Texas Sweet Read online

  Brenda glanced over the pass-through as Ruby winked. “That man is so full of BS he can’t see out of his eyes, I swear,” the older woman said. “What on earth was Big D thinking, setting Harley up with a radio station? Would be one thing if he was only broadcasting here in town, but they swear it’s out there on that internet.” Ruby shuddered.

  “At least Arnie keeps him in line a little.”

  Ruby snorted. “That old man I married is as crazy as Harley, he’s just quieter about it. Order up.” She handed Brenda a plate. “Take that over to Big D. He looks like he had a long night.”

  Brenda turned away to see Big D in the corner, his hair sticking out in all directions. She made her way to the booth where Harley and Arnie held sway on the airwaves. “What are you doing here at this hour? You look as if you haven’t slept in days.”

  He yawned hugely. “Big coding project. We were all up most of the night. Want to come be a beta tester for us?”

  “I wouldn’t know how.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s a new game. Nobody knows how to play it yet.”

  “No. I don’t…I’ve never played a video game.”

  Big D slapped a palm over his heart. “No way. Don’t say things like that. Everybody our age knows how to game.”

  “Not me.”

  “Well, that has to be fixed. You come over to the Bat Cave tonight, and we will take care of that. I mean, come on…that’s practically child abuse. Did your parents forbid you to play video games or something?”

  Or something. She wasn’t ready to get into all that. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You’re working at Dreams again? I thought you all took turns.”

  “We’re still shorthanded.”

  “Well, if you get a chance, you know there’s always someone awake. They’ll come get me if I crash.”

  She shrugged, wishing her fair skin didn’t so easily display a blush. “So you didn’t answer me. Why are you here at this hour?”

  He nodded toward the two older men. “They want to do a phone interview with Gib Douglas. He has local connections, and his team just made the Chase.”

  “Chasing what? Oh—that’s right. NASCAR. The championship.”

  “I thought you were from the South. Me, I have an excuse. Seattle isn’t a NASCAR hub.”

  It was true that she’d mostly lived in the southern half of the U.S. “So he’ll be calling in to be on KSST?”

  “Yeah. But since neither Arnie nor Harley owns a cellphone, I’m using mine and engineering from here.”

  Brenda heard the bell on the pass-through ding and knew she had another order. “Well, I’d better be going. Good luck with that.”

  “Wish them luck. I’ve got this.”

  He was always so cocky and confident. She wished she could be.

  “But don’t forget about tonight, all right?”

  She flushed again. “I’ll try.” She refilled his coffee cup, since he’d already drained it, and did the same for others as she made her way back to the kitchen. As she did, however, she couldn’t resist a peek outside in the faint morning light.

  Henry stood with Scarlett as they both gestured and talked. Scarlett said something, and he considered her words carefully before replying.

  Careful, that was Henry. And kind. And…he made her feel safe.

  She itched to join them, to listen to him talk about vegetables and herbs. She wanted to learn about those, too, not only the flowers she’d discovered she liked growing so much.

  But the bell dinged again, and she sped up, half listening to Harley’s voice over the speakers he’d installed in the diner after patrons had requested to be able to hear what was going on during broadcasts. “So with us this bright morning is Sweetgrass’s own Gib Douglas, nephew of Raymond and Nita Benefield. Gib’s team qualified for the NASCAR championship race just yesterday. How are you, Gib? Congratulations!”

  A deep, slightly sleepy-sounding voice answered. “Thank you, Harley. A lot of people worked hard to make this happen.”

  “We appreciate you joining us so early when I imagine you all were up late celebrating.”

  Gib chuckled. “There might have been a little of that going on, but Monday is my busiest day, so I’m always here early, getting ready for the next race.”

  “You think you might make it back to Sweetgrass after the season ends? I know your aunt and uncle sure would like to see you. Your Uncle Raymond is right here.”

  “I’d like to,” Gib said, and Brenda thought she heard a wistful tone. “Hi, Uncle Raymond.”

  “Howdy, son. Harley, the boy talked to me last night. Don’t badger him.”

  “Been a long time since the boy was here,” Harley argued. “Gib, you’d be amazed at how Sweetgrass is changing. Not the quiet little burg you used to know.”

  “So I hear. Pretty uptown, having an internet radio station.” Gib didn’t take offense, clearly.

  “Aw, shoot,” Harley responded. “I couldn’t agree more. So how do you rate your chances in the Chase?”

  Brenda knew that Gib replied, but she tuned it out as she passed the window again and saw Ian join Scarlett and Henry, his baby girl in a pack on his chest, facing outward, reaching for her mother.

  Through the glass, she saw Scarlett smile and kiss first Georgia, then Ian, while the baby gripped her hair in one fist.

  Ian slipped Georgia from the pack and handed her over. Brenda watched Scarlett cuddle her daughter, wondering if her own mother had ever done that.

  She knew she had been loved…sometimes. She could still remember a little about the times when Mère wasn’t weeping or lost or flying so high her daughter couldn’t catch up, always left on the ground wishing she, too, had wings. That she could float through life as Mère had done in her smiling times.

  With something too much like envy, Brenda watched as big, strong Ian wrapped his arm around Scarlett and held her at his side so naturally while they spoke to Henry.

  That, she’d never had—a father. Security. She was fiercely glad for little Georgia. Scarlett and Ian would always be there for her, and even if the unthinkable happened, a whole town stood ready to care for that child.

  “Brenda,” snapped the veteran waitress Jeanette Carson. “Where did you go? Those eggs will get cold.”

  Brenda stirred. “Sorry.” She scooted across the room to the table that was waiting. Reminding herself that she was here now, that she was okay. That maybe she wasn’t one of them altogether, but this community had opened its heart to her and taken her in, just as Ruby had given her a job and a place to stay.

  It wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t fully belong because she was lying to them every time she answered to the name Brenda or kept her silence about her past.

  She topped off the cups around the table then scanned the room, looking for others in need.

  She could do this, though. She could do her very best to belong to them, to care for them, to contribute to the life of this remarkable place. And she was Brenda, in so many ways. Dilly was dead. Dilly had no future.

  Brenda…just might. She hoped for that with every breath. Every beat of her heart.

  It does matter, Henry. All of you matter.

  So very much.

  “Nana’s got things under control,” Scarlett said to Henry. “She’ll send someone for us if she needs us.”

  Henry yanked his gaze from the cafe. He was concerned about the load Ruby carried, cooking alone this morning, sure. But he wasn’t going to admit what he was really looking at. Or who. But Big D was in there, and the two of them had been talking, Big D clearly asking Brenda for something.

  Leave her alone.

  “Do you want to reschedule?” Ian asked, his gaze penetrating.

  “No. Sorry.” Henry forced himself to focus. “Just thinking about planting schedules.”

  Ian’s brows rose, but he didn’t contest the assertion. “So…you want compost besides kitchen scraps. I compost the hay from the barns. I can spare some, and I bet Mack
ey can, too, for you to work into the soil to prepare it for the spring planting.”

  “Do we have to wait for spring?” Scarlett asked, nuzzling Georgia as she swayed side to side.

  Henry turned over a little more dirt with his pitchfork, then crouched and crumbled a clod in his hand, assessing. “A little more clay than I’d like here, which is why I want to amend the soil. But yeah, we can plant some winter greens like spinach and kale. Their roots will help break this up, too. If I can get enough turned over in the next few days…”

  “We can till for you with a tractor,” Ian offered. “Won’t matter this first time, right, since there’s nothing planted?”

  “You’d barely get one turn with a tractor’s radius.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Scarlett wants this.” Ian looked over at her and winked. “And I try to make sure Scarlett gets what she wants as often as possible,” he said with an easy grin. “She’s got a vicious streak.”

  Scarlett elbowed him in the side and put her hands over Georgia’s ears. “Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetie. He’s spreading lies about your mama, who never has a harsh word for anyone.”

  “And never spends a second being stubborn either.” Ian’s grin flashed a dimple as he snickered.

  Henry remembered his parents teasing each other sometimes. Mostly they were a quiet couple, nothing like this one, whose love was so evident. “That would be great. The more we can break this up and work in some soil amendments like compost, the better.” He looked over at Scarlett. “So would you also want cabbage? We can grow that, too, during the winter, and some broccoli. If we had a greenhouse—”

  “Greenhouse…” Scarlett sighed. “Ian?”

  “I’ll make it happen. I see another community work day on the horizon.” He touched her hair, winding one curl around his finger. “Just tell me how big to make it and what you need inside.”

  “We should get Brenda involved with that. I’ve never had a greenhouse, but she’s getting lots of experience.”

  Scarlett studied him, and he resisted the urge to blush. “That’s a good idea. I know Vee would be happy to consult, but right now I don’t want to bother her. Though…” Scarlett said, considering, “If she’s like me, this close to the end of her pregnancy, she’s ready for a distraction.”

  “She’s not due for a few more weeks, right?” Ian asked. “But twins come early.” He shook his head. “I hope we’re ready this time, not like—”

  They all fell silent, remembering the terrifying night that Scarlett and the thriving baby before him had nearly died. “Wiz sure wishes she wouldn’t try to have the babies at home.”

  “But I completely understand why she wants to. I do, next time.”

  Ian’s brows soared. “No way.”

  “Ian, what happened was a fluke. It wouldn’t happen twice.”

  His brows snapped together. “I am never going through anything like that again.” He cradled Georgia’s cheek and clasped Scarlett’s shoulder. “Not ever. You are too precious.”

  Henry felt like an interloper and turned to go.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Scarlett replied. “We’re embarrassing Henry.”

  Ian folded his arms over his chest. “We’re not discussing it. Subject closed.”

  Then the spitfire Ian had married was right there with them. “We’ll see.” Before Ian could protest, she turned back. “Let’s talk to Brenda when the rush slows, okay, Henry?”

  “Sure.”

  Ian’s fury simmered in the air, and Henry didn’t know what to do.

  Suddenly Ian yanked Scarlett into his arms, one clasped around the baby cradled between them, and he murmured to Scarlett. Whatever he said had her stiff shoulders relaxing. She looked up at him, eyes shining with love.

  Then Ian was kissing her as though they were alone in the world, and Georgia was babbling and patting them—

  Henry turned away, his heart strangely aching. He cleared his throat. “I’ll just, uh, go see if Ruby needs help.”

  He made his escape while they were still tangled together, one unit.

  A family. Like he’d once had.

  Chapter Three

  Blue unlocked the door of her efficiency apartment in the outdated and dingy motor court, her first-ever resting place since she’d left the halfway house. She wanted better someday, but for now she had what she’d longed for: four walls and a door that closed when she wanted it to, with a lock only she controlled.

  Perhaps controlled only as long as she paid the rent, but still…

  Fragment by fragment, she was piecing together a life while trying to understand who Blue could be.

  She’d failed at so much—first as a daughter to two pious souls who could never seem to understand why she wouldn’t behave like that child they’d longed for. Older, stern, decent and hardworking, yes, but never someone who could relate to a fanciful child as she had been.

  She’d fought the counseling she’d received inside prison at first. She’d been raised to believe a person could decide who they were and how they would be, that mind over matter, discipline over impulse, was key.

  Now she understood that she was a slave to her chemistry, that danger lay in flights of fancy, in being what she had once called carefree.

  Free to live, to rejoice, to celebrate, to fly high and far and fast—

  Only to crash into the lowest of valleys, to descend to the depths. To make the mistakes that had cost her the child who was the only good she’d ever managed in the fog of her highs and lows.

  Dilly had been lost to her so very long ago. Ten years gone.

  Between her fingers today’s mail burned, and she was terrified of what would be inside the envelope with the law firm letterhead.

  She entered her apartment, ruthlessly Spartan and ordered. Once she had loved explosions of color and texture, fabrics on the walls, flowers everywhere…however humble their abode, she had always wanted color and music in her life with Dilly.

  Until she’d vanished into the color and found herself inside a cell with little memory of how she’d gotten there.

  And no one would tell her what had happened to her child.

  She set down the envelope.

  Picked it up again.

  Set it down and turned away as her stomach jittered. Then she headed for the tiny kitchen area to brew tea so she could calm down.

  Before she could, she whirled right back and stood before the battered table she’d rescued from a dumpster, scrubbed and cleaned, sanded and painted, then she’d painted a flower on top. One flower was all she allowed herself. She couldn’t afford to reach again, to let herself fly too free.

  Order. Predictability. These were key. They were crucial. Orderly steps, careful steps, one hour to the next, one day to the next…

  She pressed her knuckles to her lips, flipping through her memory to seize one when Dilly was six, her white-blonde hair flying around her face, blue eyes pinned on hers. Mère, could I go to school? Please? I want to go to school like the other kids.

  Blue had talked her out of it, had whisked her away to yet another town, another house, had danced with her and sung, had fixed her food…oh, god. No. Dilly’s serious face rose as she juggled a cup of juice and a piece of toast. Here, Mère. You’ll feel better if you eat. That serious, little old lady face pinched in lines of worry…

  Blue sank to the floor now on her knees, covering her face. “I’m so sorry, Dilly. So sorry for all the ways I failed.” She remained there for a very long time, just trying to breathe.

  As darkness fell, Blue turned away from the letter without a glance. If the lawyers had found her daughter, did she have the right to enter her life? And if they hadn’t, how could she go on without Dilly’s forgiveness?

  Or worse, if something had happened to Dilly—

  Blue’s chest seized, and she moaned out the sudden sharp stab of pain.

  No. Dilly had to be in this world, alive and well. Please.

  Please.

  Blue didn’
t eat. Didn’t touch the envelope again.

  Instead she crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  When morning woke her, she lay there on the lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling. The letter tugged at her with silken ropes, calling, calling…

  Before she could lose her courage again, she lunged from the sofa and grabbed the envelope. Slit it open slowly, so carefully… A single sheet inside, which she unfolded with shaking fingers. Felt the texture of the thick, expensive paper. Closed her eyes, took a deep breath—

  And read.

  Layton, Felder, Bach & Moore

  Attorneys-at-Law

  58 East 42nd Street, Suite 1800

  New York, New York 10016

  Catherine Marie Fontaine

  304 Broadview Apt. 14

  Abilene, TX 79601

  Dear Ms. Fontaine:

  After intensive searching, our investigators have uncovered the whereabouts of your child, Aurora Daffodil Fontaine, who is now calling herself Brenda Jones and lives in Sweetgrass Springs, Texas. Please advise if you would like for us to approach Ms. Fontaine/Jones on your behalf. From all we have gathered, she is in good health, lives a quiet life and is well-regarded by all who know her. Sweetgrass Springs is in the Texas Hill Country, about two hours away from both Austin and San Antonio. Ms. Fontaine/Jones works at a cafe called Ruby’s Diner, a restaurant called Ruby’s Dream and at Butler’s Blooms, a flower farm located just outside town. She has been in Sweetgrass Springs just over a year.