Lone Star Burn_The Foreman and the Lady

by Kate Richards

  Hot and parched, she locked up the small, cramped sedan, slung her purse over her shoulder, and started back the way she’d come. After a couple of minutes, a semi came along, but although she waved and called, the driver didn’t seem to notice her. Sighing, she continued on, stepping onto the dirt shoulder, seeking easier footing. While her heels didn’t stick on release as they had on the highway, they sank into the dirt deeper. Next, she tried the band at the edge of the road where the asphalt seemed firmer and continued with a little more success.

  The sun beat down on her head, and she opened her purse and grabbed for the tube of sunscreen no redhead was ever without. She squinted into the bright sunlight. Desperation to get to her brother combined with the beginnings of sunstroke. Sweat trickled into her eyes, stinging, and she ran her tongue over her dry lips.

  Maggie uncapped the tube and squirted some into her palms, rubbing it over her face and throat, as well as her legs, bare below the knee and ready to burst into flame at the slightest hint of solar rays. Bent over, she heard a rumbling and straightened.

  A Ford F100—its paint peeling away, muffler banging—approached her, shimmering like a mirage in her wavering vision. As it neared, she could make out the remains of blue-green paint, mostly flaked away, and a bumper held on with chicken wire. Lifting her arms, she waved and, to her immense relief, the driver pulled to a stop right in front of her. The vehicle gave a wheeze, and the driver climbed out.

  No. Freaking. Way. As her students often exclaimed when she announced a pop quiz. She had not come all the way home to see her dying brother only to be rescued by Will Kyle and his beat-up 1969 F100. But hadn’t he fixed that damn thing up in high school?

  “Maggie?” His long, lean form hadn’t changed much; he still filled out a pair of jeans like nobody else. A little older, maybe, the start of weathering on his face. Unlike her, he tanned, his straight black hair and deep copper tan a gift from a Native American ancestor on his father’s side. His ice-blue eyes matched those of his blonde mother, Miss Naomi. She’d run into her in Fort Mavis many times, before she stopped coming home to visit, each glimpse of her eyes a reminder of what could have been. “Maggie!” he repeated.

  She swayed, the heat waves around her spinning and darkness edging her vision.

  “Maggie!” he shouted for the third time, racing toward her. He closed the short distance in time to catch her as she crumpled. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her back to his truck and, tossing her over one shoulder, managed to open the driver’s side door and lay her out across the seat. What on Earth was Maggie Lynn McAfee doing walking along the highway like this? She lived somewhere in California, taught at some big university. According to his mama, she hadn’t been home once since the funeral.

  Her cheeks were flushed, nearly the same red as her hair, and she wore some kind of fancy suit, the skirt riding up her thighs as she lay with her eyes closed. Smoothing the fabric down, he tried to make her decent while he figured out what to do. He pressed two fingers to her throat, feeling a steady pulse, but she’d been out for a couple of minutes. Heat stroke presented a constant danger to strangers out here on a hot day, but Maggie grew up in Fort Mavis. She knew what to do to make sure she stayed hydrated. As a ranch girl, she’d still had to help out during the busy times, and he’d been there, too. He and Baxter riding horses, while she zoomed along behind on that ATV.

  But she loved horses, always out slipping them carrots and apples, petting their noses, and cooing to them. Especially the palomino her dad bought her in high school. She just couldn’t stay on one to save her life. No balance at all.

  Will patted her hand. “Come on, Maggie, wake up. You’re scaring me a little.” She shifted and moaned, but her eyes stayed closed. He’d give a lot to see those bright-green orbs now. “How did you get out here?” She must have broken down on her way to visit Baxter. For his birthday. So there had to be a car up the road somewhere. Since she’d been walking toward him, it would be ahead of them.

  But he couldn’t go anywhere unless he woke her up. No connectivity out here, so he couldn’t call for help, but her breathing was even, her color less flushed in the shade of the truck cab. Probably help if he’d had AC to cool her off. But he could get some water into her. Shifting her to a sitting position, he supported her with one arm. “Maggie”—he fished out a bottle of water from the cooler and twisted off the cap one-handed—“here you go, darlin’. Take a sip of this.” Holding the bottle to her lips, he wet them, and her eyes flicked open. “Drink the water.”

  Maggie reared back in the seat and stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. He supposed she might feel that way. He sure did. Maggie, despite the heat and her wrinkled clothing, looked every bit as good as she had the last time he saw her. Her eyes were the same green with gold flecks, the lashes a shade darker than her hair and so thick they almost shaded her irises. Had they ever looked so vivid? What was different? “Will? What are you doing here?”

  He might ask her the same question. “Just drink the water, Maggie, before we catch up.” He freed his arm and settled her on the bench seat then lifted her hand and closed it around the water. “Hang onto this and drink it. Slowly…but all of it. I think you have a bit of heat stroke. Unless you pass out regularly?”

  She took a long drink and let out a sigh. “I did not pass out.”

  “Coulda fooled me, darlin’. Your eyes closed, your knees folded, and I just kept you from kissing pavement. How did you think you got into my truck?”

  “I thought I…I have no idea.” Pouring more water down her throat, she shivered. “Nice and cold. Let me get my bearings here. My rental broke down and I was walking back to that roadside restaurant and some obnoxious semi driver didn’t even see me. That is so not Texas, to leave a woman baking on the side of the road; he must be from somewhere else.”

  He chuckled. “Must be. My mama sure didn’t raise me that way.”

  “Of course she didn’t. How is your mama?”

  “She’s fine far as I know I—”

  Maggie set the empty bottle in the cupholder and straightened. “And then I saw your truck coming down the road. Just so like the first time you picked me up and gave me a lift. I almost thought I was back in high school.”

  “The good old days.” He’d been so proud of his old truck, proud enough he’d bought this one with the hope of restoring it, too. “But this isn’t the same truck. I sold that one a long time ago.”

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear in a gesture he remembered as well as the truck, maybe better. “I never thought you’d give it up. You loved that truck, sometimes I thought more than me.”

  He rubbed at his chest, the pang there likely the result of the greasy but delicious burger rather than a heart attack. Or a reaction to the memory of a time when he’d had it all. “The old Ford did hold a place in my affections.” Just not as dear a place as his girl. “If you’re sure you aren’t going to keel over on me again, we should head on toward Fort Mavis. When we get closer to town, and get some bars on one of our phones, you can call the rental agency and have them pick up their car. Unless you object to driving a ranch vehicle while you’re here. I’m sure Baxter has something for you.” He held out his hand. “Keys, and I’ll get your stuff from the car.”

  “Bag in the trunk and tablet on the front seat.”

  He placed her suitcase in the back of the truck with all his belongings and settled in the cab, handing her the tablet.

  “I’m just here to be with Baxter, so I don’t need another car.” She slid along the bench seat to the passenger side and snapped on the lap belt. “It’s been too long since I spent any time with my brother.”

  Will looked in the mirror and eased the truck back into the lane. Once he’d had a chance to work under the hood for a while, he’d have this baby doing zero to sixty as fast as any car on the road, but for now it took a bit to gain speed. “He’ll probably want to drag you all over the county, showing off his successful professor sister.” />
  The truck backfired, a poof of smoke expelled from the tail pipe catching his attention for a moment and making him concerned whether his rusty baby would make it to Fort Mavis at all. Maggie wouldn’t appreciate being stranded for a second time in the same day. Glancing over, ready to make a joke to prepare her for the possibility, he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek as she stared out the window.

  “Maggie? Is something wrong at work? Did that university treat you badly?” Hoping to cheer her, he said, “I can turn this truck around and point it in the direction of California and tell them how a Texas woman should be treated, if you want.”

  She shook her head and dashed the tear away. “Work is fine. I’m up for tenure.”

  “Then what’s making you cry?” Too much of a long day? How long had she been stuck in the heat, anyway? “Tell me so I can make it better.”

  Maggie turned toward him and twin droplets rolled down and dropped onto her blouse. She didn’t acknowledge them but tipped her chin up. “Are you going to tell me you don’t know why I am rushing home in the middle of the semester? Leaving with virtually no notice to head home to that benighted ranch my brother loves so much?”

  Baffled, he shifted gears and managed to get the truck up to highway speed with no more smoke and thunder. “No. I thought maybe for his birthday.”

  “Is that why you’re coming?” She sniffed and faced forward, where the long, flat road rolled off into the distance. “To…celebrate your mutual birthday like when you were kids?”

  “No, although it wouldn’t be a bad reason.” A bad feeling twisted his belly. For a good-tasting hamburger, it was sure coming back to haunt him. “Okay, I’ll play along. If you aren’t coming for birthday cake or just to hang out and enjoy some time with Baxter, why are you here?” He slapped the steering wheel, losing patience and uneasy. “What is going on? Are you sick?”

  Maggie dropped her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

  Will took off his hat and resettled it on his head, sure now he didn’t want to know what she was going to say, but nobody ever accused a Kyle of cowardice. “Tell me what, Maggie? Is something wrong with Baxter?”

  “He’s dying.”

  Chapter Three

  Maggie watched Will out of the corner of her eye. His square jaw moved back and forth. So he still ground his teeth when stressed. But the line across his forehead was new. He hadn’t replied, and they’d already covered half a county since she told him the news. But if Baxter hadn’t told him about his illness, he must be coming to surprise her brother for their birthday. What a horrible surprise she’d given him.

  She wanted to say something, anything to soften the blow of her words, but just as she hadn’t been able to think of a way to soften it before she said it, how could she now? They’d been buddies since birth, almost. Will’s dad had been foreman for Honeysuckle before his death, and the Kyle’s owned a small spread of their own just down the road. Well…the Kyles until his mom remarried when they were in high school and all the trouble started.

  The miles flew past and, as they approached Fort Mavis, she cleared her throat, determined to get him to say something. He wouldn’t do Baxter any good in shock. “I’m sorry, Will. I know he’s your best friend. He’s my best, my only, brother, and he didn’t even tell me until the other day.”

  “How long does he have?” Will never took his eyes from the road, the lengthening shadows from passing vehicles and roadside shrubbery or the occasional tree stretching out in the late afternoon creating a patchwork of light and dark. The light was different here, in late summer, than in California or anywhere else she’d been. It held a particular intensity she’d never known she missed until she came home and saw it again.

  “I don’t know, exactly, but not long. I’ll know more when we get there and I can talk to his doctor.”

  “How can he be dying? We’re not old. Just turning thirty. Even my dad lived longer, and he had a bum ticker. He just didn’t know it until too late.”

  “As I said, I don’t know much. Just that we’re looking at weeks rather than months and, according to him, they’ve tried everything, but the tumor is inoperable and did not respond to chemo or radiation at all. In fact, it seemed to grow faster before he told them to stop.” Maggie dug in her pocket for a tissue, but she’d used them all up on the drive from the airport. “Darn it.”

  A big white hankie dropped in her lap.

  “You still carry these? What are you, eighty?” But she gratefully used the soft cotton to mop her cheeks. “I remember how aggravated you always were when your mom made you tuck one in your pocket every day. You swore you’d burn them all as soon as you turned eighteen.”

  He smiled at her, but his eyes held infinite sadness as he piloted the truck toward the town. “You ended up with most of them anyway, always using them to wipe your glasses.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. You aren’t wearing glasses anymore. I thought contacts didn’t work for you.”

  “I can’t believe you just noticed.” What a relief to change the subject for a few minutes. They’d be at the ranch shortly and then the real pressure would come to bear. Just the approach had her nervous enough and brought up so many emotions, she wasn’t sure she had room in her head for accepting her brother, the only family she had left, would disappear from the face of the Earth within a matter of weeks.

  He might be here for his birthday, but he wouldn’t be for Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter. And instead of spending those days with him, for the past several years, she’d stayed in The City, the random single at other people’s holiday tables. The professor without a family of her own.

  She’d wasted years, and now she’d be alone for real.

  “Maggie?”

  “What? Oh, my eyes. No, I never could wear contacts either or I would have in high school instead of those awful glasses. I had laser surgery.” Her laughter was weak even to her, but he didn’t comment. “I looked bug-eyed.”

  “I liked your glasses.”

  She blinked. “You don’t have to say that. I know they weren’t attractive at all. But I got over it. I didn’t have surgery out of vanity.” Not entirely, anyway. “Turned out they were able to correct the muscles so my eyes work together now. I can even go to a 3-D movie. Pretty nifty, huh?”

  “You were mighty pretty then, sitting with a book in your lap and those big glasses trained on it. I always wondered what it would be like to be as smart as you.”

  His comments confused her but also were less than complimentary. He hadn’t been her boyfriend in nearly twelve years. Of course a cute fifteen-year-old was prettier than an aging professor of twenty-seven. And now she felt fifty. “Good to know you liked my looks…then.” Way to fish for compliments.

  After another mile or so of open country, they were passing through Fort Mavis. Not much changed in this town. Still small, still most of the same stores she remembered, and at least half a dozen familiar people strolling along the sidewalks. Not surprising. She shrank down in the seat, not prepared to be flagged down and drawn into a long conversation before she got to Baxter.

  “Maggie?” They moved back out onto the highway again, and Will shifted gears with a grind that made her wince. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to work on her, yet. But I will soon. What I wanted to say was, Maggie, you were pretty then, and smart, and I’m sure you’re still smart.” His hand left the gear and crept across the seat to enfold hers. The contact sent her nerves zinging. She’d never been able to think when he touched her.

  She tugged on her hand, but not very hard. She’d also never been able to let go. Until she moved away. As had he. Most of her awareness centered on their joined hands, she concentrated on breathing in and out, evenly, not letting her fluttering heart steal her common sense. Of course she reacted. He’d been the first guy she held hands with. Her first kiss. Her first everything.

  The infatuated girl in her who still dwelled deep inside her, the one who’d never let go, sq
ueed, just as she had the first time she’d linked their fingers, as they sat on her front porch swing. She’d been about seven and sworn she’d marry him. Out loud. Her cheeks heated at the memory. Her brother had burst out the door then, with two handfuls of cookies, and Will had yanked his hand away and hidden it under his leg as if that would make sure his best buddy never found out he liked an icky girl.

  He hadn’t thought of her as icky years later. Professor McAfee, guru of all fiction ancient and irrelevant, stared down at their hands and tried to be logical. How many couples in literary history made the same mistake? Choosing the wrong partner led to death by poison or sometimes by the sword. So why wasn’t she slipping her hand out from under his? Letting him know she had no interest whatsoever in starting up another relationship with no future? His thumb stroking her palm sent licks of flame up her arms. This is going to end in disaster. As did every one of the stories she covered in her favorite class. How morbid am I?

  “Maggie, I can’t get anything right anymore. I meant you are still smart but, now, instead of pretty, you are beautiful.”

  Cocking her head, she took in his hopeful expression and breathed in the scent of pine and sandalwood. Same cologne he’d worn since his sophomore year. “Will, it’s fine. We have to deal with Baxter. I’m sorry your birthday surprise has fallen flat.”

  “Surprise? I’m not…”

  Instead of heading for the main gate, he paused at the small entrance at the back of the ranch and she hopped out to open it. Passenger duty, to open and close the gates, although a few of the more frou-frou cheerleader types would wait for their boyfriend to do it all for them. The gate presented a shortcut for those who knew of it.

  She’d told Baxter many times it was too far from the house and the barns for anyone to keep an eye on, but he pointed out anyone who wanted on the ranch that badly could just knock down a section of fencing, anyway, and the gate took a mile off the route from Fort Mavis in good weather. In bad, the dirt road was just short of impassable.