A Piece of Texas Trilogy

by Peggy Moreland

  I better sign off for now. I’ve got to find somebody who’s got a pass to town and see if he’ll bring me back a box of Cuban cigars. I’ve got some celebrating to do!

  Love forever,

  Larry

  Unable to keep the tears in check any longer, Stephanie dropped her forehead to her knees and wept. She cried for a life lost so young, for the brave young man who’d worried about his friend and was willing to put his friend’s safety above his own.

  And she cried selfish tears at the injustice of never having gotten to know her father, tears of anger at her mother for not sharing her memories of him with her.

  And she cried for the love her father had felt for her mother, a love that he had carried to his grave with him, a love snuffed out before it had had time to fully bloom.

  And when she would’ve thought there were no tears left, she cried for her own lost love and the dreams she’d once built around Wade Parker and the life they might have shared together. A love, like her father’s, that was snuffed out before it could fully bloom.

  Muttering curses under his breath, Wade slammed the door of his truck behind him and cranked the engine. He wasn’t in the mood to go chasing across the countryside playing the Good Samaritan. Not when his head was still aching from going three rounds with his daughter over the proper attire for a girl her age.

  Swearing again at the reminder of the argument, he stomped the accelerator and aimed the nose of his truck for the highway. Like he had a clue about women’s fashion, he thought irritably. But he knew one thing for certain: no daughter of his was going out in public wearing a shirt cut six inches above her belly button and jeans that rode so low on her hips they barely covered her privates!

  Where did kids come up with these crazy ideas anyway? he asked himself, then snorted, already knowing the answer. Television, that’s where. And the worst were those asinine reality shows. Hell, there was nothing real about a one of ’em! And even if there was, what was the fun in watching reality when all a person had to do to experience it firsthand was get off his or her duff and take a stroll outside?

  Feeling his blood beginning to boil again, he forced his fingers to relax from the death grip he had on the steering wheel and refocused his mind to the problem at hand. And Steph was a problem, whether she was aware of it or not. And thanks to a telephone call from a complete stranger, she was now his problem. He supposed he could’ve refused the lady’s request that he check on Steph, but then he would’ve had to live with the guilt—and he was already carrying a full load. He didn’t know how long he was going to be required to make atonement before he was able to clear his conscience of what he’d done to Steph. Judging by the fact that he was driving down the road in the middle of the night, when he should’ve been sacked out in bed, it appeared it wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

  He’d thought a phone call would be the easiest and least aggravating method of accomplishing the duty dumped on him. Forget that he’d already tried to call her once that evening, on his own volition, and hadn’t received a response. Still, he’d tried again—twice, to be exact. Receiving no answer either time, there was nothing to do but make the drive to the Calloways’ ranch and make sure she was all right. For all he knew, she could’ve fallen off a ladder and broken a leg and was unable to get to the phone.

  As he pulled to a stop behind her SUV, he noticed that the windows on the house were dark. Good, he thought smugly and strode to the door. He hoped she was in bed and he awakened her, so that he could ruin her sleep, the same as she was ruining his. He knocked, then waited a full two minutes before knocking again. When he still didn’t receive a response, he frowned, wondering if she really had injured herself. Though he figured she was going to be madder than a hornet with him for using it, he lifted a hand above the door and felt along the ledge for the key Bud kept hidden there. Finding it, he dealt with the lock and pushed open the door.

  “Steph?” he called as he stepped into the entry. “Are you here?” He waited a moment, listening, and frowned when he didn’t hear a reply.

  “Steph,” he called again and flipped on the overhead light.

  God almighty, he thought in dismay as he looked around. The place looked as if a tornado had passed through it! Boxes were stacked on the floor and against the wall. In the dining room, the doors of the china cabinet stood open, its shelves stripped bare. Sheets of newspaper draped the back of the chairs and littered the floor, and more boxes lined the walls. The table itself was covered with stacks of dishes and whatnots a foot deep.

  Shaking his head, he turned for the den. Not seeing any sign of Steph amongst the debris in that room, he continued down the hall. A muffled sound came from the rear of the house, and he followed it to the door of what he knew was her old childhood bedroom. Opening the door a crack, he peeked inside and found her sitting on the bed, her face buried in a pillow she held on her lap.

  He hesitated, not wanting to disturb what he assumed was a private moment of grief. But the heart-wrenching sound of her sobs pulled him into the room.

  “Steph?” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

  She snapped up her head, exposing a face streaked with tears. She stared, her face pale and her eyes wide, as if she were looking at a ghost.

  Realizing too late that he’d probably scared her half to death, he held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I called a couple of times, and when you didn’t answer, I was worried you might’ve hurt yourself and couldn’t get to the phone.”

  She turned her face away, swiping at the tears. “I’m fine. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.”

  She wasn’t physically hurt, that much was obvious, but as to being fine, he had his doubts. If her swollen eyes were any indication, it appeared she’d been crying for hours and wasn’t through yet.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to get out of there but reluctant to leave her in her current emotional state. “I can hang around for a while, if you want,” he offered hesitantly.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  Though she kept her face turned away, he heard the tears in her voice and knew she was still crying. Silently cursing her stubbornness, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I know you’re missing Bud,” he said gently. “I miss him, too.”

  She kept her face turned away but shook her head. “It—it’s not Bud.” She hitched a breath and lifted a hand in which she held what appeared to be a letter. “It’s from my f-father.”

  He stared at the back of her head in confusion. Had she lost her mind? Bud was her father. “Bud left you a letter?” he asked, hoping to snap her back to her senses.

  She shook her head in frustration. “N-not Bud. M-my real father.”

  He hesitated a moment, then reached for the phone. “Maybe I should call a doctor.”

  Before he could lift the receiver, she clamped her hand over his wrist.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” she said through bared teeth. “Bud was my stepfather!” Releasing her grip on him, she fell back against the pillows and covered her face with her hands.

  Wade stared, trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Bud adopted you?”

  Though she kept her face covered, she bobbed her head, letting him know he’d assumed correctly.

  He slowly unwound his fingers from the receiver. “But…who’s your real father?”

  “Larry Blair.” Drawing in a deep breath, she dragged her hands from her face. “He—he was killed in Vietnam.”

  Wade rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I always assumed Bud was your father.”

  “Which is obviously what my mother wanted.”

  He drew back to peer at her, surprised by the venom in her voice. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  She pushed a foot against one of the bundles scattered over the bed. “These are all letters from my father. I found them, along with a photo album, in the attic.”

  “So? What does that have t
o do with your mother?”

  “I never knew they existed! She never told me.”

  Stunned by her level of anger, he tried to think of a logical explanation to offer. “Maybe she did and you forgot.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head in denial. “I didn’t forget. I distinctly remember asking her if she had a picture of him and her claiming she hadn’t saved any of his things. She never wanted to talk about him. Ever.” She banged a fist against her thigh, her eyes filling with tears again. “She lied to me. My own mother lied to me!”

  He held up a hand. “Now, don’t go assuming the worst. Could be she was only trying to protect you.”

  “From what?” she cried, her voice rising in hysteria. “My heritage? From the opportunity to know the man who fathered me?”

  “No, from being hurt.” He tipped his head toward the letter she clutched. “Obviously reading his letters has upset you. Your mother probably knew they would and wanted to save you the pain.”

  “She had no right. He was my father, for God’s sake! Can you imagine what it’s like not knowing anything about your father? To know that he died without ever seeing you? He was excited when Mom told him she was pregnant with me.” She thrust the letter in front of his face and shook it. “It says so right here. He wanted me!”

  Reluctant to comment one way or the other for fear of setting her off again, he said vaguely, “I’m sure he did.”

  She dropped her hands to her lap, her shoulders sagging dejectedly. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. I’m not even sure that I do.”

  She dragged in a long breath, then released it and forced a polite smile. “I appreciate you coming to check on me, but there’s no need for you to stay any longer. I’m fine.”

  As badly as Wade would’ve liked to hightail it out of there and leave her to wallow in her misery alone, there was no way in hell he could do that. Not and be able to live with his conscience later.

  “No rush. I can stick around for a while.”

  She flattened her lips, all sign of politeness gone. “Then let me make myself a little clearer. I don’t want you here.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I guess that makes us even, ’cause I don’t particularly want to be here either.”

  She tossed up her hands. “Then make us both happy and leave!”

  He shook his head. “Can’t. Leavin’ might make me happy, but I suspect it’s not gonna help you any.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Wanna bet?”

  He hid a smile, having forgotten how feisty Steph could get when riled. Seeing her exhibit that particular trait made him realize that he’d succeeded in getting her mind off her sadness for a while. Pleased with himself, he bumped his shoulder against hers, making room for himself to sit beside her on the bed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked incredulously as he stretched his legs out alongside hers.

  He folded his hands behind his head. “Gettin’ comfortable. Looks like you’re needin’ to unload some emotional baggage.” He lifted a shoulder. “Since I’m willin’ to listen, I figure I might as well make myself comfortable.”

  She rolled to her knees, her eyes dark with fury as she faced him. “If and when I think I need a shrink, I’ll hire one.”

  Ignoring her, he picked up an envelope and pulled out the letter it held. “What branch of the service was your father in? Navy?”

  “Army,” she snapped. “And you’re not staying.”

  He scanned a few lines and glanced over at her. “Have you read this one yet?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together.

  He bit back a smile. “I’ll take that as a no. Probably best if you didn’t,” he advised and slipped the pages back into the envelope. “There are some things about her parents’ life that a daughter is better off not knowing.”

  She snatched the envelope from his hand and pulled out the letter. He watched her eyes widen as she skimmed the first page.

  “I tried to warn you,” he said, trying not to laugh.

  Her cheeks flaming, she stuffed the pages back into the envelope. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.

  He opened his hands. “How was I supposed to know that letter was gonna have graphic descriptions of your parents’ sex life?”

  She burned him with a look before burying the letter at the bottom of the stack. “You could’ve just set it aside and said nothing. Saying what you did was the same as daring me to read it.”

  “You’d have gotten around to reading it eventually,” he reminded her. “I was just trying to save you the embarrassment.” He cocked his head and frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s really possible to do it in a—”

  She held up a hand. “Please. I don’t need that particular visual in my head.”

  “Why were you crying?”

  She blinked at the sudden change of subject, then let her hand drop. “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “It’s just all so sad. There’s no one left but me to remember him, yet I know nothing about him.”

  He picked up a bundle of letters and bounced them thoughtfully on his palm. “And this is how you plan to get to know him?”

  “It’s all I have.”

  He studied the bundle a moment. “I guess you know you’re setting yourself up for a lot of pain.” He shifted his gaze to hers and added, “And probably an equal share of embarrassment. What he wrote in these letters was meant for your mother’s eye, and hers alone.”

  She nodded tearfully. “I realize that, but this is all I have that was his. Reading his letters is my only way of learning about him.”

  His expression grave, he set the bundle aside. “I want you to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise that you’ll call me whenever you feel the need to talk.”

  “No, I—”

  He pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her. “You helped me through a hard time after I lost my parents. I think I deserve the chance to even the score.”

  He could tell that she wanted to refuse his request, but she finally dropped her chin to her chest and nodded. He figured she was only agreeing so she could get rid of him, but that was okay. He knew how to make sure she kept her end of the deal.

  With that in mind, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and picked up an empty box from the floor. Using the length of his arm, he raked the bundles of letters inside.

  Her mouth gaped open. “What are you doing?”

  He hitched the box on his hip—and out of her reach. “Helping you keep your promise. Every afternoon, when I come over to feed the cattle, I’ll drop off a bundle of letters for you to read. After I’m done feeding, I’ll stop back by and check on you. That way I’ll know if you’re honoring your promise.”

  “What will seeing me prove?”

  “One look at your face and I’ll know whether or not you need to talk.”

  She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut, obviously realizing it was useless to argue with him.

  His job done for the moment, he turned for the door.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped and glanced over his shoulder to find her eyeing him suspiciously.

  “How did you get inside the house? I made you return the key Bud gave you.”

  “I used the one he kept hidden above the front door.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “You knew about that?”

  He lifted a brow. “Oh, I think you’d be amazed at all I know.”

  Three

  The next morning Stephanie stormed around the house, stripping pictures off the walls and stacking them against the wall in the dining room. It was the only packing she trusted herself to do while in a blind rage.

  She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to Wade’s ridiculous arrangement. Having him dole out her father’s letters to her was demeaning enough, but then to be subjected to his perusal so that he could judge her mental and emotional state was masochistic! She didn’t want to s
hare her thoughts and feelings with him. She’d die a happy woman if she never had to see him again!

  Hearing his truck stop out front, she groaned, then set her jaw and marched to the door. Before he could even knock, she yanked open the door, snatched the bundle of letters from his hand and slammed the door in his face, turned the lock. Pleased with herself for outsmarting him, she hurried to the den and settled into her mother’s chair.

  She had just pulled the ribbon, releasing the bow that held the stack of letters together, when the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Sensing she was being watched, she glanced toward the doorway and nearly jumped out of her skin when she found Wade standing in the opening.

  He dangled the house key between two fingers. “Nice try,” he congratulated her. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

  His smile smug, he slipped the key into his pocket, letting her know in his not-so-subtle way that attempting to lock him out in the future would be a waste of her time, then touched a finger to the brim of his hat in farewell.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I finish feeding the cattle,” he called over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

  Mentally kicking herself for not thinking to remove the hidden key, Stephanie scooped up the scattered letters and rapped them into a neat stack on her lap. She should have known that a locked door wouldn’t stop Wade Parker. The man could all but drip sugar when it suited him and rivaled Attila the Hun when he wanted his way.

  Her smile turning as smug as the one he’d gifted her with while dangling the key in her face, she plucked a letter from the top of the stack. Well, two can play this game as well as one, she told herself as she smoothed open the creased pages. She knew how to compartmentalize her emotions, if and when the situation required it. When Wade returned to check on her, he’d find her dry-eyed and busy packing. She wouldn’t give him any reason to think she needed to “unload,” as he’d referred to her emotional state the previous night.

  Confident that she could outsmart him, she began to read.

  Janine,

  Have you ever had the feeling that everybody in the world is going crazy and you’re the only sane person left? That’s how I feel right now. I swear, a couple of guys in my unit have gone nuts. If they’re not drunk, they’re smoking grass—or worse.