Agnes shook her head. “Girl, I’m still wonderin’ if God didn’t understand what it was you wanted to do with that old service station. I think he thought you said you wanted to turn it into a Christmas store, not a Christian church.”
Darla Jean patted her on the shoulder. “Agnes, God don’t need no hearin’ aid. He understood me perfectly when I asked him which road I was supposed to take. Maybe if he don’t hear your prayers, it’s because you ain’t prayin’ long enough or hard enough.”
Agnes shrugged. “Get on out of here. I don’t need a sermon out of you!”
Darla Jean smiled and followed Trixie out of the shop.
* * *
Misty didn’t look quite as bad as Lindsey had. She had limp red hair hanging to her shoulders and a big bruise on her cheekbone. Darla Jean didn’t even want to see her back and legs. Tears, both dried and fresh, were still on her cheeks, but when the baby whimpered, she hushed her with lullabies sung in a beautiful soprano voice.
“Why do you help people like me?” Misty finally asked.
“Because you need someone to help you, and God told me to help those in need.” Darla Jean left Cadillac behind and headed toward Tom Bean.
“How far is it?” Misty asked when Layla was quiet.
“Ever heard of a little place called Blue Ridge?”
Misty shook her head.
“An hour at the most from Cadillac.”
“That’s not far enough,” Misty fretted. “He’ll find us, and it’ll be bad.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Misty Waldon.”
“You are now Misty Jean. There are lots of girls named Misty, and he sure won’t think about you changing your name. When it’s all finished, you and Layla will both have new names, new birth certificates, and new Social Security numbers. I can make that happen.”
“God must like you a whole lot,” Misty said.
Darla Jean smiled. “There’s those who doubt God even knows me, but I hope you are the one who is right.” She made the phone call and when they reached Betty’s, Lindsey was waiting on the porch with a kitten in her arms.
“You and Layla are safe here. Go on and get out,” Darla Jean said.
“Will you come in with me?” Misty said.
“Of course I will. My sister lives here, and that’s Lindsey Jean on the porch.”
“Your daughter?”
“Just like you are.” Darla Jean smiled.
Lindsey opened the truck door. “Hello. Welcome to a brand-new life.”
She held up an orange kitten. “Look at what Betty got for me, Darla Jean.”
“A kitten. Layla loves kittens, but we couldn’t have one after the last one. He ran over it and she cried so I wouldn’t get her any more. He gets real mad when she cries. Can we pet it?” Misty asked.
“You sure can. Bring the baby on inside and let’s get y’all settled.”
“Where is Betty?” Darla Jean asked.
“She ran down to the church clothes bank to pick up a few things and to the grocery store for an extra gallon of milk. Is she still on the bottle?” Lindsey asked.
“No. I brought her sippy cup,” Misty said.
“I’m supposed to call Betty if we need diapers.”
“I got enough for the night.”
Lindsey gently laid a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “You will think you have died and gone to heaven. Trust me.”
* * *
Cathy should have gone with Marty. She loved to shop and running through clothes shops would have been so much fun, but she hadn’t wanted to at the time and now it was too late.
Trixie had gone to see her mother again. Agnes was nowhere in sight. Darla Jean had said she was going to take a nap and she might be over later. Cathy had had a long bubble bath. She removed all the polish from her fingernails and toenails and redid them in bright red. While they dried, she turned on the television in her room, but that bored her. She picked up her e-reader, and even the hot sex scenes couldn’t keep her attention.
Finally, she slipped on a jacket, grabbed her car keys, and left the house before the walls came crashing down on her head. She wound up at the Rib Joint, parked the car, and got out.
The shade of the porch roof offered little relief from the chilly fall wind, but she sat down anyway and drew her knees up to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and laced her fingers together and sighed. Too bad John didn’t open the place on Sunday. He could make a fortune with the after-church crowd.
“Hey, girl, think this norther is bringing winter or just teasing us?” John asked from the other end of the porch.
Maggie Rose ran around the end of the café, her little pink tongue hanging out and her long fur waving like a wheat field in the wind.
“I got bored and went for a drive.” Cathy straightened out her legs so Maggie Rose could hop up in her lap.
“I got writer’s block and thought fresh air might force me to think.”
“Writer’s block?” Cathy asked.
“I write mystery novels. I’ve sold two.”
“That’s great. My sister writes books too.”
“What does she write?”
“Erotic romance.”
“Do you write?”
“Oh, no! Not me. I was a teacher, but I don’t have the patience to write books,” she said.
His jeans were faded, his denim jacket worn at the seams. The wind blew his blond hair every which way. Cathy thought he was sexy as hell.
Cathy started to say something at the same time he did.
“You go first,” John said.
“I was just making conversation because I don’t want to go home,” she said honestly.
“Come on out to the trailer. I’ve got cold beers in the fridge. Be a little more comfortable,” he said.
She put Maggie Rose on the ground. She looked like a windup toy as she ran along in front of them.
The trailer was a long, skinny one with fading blue paint, an unpainted wood porch with no rails, and no flowers or shrubs. He held the door for her and shut it as soon as Maggie Rose finished making a wet spot in the sparse grass.
His living room was cozy with throw pillows tossed helter-skelter on the sofa and books stacked everywhere from built-in shelves to under the coffee table. Two matted and framed covers hung on the wall behind the sofa and she took a step forward to see them better.
“Yours?” she asked.
“They are. Want a beer?”
“Love one. These are very nice. Love the color in the covers. It really pops out,” she said.
He opened two beers and motioned for her to sit on the sofa as he plopped down and sighed. “I signed a contract for a three-book deal, and I’m stuck on number three.”
“Don’t try to force it. Think about something else. Maybe that will help,” she said.
She turned up the beer and swallowed twice. Any more and she’d do one of those unladylike burps. When she set the beer on the coffee table, she looked back to see his lips parting slightly as they moved toward her. The closer he came, the bigger his eyes got through those thick lenses.
It was downright sexy when his eyelids shut and the lashes fanned out on his cheekbones. His lips brushed against hers and heat shot through her body. One arm tangled up in her hair and the other snaked its way around her midriff. His tongue gently parted her lips and he made love to her mouth.
So that’s what Candy Parker was talking about in her books.
“I wanted to do that since the first night you came here,” he said.
“But you thought I wasn’t old enough, right?” Cathy asked.
“Well, there was the possibility that you were jailbait.” He chuckled.
Before she could say a word, he tucked a fist under her chin and kissed her again.
“Wow!” he said.
“I agree,” she whispered.
The dimple in his cheek deepened when he smiled and made that little brown soul patch even sexier. He laid his glasses asi
de and drew her closer to him.
Cathy could have said no, but she didn’t want to.
“You are downright hot,” he muttered between kisses.
Cathy knew exactly what she was doing. There was only one way to put out the fire he’d started.
He kissed her again and she arched against him.
“Please,” she murmured.
“Cathy, are you sure?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said.
When it was over, he propped up on an elbow on the narrow sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
She laid her fingers on her lips. “It’s not important.”
Books had been written about it. Marty discussed it at great lengths. She even wrote about it. The movie industry made millions on it. But not a one of them could describe the way Cathy felt when John held her in the afterglow.
“Seconds are always better,” he said.
“Nothing could be better than that,” she argued.
“Trust me, Cathy, darlin’, it is.”
“Can we stay here all night?”
“Oh, yeah!”
* * *
It was late when Marty got back to Clawdy’s. She stopped in the kitchen long enough to grab a cold can of Pepsi and carried it with her up to her room. Light filtered out into the landing from under her door and Cathy sat in the middle of her bed. She wore a pink terry cloth robe, wet hair, and twinkling eyes.
It was a good thing she didn’t have tears in her eyes or someone would be headed for a good solid ass whipping. Marty wasn’t putting up with another thing that would cause her sister to worry.
“Are we having a slumber party?” Marty asked.
“I’m ready to toss my e-reader,” Cathy blurted out.
Marty kicked off her shoes, opened the beer, and joined Cathy on the bed, sitting cross-legged. “So John is as good as the heroes and the best you ever had.”
“No details, but yes and yes.”
“Why no details?”
“Because it’s too new and too important to talk about,” Cathy said.
Marty smiled.
Trixie poked her head in the door. “I thought I heard voices. Private or open to the public?”
“Come on in. We’re too late for the bra-burning days, but we’re thinking of burning an e-reader,” Marty said.
“Wow! Tell me all about it.” Trixie padded barefoot across the room, leaving a string of paper bits falling off her clothes.
Cathy shook her head. “I’m not jinxing this. It feels right so I’m not talking.”
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit. I never did hear you say that it felt right with Ethan. You just said it would all work out. I didn’t believe it.”
Marty looked at Trixie. “How about you? Burning books or keeping them?”
“Oh, I’m not nearly ready to trade in my hot romances, but I’ve got a great story to tell you about what happened today. Darla Jean is a saint, and I’ve got a feeling this is just the beginning. I took an abused girl with a two-year-old baby to her, and she’s on her way to her sister’s.”
Tears flowed down Marty’s cheeks as Trixie told the story, and for the first time, there was something akin to forgiveness in Trixie’s heart.
Chapter 17
“I need help,” Cathy said.
“With what?” Agnes asked. Chocolate cake icing was smeared into the wrinkles around her mouth like mocha-colored lipstick.
Cathy laid a notebook on the table. “I’m listing the wedding dress in a small ad in the Denison and Sherman papers for a month. Help me describe it.”
“Never been worn,” Trixie said.
“Jackass fiancé. Dress not needed.” Agnes put in her two cents.
“Didn’t it come with a description for when you put the wedding announcement in the newspaper?” Marty asked.
“I’d forgotten about that. I’ve taken a picture already so folks won’t be calling that wanting something else. That brochure is upstairs. I’m off to get it sent in.”
“Sure you don’t want to keep the thing for when you do get married? You won’t get nearly what you paid for it,” Agnes said.
Cathy frowned. “It was bought for Ethan. I could never wear it for another man, and besides, if I ever get married I’m going to the courthouse barefoot and in my jeans.”
“Well, then sell the damn thing. If nobody wants it, I’ll take it out to Violet’s house and drag it behind my car round and round in her circle drive until it’s nothing but tatters. One thing for sure: Marty ain’t never goin’ to need it, and she’s the only other person in the county tall enough to wear it. Besides, it’s white, and God knows there’s enough cowboys in this state to testify to the fact she don’t need to get married in white.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Aunt Agnes,” Marty huffed.
“Truth is truth, darlin’.”
* * *
Trixie had been good. She’d helped Misty and Layla get out of an abusive situation. She’d watched I Dream of Jeannie with her mother. She deserved a night at scrapbooking without having to look at Anna Ruth. Cathy felt sorry for her; Trixie didn’t. So maybe, just maybe, Anna Ruth would stay home and help her Aunt Annabel dust off that cake book that Cathy talked about.
Molly was already set up at the end of a long table. She barely looked up but started talking the minute she noticed Trixie. “This paper you bought last time has worked into my scrapbook so pretty. Look, the pink checks match the little dress she’s wearing.”
“I brought a box of buttons tonight, Molly. Mamma had them in her things and I’ll never use them all up. What do you think of this one in the corner?”
“Perfect,” Molly said. “Put some of those in your book. Your mamma, bless her heart, might recognize some of them and have a good moment.”
“Hel-lo, everyone. I’m here!” Anna Ruth singsonged.
Shit! Some days God had his hearing aid turned completely off.
“What are you working on?” Molly asked.
“A scrapbook of my life. I bought this cute one at the Hobby Lobby this week.” She held up a bright blue book at least an inch thick.
She must’ve had an exciting, eventful life if she intended to fill that book up completely.
Anna Ruth set a new scrapbooking case on the table and folded back two sides to reveal paper, ribbons, scissors, and everything an advanced scrapbooker would need. It was arranged so neatly that Trixie shivered.
OCD and scrapbooking in the same house? What a nightmare. No more hoping that Anna Ruth would get bored and stop. It wouldn’t happen. She’d sunk too much money into that kit.
“Aunt Annabel had this cute little shower invitation that she sent out when she gave Mother a baby shower so it goes on the front page.” She took out a ruler and measured to get the invitation smack in the middle of the page.
“That’s sweet,” Molly said. “Trixie has been kind enough to bring buttons this week. Why don’t we pour them out in the middle of the table so everyone can sort through them? I’ll help you get them put back in the jar after we’re done tonight.”
Trixie poured out a long line of multicolored and various shaped buttons. Anna Ruth ignored them and carefully pasted her invitation to the middle of the page.
“Now what to put around it.” She tapped her cheek with a forefinger. “Have you all heard that Cathy isn’t interested in Andy after all?”
Trixie giggled.
“Oh, dear,” Molly said. “We only talk about scrapbooking when we are working. That’s the joy of the business. It takes our minds completely off everything else.”
Anna Ruth shot a dirty look across the table.
Trixie ignored her.
“Trixie, you are the expert at this. Come see what I need. A little bit of ribbon or maybe a touch of eyelet lace,” Molly said.
Trixie helped her decide on the lace while Anna Ruth pondered over which paper to start with on her first page.
Luck was not with Trixie that night. She, Molly, and Ann
a Ruth were the only members to show up. Molly and Trixie made a mess that took half an hour to clean up. Anna Ruth was able to shove her book back into her kit at the end of the evening in two minutes.
“Ta-da! See y’all next time,” she said as she rushed outside into the hot night air.
“Think she’ll ever learn to love the art?” Molly asked.
“She’ll have to loosen up,” Trixie answered. “I’ll sweep and lock up this time. It’s my turn.”
“No it’s not, but I’ll let you. Sweeping hurts my back.”
“Then let me carry your kit out to the car. You don’t need to lift something that heavy.”
“Thanks, honey. I sure will take you up on that too. And thanks for the buttons. Bring them back next week,” Molly said.
* * *
Something damn sure did not feel right in her car. The seat leaned toward the door and the seat belt didn’t want to reach.
“Well, shit!” Trixie slapped the steering wheel.
She had a flat tire. Before she was allowed to drive at the age of sixteen, her mother insisted that she know how to change the oil and a flat tire.
She’d never learned to like doing either one.
The steering wheel couldn’t whine or fight back so she slapped it one more time before she crawled out of the car. Sure enough, it was flat as a flitter, however damn flat that was, with nothing between the rim and the street but rubber.
“Hey, got a problem?” a deep voice said from a car driving past.
“Flat tire,” she said without looking.
“I’ll fix it for you, Trixie,” Jack said.
She whipped around when she recognized his voice. “You are a lifesaver. I can change a tire, but I don’t like the job. I’ve never changed one on this car. I’m not sure where the jack is located. That’s funny. Jack is located right in front of me.”
Jack laughed. “Yes he is, and he can change a tire on this faster than you could get the lug nuts off. So pop the trunk and I’ll get it done, but it’s going to cost you.”
“Uh-oh! What are you doing in this part of town, anyway? Oh, I forgot. You bought that house. Isn’t it right around here? And Cathy got to see it first. What’s up with that?” She looked around.
What Happens in Texas Page 21
