Stroke of Fortune

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.

By the time he finished, he was the one staring out the windshield. He didn’t have to turn to know she was watching him.

He made himself face her. “Look, Lena’s safe now, that’s what matters. And whatever—however—this happened, it can all be worked out. No one has to be to blame. Do you understand?”

She only looked at him.

He said, slowly and carefully, “I want you to tell me the truth. Is Lena ours?”

Her eyes were huge and dark as she slowly shook her head.

No.

By God, she was telling him no, that Lena wasn’t hers…wasn’t his. Wasn’t theirs…

She might as well have poleaxed him, popped him right between the eyes with a steel pipe.

He’d expected her to admit it.

But she hadn’t.

And now that she’d denied it, did he believe her?

He wasn’t sure. Josie Lavender was an honest woman, he knew that in his heart. And yet…

She was so young. Maybe the prospect of taking care of Lena alone had been too much for her. Maybe she’d made the desperate mistake of leaving their baby for him to find and now she didn’t know how to admit what she’d done.

Those huge eyes had gone soft and deep. “Oh, Flynt.” She barely mouthed the words. “I’m so sorry…”

What the hell did she mean by that?

He couldn’t stop himself. He leaned across the seat and grabbed her. “Tell me, Josie.” He gave her a hard shake. “Tell me the truth.”

“Let go of me,” she commanded in a low voice. “I mean it, Flynt. Let me go now.”

He looked down at his own hands, at his fingers digging into the smooth skin of her arms. And he hated himself.

“God.” He released her, retreating to his own side of the cab. “I’m sorry.” He fisted a hand, hit the steering wheel with it. “It’s just… It’s no good, Josie. You can’t hide the truth from me forever. I’m going to find out.”

“I gave you the truth.” She met his gaze dead-on. “I didn’t get pregnant from that night we spent together. I didn’t have your baby. I didn’t have any baby. Ever. I don’t know where that baby came from, but she is not mine.”

He felt compelled to warn her what would happen next. “I’m taking a test tomorrow. We’ll know in two weeks or so if that baby is mine. If she’s mine, then she’s yours. There’s been no one else but you. Do you understand? The truth will come out, one way or the other.”

She was leaning on the door again. “I have to go.”

“Josie—”

“Just leave me alone, Flynt Carson. Just stay out of my life.” She pushed the door wide and jumped to the ground. Then she headed off down the street, walking fast, not looking back.

It took all the willpower he had in him, but he didn’t go after her.

Four

Flynt should have gone home and he knew it.

But he couldn’t face the questions in his mother’s eyes right then—let alone the ones his father kept asking outright.

Ford Carson had come in from checking some downed fences with Flynt’s younger brother, Matt, around four that afternoon. He’d gone looking for his wife and found her tending a baby.

He’d had a lot of questions, and he’d wanted answers on the spot. Ford was a fair and reasonable man, but he liked things clear and he liked them in order. Either Flynt had a daughter or he didn’t. And if he did, who was the mother—and why the hell wasn’t she taking care of her baby the way a mother should?

Flynt refused to give the old man the answers he demanded. So things were a little tense in the Carson house right then. Flynt wouldn’t put it past his dad to come after him again that night. Ford would get nowhere, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

After the grim and unsatisfying confrontation with Josie, Flynt just didn’t feel up to fielding more questions from his father. So when he came to the turnoff that led to the club, he took it. He found himself a nice, dim corner in the temporary structure they’d set up to house the bombed-out Men’s Grill until the big-time architect they’d hired could finish building them a new one.

A young waitress, one he’d seen a lot around the club, Ginger Walton, came trotting up to take his order. “Your usual, right?”

He nodded.

“Then I can serve it to you.” It took him a moment to catch her meaning. She must be under twenty-one, which meant she’d be required to let the other waitresses handle the liquor orders when she worked in the Men’s Grill.

But Flynt presented no problem for her. His “usual,” for the last year and a half, anyway, was club soda on ice.

When she returned with his drink, she had another waitress with her, a dark-eyed, faintly exotic-looking blonde. Flynt suppressed a sigh. There were a few drawbacks to the job of club president. One was the way the staff seemed to think he was just dying to meet each and every one of them. He never had the heart to disillusion them, so he was always saying hi and shaking hands. He did his best to keep their names straight, but there were a lot of them. Luckily for him, the majority wore name tags.

“Mr. Carson, this is Daisy Parker,” Ginger said. “She’s new. We’ve trained her in the Yellow Rose.” The Yellow Rose Café was the more casual of the other two restaurants at the club. “Now I’m showing her around the Men’s Grill.” At the club, the wait staff received training in all three of the club’s restaurants. That way they could work wherever Harvey needed them.

“Daisy.” He frowned. Something about her was familiar, he just couldn’t put his finger on what—then again, maybe not. He shrugged. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to the Lone Star Country Club.”

Daisy Parker made a few polite noises. Then Ginger set his club soda in front of him and the two waitresses left him in peace. Flynt sipped his gutless drink and wished it was a Chivas on the rocks and stared into the middle distance, thinking of Josie, wondering if she might have been telling the truth when she said that Lena wasn’t theirs.

No. More likely, she was lying in bed in that rundown shack of her mother’s right about now, crying herself to sleep, eaten up by guilt over what she had done.

Ginger and the new waitress had retreated to one of the staff stations and begun folding the white linen napkins, each monogrammed with the letters LSCC, that were used in the Men’s Grill and in the Empire Room, the club’s most expensive restaurant.

The blonde said something, and Ginger laughed softly, not loud enough to disturb any of the men smoking their cigars and sipping their whiskeys nearby. Then she leaned close to Daisy and whispered something in her ear. Daisy nodded, murmured a low reply. Flynt wondered again if he’d met the blonde somewhere before.

“Flynt,” said a voice at his shoulder. “How are you?” It was Judge Carl Bridges, stern-faced and sad-eyed as ever.

“Carl.” The men shook hands.

The judge indicated the empty chair opposite Flynt. “Mind if I join you?”

Flynt did mind. He’d rather sit and brood over Josie Lavender and the baby that might or might not be his. But his mama didn’t bring him up to be outright rude. Besides, he owed the white-haired judge for getting him and his war-hero buddies out of a major jam in the past, owed him big time. If Carl Bridges didn’t want to drink alone, Flynt would provide the company he needed. Anytime. Anywhere. “Be my guest.”

Carl took the chair and signaled for a waitress. Ginger sent over the new blonde, who greeted him politely and took his order of a bourbon and water on ice.

“Well,” Carl said when the waitress left them. “Heard from Luke Callaghan lately? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him, but he’s not picking up the phone at the estate and his staff there is downright evasive about where the hell he could be.” Luke had more money than the Carsons and the Wainwrights combined. He owned a huge place out at nearby Lake Maria that everyone referred to as “the estate.” Carl chuckled. “I suppose he’s halfway around the world right now, playing baccarat at Monte Carlo, with a gorgeous woman hanging on his arm.”

Flynt shrugged. He’d always known there was more to Luke than the playboy image he showed to the world. They’d gone to the Virginia Military Institute together, served in the Gulf conflict side by side and even helped their former commander ferret out a money-laundering ring run out of the MCPD a few months back—the ring responsible for the bombing of the Men’s Grill, as a matter of fact. There was no better man to have at your back in a tough situation.

But he didn’t know where Luke was, and he told the judge as much. “All I know is he didn’t make the golf game this morning. If he’s in town, Luke always makes the game.”

Daisy returned with Carl’s drink. He gave her a warm smile and a wink and then waited until she went back to folding napkins before he leaned across the table and pitched his voice low. “I heard your game this morning was interrupted at the ninth tee.”

Flynt suppressed a groan. “Who told you that?”

“What can I say? I have my sources, both at the MCPD and in the sheriff’s office.”

Hell. He’d known this would happen. Once Spence Harrison dragged the police and social services into the situation, all hope of keeping the story quiet was gone. “I’m trying to keep it low-key, Carl.”

“I understand. The child is at the ranch, right? Grace is looking after her?”

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

Carl chuckled again. “Very little, and that’s a fact.”

What could he say? “Your sources have it right.”

“You’re keeping her?”

“If you mean, will she be staying at the ranch for a while, then yes. She will. Tomorrow we’ll start the search for a nanny.”

“And then what?”

“Damn it, Carl. You can be as nosy as a maiden aunt.”

Carl raised his glass to Flynt in a quick salute. “You know how I am.” He took a sip. “I like to keep on top of what’s happening in my district.”

“Yeah, well.” Flynt picked up his club soda and drank the rest of it. He set the glass down. “To put it to you straight, I don’t really know what’s happening. I’m taking a paternity test tomorrow. We’ll have to wait for the results.”

“Ah,” said the judge. “Of course. I see…”

By Tuesday morning, the story of the mystery baby abandoned on the golf course for three war heroes and a top heart surgeon to find was all over town. All the waitresses at the Mission Creek Café were talking about it.

Josie had the early shift that day. When she went in the back room for her midmorning break, another waitress, Margie Dodd, signaled her over and showed her the ad in the Mission Creek Clarion.

“See there.” Margie sucked on a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke through her nose, tapping a finger at the place she wanted Josie to see. “They’re lookin’ for a nanny out at Carson Ranch. Gotta be for the mystery baby.”

Josie knew she ought to just shake her head, shrug, mutter something meaningless and step outside for her break. But she did no such thing. She set down the Coke she’d poured for herself and she looked at the paper spread out on the table, at the words in bold print right where Margie’s long red fingernail was pointing. “Loving, experienced nanny sought. Live-in position. Excellent salary, full benefits. References required. Inquire at Carson Ranch.”

Josie stared at that ad and couldn’t stop a certain image from flashing through her mind—the image of Flynt’s face, as he’d looked the other night. So bleak. So lonely. Staring at her through the darkness, demanding that she admit the abandoned baby was theirs.

Her throat closed up, just the way it had when she first raised the blind and saw him there beyond the glass. Oh, she was a sucker for Flynt Carson, and that was a plain fact.

He was exactly the kind of man she’d sworn she’d never let herself get near—tortured and troubled, with an alcohol problem. Truly, considering the daddy she’d had, and the things that had happened in her life so far, she ought to know better.

She did know better.

But sometimes a person’s heart just loved where it wanted to, no matter that her brain kept ordering it to stop.

Margie let out a dry cackle of laughter. “The mystery baby is Flynt Carson’s, did you hear that?”

Josie swallowed. Hard. “I heard it, but—”

“No buts about it. It’s his baby and he ain’t sayin’ who the mother is.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Margie blew out more smoke and squinted at Josie through the thick fringe of her false eyelashes. “Yeah. Right. Now that makes a lot of sense.”

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