But neither one of them wanted to. Cal faced a busy calving season and John was the best horse trainer in the county. Ed had been at a stock sale when he'd dropped dead of a heart attack after bidding on a fine herd of mares destined for greatness—or at least the start of a quarter horse breeding program. John had taken the whole thing pretty hard, not coming out of his small home east of the bunkhouse for three days after the cremation.
Now they had eight new mares and no boss.
At least, no boss they'd met yet. Oh, a lawyer and some bank people had roamed around the place and taken a lot of notes, asked a few questions and driven back to Austin in their fancy SUVs, but there'd been no word from anyone since.
"He had a kid," John said, easing his bulk onto a bale of hay. He stretched out his legs and winced. "Did I ever tell you that?"
"No, but I saw a picture in his room one time." About four years ago he'd caught his boss holding a picture—the kind with a black plastic frame and cardboard on the back. Ed had been staring at that photo as if he was trying to fit himself inside the thing. Cal caught a glimpse of a pretty girl in a graduation cap before Ed put the picture back in his dresser drawer.
"Yeah?"
"A girl."
"I dunno," John sighed. "He never said much about it."
Cal could understand that. There were some things better kept quiet, like picking up a strangely vulnerable woman in a bar, ending up in a motel and then—disaster. He still winced whenever he remembered that night. She'd been sweet and wild and he'd been hot and stupid. Of course it had ended up in a mess, convincing Cal that he had been right to avoid the complications that came with women. Like flies on horses, problems buzzing everywhere.
"No wonder monks look so damn peaceful."
"Huh?" John stared at him. "Monks? You don't know any monks. What the hell are you talkin' about, son?"
"Just thinking out loud," he explained. "There was a show about monks on the History Channel last night."
"Not natural," the old man grumbled. "All those men living together and not talking."
"Without women," Cal added, unwillingly remembering the oddest Valentine's Day he'd ever experienced.
"I'll bet they don't have TV, either." John hauled himself off the hay bale and headed for the barn door. "It's just not natural."
"Yeah." Cal couldn't help chuckling at the old man's disgust. "No football, basketball, baseball—"
"No ESPN," John muttered. "Them monks don't know what they're missing. I'm heading home. Got a stew in the Crock-Pot that's enough for both of us, if you want."
"Thanks, but I'm all set. I've got cows to check on before I call it a night."
"You need help?"
He shook his head. "Go on. I feel like a drive, that's all."
The old man hesitated before stepping into the rainy darkness. "You can get a job anywhere, Cal. Good men like you are hard to find."
"I'm not worried." But he was. After twenty years, the Triple J had become home. Cal wasn't looking forward to starting over.
* * *
After reading through most of the paperwork given to her by her father's lawyer, Addie came to realize that just because she had inherited a great deal of property didn't mean that her financial problems were over. Oh, there was some money in her father's bank accounts, but she'd have to wait until some of the land was sold before she had extra cash.
"Sell it all," her mother said, eyeing the array of legal papers spread across the kitchen table. "Buy yourself a nice three-bedroom town house. Round Rock has good schools, you know. Make yourself a home, honey. Lord knows you deserve some good fortune. Make the most of it."
"I can't just put everything up for sale, not without looking at it first."
"Sure you can." Paula popped open a can of diet cola and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Call a real estate agent and give her the list of properties and the current evaluations. Let someone else take care of this."
"I want to see the ranch."
"Why?"
"It's where my father lived." She shrugged. "I guess I'm curious."
Her mother sighed. "I suppose I'd be curious, too, if I were in your shoes. What Eddie's done, and where he was all these years, has sure been a mystery. And to think he was only seventy or so miles away. I could have passed him on the streets of Austin and never known it."
"So you'll go?"
"Go?" Paula frowned, creasing an otherwise unlined forehead. She looked younger than her fifty-three years. Her gray-streaked blond hair was cut to chin length, her skin held few wrinkles and her blue eyes usually shone with good humor. She could talk a blue streak, but Addie knew that her mother's common sense had successfully gotten her through a life that hadn't been easy.
"Go with us to see the Triple J. That's its name."
"When? I can't take any more days off right now."
"Saturday, then. We'll take the boys and make an adventure out of it. I've been doing a lot of thinking this afternoon," Addie said, motioning for her mother to sit down. The boys, watching Sesame Street
in the living room, were finally content to sit still for ten minutes. And Addie, now that her stomach had settled down, had convinced herself once again that she simply had a touch of the flu.
"It's a wonder you can concentrate, being sick and all," her mother said, clearing a place at the small table.
"I'm feeling fine now, Mom. Look—" Addie pointed to the list of assets "—this should belong to you. All of it. It's not fair that my father left everything to me."
"Of course it is." Paula's eyes filled with tears. "It's more fair than anything I can think of. Who deserves the money more?"
"You do. I say we split this, fifty-fifty."
"No. I have my job and my condo, and I'm fine. I don't need anything from Eddie Johanson at this stage of my life. What matters is that you and the boys have a secure future now."
"I would rather have had a father." She sighed, remembering how thrilled Jack had been when she'd told him she was pregnant. "And now my boys don't have one, either."
"You'll marry again," her mother assured her. "You're still young. You'll meet someone."
"Someone who wants to be a father to someone else's kids?" Addie thought of the tall man at Billy's. He'd had kind eyes and the kind of face that a woman liked looking at, not too handsome and not too cute. His body had been lean and strongly muscled, and his large hands knew how to touch a woman. He'd used a condom. He'd used a condom. There was no reason to think there was anything wrong with her that chicken soup and saltine crackers couldn't fix.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
"Next stop, Nowhere!" Addie turned to make sure that the boys hadn't wriggled out of their seat belts or car seats. Her sons were stocky versions of their father, with light brown hair and eyes. They grinned at her, though Ian's smile was wider than Matt's. Younger by two minutes, Matthew was the one who liked to think things over and take his time deciding on things. Rambunctious Ian usually led the way, but if his twin decided on an opposite game or venture, he invariably gave in. Matthew was nothing if not stubborn.
Like his father, whose last words to his wife, on his cell phone, had been, "Don't worry. I'm fine." And he'd fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed into a tree. So much for being careful. And so much for promises.
"You look terrible," Paula grumbled, adjusting her sunglasses. "You're not sleeping well, again, are you?"
"No," Addie confessed. "There's a lot to think about." Like what the ranch would look like, and if she would want to live there. And should she buy a pregnancy test. She'd lain awake for the past two nights wondering what would happen next. At least she didn't have to worry about having enough money. Yet she worried about making stupid mistakes with what she'd inherited.
"I know you've got a lot on your mind, honey, but take it one thing at a time. That's what you've done since Jack died, and you've done real well."
"Thanks." But she didn't think that "one day a
t a time" stuff worked for everything. It didn't help insomnia, and it wasn't going to help with a pile of legal papers and the death of a father she'd never known. And it wasn't going to make any magic if she was unmarried and pregnant and didn't know the father's name—and didn't want to. What was she supposed to tell her family? Her mother was going to have a stroke. And her kids weren't old enough to ask questions now, but someday they'd want to know where their little brother or sister had come from.
Why, from Billy's bar, on Highway 35, she'd say. A lot of Texas babies come from there.
"First you look at this ranch, get it out of your system. And then you put those building lots—where are they?"
"San Marcos."
"Fine. San Marcos. I told you two nights ago, you put those up for sale and then you buy yourself a nice, new car."
"We're both buying new cars, Mom."
"I don't want Eddie's money, Adelaide."
"You're going to refuse a gift from your daughter?" She grinned at her mother, who didn't return the smile.
"Yes, I most certainly am." She unfolded a Texas map that was on the seat. "How far away is this place?"
"A little over seventy miles."
"Good heavens. If you actually decide to move there, that'll put an end to my babysitting."
"No, it won't, because you're moving with me."
"You're full of nonsense."
"You've said a thousand times that you're tired of Austin and the traffic. And you can't wait until you retire from teaching. You've said that a thousand times, too."
"Well," Paula grumbled, "that doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of cows."
"Who said anything about cows?"
"It's a ranch, sweetheart. Cows are what make ranches, well, ranches."
"Neither one of us knows anything about ranching, Mom. But it might be a great place to raise the boys, as long as it's not too far from a town."
"Well, don't get your hopes up." Paula tossed the map aside and frowned at the traffic. "If Eddie had money to buy property and stocks, he sure wasn't putting money into keeping a nice house. He pinched every penny he had, right down to our honeymoon. My folks gave us a real nice party in the church basement, cake and punch and little sandwiches, and then off we went, in Eddie's old Buick. It broke down before we got to San Antonio, so we spent the next two days in a motel next to an auto body shop so Ed could do the work on the car himself."
"You never told me that before."
"To this day, I can't stand the smell of car grease." She made a face. "Reminds me of my honeymoon."
Addie couldn't help laughing, which she suspected was exactly what her mother had in mind. "Did you ever get to San Antonio?"
"No. But I did get pregnant."
"I guess being a father scared him?"
"Truly?" Paula shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I never really understood him. We were as different as night and day. So one day, when you were about two, we had another argument and he walked out. I thought he'd gone to cool off somewhere, you know, get a beer and calm down, the way he always did. But I never saw him again."
"Not even for the divorce?"
"Not even then. No one knew where the man went off to. If I'd known he was still in Texas, I would have hunted him down and made him explain himself. But then again, he wasn't much for explaining things. I thought he was the strong, silent type, and then the 'silent' part was what was so hard on the marriage. That man wasn't much of a talker."
"I wonder how he died. Did the lawyer say?"
"No." Paula sighed. "I guess I should have thought to ask."
"I think we were in shock that morning."
"Well, sweetie, I'm sure we'll get all the answers you want when we get to Nowhere." She shook her head. "What a name!"
But Nowhere, to their surprise, turned out to be a pleasant-looking town. Antique stores lined the main street, along with one large restaurant, two coffee shops and an array of quaint storefronts that housed lawyers, a shoe store, bank, post office and bakery. A large town hall stood on one corner, surrounded by green lawn and sidewalks, and at the edge of town was a Dairy Queen.
"So far so good," Addie said, realizing that she hadn't seen a tall, muscular, rancher-type man with dark hair walking down the sidewalk. Maybe she really would never see him again. Or maybe he didn't live in Nowhere at all. And if she was very lucky—which she wasn't, of course—he would have moved to Alaska. Her mother thought she was commenting on the looks of the town.
"I see school signs, but no school." Paula turned to reassure her grandsons that she would buy them ice cream later on, but only if they were very good. "How much farther is this ranch of yours?"
"Only six or seven miles."
"You think real long and hard before deciding to move way out here," her mother said. "Don't make any hasty decisions."
"I won't," Addie promised. The last hasty decision she'd made resulted in morning sickness. One of these days she was going to have to buy a pregnancy test kit and find out, once and for all, what was going on with her body. But Addie knew that as soon as she did that, she could be faced with something she wasn't ready to explain. She let the thought of having a little girl in pink ruffles float through her brain, and reached into her purse for another saltine cracker.
* * *
Of course Addie fell in love with the house. Paula watched her daughter's face light up when she stepped out of the car and saw the old, three-story, gabled monstrosity. It needed paint. It probably needed a new roof. And if the outside was any indication of the inside, it was going to need an army of carpenters and repairmen.
But Paula saw her daughter's expression and kept quiet. She hadn't seen such a look of happiness in years. And Addie, who loved nothing more than painting and papering and decorating, who watched the design shows on HGTV, who had owned not one but three doll houses when she was a child, was already imagining the house when it was restored.
Paula hid a sigh. So this is where Eddie had lived and died. Maybe he was even buried here. It was the kind of place that looked like it would have a family cemetery. If so, she would put flowers on his grave, as she'd forgiven him long ago. Sort of.
"Mom, look at the porch." Addie was pointing to a mammoth addition on the south side of the house. "Won't the boys love playing on that?"
"We'd better see what condition it's in first," Paula said, imagining splinters and rusty nails and trips to the emergency room of the local hospital, if there was such a thing.
But Addie was examining the key ring given to her by the round-faced lawyer. "I can't wait to see the inside. I think the front door key is this one."
"Go on," Paula said. "I'll get the boys and follow you in a minute." She turned to smile at her handsome grandsons. "You were very good boys today," she told them. "Grandma's gonna buy you some ice cream on the way home."
"Yay!" Ian shrieked, while Matthew was busy unbuckling his seat belt. Paula managed to get them out of the car, eventually, though she wondered when seat belts and car seats had gotten so damned complicated.
Addie was already inside, so Paula took each boy by the hand and led them up the stone steps to the wide porch.
"Is anybody home?" Matt wanted to know, peering through the open door.
"Is this a school?"
"No, this is a house, and no one lives here. Not right now." And, from the looks of the front hall, whoever lived here hadn't spent much money making it look nice. That answered the question of whether Eddie had ever married again.
"Mom?" Addie poked her head out from around a corner. "You have to see the parlor."
"I'm sure I do." She kept her grip on the boys' little hands and turned right, into a large room that looked as if it hadn't been occupied since Texas declared statehood. The light fixture, a Victorian marvel of glass and bronze, was the only thing in the room aside from an ornate woodstove with its chimney disappearing into the outside wall. The rest of the downstairs was similar—bare, dusty rooms with no furnitu
re, and drapes hanging in shreds at the long windows. The floors were made of large pine boards, and the walls held fading floral paper. A large bathroom boasted pink and black tiles and a claw-foot tub. One room with a fireplace, that must have served as Eddie's living area, had a battered green recliner and a large television set.
"Your father sprung for cable," Paula said. "Imagine that."
"Well, we can see why he had money to buy land." Addie's hands were on her hips, and Matt leaned against her leg.
"I'm afraid to look in the kitchen."
"No kidding." Her daughter headed to a door that Paula guessed would lead to the Room From Hell. "Brace yourself."
"I'll breathe through my mouth." But she almost forgot to breathe at all when she entered the largest kitchen she'd ever seen. The room was an enormous rectangle, with a long counter, stove and sink lined up on two of the walls, along with two refrigerators that were probably older than Addie. A wide farm table dominated the room, surrounded by wooden chairs of various shapes and styles.
"It looks like something out of a magazine," Addie said, obviously meaning it as a compliment, from the awed look on her face. Paula decided not to comment, because Matt let go of her hand and climbed onto one of the chairs.
"Cool!" Ian followed him and the two of them sat at the large table grinning at the devoted women in their lives. "Is it lunchtime yet?"
"Who lives here?" Matt wanted to know, eyeing the hunting rifles mounted beside the back door.
"No one," his mother said, reaching for him. "Let's go upstairs and see what's there."
They had passed a wide staircase in the front hall, but a narrow set of stairs lay to the right of the back door. Paula followed the boys and Addie up the stairs to the second floor, which was hot and stuffy. She counted five bedrooms and one bathroom. Each bedroom had its own pedestal sink, as if the place had been an inn at one time.
Another set of stairs led to another hall with three more bedrooms and another bathroom, plus a narrow set of stairs Addie predicted led to an attic.
"We'll save the attic for another time," she said. "I just want to take it all in and picture myself living here."
MADE IN TEXAS Page 3
