ran through her mind like flash cards—Destiny cutting off all Jubalee’s hair when she was three. Telling Jubalee she was adopted when she was five. Leaving her at the park after dark when she was seven. Slashing her bike tires when she was ten so she couldn’t tag along after her big sister. Oh, yeah, Jubalee thought, don’t forget about telling me I was dying when I got my first period. The whole family still laughed about her writing out her will at twelve. If big sisters were measured on a scale of one to ten, Destiny would be double digits in the negative.
No, she decided, there was no need to talk to Destiny whatever-her-last-name-was-now.
She moved down to the next Hamilton on her contact list. Levy Hamilton, her great-grandfather. She’d lived with him the summer she’d been eleven, when her parents had gone to tour college options with Destiny. They’d all waved as they’d dropped her off at Lone Heart Pass ranch with smiles as if they’d left a bothersome pet at the pound.
Two weeks later they’d called to say they couldn’t make the trip back to Texas to get her because of car trouble. A week after that there was another college to consider. Then her father wanted to wait until he had a few days off so the trip from Kansas back to Texas wouldn’t be so hard on the family.
Jubalee had missed the first two weeks of school before they made it back, and she hadn’t cared. She would have stayed on the ranch with Grandpa Levy forever.
Grandpa Levy was ornery and old. Even as an eleven-year-old she could tell her parents didn’t like him or the worthless dryland farm he’d lived on since birth. Levy talked with his mouth full, cussed even more than Methodists allow, bathed only once a week and complained about everything but Jubalee.
Her parents barely took the time to turn off the engine when they finally picked her up. The old man didn’t hug her goodbye, but his leathered hand pressed into her shoulder as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. That meant more to her than anything he could have said.
She never told anyone how wonderful Grandpa Levy had been to her. He gave her a horse, taught her to ride, and all summer she was right by his side. Collecting eggs, birthing calves, cutting hay. For the first time in her life, no one told her she was doing everything wrong.
Jubalee stared at his phone number. She hadn’t talked to him since Christmas, when the moment she’d heard his raspy voice, she’d felt like the eleven-year-old again, giggling and telling him things he probably cared nothing about. Her great-grandfather had listened and answered each rant she went through with comments like, “You’ll figure it out, kid. God didn’t give you all those brains for nothing.”
She wanted to talk to him now. She needed to say she hadn’t figured anything out.
Jubalee pushed the number and listened to it ring. She could imagine the old house phone on the wall between his kitchen and living room ringing through empty bedrooms and hallways that always smelled dusty. He lived in the two rooms off the kitchen and left the other rooms to sleep, he claimed.
“Answer,” she whispered, needing to know that someone was out there. Right now, tonight, she could almost believe she was the only one left alive. “Answer, Grandpa.”
Finally, after twenty rings, she hung up. The old guy didn’t have an answering machine and he’d probably never heard of a cell phone. Maybe he was in the barn or over at the corral where the cowhands who worked for him lived from spring to fall. Maybe he’d driven the dirt road for his once-a-month trip to town. If so, he’d be having dinner at the little café in Crossroads.
With the streetlight’s glow from the window, she crossed to the fireplace and lit the logs. Strange how after more than a dozen years since that summer, she still missed him when she’d never missed anyone else.
The paper-wrapped logs caught fire, and the flames danced off the boxes and blank walls of her life. She found a half bottle of wine in the warm fridge and a bag of Halloween candy she hadn’t been home to hand out. Curled up by the fire, she began to sort through the pile of mail that had collected on her kitchen counter. Most of the time she would toss an envelope in the fire without opening it. Take-out menus. Sale flyers. Catalogs filled with stuff she didn’t need or want.
One by one they tumbled into the fire along with every hope and dream she’d had about a career as a campaign manager.
In the last stack of mail, a large white envelope hand-addressed to her caught her attention. The postmark was over a month ago. Surely it wasn’t something important or someone would have called her.
Slowly, she opened the envelope.
Tears silently streaked down her face as she took in the lawyer’s letterhead at the top of the page. She began to read Levy Hamilton’s will. Word by word. Aloud. Making herself feel truth’s pain.
On the last page was a note scribbled on a lawyer’s office stationery.
Miss Hamilton,
We regret to inform you of Levy Hamilton’s passing. As we were unable to reach his next of kin, I followed his request and had him buried on his land. When he named you his sole heir of Lone Heart Pass, he told me you’d figure out what to do with the old place. Please contact my office when you get here.
Jubalee turned over the envelope. It was postmarked two months ago and had been forwarded twice before reaching her.
She laid the will aside and cried for the one person who’d ever really loved her. The one person she’d ever loved.
After the fire burned low and shadows danced as if circling the last bit of light, she thought she felt Levy’s hand resting on her shoulder. His knotted fingers didn’t seem ready to let her go.
At dawn she packed the last of her clothes, called a storage company to pick up the boxes and walked away from her life in DC with one suitcase and her empty briefcase.
She’d go home over the holidays. She’d try to find the pieces of her life and see if she could glue them back together. But together or not, she’d start over where the wind never stopped blowing, and dust came as a side dish at every meal. She may have lived there only a few months, but Lone Heart Pass might be the only place where she’d feel at home.
She’d start again.
She’d rebuild from scratch.
She’d go to Texas.
CHAPTER TWO
Crossroads, Texas
February
“SET ’EM UP, CHARLEY. We’ll have another round.” The kid on
the other side of the bar was barely old enough to drink, but his laugh was loud and demanding. “It’s Valentine’s Day and none of us have a date. That’s something to get drunk over.”
Charley Collins swore under his breath. The drunks had had enough, but he’d be fired if he didn’t serve the college boys, and he couldn’t afford to lose their business.
“Aren’t you Reid Collins’s brother?” the only one of the boys who could still form a sentence without drooling asked. “You look like him. Taller, maybe a little older. Got that same reddish-brown hair he’s got. Red River mud color if you ask me.”
Before Charley could say anything, another drunk shook his head wildly. “No brother of Reid would be a bartender.” He burped. “Collinses are rich. Deep-pocket rich. They own more land than a cowboy can ride across in a day.”
Charley moved down the bar, hoping to slip out of being the topic of conversation. He hated the way they’d been talking about women all night, but that was better than listening to a conversation about him.
The sober one continued just loud enough for Charley to hear.
“I heard Reid had a big brother a couple of years older than him. Papa Collins disowned his oldest son. I remember Reid saying his dad had an armed guard escort his brother off the ranch like he was some kind of criminal. Collins told his own son that if he ever set foot on the land again, he’d have him shot for trespassing.”
Charley picked up the box of beer bottles and headed outside. He’d heard enough. He needed air.
It took several steps before the noise and smell of the bar cleared, but he walked all the way to the alley. He set the bottles down by the trash and stared at the open land behind the Two Step Bar as he took a deep breath. He needed clean air and space and silence. He was born for open country, and he had no idea how he’d survive working in a beer joint and living above it in a tiny two-room apartment.
Every time he swore things couldn’t get worse, they did.
Staring at the full moon, he felt like cussing or drinking his trouble away, but neither option was open. He couldn’t quit and he couldn’t run. Not without a stake to start over somewhere else. Charley had a feeling that somewhere else wouldn’t fit him anyway. This part of Texas was in his blood. He belonged here even if it did seem half the people for a hundred miles around were trying to run him out.
Like a miner taking one last breath before climbing back down the hole, Charley filled his lungs and turned around.
He saw a woman in the shadows near the back door. She was tall and perfectly built, even in silhouette. Long dark hair circled around her in the breeze. For a moment he hoped she was a ghost. Lately he’d been a lot less afraid of spirits than women.
As he got closer, he could make out her face, not that he needed more than the outline of her body to know who she was. “Hello, Lexie. You miss the turnoff to the ladies’ room?”
Her laugh was low and sexy. She had to be several years older than him, but nothing about Lexie had changed from the beauty queen she’d been in high school. He’d seen her come in an hour ago with some guy in a business suit and fancy boots.
“I followed you, Charley.” She waited like a spider waits for a fly to land on the web. “Anyone ever tell you you’re one hell of a handsome man? I was trying to concentrate on my new husband, but all I could do was stare at you. You got that mixture of Prince Charming and bad boy down pat. I can tell how good a man is in bed just by the way he moves and, honey, you are walking sex appeal.”
Charley thought about arguing. She must be blind. He was two months past due for a haircut, four days late on shaving, and he’d slept in the jeans and T-shirt he had on for the past two nights.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before,” he answered her question. “My last stepmother told me how irresistible I was about an hour before my father disowned me.”
Lexie moved closer. “Must have been one wild hour.”
He wasn’t about to go into detail. Half the town probably already knew the story. He’d been screwing up his life since high school. Bulls had more sense than he did when it came to sex.
“What time do you get off, Charley? We could have some fun after midnight. My sweetie has to head back to Dallas in a few minutes.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.” He unwound himself from her arm.
He almost ran through the open door, forcing himself back into the noise and the smells as if they were a lesser kind of hell than what she was offering.
A few hours later, the bar was quiet and all the drunks were gone. He washed the last of the shot glasses and headed upstairs, nodding good-night to the bar owner, Ike Perez, as he passed.
“Tell Daniela to hurry on down. I don’t want to wait on her.” Perez sounded gruffer than he really was. In truth he’d been one of the few in town to even give Charley a chance. He had lots of one-day part-time seasonal jobs, but he needed something regular. This job came with low pay for weekend work and a place to live.
Charley tapped on his own apartment door. Twelve-year-old Daniela Perez, rubbing her eyes, pulled the door open. “I know,” she mumbled. “Papa is ready to go.”
“My little princess asleep?” Charley asked. Daniela was young, but she made a good babysitter.
“Yeah. I got a new strategy.” Daniela giggled. “I let her watch TV until she nods off. Otherwise she never stops talking. That kid has an imagination that won’t quit.”
Charley handed Daniela her backpack. “Thanks.” He passed her a ten, half his tips money for the night.
“No problem. I’d rather be here than home alone.” She clomped down the stairs as he closed the door. “Good night, Mr. Collins. See you next weekend.”
Charley tugged off his boots and tiptoed into the bedroom. A tiny night-light lit the room just enough for him to see the bump in the bed. Carefully, he sat down beside Lillie and pulled his daughter’s small body close, loving the smell of her. Loving the soft feel of her hair.
“Good night, pumpkin,” he whispered. “I love you to the end of forever.”
Lillie stretched sleepily as her arm circled his neck. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
He rocked her small body until he knew she was fully asleep, then moved into the living room. Taking the blanket and pillow from behind the couch, he tried to make his long legs fit into the small space.
He smiled into the silence. Lillie was his only blessing in a life full of mistakes. His father had been furious when Charley had gotten his college girlfriend pregnant. Eventually, Davis Collins had gone along with them getting married and given Charley a small allowance, but he’d never invited Sharon or Lillie to the ranch. Collins had never even seen his only grandchild.
Then, a year after Lillie was born, Sharon left Charley, claiming motherhood wasn’t her thing. Charley had another fight with his dad when Davis found out Charley planned to keep the baby. He refused to increase Charley’s allowance to cover child care, so Charley worked thirty hours a week and carried a full course load. Sharon’s parents agreed to look after Lillie on Charley’s rare visits to his father’s ranch. Davis wanted no part of the youngest family member to carry the Collins name.
Charley survived almost two years taking care of Lillie alone...almost to graduation, when he’d have his degree and could forget about any family but Lillie. He’d thought his father would turn over the ranch to him and move to Dallas permanently. Maybe Davis would even eventually accept Lillie.
Then Charley messed up again. Big-time. Funny, looking back he’d had no thought of sleeping with his father’s very young, very attractive fourth wife until she walked into his room and his brain shut down.
At first he thought his father would cool down. After all, Davis bragged all the time about sleeping with other men’s wives. Even after his dad kicked him off the ranch, Charley thought he’d go back to school and
finish his last semester. But no money came in for rent or tuition. His car was repossessed. He took incompletes in his courses, planning to return to college as soon as he got on his feet. But there was Lillie to take care of and a kid couldn’t live in the back of an old pickup and grow up on fast food.
He had finally given up trying to survive and stay in school. He’d borrowed enough to buy an old pickup and made it back to Crossroads. Now Lillie was five and he was no closer to finishing school. No closer to getting his life in order.
He’d sworn off women forever. He’d probably never live down what he’d done. Not in this town. Only he lived with the shame and got up every morning and did the same jobs he hated because of Lillie.
That first year after Sharon left she’d cried for her mother. Charley made up his mind that she’d never cry for him and vowed no matter what mistakes in life she made, she’d never stop being his daughter.
In the stillness of his little apartment over the bar, Charley counted the jobs he had lined up for the next week. Cowboying on two ranches for one day each, hauling for the hardware store on Wednesday, stocking at the grocery any morning he could.
His ex-wife’s parents, Ted and Emily, helped when they could. They’d take Lillie to preschool on the mornings he had to leave before dawn, and pick her up on the days he didn’t get off work early enough. But every night, Charley wanted to be the one to tuck her in.
Sharon’s folks were kind people. She’d apparently abandoned them as well when she’d left Lillie. They hadn’t heard from her in over a year and that had been only a postcard saying she was moving to LA. The old couple didn’t have much, but they were good to Lillie. Some days he thought the kid was their only sunshine.
He smiled as he drifted to sleep. He had a very special standing date come morning. Saturdays he made pancakes with Lillie and then they’d saddle up her pony and his quarter horse and ride down into Ransom Canyon while the air was still cold and the day was newborn. They’d ride and talk and laugh. He’d tell her stories his grandfather had told him about the early days when longhorn cattle and wild mustangs ran across the land.