by Debra Webb
The roar of the mower stopped. Laney glanced out the window just in time to see Hayden drag his T-shirt back over his head. If her stomach weren’t rioting with hunger pangs from the smell of the biscuits she’d swear it was gawking at him that was tightening her insides.
She grabbed a strip of crisp bacon and tore off a bite. “You’re just hungry, girl. And not for him.”
With her mismatched stoneware on the kitchen table and a fresh pot of coffee filling the room with its robust aroma, she smiled as he strolled in through the back door.
“My yard looks more like a lawn now than the makings of a hay field. Thanks.” Fact was, she couldn’t remember when the lawn had looked so well manicured.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He rubbed his flat belly. “Breakfast smells fantastic.”
Oh, yeah. The man was a bachelor all right. Otherwise plain old morning staples wouldn’t have him tossing around words like fantastic.
“Nothing you couldn’t get at any old breakfast hut.”
He raised his eyebrows at the platter of biscuits. “I’m reasonably confident you’re wrong about that.”
“Bathroom’s down the hall. Wash up and I’ll serve.”
“Whatever you say, boss lady.” He winked and strode off to follow her order.
Laney shook her head. No one should fit that well into a pair of jeans. Or look that good all sweaty and smelling like fresh-cut grass.
Buddy wandered over and leaned against her leg. “Does he live here now, Mommy?”
“Of course not. This is our house. We live here. Just you and me.” Laney lifted her munchkin into her arms and gave him a hug. “Wow, you’re getting almost too big for me to pick up, young man.”
He pressed his nose to hers. “Biscuits. I need more energy for the town I’m buildin’.”
She grinned. “Biscuits will do it.” Laney settled him on the floor. “Pick your seat.” He never chose the same chair twice in a row.
“Purple feet!” He slid into the one on the far end of the table.
“That’s the best one.” Same thing she told him every time no matter which chair he selected.
Like the rest of her furniture, her table and chairs were mismatched. She’d decided to throw a little excitement into mealtime so she’d given each chair a personality by painting each a different color with faces and painted-on hair. She’d even attached small wooden shapes to the legs and painted each as a foot or a shoe. She might have gone a little overboard with the beads and bow ties on the backs of the chairs but Buddy loved them.
The air changed in the room when Hayden returned. Maybe it was the breeze from the window. The chill bumps on her skin certainly weren’t the result of him simply entering the room.
“Good morning, Buddy.”
“You have to sit down there.” Buddy pointed to the other end of the table. “That’s for company.”
“Sounds like the best seat in the house. Definitely the chair with the best feet.”
Laney threw off her apron and joined them at the table. “Actually it’s the one with an uneven leg.” She arrowed a look at her son. “I’ll take that one.”
Hayden pulled out the chair. “Love the feet.”
Laney settled in the chair, and it immediately tilted a smidge to one side. “I got the idea from a magazine.”
He took the seat to her left. “You have a very artistic flare and a vivid imagination.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That was the point.” Hayden sent her another of those unabashed winks.
Laney focused on the food. Buddy had already filled his plate with far more than he could possibly eat. Laney loaded Hayden’s and then her own. She was starving.
At the same time, he poured the coffee, their movements choreographed as smoothly as if they shared breakfast every day.
She speared a clump of scrambled eggs. What the heck was wrong with her? Evidently the financial worries and frustration with Terry were messing with her brain.
“You looking forward to school this fall?” Hayden asked her son.
Buddy looked up, a biscuit halfway to his mouth. “I’m not sure yet.”
That was her boy. “You liked it when we went for that orientation visit a couple weeks ago.”
He chewed off a big bite of biscuit and shrugged.
“He’s a little worried that he won’t fit in,” Laney explained. “He doesn’t know any of the other kids who’ll be starting with him.”
“Sounds like you need to join one of the ball teams,” Hayden said to Buddy. “I’ve seen flyers all over town about sign-ups.”
Buddy turned up his glass of milk then pursed his lips while he considered the suggestion. “I’m not really T-ball material. I prob’ly couldn’t hit the ball and then I’d get bored.”
Hayden nodded. “Yeah, that would be kind of boring.”
Laney focused on her plate and hoped the men wouldn’t notice the laughter she was barely restraining.
“’Course,” Hayden went on, “a man puts a little practice into it, he could probably hit that ball every single time.”
“I don’t have a ball or a bat,” Buddy explained. “That makes practicing a problem.”
“I’m sure we can do something about that.” Hayden glanced at Laney before he turned back to the boy. “I made all-star every year in high school. I could give you a few pointers.”
Buddy’s face furrowed in concentration. “That was a long time ago. You might be rusty.”
Laney couldn’t help herself; she laughed. She tried to cover her mouth but there was no holding it back.
Hayden nodded, managed to keep a straight face somehow. “How about I get the gear we need and we practice together?”
Another fierce moment of concentration puckered her little boy’s face. “We’ll see.”
“Good deal.” Hayden glanced at her again, amusement shining in his eyes.
Laney wanted to smile at the idea but would Hayden really stick around long enough to keep that promise?
The screen door whined, announcing someone was at the front door before the firm knock echoed.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She flashed a smile at Hayden. Maybe he wouldn’t break her boy’s heart…or hers.
As much as her son’s vocabulary and intelligence thrilled Laney she did worry about him fitting in at school. She sighed. That was one worry she couldn’t do anything about right now.
Laney opened the door expecting to have to kick Terry off her porch or to see the mailman dropping off a package. But the man waiting on her porch was a stranger. He wore a suit and tie, glasses and sported a slicked-down comb-over. He carried a black leather briefcase, the thin kind that was useless for anything other than a few papers.
“Ms. Seagers?”
Apprehension needled its way under her skin. “That’s me.”
“I’m Howard Samson from Samson and Lott Appraisers. Mr. Teague from Beaumont Independent Bank commissioned me to execute an appraisal of your property.”
What the…? “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Samson. I wasn’t aware an appraisal had been ordered.” The apprehension swelled into downright fear.
“I assure you, Ms. Seagers, it’s standard procedure when a loan nears maturity and the refinancing is questionable.”
Standard procedure. Old man Teague just couldn’t wait to assess the value of her property. Damn him and damn Kingston if he had anything to do with it.
“We’re in the middle of having breakfast.” She was angry now. How dare that old goat do this? “Maybe you could call for an appointment next time.”
“I understand,” he offered in that monotone that matched his neutral expression. “I’ll be taking measurements and photos outside first. When you’re ready for me to come inside you can let me know.”
“The lady said you needed an appointment.”
Laney’s breath caught at the warning in Hayden’s voice. He’d moved in right behind her and she h
adn’t even noticed.
Samson’s eyebrows reared up his forehead. “I see.”
“Good,” Hayden offered. “You have a good day now.” He closed the door in the guy’s face.
Laney stared at him. She wasn’t sure whether to kick him or to hug him.
“Sorry,” he muttered irreverently. “I have no patience for jerks and that guy was a jerk.”
Heat singed her cheeks. She walked past him to check on Buddy. He’d finished and was busy piling his dishes into the sudsy water now filling the old porcelain sink, egg and biscuit remains going for a swim.
She turned back to Hayden. “I guess you’ve heard the rumors about my impending loan crisis.” Her staff had a bad habit of eavesdropping.
“I did,” he admitted.
She blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s not pretty but I’m not giving up.”
“Giving up is for wimps.” He gave her a reassuring smile that felt more reassuring than it should have.
This man was almost as much a stranger as the one who’d just showed up at her door.
“Thanks for the breakfast. I’ll stow the mower.” He ran a hand through his hair. She shivered. “I noticed the barn needs a few repairs to the roof. Unless my boss tells me different, I’m free all day to work on that.”
Laney ignored the floor shifting beneath her feet. This was too much. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the help and he’d been really nice to her son…but this was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take.
“You’re a really nice guy and all,” she said, searching for a kind way to say what needed to be said.
He held up both hands. “I get it. You don’t trust me.”
Wow. Hearing him say it sounded a lot worse than she’d been aiming for. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”
“I get it. Really.” He set his hands on his hips. “Call my references. You’ll feel better then.”
“You’re right. Sure.” She slid her fingers into her front pockets. “I’m sorry but my son is my top priority and as much…”
Stop, Laney. That was enough. She didn’t have to explain herself. This was the right thing to do. He would either understand or he wouldn’t.
“I’ll see you tonight at the High Noon.”
She nodded. “Thank you for…helping out.”
He patted that amazing six-pack. “Thanks for the home-cooked meal. It’s been a while.”
“Mom!”
Laney pushed aside the mixed feelings she couldn’t seem to shake. “What you got, sweetie?”
He held up one of his latest art endeavors she’d had hanging on the fridge. “This one is extra good.”
Laney crouched down to his eye level. “It sure is.” He’d drawn a picture of the two of them flying a kite. This was his first year to be able to hang on to the kite string all by himself.
“Can I give it to the lady?”
Laney frowned. “What lady?”
Buddy looked at her as if she should know exactly who he meant. “The grandma lady who played with me in the kitchen last night.”
Fear ignited deep in Laney’s gut. “What grandma lady?”
Buddy huffed. “The one who washed dishes for Uncle Tater.”
Laney relaxed. “A friend of Tater’s?”
Buddy shrugged. “I don’t know. She was nice. I wanna give her this.”
Hayden crouched down next to Laney. “Is this lady your uncle Tater’s grandmother?” he asked Buddy.
Laney frowned. “He doesn’t have any relatives in Texas.”
Buddy eased closer to his mother and shrugged again.
“I guess it’d be okay to give her the drawing.” Laney hugged her son. “That’s very sweet of you.”
Buddy wiggled out of her arms and smiled. “She’ll like it.”
“How do you know the lady was a grandmother?” Hayden asked.
What was with all the questions? she wondered. Before she could ask that very question, Buddy answered. “She had grandma hair.”
“Gray hair?” he prompted.
Buddy nodded. “That means she’s old.”
“Was her hair long like your mother’s?” He tugged on a lock of Laney’s hair.
With a big shake of his head, Buddy touched her chin. “Short like there.”
“Did she ask you any questions, little man?”
Buddy frowned. “I’m not a man. I’m a little boy.” He turned to Laney. “Tell him, Mom. He’s confused.”
Laney searched Hayden’s eyes. “You heard him. You need to see his driver’s license to confirm his age?”
“Mommy.” Buddy made a face. “That’s silly.”
“Did this nice grandmother ask you any questions about you and your mom?” Hayden rephrased his question.
“Nope. She asked me about Mr. Bear.”
Hayden swung his attention to Laney. “Mr. Bear?”
“Why don’t you introduce Mr. Bear to Mr. Hayden?”
“Okay.” Buddy hustled off to his bedroom.
Laney pushed to her feet. “Why all the questions? I’m sure the lady was a friend of Tatum’s. He has friends stop by and hang out with him in the kitchen occasionally.”
Hayden stood. “I saw something on the news before I left Houston about an older woman involved with a human-trafficking ring that deals in young children.”
The very idea made Laney’s chest hurt. She rubbed at the tightness there. “Are you serious?”
“Afraid so.”
“Jesus. I’ll have to talk to Tatum.”
“You should ask him to keep the kitchen door locked.”
That barb of fear twisted a little tighter inside her. “Absolutely.”
Buddy shuffled back into the room, Mr. Bear hugged to his chest. He glanced shyly at Hayden.
He crouched down and pretended to shake the bear’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear.”
Buddy smiled, something he rarely did with strangers. “The grandma lady said her daughter had a teddy bear just like him.”
The notion that this woman could be the one in the news report Hayden mentioned seemed like a long shot. She was probably just one of Tater’s friends. A silly coincidence.
But the sudden grim expression on Hayden’s face sent a chill straight through her.
As protective as she was of her son, surely she hadn’t been totally oblivious to that kind of danger walking right into her own saloon.
But then she’d been overwhelmed lately.
Had Buddy’s safety suffered because of her inability to handle the stress load right now?
Laney chased away the worries. It wouldn’t happen again. She would see to that.
Chapter Six
Noon
When Tatum Motley, aka Uncle Tater, arrived half an hour ago, Joel had given him and Laney some space. Though she hadn’t said as much out loud, she had clearly wanted to talk to her employee and friend privately.
Joel understood her situation. As much as she would prefer to have her son at her side at all times, she had to run the bar—which meant Buddy had to be in the kitchen or the office away from the dispensing and selling of liquor. Laney trusted the retired sailor but she would need to get it through his head that extreme caution was necessary from this point forward.
Laney had suggested maybe Kingston had sent the old lady to freak her out or to prove Buddy wasn’t safe at the High Noon.
She just didn’t know.
Joel offered to keep an eye on Buddy while he played in the backyard. It gave Joel a chance to call the agency with this latest development. Simon Ruhl agreed that despite the lack of proof that the grandmotherly woman, as Buddy had described, was in fact Clare Barker, there was every reason to suspect she was here and, at the very least, watching.
Lucas Camp, Victoria’s husband, and a former CIA agent, was en route. Clare Barker had given him the slip in Copperas Cove a few days ago. Lucas had been attempting to pick up her trail again since. He would be nearby and available if Joel needed backup.
> Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that but better to be safe than sorry. This was a highly sensitive situation with charged emotions for all involved.
At this point Joel would have no choice but to add the next layer to his cover profile. As much as he disliked lying to the lady, it was, unfortunately, necessary to ensure she didn’t grow suspicious of his interest in this mysterious visitor.
Leaning against the post nearest the steps on the back porch, he watched Buddy climb the ladder to the slide, then squeal as he slid down. The kid was cute and so damned smart. But he was still just a kid and had no concept of the danger associated with talking to a stranger. The kid needed playtime with others his own age.
Joel had no real experience with kids but that requirement seemed logical to him. If he bothered to say as much, Laney would likely put him in his place. The woman was seriously protective of her son and defensive of her mothering skills. He supposed dealing with a sleaze like Terry Kingston had generated that touchy situation.
Buddy hopped into a swing seat and struggled to get the thing going. The seat needed to be lowered a bit. Joel could handle that.
He strolled over and propped against the slide ladder. Like his mother, the boy had a strong sense of independence. Approaching the suggestion from the wrong perspective would offend the little fellow.
“When I was your age,” Joel commented, “I liked to be able to push off with my feet.”
Buddy started grunting and wrestling with the momentum and stared at the ground a good six inches below his boots. “I’ll have to grow some more before I can do that.”
“Guess so.” Joel pushed his hat up a notch. “Unless you lower the seat. It’s pretty easy. Just climb up there and bring it down a couple of links.”
The kid stared up at the hook where the chains holding the seat connected to the frame of the swing set. “I’d need a ladder to do that.” He turned to Joel and visually measured him. “You could reach it.”
Joel considered the cross bar of the frame. “I can try it.”
Buddy hopped off the swing seat and braced his hands on his jean-clad hips. “Try it.” He made a hopeful face. “Please.”
