Tangled Up in Texas

by Delores Fossen

But Sunny wasn’t counting on scenery to do that. No. Along with the dark hole, she was also going to have to stave off other blues over Ryan basically leaving the nest. She wanted him to do that, wanted him to get started making his own life, but the blues would come. There’d be tears. And Sunny had a plan for that.

  She thought about the brochure she’d printed out. The start of that plan.

  “After I drop Ryan off, I need to make a quick trip to Houston to check on my condo,” she added. That wasn’t a lie. Nor was it completely the truth. “I’ll drive back here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I can go with you and help Ryan get settled.”

  It was a generous offer. One that she didn’t have to think about declining because Sunny had already made up her mind about this. “This isn’t a good time for you to be away from Kinsley. How is she, by the way?”

  “Still hurting,” he admitted after a long pause. “But she’ll be okay.”

  Yes, she would, because Kinsley would soon learn that while she had awful parents, she also had the best support system in Texas. She had her Jameson siblings and Lenore. In this case, it wasn’t going to take a village to raise a child but rather a family, and Kinsley had family in spades.

  “I don’t want you to give up your art,” he said several moments later. “I don’t want this mess with Marty to make you believe you don’t have talent.”

  “Shaw.” Sunny sighed again. Along with knowing all of her erogenous zones—he also knew where her deepest wounds were. “Please don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’m working that out.”

  Again, it was only a partial lie, and she had another glance at the paper shreds in Slackers’s pen. She could still make out some pencil marks and swirls that’d once been Slackers, but she was counting on Em’s pet duck to remedy that. Soon, there’d be no physical trace of these particular pages that’d spun off from the props, scripts and Marty’s pity.

  “Gotta go,” she added after checking the time. “Ryan and I will be leaving soon.” Not for a couple of hours actually, but she needed to pack a few things. “I’ll call you once I’m on my way to Houston.”

  “Good. Call me before that, too. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Shaw added.

  She ended the call, gave Slackers—who was living up to his name—a firm warning to “do his business,” and she went back inside.

  Em was at the kitchen window and obviously had been watching her. She’d also been listening to music. The moment Sunny stepped inside, Em tugged the earphones from her ears and pulled Sunny into a hug. “Did the duck poop on the papers yet?”

  Sunny hadn’t told Em what she’d done, but she wasn’t surprised that Em had figured it out. The antique shredder that she’d found in what had once been Sunshine’s office was loud enough that Em probably heard it even over her music.

  “Not yet,” Sunny answered. “Soon though.” Well, unless Slackers found another spot for his toileting. That was a possibility since the duck wasn’t confined in the Moses basket and could waddle elsewhere.

  Em pulled back but kept her grip on Sunny’s arms to hold her in place. “Marty always could cause trouble, even in an empty house.”

  Sunny wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it had to be some expression of sympathy for her since that’s all she’d been getting lately. Even from Em.

  “Tell me a joke,” Em said, causing Sunny to automatically frown. “I know you don’t like to do them, but I could use a good laugh.”

  “Well, you won’t get it from one of my jokes.” It was yet something else she hadn’t been good at. It’d simply been another prop. Still, Em was obviously waiting. “What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Then, Sunny provided the punch line. “A stick.”

  As she’d done for more than two and a half decades, Em laughed. What she didn’t do was let go of Sunny.

  “Did I ever tell you that before I met your granddad, I once took a shine to a man who was in the Mafia?” Em asked.

  Believing this was Em’s start to a joke, Sunny shook her head. “I haven’t heard this one before.” And it stood a 100 percent chance of being funnier than the one Sunny had just told.

  “Well, I did. I loved that man to the moon and back, but he was bad. Not bad like Marty, but more in the way you’d expect from someone in the Mafia. Anyway,” Em went on after a long breath, “it didn’t work out between us. I had to leave him, and I ended up meeting your granddad. If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have you, your sisters or your brother.”

  Sunny picked through each word to find the life lesson that Em was obviously trying to give her. “Is this about my art or Shaw?”

  Em beamed as if that were the best question ever. “That’s for you to decide.” Em kissed her cheek. “But my advice—don’t get involved with a Mafia guy. No matter what the experts tell you, vinegar doesn’t get blood out of clothes.”

  She gave Sunny a there-there pat on the arm and walked away as if she’d just handed her the secret to happiness instead of the confusing comment with the equally confusing blood thing thrown in. That’s for you to decide wasn’t some new revelation to solve all her problems. For that matter, neither was the Mafia part.

  Still mentally scratching her head, Sunny went toward the stairs to check on Ryan. The house smelled like lavender, a sign that Bernice had come and likely gone. For such a sour woman, she certainly left the place clean and smelling sweet. Before Sunny even made it to the stairs, Ryan came down, carrying a suitcase that he set on the floor.

  “Kinsley wants to know if I can come over and say goodbye,” he said. “I asked Em earlier, and she said I could use her truck just in case you needed your SUV.”

  “Sure.” Sunny paused. “Are you okay with saying goodbye to her and vice versa?”

  He nodded, and when she looked for signs that this goodbye would be another upheaval for him, she didn’t see any. “Kinsley and I are just friends, and we’ll stay friends.” Ryan paused. “Are you leaving Shaw? Is that why you’re going to Houston after you drop me off at the dorm?”

  While some parts of her plan were still in the to-be-determined stage, this wasn’t one of them. “No, I’m not leaving Shaw. And I’ll be back. I want to be here for Em,” she explained. “But you should know that just because I’m not leaving Shaw, it doesn’t mean he and I will stay together.”

  Ryan didn’t seem the least bit surprised by that. “Does that have something to do with the brochure you printed out? I saw it next to your overnight bag,” he added. “The one for the Emerson Fertility Clinic in Houston?”

  Sunny had intended to talk to him about this on the drive, but she could start the discussion now. “I have an appointment there tomorrow morning. I want to find out what the process is for artificial insemination.” A few seconds crawled by. “Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure,” he answered rapidly, but he wasn’t so quick on the next part. “If that’s what you want.” Ryan’s forehead bunched up. “Does that mean you’d have the baby here?”

  “Probably.” That would also lead to her selling her condo and finding a new job. Thankfully, the sale of the condo and her savings would give her some breathing room. But the whole job thing was part of the “to be determined.” Maybe she could do website designs or become an art teacher. Or even open a small bookstore.

  What she wouldn’t do was any more illustrations.

  And just thinking of that caused a little piece of her to die.

  “Go ahead and see Kinsley,” she said. Sunny wanted him out of there in case she started crying again.

  Ryan gave her a long look, followed by a long breath. “I won’t be long.” He kissed her cheek and hurried out.

  Sunny stood there a moment trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Neither her throat nor the lump cooperated, so she decided to go back out to the barn to check on Slackers. She doubted anyone had ever gotten cheer
ed up from the sight of duck crap, but she thought it might help her.

  She went out through the side door, but the moment Sunny stepped onto the porch, someone grabbed her from behind and yanked something over her head.

  Her heart jumped to her throat.

  Oh, God. Was this some kind of mugging?

  She managed the start of a scream before she felt the slam of adrenaline. She couldn’t see, but her instincts screamed for her to defend herself. She blindly rammed her elbow into her attacker, connecting with what felt like his gut, and she back kicked him in the shin.

  He howled.

  She elbowed and kicked him again. With Ryan and Bernice gone, and with Em likely using her headphones, it was possible no one was going to hear her and call for help. She had to do it herself. She got in another elbow and another kick, aiming for his other shin this time.

  Cursing and howling, the man—and it was a man—let go of her. Sunny ripped whatever it was off her head. A pillowcase, she realized. And she whirled around to face her attacker.

  It was Hugh.

  That registered about a half second after she punched him in the face. He howled again and the blood flew from his nose.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sunny snarled.

  Hugh snarled something similar, adding, “You punched me.”

  “And you grabbed me and put a pillowcase over my head. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Despite the bloody nose, he still managed to give her an indignant look. “I was thinking that I needed to talk to you, and you won’t take my calls.”

  Her pulse was still racing, but it was going at a snail’s pace compared to the jolt of anger she got. “Because I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “But you need to hear what I have to say. That’s why I parked up the road and walked here. I didn’t want you to have a chance to lock yourself inside and not see me. You need to hear what I have to say,” he repeated.

  “No, I don’t. God, have you lost your mind?”

  Some of the indignation left, and he seemed to be considering how he could put a spin on her question. “Yes, I have lost my mind. I’m crazy over you.”

  She smacked him on the arm with the pillowcase. “You’re crazy, period, if you think this would get me to change my mind. What were you planning on doing—kidnapping me?”

  His silence let her know that had indeed been the plan. “I just thought if I could get you somewhere alone, that we could talk. And that you would listen to reason. Kidnapping you seemed to be the only way I could convince you to come back to me.”

  Her anger went well past the boiling point, and Sunny stepped back because, heaven help her, she was about to slug him again. “Go away and leave me alone, Hugh.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  At least that’s what she thought he said. It was hard to tell because at that moment there was a series of very loud, high-pitched squawks. She looked over her shoulder to see Slackers waddling—fast—toward them. Sunny figured that the duck wasn’t actually coming after Hugh, but it certainly looked like a mean, feathered ninja. Hugh must have thought so, too, because he actually jumped back.

  “Careful, he bites,” Sunny warned Hugh. It wasn’t as satisfying as a punch, but she liked the horrified look in his eyes.

  “Ducks can bite?” he asked.

  At that exact moment Slackers flew onto the porch and right in Hugh’s face. The side door did some flying, too. It opened and a broom came out, smacking Hugh on the back of his head.

  Em.

  Apparently, she’d heard the commotion after all.

  “You’re not kidnapping my granddaughter,” Em declared, and she hit him again. Hugh couldn’t do much to stop her, not with Slackers pecking the crap out of the fingers he was using to shelter his face.

  Sunny let the punishment go on a few more seconds before she caught the broom to stop Em. “It’s okay, Gran.” Sunny tried to sound a lot calmer than she felt so she could defuse this situation. She didn’t want Em to pull a muscle or have a heart attack.

  Sunny was a little more cautious getting Slackers to stop. The duck was clearly agitated, and she didn’t want to become his secondary pecking target. She gently took hold of him and kissed the top of his feathered head because, well, that seemed like the thing to do. In a weird, flattering way, he had tried to save her.

  “Go poop in your pen,” she instructed, and set Slackers on the ground before she whirled back around to Hugh. “If you pull another stupid stunt like this, I’ll have Leyton arrest you. And I’ll set my duck on you.”

  Hugh opened his mouth as if he was about to justify his stupid stunt, but he must have realized that this was one war he’d lost. With his shoulders slumped and his nose bleeding like a tap, Hugh limped off the porch holding his hand over his sore gut. However, he didn’t go anywhere near Slackers who was still in the yard and giving him a version of the beady eye.

  “It’s okay,” Sunny repeated to Em. “Just go back inside. I’ll make sure Hugh actually leaves.”

  Em checked her over from head to toe and looked in the yard to do the same to Slackers. Her grandmother finally gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll get Slackers some treats for being such a good boy.”

  “Good.” That would not only be a reward, but it might also cause him to finally soil those shredded papers.

  Sunny went into the yard and headed toward the front of the house. She didn’t hear a car engine to indicate Hugh was leaving, but he had said that he’d parked up the road.

  “What an idiot,” she grumbled. Why he thought that abducting her would make her more amenable, she didn’t know, but maybe he’d finally gotten the message that she was done with him.

  Still mumbling to herself, Sunny reached the front corner of the house. Just as someone jumped out and snagged her by the wrist. Her first thought—a very angry first thought—was that it was Hugh. It wasn’t.

  It was Marty.

  “Don’t scream, darlin’,” he begged. “I just need to talk to you, and you won’t take my calls.”

  Since she’d heard similar words only seconds before and she still had some adrenaline and anger pumping, she smacked Marty on the arm with the pillowcase. “Let go of me. Are you trying to kidnap me, too?”

  He blinked, then nodded. “Sort of. I just wanted to make you sit down and listen to me.”

  She smacked his other arm with the pillowcase, and even though it probably hadn’t hurt much, he let go of her as if she’d scalded him. That perhaps had something to do with the low guttural sound she made in her throat.

  “Darlin’, did, uh, you just growl at me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said through completely clenched teeth. “And I can and will set a killer duck on you.”

  After a couple of seconds displaying a confused expression, Marty nodded again and seemed considerably calmer than she did. Considerably sorrier, too. What he wasn’t was pissed off. However, he might have been a little confused if he hadn’t seen the way Slackers had gone after Hugh.

  “Please just listen,” he said.

  She supposed he’d added that please and omitted the teeth-grinding darlin’ to get his way and have her stand there while he spouted some lame excuse. Sunny shook her head, turned and walked back the way she’d come.

  “I just want you to look at this,” Marty called out to her. “One look, and if you still want me to leave you alone, I will.”

  Even though she wanted her feet to keep walking, she stopped. “If it’s a first edition of Slackers Quackers, be prepared to eat it because that’s the kind of mood I’m in.”

  “It’s not Slackers Quackers,” he said. She heard his footsteps behind her. Heard him stop, too, and pull something from his shirt. “That’s why I asked for you to be the illustrator for my stories.”

  She didn’t want to see anything he wa
s offering her, but Sunny looked. And her heart melted a little. It was a sketch of Marty and Shaw, one that she’d done during one of Marty’s visits back to the ranch. Shaw and he were at the corral, their poses identical while they looked at a mare. There was absolutely nothing special about the sketch.

  Or so she wanted to tell him.

  But even now through the filters of the anger, she could see that she’d captured something. A moment between father and son. A rare moment. Which was why she’d sketched it. Marty had always been kind to her, and she’d wanted him to have that memory.

  “I hadn’t actually written a story yet when you drew this,” he went on. “But, darlin’, I could see you had talent. Heart,” he amended. “So, when I did get around to doing the Slackers Quackers story, I wanted you to do the illustrations.”

  Sunny kept her back to him, but she had questions. Big ones. “Why didn’t you tell me you were J.B. Whitman?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone. I hardly have the sort of background that’s ideal for being a beloved children’s author. Ironic, isn’t it, that such a bad father can do something like this?”

  It was many steps past irony, and because she was starting to lose her anger edge, she looked away from the sketch. “You didn’t tell Aurora that you hired me because you felt sorry for me?”

  “I did feel sorry for you,” Marty readily admitted. “You had parents who were worse than me, and that’s saying something. Something bad. I know I’m a shitty person.”

  Sunny whirled around to face him. “Why? Why are you such a shitty person?” she amended when he gave her a blank stare.

  He shrugged as if the answer was obvious. And painful. “Because it pushes people away. It pushes my kids away.” Marty groaned softly. “It just feels like too much having a kid’s life in your hands. Being responsible for them. Not just the food in their mouths but for everything. Doing one wrong thing can mess them up for life.”

  “Yes, and that one wrong thing could be not being there,” she quickly pointed out. “And if it’s so overwhelming, why not just use birth control?”

  “I do. Most of the time.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s like a cycle. I start to get depressed at what I’ve done so I push it down as far as it’ll go. Women help with that. I really like women,” he added, as if that were some kind of revelation.