Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  “Time of need?” He needed for them to go home, safely of course, but he took a second to thank Jesus his grandparents loved Texas too much to leave it.

  “To fortify you with Bible verse against that Whore of Babylon, Layla Devlin. Hurry up now. That—that street person is heading our way.”

  Rex pounded into the bedroom. Tricia had her clothes on and turned down his bedspread halfway to hide the damp spot they’d left on its surface. “You heard?”

  “Yes, your mom has a rather loud voice.” Sadly, she observed nothing shrunk a pecker even as impressive as the one on Rex quicker than the sound of a mother’s voice.

  “True. She could call the cows home.” He struggled into his jeans, rushing and pinching his privates in the zipper.

  Tricia gave him credit for not swearing. He put the T-shirt on and the sockless loafers. “I did not intend to introduce you to my family quite like this.”

  “Hints?” she asked.

  “Praise the Lord and her brisket.” Rex left to open the gates to the army of Christ.

  Tricia took a seat at the dinner table, filled her plate and one for Rex as if they’d been interrupted at a meal. Good a ruse as any, she supposed.

  A chunky older woman with short, fluffy blonde hair and the same hazel eyes Tricia loved in Rex entered the apartment. She held a yellow Tupperware cake carrier by its handle and glanced around the large, open room, her gaze passing over Tricia as if she weren’t there. “Let me get everything unloaded first, then we can eat. Took forever to get past Dallas, and we got lost in Houston. I surely hope the slaw and potato salad haven’t turned.”

  Behind her, Rex lugged a large cooler. His thin, bald father, sickly looking, came next accompanied by a girl around college age, slim and resembling her dad but brimming with good health and a contrary spirit in her amused brown eyes. Short, dark brown hair spiked with red accents framed her small, inquisitive face. Her lips quirked as soon as she laid eyes on Tricia sitting there with the paper cartons of the Thai banquet and a full plate

  “I think they’ve already eaten, Mom,” Honeybee said, putting a whole other meaning into the words.

  Mrs. Worthy placed a hand to her heavy bosom. “Oh my, I didn’t see you over there. Rex, you should have said you had a guest over for dinner. Good thing we brought plenty.”

  “This is Patricia Welles, the woman I told you about.” His deep voice sounded puppy eager.

  Sue Grace Worthy took a good look at Tricia now. “Oh, the poor, lost sheep with the drug problem. I remember you from the tabloids.”

  “No, Mom, I told you she saved me. She’s not a…”

  So, that’s how Mrs. Worthy wanted to play it. Tricia rose and met her head on, a hand held out steady as preacher’s on Sunday morning. She squeezed the woman’s plump palm for a moment and relieved her of the cake carrier. “So pleased to meet you. I lost my own mother recently and am glad Rex still has his. I’ll bet this cake is delicious. When Rex invited me for the weekend, I had no idea we’d be having another special dessert. Let me put it in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Worthy stood so still she might have turned to salt. Honeybee walked around her and greeted Trish. “I’m Rex’s sister, Rebekah. Becky is fine, but don’t you ever call me Honeybee.”

  “I feel the same way about being called Patsy. Tricia or Trish, okay?”

  “You got it. We didn’t stop for dinner. Mom insisted we drive straight through. Mind if I dig into what you got on the table? I am famished.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Mrs. Worthy melted into action again. “What about all the good Texas food I brought?”

  “We’ll put it in the fridge and eat it tomorrow, but I’d like a piece of that cake tonight,” Rex said diplomatically. “Sit down and have anything you want on the table. I’ll make some coffee. Tricia, would you put the food away?”

  “I’d be glad to—Honey Lamb.”

  Like most bachelors, he had plenty of empty space in his huge, upscale stainless steel refrigerator. Tricia stowed a roasting pan full of brisket on the bottom shelf and shoved the bowls of sides in next to a single six-pack of beer with one bottle missing. The large cornbread pan and a package of buns went on the counter next to the cake. She didn’t want to fumble around searching for dessert plates or a knife and so asked Rex sweetly, “Get the plates for me, dear.”

  He opened a cupboard and took down five small plates, pottery with an olive branch motif, so perfectly stacked she figured his decorator had placed them there. Without a further hint, he handed her a knife from a wooden block and forks from the drawer next to the dishwasher. Tricia freed the cake from the prison of its airtight container and sliding the knife through the white frosting, carved out generous portions.

  Rex leaned her way as he filled a glass carafe with water from the faucet. “I know the Honey Lamb was a dig, but you never called me dear before. Does this mean we are engaged?”

  “No. That was a dig, too—at your mother for saying I’m a drug addict and implying I’m a fallen woman, her worst fear for you. I’ll behave from now on.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to for me.”

  She took the plates to the table while he measured coffee into the brew basket of a fairly basic machine. Becky dunked the end of a spring roll into the peanut sauce. Reverend Worthy sipped the lukewarm soup. His wife sat rigid before the many choices, none of them hers.

  “The soup is delicious, a different taste, but very good. Try it, Honeybunch. I know you are starving by now.”

  “I was in the mood for some good brisket, not foreign food.” Pointedly, Mrs. Worthy dug into her slice of cake, a largest one Tricia intended for Rex. After swallowing a big mouthful, she announced, “I suppose we should find a hotel after we eat since our son’s guestroom is going to be occupied.”

  “No, Mom,” Rex said, sliding himself behind the next biggest piece of cake on the table. “You and Dad take my room with the private bath. Tricia and Honey—Becky can share the guestroom. I’ll bunk on the couch. It’s as big as bed—not that I’ve ever used it for that.”

  “We were planning to hold a prayer vigil tonight to strengthen Rex against the wiles of Layla Devlin. The way she looked at his last game, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to cast a voodoo spell on him.”

  “Now, Sue Grace, remember we always told our black brethren in Africa there is no such thing as a curse. The Lord protects and sustains us.” Reverend Worthy slurped his noodles.

  “Exactly, that’s why we came to pray. I suppose we won’t be doing that now.” Mrs. Worthy nodded at Tricia.

  “Sure we can. I need strength for lots of stuff. Tricia, would you like to join us?” Rex hinted broadly.

  She answered, “This is the most scrumptious cake. I am really looking forward to that brisket tomorrow. I’ll bet it melts in the mouth.”

  Sue Grace Worthy gave into the sin of pride. “Mine is very tender and never dry. I bake it slowly wrapped in foil for six hours. It bathes in its own juices.”

  “I must get the recipe.” That worked on every Iowa housewife she’d ever met and hoped it applied to Texans as well.

  “It’s all in choosing a good brisket. Will you be joining us in prayer?”

  “Not tonight. I flew in from Iowa only a few hours ago, really tired. Think I’ll turn in early.”

  “Me, too,” said Becky. “That drive in the backseat was grueling.”

  “We went out of our way to pick you up in Denton, Honeybee. We drove much farther than you,” her mother pointed out.

  “Well, if I have to share a bed with Tricia, I don’t want to come in late and wake her. You want to shower first, Trish?”

  “Yes, I really do. See everyone in the morning. Can’t wait to try that brisket.”

  Tricia went directly to Rex’s bedroom glad his mother’s back turned away from the hall. She grabbed her bag and carry-on. Remembering the squeaky wheel, she transported it to the guestroom by its handle. As she tiptoed across the small space between the bedrooms, Bec
ky grinned at her from a prime dining table viewing spot. Sensing an ally, Trish sent her a quick wave of the fingers before shutting the guestroom door.

  She wasted no time in getting the shower running, but what to wear to bed? Her wardrobe did not abound in sexy lingerie, but she’d packed the powder blue baby doll pajamas left over from her college years thinking at least they showed off her legs and Rex might find them cute, but not intimidating. No way would she wear them for Becky. A tank top must do paired with running shorts brought along in case Rex wanted to exercise. That decision made, she propped herself up on one side of the queen-sized bed and deciphered a crossword she’d begun on the plane.

  Becky joined her an hour later and offered some advice. “Don’t let Mom see you like that in the morning. There’s beard burn across the top of your breasts and down one side of your neck but your hair covers that pretty well. Knowing my mother, she’ll think it’s a rash. Then you are in for home remedies and stories about St. Rex having delicate skin as a baby. Either way, I’d cover up.”

  “Rex isn’t that saintly.”

  “Not anymore, I guess, but our mother really ground in the guilt when he was growing up. He could relapse. She tried that crap on me, too. I should go to Bible College like her and Dad. The best compromise I could get was Texas Women’s University. They thought I wouldn’t meet guys there. Ha! Let me tell you, I am the only realist in this family. Glad you wiggled out of the prayer fest so I could, too.”

  Becky vigorously scratched her scalp, making the red spikes in her hair stand up more outrageously. She stretched luxuriously and peeled off her prim, turtle-necked top with its three-quarter length sleeves. A yellow rose tattoo peeped out of the black lace demi-bra she wore underneath. She dropped her old lady jeans to reveal a matching thong.

  “Good thing we practice extreme modesty at home or Sue Grace would have stroked out by now.” Becky sat on the edge of the bed. “So you and St. Rex are doing the dirty.”

  “I wouldn’t describe it that way, but yes.” Only once, but Tricia felt no need to confess to the Honeybee.

  “Nice going. I thought my brother would die an old maid. Layla Devlin didn’t have a chance with him really. Mom has warned him about that kind of woman since infancy. But you, you’re more subtle. I don’t know if you’ll last though. Sometime tonight, he’s going to confess his sins. You should be number one on the list. Dad is a forgiving sweetheart, but Mom is more the avenging angel type. Be careful.”

  Becky regarded her nails. “To think I had these painted black this morning. I had to use a bag of cotton balls to get the stuff off before the parents arrived. Mind if I sleep in my undies? I didn’t bring the granny gown along. No shit about being tired. I went to a blowout party last night. I’ll shower in the morning.”

  With that, Honeybee pulled the covers over her head and went into hibernation. Tricia turned out the lamp on her side of the bed and lay awake for what seemed like hours. After the homey sounds of kitchen cleanup faded, the murmuring began. She drifted off some time after midnight only to wake abruptly around two a.m. when Mrs. Worthy shouted, “Praise the Lord, Hallelujah!”

  Becky opened a bleary eye. “Sounds like St. Rex has been saved again. We should be able to sleep until morning now.”

  ****

  The smell of coffee and a light clatter of pans in the kitchen woke Tricia at eight, later than she’d intended to sleep. She rose from bed and took a sleeveless white shell from her bag and matched it with a gingham over-shirt, some white cotton slacks and sandals. Her toenails bore only a light coating of clear polish, unlike Becky’s sticking out from under the covers still covered in black as if they belonged to a zombie. Her roommate did not wake as she went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, put on very light makeup, and smoothed her hair over her shoulders to cover the beard burn. No high ponytails today. She took a deep breath and went to help Mrs. Worthy in the kitchen.

  Head propped on the throw pillows, Rex snored on the couch. The plaid throw failed to cover his big, bare feet. Otherwise, he wore the same clothes as last night. Barely bothering to lower her voice, his mother said, “Can you believe this boy doesn’t have any eggs or the makings for flapjacks?”

  “Most guys don’t keep a fully stocked pantry,” Tricia remarked.

  “Oh, you’ve done a lot of these sleepovers with young men, then.”

  “No,” she said carefully. “But I have three younger brothers. My mother always said if she hadn’t kept the kitchen stocked, there would no food on the shelves. We could go to Café du Monde for beignets. Everyone enjoys that. From here, the walk is kind of long, but we can take the little streetcar once we get to Canal. It’s fun.”

  “No need to take our chances in the streets. I told Elton last evening not to give that panhandler any money, he’d only drink it away, but my husband is the soft touch in this family. I am not.”

  “I can tell.” Tricia poured a cup of coffee and added sugar and milk from the jug, figuring she clutched breakfast in her mug.

  “I’m warming up the cornbread. Nothing better with a glass of cold milk and some orange juice to start the day. We’ll have an early lunch. Looks like we’re the only early birds. Far from finding a prayer session tiring, I take my vigor from it. My husband is ailing you might have noticed and needs his rest. Rex always did sleep like a steam engine parked in a roundhouse for the night. Nothing wakes him. Honeybee is a slugabed. That’s all good because now we have time to talk.”

  Oh, goody, Tricia thought, but said, “I would like to get to know Rex’s family better.”

  “What you should know is that Rex reaffirmed his belief in the teachings of the Lord last night. He admitted falling by the wayside—having impure thoughts, cavorting with naked women. “

  Tricia didn’t remember any cavorting though they certainly had been naked. The timer on the stove dinged like a tiny chapel bell. Mrs. Worthy removed her cornbread from the fiery furnace using a dishtowel wrapped around her hands in lieu of potholders. She set the pan directly in front of Tricia. The steam rose tinged with the sting of jalapenos.

  “Good wholesome food for a good wholesome boy. He can never get back what you have stolen from him, but the Lord will forgive as long as he walks the straight and narrow from now on. Football playing won’t last forever. It’s nothing but a game, a trifle, a vanity. From the moment he went to live with my parents, he wanted to return to Africa and complete his father’s work as a missionary. He needs the right kind of wife to do that. Now being such a fine young man, Rex thinks he is obligated to marry you. I set him straight on that. If he had taken your virginity, I’d have asked the reverend to perform a ceremony before we returned to Texas. There are two kinds of women put on this earth. One kind provides a good time and doesn’t expect a ring on her finger. It is other kind you take to wife. Which one do you think you are?”

  Tricia closed her eyes, the rising aroma of peppers making them water. Hadn’t she believed she must urge Rex to look around before settling on one woman to make sure he made the right choice? But in no way could she see herself as a missionary’s wife. If that was truly his dream, she should set him free to pursue it.

  She opened her eyes. “I think there are many kinds of women. Like people in general, few are all good or all bad.”

  Mrs. Worthy’s hazel eyes bulged a little at Tricia’s refusal to categorize herself.

  “Now I understand your mama was sick for some time and you didn’t have her guidance, so your behavior is somewhat understandable, but…”

  Tricia envisioned Honeybee asleep with the yellow rose tattoo revealed by her lacy bra and her toenails painted black. “Too much guidance can result in rebellion. Maybe that’s what Rex—and Becky—are doing. I got over mine in college. I talked to my dying mother often. She never once made me feel—unworthy. You know what? I am in the mood for beignets. I’m going out for breakfast.”

  She left Mrs. Worthy with her slack jaw resting on her double chin. Retrieving her black bag from the b
edroom, Tricia left the condo with a slam of the door. Walking full steam ahead, she progressed halfway to the café before she realized she’d have to buzz Rex for reentry to his flat. If he wasn’t awake, his mother might let her stand outside with the street people. She slowed down, took her time, got her order and carried it to the table behind the palm tree where she and Rex had stumbled across each other. Turning her phone on, she called home more to hear her father’s voice than anything else.

  Cody answered. “Hey, sis, you marry Rex Worthy yet?”

  “No. His family is visiting. I had to sleep with his sister last night.”

  “She cute or is she big like Rex?”

  “Cute if you like red spikes in the hair, a tattoo, and black nail polish.”

  “That’s fine by me. Maybe we’ll hit it off at your wedding.”

  “Not likely to be a wedding.”

  “There goes my big chance at a tryout for the Sinners.”

  “Rex will keep his word about that. Could you put Dad on the line?”

  “He’s out on the tractor. You want me to fetch him?”

  “No. I’m coming home tonight. Once I know the time, I’ll let you know when to pick me up.”

  “Look, I got a game this evening.”

  “Sorry, I forgot. Maybe Colt could come. Go Cyclones.”

  She disconnected feeling lower than before. The world did not revolve around her. Cody had football, her father his farm. The sugar and caffeine rush from the beignets and latte failed to cheer. In her black bag, her phone buzzed with no special ringtone, not Layla’s Ride of the Valkyries, not Rex’s Sweet Like This. She answered cautiously. “To whom am I speaking?”

  “Micah Stanley, babe. Look, Patsy, you gotta go back to Layla. We need her fit and ready to film Scandal! this spring. I can’t get through to her. Some guy named Lee always answers her phone. If he’s her new PA, he’s doing a lousy job. You see that scene she made at the Sinners game? Now I’m the first to say all publicity is good publicity, but she looks like crap. Not a good image for that sexpot role she has coming up. Name your price, hon, I’ll pay it.”