Читать книгу Homeward Bound - Marin Thomas - Страница 11

Oh, hell.

Royce hefted the last hay bale into his truck bed, then stopped to watch the cloud of dust trailing the Ford pickup that barreled toward the barn. After checking on the cattle this morning, he’d called the fire inspector and received permission to have the damaged trailer hauled to the dump. The inspector had officially closed the case, declaring Melvin Henderson’s death accidental. Royce had hoped he’d get out of here before his nosy foreman returned from an overnight visit with his ailing sister. No such luck.

Guilt nagged him at the uncharitable thought. Luke was like family. The foreman had hired on at the ranch ten years ago when Royce’s uncle had been diagnosed with cancer and been given only a few months to live. At the time Luke was fifty-five. Royce’s uncle had died in August, and the following winter his aunt had succumbed to pneumonia. After Royce had buried his aunt, he’d insisted Luke move out of the small room at the back of the barn and into the main house.

The truck came to a stop next to the corral. As soon as Luke opened the door, his old hound dog, Bandit, hopped down from the front seat. Tail wagging, the animal hurried toward Royce as fast as his arthritic legs would carry him.

Royce scratched Bandit’s ear. “How’s Martha feeling?”

“Spry as a spring chick.” Luke grumbled a four-letter word. “There wasn’t nothin’ wrong with the woman in the first place. Just lonely is all. No wonder she ain’t never married all these years. Can’t keep her trap shut for nothin’. Yakkin’ about this, yakkin’ about that. I had to get out of there before my ears shriveled up and fell off my head.”

Luke and Martha were twins, and Martha took great pleasure in bossing her brother around. Royce swallowed a laugh at the disgruntled expression on his foreman’s face, then suggested, “Why don’t you invite her to stay at the ranch for the summer. We’ve got plenty of room.”

“Hell, no! You think I want that old biddy askin’ me if I got fresh drawers on every mornin’?” Luke pulled a pouch of Skoal from the front pocket of his overalls. “How’d Heather take the news?”

“Better than I’d hoped.” He hadn’t expected her to feel much of anything at learning of her father’s death. Then he’d caught the glimmer of tears in her baby blues. The lost expression on her face had convinced him that she’d been deeply affected. He supposed no matter what kind of relationship Heather and her father had had over the years, a part of her had always yearned for his love.

“She comin’ home after graduatin’?”

“She won’t be graduating next week.” Royce slammed the tailgate shut and wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his threadbare jeans. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss Heather Henderson with anybody—not even Luke.

Last night had been hell. He’d returned from College Station right around midnight and had fallen into bed exhausted and agitated. He’d lain awake for hours, tossing and turning, his insides and outsides tied in knots.

After his accident three years ago, he’d have sworn he had put Heather behind him. Heck, he’d even had a couple of affairs. A summer fling with a tourist and an off-and-on thing with a local divorcée, whom he’d probably still be seeing if she hadn’t taken a job in Arizona.

But one glimpse at Heather—just one glimpse—and all the feelings for her that he’d thought long dead and buried had rushed to the surface, stunning him with their intensity.

After shoving a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, Luke offered Bandit a small pinch and the dog ran off and buried it beneath the sugar maple tree by the front porch. “How come she ain’t gettin’ her degree?”

“She still has a couple of classes to finish, first.”

“After that, is she comin’ home?”

“Nope.” Not if he had his way. Royce marched toward the barn and the old fart followed him like a pesky fly.

“Full of ‘nopes’ lately, ain’t you.”

“Yep.”

Luke stopped inside the barn doors. “You ain’t said how she was?”

“She’s fine.” Royce searched through the junk in the corner for a bushel basket. Fine didn’t come close to describing Heather. She was more than fine. She was beautiful, full of energy and life, and she possessed a new self-confidence that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her.

“Just fine, huh?”

“Yep.” He knew he was being an ass. But he couldn’t seem to find the words to tell Luke about Heather’s desire to work with children. About how right she’d looked sprawled on the floor buried under a pile of preschoolers. He couldn’t tell Luke that it had almost physically hurt to watch her wrestle with the kids.

Luke had been the one to find Royce lying unconscious alongside the road. Royce had awakened from surgery and the doctor had given him the bad news. In his own way, Luke had grieved along with Royce. And when the time had come to stop grieving and move on, Luke had been the one to plant his boot heel in Royce’s backside and force him out of his depression, and back into the world of the living.

Compelled to say more, Royce added, “Heather seemed excited about getting her degree at the end of the summer.”

“What kind of degree?”

“In counseling, psychology to be exact. She plans to work with disadvantaged kids.”

Bandit barked somewhere outside the barn and Luke hollered at him to hush. “What about the funeral?”

“There isn’t going to be a funeral.”

“Why not?”

“Heather doesn’t want one.”

“Can’t blame the poor gal.”

“I spoke with Pastor Gates, and he’s agreed to say a few words about Henderson during the service on Sunday.”

“Don’t deserve much more.”

No argument there. Melvin Henderson had been a first-class loser. He hadn’t had a nice word for anyone the whole time he’d been alive.

A stream of tobacco juice sailed past Royce’s face.

“How long ago did that gal start college?” asked Luke.

“Seven years.”

The geezer made a whistling sound as he sucked in air through the gap between his front teeth. “Least she didn’t up and quit on you.”

Pride surged through Royce. When Heather had chosen college over juvenile detention, he’d never expected her to last more than a semester or two. “You’re right. She might have taken her sweet time, but she didn’t quit.” He shoved aside several wooden crates, until he found a dented basket; then he carried it to the other side of the barn, where the freshly picked garden vegetables were stored.

Switching the ball of chew to his other cheek, Luke motioned to the loaded pickup. “I thought you was ridin’ fence today.”

“Change of plans. I’m meeting with a Realtor to put the feed store on the market.”

“Ain’t that Heather’s business?”

Should be. Heather might have done some growing up since going away to college, but she still ran the opposite direction when faced with the big R—responsibility. “She doesn’t want anything to do with the store.”

“Don’t seem right.”

Where Heather was concerned, nothing was ever as it seemed. If Royce were honest with himself—something he tried to avoid at all costs in order to keep his sanity—he’d admit Heather had left a void in his life when she’d gone off to college. Prior to that, his weeks had been filled with chasing after her, righting her wrongs, fixing her mistakes. When she’d graduated high school and moved to College Station his life had become…well, dull.

“It’s her decision, Luke.”

“Since when did you ever give that gal a say-so?”

“She’s had plenty of say-so’s.” Like the damn fool major she’d ended up in. Psychology. How the heck a person who’d made a mess of her own life thought she could help straighten out someone else’s baffled him.

“So you’re tyin’ up all the loose ends for her?”

“Haven’t I always kept her life tight and tidy?” Royce rubbed a hand down his face, regretting the testy remark. Heather hadn’t asked for his help; he’d offered. Now, if he could only figure out why he was so all-fired pissed off about it.

“You think she’s gonna look for a job ’round here after graduatin’?”

God, he hoped not. For the sake of his heart he prayed Heather would find a job far, far away from Nowhere. “She didn’t say.”

“What about the car?”

He glanced at the yellow Mustang sitting under a tarp at the back of the barn. His chest tightened when he thought of how he’d helped her purchase the vehicle after she’d worked her tail off to pay for the thing. He hadn’t even had to convince her to leave the Mustang behind when she left for college. She’d known the car was safer in the barn than on campus.

“Luke, I don’t have time to worry about Heather and her plans. I’ve got enough troubles with the town’s sewer system deteriorating as we speak.”

“Heard anything from the governor?”

“His aide called.” Royce carried the bushel of vegetables out of the barn, opened the tailgate and set them in the truck bed next to the hay bales. He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and mopped his brow. At ten in the morning, the temperature hovered near eighty degrees. The above-normal temperature for late May promised a long, hot Texas summer. “To a certain extent the governor is sympathetic.”

“Sympathetic how?”

“If Nowhere turns in a sizable campaign donation, the governor may be able to pull some strings and move us up on the list for government funding for a new sewer.”

“Aw, let him blow it out his ear. There ain’t enough money in this town to build a meetin’ hall, let alone throw away on a politician who don’t give a rat’s turd about our little map dot.”

“Amen. I refuse to use our five hundred and fifteen citizens’ tax dollars to finance the governor’s reelection campaign, when I can’t stand the guy in the first place.” Royce shut the tailgate.

His face puckering like a withered apple, Luke asked, “What’ll you do ’bout the sewer?”

Royce wished that every business in town had its own septic system. But during the 1940s the federal government had laid down sewer pipe as part of a work program to improve the quality of life in rural areas. As far as Royce was concerned, his town’s quality of life was disappearing faster than the water flushed down the toilets. “With a little luck, the system should hold out another year.”

He hopped into the truck, then shut the door before his foreman decided to ride along. “By next spring, I’ll figure out something.” And he would. He’d never before let down the citizens of Nowhere. One way or another he’d find the money to at least repair the sewer. He turned the key and gunned the motor. “Don’t expect me back anytime soon. After I meet with the Realtor, I plan to drop off the hay and vegetables at the Wilkinsons’ place.”

Another brown glob of tobacco flew past the truck window and landed with a splat near the front tire. “When you gonna stop givin’ everybody handouts?”

“I’m the mayor, Luke. I won’t stand by and watch four kids starve because their father’s out of work with a broken back and their mother’s run off to God-knows-where with who-knows-whom.” Right then, Heather’s mother came to mind, making Royce wonder what it was about Nowhere that had women running off in the middle of the night.

“Broken back, my ass.”

Royce would have to call Martha later and thank her for twisting her brother’s undershorts in a knot this morning. “Kenny will be over next week to help with chores.” Kenny, the eldest Wilkinson boy, helped Luke around the ranch in exchange for hay for his rodeo horse.

“Just what I need. A snot-nosed brat followin’ me ’round.” Luke called for Bandit, then shuffled toward the house.

Grinning, Royce drove off. His foreman did a lot of complaining about the smart-mouthed teen, but Luke appreciated the kid’s company. It was a win-win situation. The boy was good company for Luke, and Luke was good company for Kenny, who needed a swift kick in the butt from time to time—something Luke had perfected on Royce over the years.

At the end of the ranch drive, Royce took the county road south. Tall pines bordered the asphalt, some as high as one hundred and twenty feet. Most of the trees were second-generation. The area had been gutted by the lumber industry at the turn of the twentieth century. The once-dense pine forests were now broken up with large sections of ranch land. Sprinkled in among the yellow pines were clusters of southern red oak, sweetgum and water oak. This part of East Texas received enough rainfall to be classified as an upper wetland area, which meant that spring put on a pretty impressive display. His favorite tree was the flowering dogwood, with its abundant white blooms.

The area boasted a great fishing lake. During the summer months, campers took advantage of the wilderness that surrounded Nowhere and Lake Wright several miles to the northeast. The town’s small business owners relied heavily on summer tourism to keep afloat. That was one of Royce’s goals as mayor—to find a way to bring more tourists to the area.

Pressing the gas pedal until the speedometer hovered near seventy, he switched his thoughts to the feed store. Over the years, the local ranchers had begun purchasing the bulk of their supplies from big discount chains along the interstate. But in emergencies, or to save time, they shopped at Henderson Feed for smaller items. For the past two days the business had remained closed. Royce needed to find someone to work in the store until the building sold.

Fifteen minutes later, he swung the truck into a parking spot outside the dilapidated redbrick building. Frank Telmon waited by the door, briefcase in hand, jowls sagging two inches lower than usual. The Realtor must have bad news.

“Frank.” Royce greeted him as he climbed the steps and unlocked the door with the key he’d confiscated from the store register yesterday. He’d had to enter the stockroom through a broken window to get inside. He’d ransacked the place, searching for bookkeeping records or any paperwork that would show what kind of financial shape the business was in. All he’d found were old tax documents, a few bank statements and the store ledger with the names and numbers of suppliers and bookies. He’d handed the ledger over to Telmon before heading down to the university.

Telmon, who doubled as an accountant, followed Royce inside. “I’m afraid I have unpleasant news.”

“Figured as much.” Royce walked to the back of the store, then leaned against the checkout counter next to the outdated cash register.

“Henderson wasn’t much of a businessman.” Frank set his briefcase on the counter. “I went over the papers you dropped off at the office.” He removed a file folder from inside.

“And…”

Shaking his head, Frank pursed his lips so hard the corners of his mouth disappeared into his cheeks. “I don’t understand how he stayed in business as long as he did.”

“Give me the bare facts.” Royce should have figured selling the store wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped.

“The business is two years in arrears on taxes. The building needs a major overhaul, and inventory is basically nonexistent. Nothing short of a miracle and a hell of a lot of cash will put this business back in the black.”

Great. Just great. He’d hoped there would be enough money left over from the sale of the store for Heather to live on until she found a job and an apartment after graduation. “What do you suggest putting the place on the market for?”

A harsh bark fired from Telmon’s mouth, the sound smacking off the rotting brick walls like a rifle shot. “Sell? You won’t be able to give the place away.”

As Royce glanced around, he was hard put to disagree. Swirls of yellowish brown water stains covered the ceiling—a leaky roof. A musty, damp smell saturated the air inside the building—mold. The plank floor groaned, creaked and popped—wood rot. The mortar in the brick walls had all but crumbled away, leaving holes big enough to shove a fist into. Oh, hell. The building needed a wrecking ball, not a For Sale sign. “Heather doesn’t want anything to do with the feed store. The place will have to go on the market as is.”

Nodding, Telmon returned the file to his briefcase. “First smart decision the girl’s made in a long time.”

Royce bristled at the insult to Heather. He himself could talk about her that way, but he sure didn’t approve of others criticizing her. Heather was smarter than most people realized. Although she’d skipped a lot of classes and had driven her teachers nuts with her rebellious behavior, she’d scored higher on her college entrance exams—Scholastic Aptitude Test—than two-thirds of her high school graduating class.

The Realtor shut his briefcase. “If you’re sure she has no plans to make repairs before listing the place, then I’ll write up a contract and get back to you in a couple of days.”

Royce offered his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure.” Walking toward the front door, Telmon shook his head, his loose jowls reminding Royce of a bulldog.

As soon as the door closed behind the man, Royce flipped open his cell phone. He’d give Heather the bare facts, then let Telmon answer any questions she had. His finger froze over the keypad.

Once Heather graduated and sold the store, she’d no longer be his concern. And maybe, just maybe he’d finally be able to put the memories of their passionate kisses behind him for good. He waited to feel a sense of relief—it didn’t come. Annoyed, he smacked the counter with an open palm.

No, his sanity wouldn’t stand a chance if Heather decided to move back home. He should thank his lucky stars she wanted nothing to do with Nowhere.

Or him.