Texas Thunder (28 page)

Confusion tugged at her expression as she stared down at the equivalent of a winning Lotto ticket. The answer to her prayers. And all because of Les.

Her gaze snapped up and collided with his. “But I thought you couldn't do a loan.”

“It's not a loan. It's a commission.” He motioned to the window. Outside, Brett climbed into his truck and gunned the engine. “From the Sawyer sale,” he added. “It was your pictures that sold the place. You deserve the commission. Well, a percentage of it, at least. I have to get paid, too.” He nodded toward the check that she pulled free from the envelope. “But based on my talk with the bank president, I think that's just about enough to handle most of your debt.”

“What about Selma? Won't she give you a hard time?”

“She knows I couldn't have secured the listing without you. Brett wanted you in on the deal or no deal.”

His words echoed in her head and her lips tingled as she remembered the bittersweet kiss from moments before.

A good-bye kiss because Callie Tucker was really and truly finally leaving.

She tried to ignore the sudden whisper of disappointment that went through her. She should be happy. Ecstatic. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for her entire life. Her one shot at freedom. “You know what this means, don't you?” she said, more for herself than Les.

“That you'll be leaving me?” He shrugged. “I figured. For the record, though, I'm totally opposed to you going anywhere except Realtor's school. But if that can't happen, I want you to go to Austin and knock their socks off.”

She cut him a surprised look. “How do you know about Austin?”

“Who do you think gave you a recommendation? I talked to the editor a few days ago. They were hesitant because you have no newspaper experience, but then I told them how you handle all of my listings in the local paper, not to mention a massive newsletter that I send out monthly, and bam, they were willing to give you a chance.”

“We don't do a monthly newsletter.”

“Not yet, but that's next on my agenda as soon as I win Realtor of the year. Speaking of which, I need to send Tanner a fruit basket congratulating him on my sale. Just so he knows it's a done deal.” He turned and headed back into his office. “Take an extra hour at lunch. I'm sure you need to make a trip to the bank.”

Relief welled up through her. “Thanks, Les.”

“Thank you.” He grinned like a child who'd nabbed the last cookie. “Tanner is going to be
pissed.
”

Callie reached for her purse, the check tight in her hands, and tried to summon her own excitement.

She should be over the moon. The moment she'd been waiting her entire life for was finally here. Time to pay the taxes and fulfill her last and final duty as caretaker of the Tucker spread, and then she could get on with her life. She could finally make her own dreams come true.

They were right there. Within arm's reach.

If only that notion excited her half as much as the memory of Brett's parting kiss.

*   *   *

She was leaving.

The truth played over and over in Brett's head throughout the rest of the day, but it didn't really sink in until he he heard Karen gossiping with Dolly later that evening.

“She got a job at a big-time paper and everything,” Karen told the older woman as she reached for a biscuit.

Pappy sat on the opposite side of the table, his gaze fixed on his plate, silence surrounding him, pressing in and isolating him from everyone and everything. He'd been quiet for the past few hours since he'd woken up from his nap. Too quiet for Brett to gauge whether or not he was in this reality or some other from his past.

The
what if
kept him from relaxing. Or so he told himself. No way was he sitting as stiff as a board, his muscles pulled tight to the point that they burned, because the one woman he loved was about to leave town for good.

So what?

Hell,
he
was leaving. He'd pulled out the contracts just that morning. They sat on the desk in the study. All he had to do was sign and call his agent with the good news. And make a phone call to his resident pain-in-the-ass Tyler McCall.

He wanted to deliver the news himself that his distant cousin was going to be stuck in second place a little while longer.

Especially after Tyler's taunting phone call.

And the zillion or so texts since, in which the man had poked and prodded and tried to get in Brett's craw.

No more.

“… Mark said they paid her a nice amount for some moonshine she found and so I guess she was able to pay the taxes,” Karen went on.

“Mark?” His sister's words snagged his attention. “Since when do you know Mark Edwards?”

“Since I've gone to lunch with him a couple of times now.”

Brett gave her an incredulous look. “You and Edwards? Having lunch?”

“What's the big deal?” She shrugged. “He came here looking for you one time and found me and, well, he couldn't
not
take me to lunch on account of I'm so charismatic.”

Brett frowned. “I doubt he's after your charisma.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That he's male, which means that he's got one thing on his brain when it comes to women.”

“Which is?”

“He wants to get into your pants.” He nailed her with a grim look. “You should stay away from him.”

“You really think he wants in my pants?” She looked so hopeful that Brett did a double take.

“And that makes you happy because?”

“Because the child, here, just had a breakup and any woman who's been dumped on by a man likes to know that other men find her attractive,” Dolly chimed in. “It's a girl thing.”

His gaze swiveled from the old woman to his sister. “You got dumped on?”

“Up at school. He was a jerk and I was too good for him. It's old news.” Karen waved him off. “Now about Callie … I heard her sister had to mortgage her equipment to help with the taxes, but that she was more than happy to do anything to help.”

“That's what family does,” Dolly said. “They dig in their heels and help each other.”

Any other family besides the one sitting right here at this dinner table, Brett thought.

No, this family ran from trouble. At least half of the family. Karen wasn't running.

She was right here.

Good or bad.

For better or worse.

“… so then Margie Callaghan told Tracey Reaves who told me that Becky Sue really does want to try to make things work, but Josh is the one who can't get his act together,” Karen went on, the talk of families obviously sparking another conversation regarding one of Rebel's wilder clans. It seemed that Becky Sue Callahan had no hope in hell of having a family with her baby daddy Josh Wicker unless he straightened up his act and came crawling back, begging her forgiveness after getting caught with his pants down with a certain cashier at the Piggly Wiggly.

Brett ignored the urge to change the subject back to Callie and ask for more details. Instead, he finished the last bite of his dinner, took a long pull of his iced tea and set his napkin on his empty plate. Pushing to his feet, he picked up his dish and headed for the kitchen.

“You and Edwards?” he asked Karen when she finally followed to help load the dishwasher. “Really?”

“Don't get your boxers in a wad. It's nothing serious.” She turned on the faucet and started to rinse a glass. “It just helps distract me from all the drama here.” She hauled open the dishwasher and stuffed the glass into the top rack. “Besides, Mark is good for my self-esteem. I doubt it goes anywhere, but then I'm not looking for a relationship. This is just some much-needed fun.” Her gaze slid past him to Pappy, who still sat at the kitchen table, a piece of uneaten cake in front of him. “He's getting worse, you know—”

“I've got some paperwork waiting,” Brett cut in, sliding a plate into the bottom rack before turning on his heel.

Guilt niggled at him as he started for the door that led to the hall, but he refused to give in. He'd tried to help and everything he said or did just made the situation worse. There was no reasoning with his pappy when he was feeling bad.

“How long is it going to take you?” Karen's voice stopped him just shy of his escape. “Because I was thinking I might meet Mark at the Dairy Queen and I need someone to stay here with Pappy.”

Brett turned and caught his sister's hopeful stare. “Tonight?”

She nodded. “Mark is driving back to Austin for work tomorrow and it's our last night to see each other. Dolly's going to bingo at the church”—she motioned to the woman picking up the leftover roast—“isn't that right, Dolly?”

“Sure is.” She hauled open a cabinet and pulled out a plastic storage container. “It's the biggest pot we've seen in six months.” She fed the roast into the bowl and popped on the lid. “And I'm itching to buy myself one of those electronic footbaths they sell on the QVC.”

“You have to stay with him.” Karen gave Brett her widest stare. “Please.”

No. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. But damned if he could choke it out. “Fine,” he said instead. “Go.”

“Really?” Her gaze met his.

Yeah, really?

He tamped down the doubt and squared his shoulders. “I said so, didn't I?”

“Because he's been quiet all day,” Karen offered. “You shouldn't have any trouble. I'll get him into bed before I leave.” Excitement lit her familiar blue eyes and Brett felt a swirl of guilt. His sister was still so young.

Too young to have to give up her life for an old man.

Even if she was doing so willingly.

“If he gets up and tries to go out to the garden,” she went on, “just let him be. Turn on the light and let him dig for a little while. I'll deal with him when I get back.”

But Brett should be the one dealing with his pappy. Taking care of him. Good or bad.

The truth followed him to the study as he left Karen with Pappy and spent the next thirty minutes staring at the contracts.

Reading them, of course, because a man had to read something before he signed it. And if he was going to read the first few pages, he might as well go through the entire thing, page by page, just to be sure everything was in order.

It was an hour after Karen and Dolly had left and he was three-quarters through the stack of documents when he heard the music coming from his pappy's room.

“Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” by Willie Nelson.

It had been his grandmother's favorite song back in the day. She'd hummed it every night when she'd cooked dinner, or rocked him and his sister to sleep.

For a split second, he thought maybe Pappy was having his own walk down memory lane. Reminiscing. But then he heard the tell-tale shouting, followed by the slamming of a door.

Brett reached the bedroom in a few frantic heartbeats to find his pappy pacing the room. The old man whirled when he heard Brett's voice, his gaze wild and frantic. “I'm supposed to find Martha and ask her to dance.” He paced some more. “I promised her we'd dance. I
promised,
but I don't know how.” He stared down at his feet as if seeing them for the first time. “I can't remember how.”

“It's okay. She's not here,” Brett said, but Pappy whirled on him, eyes wild, faraway.

“The dance already started and I promised her I'd dance!” The old man's frantic voice sent a burst of fear through Brett and the oxygen stuck in his lungs.

He wanted to say something—anything—to make the situation better, but there were no words.

Nothing he could do.

For now.

Pappy just needed time.

Tomorrow he would be back to his old self. The day after that for sure.

But as Brett watched the old man pace, his arthritic hands frantic as he wrung them tightly, his shoulders stiff, his worry profound, Brett knew that time wasn't going to change anything. Time wasn't Pappy's friend. Time was his enemy, whittling away at his memories, killing them off one by one until someday soon there would be nothing left.

“She loves to dance and I promised her we would,” Pappy went on. “I knew how. Just a little while ago, I knew, but now I can't remember what to do. I have to remember. I promised her. I
have
to.”

Karen was right.

Brett finally admitted as much as he stood there, staring at the one man in the world who'd been both father and mother to him. A strong man who'd faced the world with courage and determination and a strength that had made him one of the most powerful men in the county.

He was a shadow of that man now. Frail. Scared. Tears coursed down his face. Confusion twisted his features. Brett reminded himself that it had been only a week ago that Pappy had been perfectly fine. Sane.
Good.

That there would surely be another good day.

But at that moment, he just couldn't be sure.

The truth knocked and for the first time, Brett opened the door and faced the one thing he'd done his damnedest to avoid. The undeniable fact that there might never be another good day. This might be it for the rest of his pappy's life.

For the rest of Brett's life.

No heart-to-heart talks.

No words of wisdom from the only man Brett truly trusted.

No guidance.

But Brett was a grown man. It was time for him to lead the way, to give back all that love. It was his turn to step up, to speak words of wisdom, to offer guidance.

Because good or bad, they still had today. Together.

And where Brett had spent all his time running from the truth of his grandfather's illness, he finally put on the brakes and slid to a stop, and surprisingly the world didn't cave in on him.

There were no explosions.

No destruction.