Stroke of Fortune (3 page)

The three left about an hour after the deputy had arrived. They all had what they needed to write their reports and they were all in agreement that the abandoned female infant called Lena would remain in
Flynt Carson's care, at least until the results of the paternity test came through.

Flynt walked them out to their vehicles. It was a little past noon by then. The gorgeous, mild morning was turning to the usual blistering South Texas afternoon. Flynt stood in the shade of a proud old oak that had been planted by his great-grandmother, watching the dust the cars kicked up as they disappeared down the driveway.

His pickup still waited where he'd left it, a few yards away. That pickup was not only fully loaded with all the luxury extras, it was also a V-8. The thing could move. He wanted to climb in it and roar off down the drive into town.

He knew where to go looking for Josie. First, he'd try her mother's house. If she wasn't at Alva's, he had a pretty good idea where to head next.

The way he'd heard it, once her mother got out of the hospital, Josie had taken a waitress job at the Mission Creek Café, which served down-home country fare and had stood for decades near the corner of Main and Mission Creek Road, in the heart of town. If Flynt remembered right, the café was open till eight or nine at night, seven days a week. But it did most of its business weekdays, for breakfast and lunch. As a relatively new employee, Josie would probably draw the less desirable weekend shifts.

He could make it to town in half an hour—less, given that he'd be burning rubber all the way.

But no.

If he showed up at the café now, looking for her, there would be talk. Even dropping in at that shack of her mother's in broad daylight was too chancy. He was a Carson, after all, a rich man, a power in the community. And she was young and poor and pretty. Only one reason, folks would say, why a man like Flynt Carson would come looking for a girl like Josie Lavender.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered,
What does it matter? Why not go after her right now? When the truth comes out, everyone will know about us anyway….

He ignored that voice. That voice was just making excuses for him to do what he wanted, not what was best for Josie.

Better to wait till after dark, keep it just between the two of them. He owed her that much.

Hell. He owed her more. A lot more. He'd tried to make it up to her, a little anyway, with that ten thousand dollars he'd pressed into her hand when she'd left. She'd taken it then. But six months later, she'd sent him a cashier's check, paying every penny back. The postmark on the envelope had said it came from Hurst, Texas, up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.

He'd looked at that postmark and felt just about the way he felt right now—that there was a way to her, that he could find her if he wanted.

And he wanted. As much as—no,
more
than—he wanted to draw his next breath.

But he hadn't. And he wouldn't. Not then, not now. Not until tonight.

He looked at his watch. Barely twelve-thirty. The day stretched before him, endless hours of it, until he could go to her and get the truth out of her.

Flynt muttered a low curse and turned back to the house.

J
osie Lavender had the closing shift that night. She hung around to do her cleanup work, marrying ketchups, filling salt and pepper and sugar dispensers, setting up the tables for the morning girls. She left the café at 9:20 and she got home about ten minutes later.

Her mom was lying on the old green sofa in the front room, watching TV. “Hi, sweetie.” Alva Lavender lifted the mask that covered her mouth and nose just long enough to get the words out, then slid it back into place and sucked in a difficult breath. Alva suffered from emphysema. She spent a lot of time each day hooked up to the oxygen tank that helped her breathe a little easier.

Josie locked the front door. Mission Creek didn't have all that much street crime, but what little there was tended to take place in her mother's neighborhood. “Mama, did you eat?”

Her mother held the mask in place and nodded.

“Want me to—”

Alva didn't let her finish. She slipped the mask aside again. “Don't worry 'bout me. I'm fine.”

“You're sure?”

Alva, behind the mask once again, nodded some more, and then waved her thin hand. She pointed at the television, indicating she wanted to concentrate on her program. It was a
Law and Order
rerun, from when Benjamin Bratt was on the show. Alva had a thing for him.

“Okay, Mama,” Josie said softly. “If you're sure you don't need me to fix you something, I'm going to have a nice, long bath.”

Alva waved her hand again, but never took her gaze off the television screen.

Josie went through the open arch opposite the front door and into the tiny, square hallway. From there it was two steps to her bedroom.

She flipped on the switch by the door. Her room was just big enough for her bed and her dresser and the small pine desk she'd found at a yard sale while she was still in high school.

Josie's computer sat on that desk. It was a nice one, with a big screen and the newest software and tons of memory. She'd bought it when she was living up in Hurst. Mostly she used it for word processing, keeping her small bank balance in order and for e-mail. It made her feel hopeful, somehow. That she was hooked in to what mattered, and on her way up. She had a car—a not-so-great one, but a car, none-the-less—and she had a computer. And she wouldn't always be working the worst shifts at the Mission
Creek Café. She was dealing with the obstacles life had put in her path, step-by-step, one day at a time.

Josie grabbed the hem of the snug black T-shirt with Mission Creek Café written in orange across the front of it. She was just about to yank it off over her head when she heard tapping on the window behind the desk.

She froze, with her arms crossed, still holding the hem of the shirt in each hand.

There it was again. Three sharp raps.

Josie stared at the yellowed blind pulled down over the window and debated. Should she see who was out there? Probably not. Who could it be but someone looking to make trouble? Anyone on the up-and-up would just walk up the front steps and knock on the door.

But then again, why would a troublemaker bother to tap on the window and let her know he was there? With a sigh, Josie smoothed her shirt back down and slid around the end of the bed to lift the side of the blind.

At the sight of the face looming close in the shadows beyond the glass, her pulse went racing and her throat got tight. “Flynt.” She mouthed his name, barely able to give voice to the word.

Was she surprised to see him?

Not really.

Had she suspected it just might be him?

Maybe.

Did it hurt to see his face again?

Definitely.

He said, slowly, so she could read the words off those lips of his that had kissed her in places she still blushed to think about, “Open the window, Josie. Now.”

She stared at him, unmoving. He stared right back. Finally she held up a hand, signaling for him to wait just a moment. He nodded, his mouth a grim line.

She dropped the shade and went to shut the door and engage the privacy lock, pausing first to listen for the sounds from the living room. She heard the drone of the television and the hum of the window air conditioner. Nothing that might indicate her mother knew she had a visitor.

Which was all to the good. She'd just as soon not have her mama asking her a lot of questions about Flynt Carson. Alva didn't need to know about what had happened between Josie and her former boss. She'd only worry if she knew.

Josie went back to the window and did what Flynt wanted, running up the shade, slipping the latch, shoving up the bottom pane and unhooking the screen. He started to climb through.

She decided when it was almost too late that it was a bad idea to let him into her bedroom. “Just wait,” she whispered. “I'll come out there.”

He gave her another tight shake of his head. “Someone might see us.”

He was probably right. Someone just might. She found herself thinking, So what? But she didn't say it. It would only have been her defiant streak talking, anyway.

She didn't really want her private business all over town, and Flynt was only trying to protect her from the evil tongues of town gossips.

At heart, he was a good man. She knew that. It was just that he'd gotten himself all turned around inside, after what had happened with Monica and their baby.

For one beautiful night eleven months ago, Josie had let herself hope that he might learn to forgive himself and leave the past behind. But in the harsh light of the following day, she'd learned the true power that guilt can have over a man—the kind of power a mere woman could never overcome.

And right now, well, best to look on the bright side. At least his eyes were clear and she couldn't smell liquor on him. “Why are you here, Flynt?”

He looked surprised suddenly. “You don't know?”

“If I did, I wouldn't be asking.”

Narrow-eyed, he studied her face some more. Then he shook his head. “Not like this, all right? Not with you in there and me standing out here, whispering over the damn windowsill.”

“All right. Where are you parked?”

“Down around the corner.”

“Go on back to that fancy pickup of yours. I'll be there. Five minutes.”

He glared at her as if he didn't trust her to do what she said she'd do.

“Go on,” she whispered. “I said five minutes and I meant what I said.” Before he could start barking orders at her again, she hooked the screen, pulled down the window and drew the shade.

“I'm out of bath beads, Mama,” Josie called as she went out the front door. It wasn't really a lie—she was out of bath beads and she would stop at the store before she returned to the house. “I'm going to run down to the Stop 'n' Save.”

Her mother nodded and waved and went on watching TV.

Josie rushed out into the darkness, wondering what in the world was the matter with her, to be in such an all-fired hurry to get to the man who had broken her heart.

 

She didn't make him wait.

Flynt had barely climbed back into his pickup when she was knocking on the passenger door. He reached across the seat and opened it for her. She got in and shut the door, trapping them in that small space together.

He looked the other way, out the window over the driver's door. But it didn't help. His mind, his whole being, was centered on her.

He said, “You sent the money back.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I wanted you to have it.”

“I pay my own way. But thank you. I did need it at first. Then, as soon as I could manage it, I paid you back.”

“Josie, I—”

She cut him off. “No. No more about the money, please. You know me, deep down. You know I couldn't keep it. It wouldn't have been right.”

He wanted to argue with her, that the money wasn't much. That there was no point in her not having it. That she needed it and he didn't.

But he let it go. She wasn't going to take that money, no matter what he said.

Instead he asked, “You did all right, then? Up there in Fort Worth?”

“I did just fine.”

Why did he feel so…hungry? A hunger that was more than just wanting to get his hands on her. He wanted to know about her, about what she'd been doing, what she'd been thinking, what she'd seen, what she'd cared about. He wanted to know everything. Everything that happened, every breath she took, for the past eleven months.

“You got an apartment?”

“I took a room, with a family. The price was right, and they were good people. It worked out fine. And I found a job—two jobs, really.”

He thought about Lena, wondered where she fit
into all this, how Josie had managed. Two jobs, a room in someone's house, and a baby.

He said carefully, “You wore yourself out, I'll bet.”

“No. I'm young and I like to work. You know that. Then, well, you know, my mama needed me so I came back.”

God. He could smell her. The sweetness of her. And something else.

Cigarettes. “You take up smoking, Josie?”

She stared straight ahead, her profile so fine and pure in the faint glow of the streetlamp down the block. She looked as sweet as an angel—an angry angel, right then. “I don't much like your tone, you know that, Flynt?”

He put his hands on the steering wheel and held on tight to keep from reaching for her. “It was a simple question. You can just answer yes or no.”

“I just got off work and I work at the café.” She shot him a charged look, then faced front again. “The Mission Creek Café—which I'm sure you already know.”

He understood what she was telling him. At the Mission Creek Café, there were ashtrays on the tables and smokers lit up whenever they felt the urge.

“Not that it's any of your business,” she said.

“I'd hate to see you do that to yourself, that's all,” he told her softly.

She sent him another glance. “Well, don't worry.
I'm not. And if I ever considered takin' up the habit, all I have to do is look at my poor mama to change my mind right quick.”

Flynt was pleased to hear her say that. He wanted the best for her. And that included good health—both for herself and for Lena. He didn't want to think that she'd been smoking around Lena or, worse, before Lena was born.

But she said she hadn't and he decided to believe her. “Well,” he said. “Good.”

She didn't say anything, just went on staring out the windshield.

He scoured his mind for a way to get around gracefully to the subject of Lena. But there was no graceful way to ask a woman if, just possibly, she'd borne his child and then left her on the golf course at the Lone Star Country Club.

So he fell back on a safer subject. “How is your mom doing, anyway?”

She sent him another iceberg of a look. “What is this, Flynt? You came knockin' on my bedroom window at ten o'clock at night to ask me how I liked it up in Hurst and find out how my mama's doing?”

“Josie, I…”

“You what?”

Did you have my baby? Is Lena ours?

The questions were there; he just couldn't quite bring himself to ask them. Yet.

She waited. When he gave her only silence, she
started in on him again, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, let's see. I already told you about my life in Hurst. So, about my mama… Well, Flynt, my mama is sick. She will never be well again. But she is better than she was three weeks ago. The doctor says she's improved enough to live on her own now, for a while. I'll be getting my own place soon. But if you really came here tonight to tell me you want me out of town, you're flat out of luck. My mama needs someone nearby that she can count on. Since my father's no longer among the living and I'm their only child, no one else fits that description but me.” She left off and just glared at him for a minute, those eyes of hers daring him to speak. He didn't.

She let out a hard huff of air. “So then, satisfied? Did you find out what you wanted to know? I don't want your ten thousand dollars and my mama is not well. And if that's all, I'm getting out of here.” She leaned on the latch and the door opened a crack.

He reached across her, grabbed the armrest and yanked it shut, his arm brushing her breasts in the process.

Both of them gasped. He jerked his arm back to his own side of the cab.

There was a silence—one with way too much heat in it. He stared at her profile some more, and then his gaze traveled downward.

Too bad he couldn't see much in the shadows. He
didn't think she looked heavier or much different at all from the way he remembered her.

And damn. It was nothing short of bizarre to sit here, less than three feet from her, and wonder if she had borne his child.

He couldn't tell. Shouldn't there be something, some clue? Wouldn't she have put on weight, the way Monica did?

He frowned. Not necessarily. Not all women were like Monica. Josie could be the kind who breezed through a pregnancy, hardly showing a sign, back to her former weight shortly after delivery.

She turned to him at last, her pale, thick hair catching the light, glimmering like moonbeams. He thought about burying his face in it, about the warmth of it, the warmth of her.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Josie, we've got to talk.”

She gave him another long, angry stare. “Well, all right. Why don't you say it, then? Whatever it is.”

He studied her face, unsure. Her behavior and everything she'd said so far indicated that she had no clue why he'd sought her out.

But did those eyes say otherwise?

He just couldn't say with any certainty.

And he still didn't know where the hell to begin.

She let out a small, hard sound of impatience. “Flynt. I am not gonna sit here all night waiting for you to figure out what you want to say to me.”

There was probably no good place to start, so he gave up on trying to do it gracefully. He just told her, said what had happened that day, from the foursome on the ninth tee all the way to how Lena was now safe at the ranch.