Deal Me In

She glanced at the kitchen clock. Three-thirty. Her father would be home soon. He would meditate for an hour and then expect dinner promptly at six. She could depend on that. Luther Whelan never altered his schedule.

AT SEVEN-THIRTY, after she’d put the last dinner plate in the cupboard, Molly checked to make sure Sam’s door was closed and then went into the living room to face her father. Engrossed in the newspaper, he didn’t acknowledge her when she came in the room. “Dad?”

He looked up. “What is it?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He set his spectacles on the end table. “What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I just have news.”

He waited.

“I’m leaving Prairie Bend tomorrow. Sam and I are moving.”

He set the newspaper on his lap. “Don’t talk nonsense, Molly Jean.”

“It’s not nonsense.” She used the same lie she’d told Uncle Cliff earlier. “Friends have asked me to come to the San Antonio area. I have a job lined up that will support Sam and me…”

He looked around his neat, uncomplicated living room. “You don’t need to go anywhere. You’ve got everything a woman could want right here. I take care of you better than that husband of yours ever did.”

“I know you provide a home for us, Dad, but it’s not enough. Not for me and not for Sam.”

He glowered at her. “You’re not taking my grandson away,” he stated as if it were an indisputable fact.

“Sam is my son. He’s going where I go.”

“I won’t hear of it. Sam needs a strong hand, which he won’t get under your influence. If that mistake of a marriage didn’t teach you that—”

“A discussion of my marriage and my son is off-limits.” Molly’s stomach churned.

He exhaled deeply. “Have you forgotten that I took you back in after that…that rodeo bum died?”

“No, and I’m grateful, but that’s in the past. You don’t have to bring it up again.”

“Fine. Then let’s talk about how this irrational decision will affect me.” He rolled the newspaper and pointed it at her. “Have you considered how your actions will embarrass me in front of my congregation again? I’ve raised you on my own, Molly. It wasn’t easy after your mother left, but I’ve tried to teach you proper values. And all I’ve received for my effort is disrespect. I won’t let you make a mockery of my position in this community again.”

He wouldn’t even hear her out. He didn’t care about her feelings, her needs, just like he probably never cared about her mother’s. Molly stared at the floor, anywhere but at the fire of self-righteousness in her father’s eyes. For a man who professed to dedicate his life to forgiveness and tolerance, Luther Whelan had a hard time showing either of those to his own daughter.

But then, Molly had known how he would react. She’d made sure Sam was busy with his toys in his room so he wouldn’t have to listen to his grandfather’s harsh words, but it was a small house and she was afraid he was hearing everything. Maybe her father did care about her in his own emotionally bereft way, but the environment he provided was void of real human interaction and she had to get out. She wasn’t about to back down.

The newspaper rattled in his hands and Molly looked up. “I won’t take you back,” he said. “If you go, it’s forever.”

“I don’t want to leave like this, Dad,” she said. “But I’m going. I’m sorry—”

“You’re never sorry,” he snapped. “Those are empty words from a woman who doesn’t think of anyone but herself.” And then he said the words designed to hurt her the most. “You’re just like your mother.”

“Leave her be, Luther.”

Cliff walked into the room from the kitchen, silencing both of them. “It’s her life. She’s going and that’s that.”

Molly nearly cried. Despite his promise not to come to the house tonight, he was here. She could have kissed him right there on the spot.

“This isn’t your concern, Cliff,” Luther said.

“I’m making it my concern. Molly’s a good girl. She deserves a chance to get out of this place.”

“I won’t take her in when she comes crawling back.”

“You won’t have to. If she needs to, she can stay with Edith and me.”

Uncle Cliff waved her out of the room, asking her if she didn’t have suitcases she needed to pack. Grateful, Molly escaped any further recrimination from her father.

Now Uncle Cliff was gone and her dad sat on the front porch in the chilly January air, no doubt trying to figure out how his only child could have strayed so far. And he didn’t even know that her plans involved gambling.

At nine o’clock Molly stretched out on the twin bed next to her son, propped a pillow behind her back and crossed her ankles. She twisted the cowboy lamp on the nightstand so its light fell on the map in her lap. “You want to see where we’re going tomorrow?” she asked Sam.

“Sure, Mama. Is it a long way?”

“It’s pretty far. We’re starting here on this big road called Highway 35…” she traced a line south with her finger “…all the way to another highway, which leads us to River Bluff. That’s where we’ll stop.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“I’d say about four hours, depending on how often we stop.” She smiled at him. “Part of the fun of traveling is stopping along the road.”

Sam looked up at her, a worried frown marring his chubby angelic features. “I don’t think it’ll be fun at all.”

“For heaven’s sake, why not?”

“’Cause when Grandpa found out we were going, he was plenty mad. So it must not be a fun thing to do.”

“You shouldn’t worry about Grandpa, baby,” she said. “He won’t stay mad. Why, I’ll bet that in a day or two he’ll have forgotten he was angry and will want to hear all about our adventure!” If there was a way to keep communications open between her father and her son, Molly would. “You can write him a letter if you want. He’d like that.”

Molly wrapped her arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Besides, I think we’re going to have lots of fun. And if we don’t, then we’ll go someplace else. Texas is a big state.” She held up the map to illustrate her point. “Maybe you can pick the place next time.” She stood up, kissed his cheek and turned off the lamp. “Just go to sleep now, Sammy. I’m going to stay in your room a while to pack up your things.”

She handed him his favorite stuffed pony and he snuggled into his blankets. “G’night, Mama.”

By the faint glow of his nightlight, she neatly folded his clothes into a suitcase. While she worked, the last moments between her father and her uncle played in her mind. Luther had said he was sick and tired of dealing with the mistakes his daughter made of her life and trying to explain to his congregation how a supposedly God-fearing child could grow up to cast such a shadow of shame over her family name.

Sometime, years ago, her father had stopped thinking of Molly as an individual and began to see her as an extension of her mother. Two women whose identical sinful natures conspired to ruin his life and reputation. That was sad, but Molly couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe she was too much like her mother. And maybe she wanted to be.

She closed Sam’s suitcase and filled a box with his favorite toys. Thinking he was asleep, she tiptoed to the door. “Mama?”

She looked back at the bed. Sam lay perfectly still, but his voice was hoarse with a little boy’s determination. “I think I’ll wait and see if Grandpa writes me first.”

“That’s fine, sweetie.”

She left the room more convinced than ever that she and her son were two people very much in need of an adventure.

CHAPTER THREE

BRADY HUNG HIS HAT on a hook in the mudroom and left his boots by the back door. After washing his hands at the utility tub, he went to the kitchen where he snuck up behind Ruby, the woman who’d been the family cook since he was a boy, and kissed her warm brown neck. She swatted at him. “I knew you were back there,” she said. “You can’t surprise me anymore. Not since you’ve grown four feet and put on a hundred pounds.”

He laughed. “I guess a six-foot-three man has lost some of the upper hand when it comes to surprise attacks.”

She tried not to smile. “You wash those hands?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You hungry?”

“You need to ask?”

“Go on in the sunroom. Your daddy wanted lunch in there today. I’ve got it set up on the buffet.”

He went down the hallway past his father’s study, a guest bathroom and the formal dining room and entered the cheerful six-sided glassed-in area his mother had designed when the house was built. She referred to it as the conservatory and filled it with hanging ferns and philodendron, but everyone else called it the sunroom.

Marshall set down his newspaper and looked closely at Brady. “Late night?” he said.

“You could say that.”

“Did you win at least?”

“Came out okay despite having a lot on my mind.” He glanced at his father’s plate and the remains of something once smothered in gravy. Another test for Brady’s arteries, but whatever was in the chafing dish smelled too good to pass up. He headed to the buffet table. “I’m guessing stew,” he said.

“Ruby’s specialty. And mighty tasty.”

Brady ladled two helpings onto a plate, picked up a couple of biscuits from under a cloth napkin and chose a seat across the table from his father. “Where’s Mom?”

“Still sleeping, I guess,” Marshall said. “I was beat when we got home from Henley’s last night and turned in early. Angela was still in the den. I don’t know what time she came upstairs.”

Brady was sorry to hear this news. Before he’d left for the poker game, he’d come to the house to tell his mother about Amber Mac. It was after dark and he’d found her in front of the television. She was staring vacantly at an old black-and-white movie and he saw a drink in her hand. It only took a minute for him to realize she’d obviously started drinking at the cocktail hour and had continued with rum and Cokes well into the evening. Her interest in the new colt had been cool at best.

“Are you still having the hoedown on Sunday?” The annual event, which began at Cross Fox twenty-nine years ago to celebrate Marshall’s thirtieth birthday had become a Carrick family tradition. Brady figured his dad might cancel the party if Angela wasn’t up to hosting.

Marshall furrowed his brow. “Of course. Folks expect it. Besides, a man can’t stop living just because…” He never finished his thought and instead went to the buffet, filled a bowl with peaches and poured heavy cream over the top. “Are any of your friends from the poker game coming?”

Brady had invited Blake, Cole, Jake and Luke, the four regulars on Texas Hold ’Em nights. “Yes, they’re coming. Along with their girlfriends and wives.” Marshall knew Blake’s wife, Annie. She was a reporter for the River Bluff newspaper and expecting their first child. And Brady figured his dad would remember Rachel Diamonte, a former River Bluff prom queen, who’d recently come back to town. She and Jake had a history to mend, but since he’d hired her to renovate the bar they’d worked out their differences and were planning a future together. But he’d never met Tessa, the new love of Cole Lawry’s life.

“So Jake’s coming to the party?” Marshall said.

“Yep. Mom’s just going to have to accept that.”

“It’ll be all right. Your mother likes Luke, at least. There’s no better people than that whole Chisum clan.”

They ate in silence until Marshall scooped the last of the fruit from his bowl. He sat back. “Did you time those three-year-olds on the half mile this morning?”

“Sure did. Jodie’s Girl cut five seconds off her previous time. I breezed the two stallions with her, but they didn’t improve. In my opinion, though, Jodie’s ready for a claiming race.”

Marshall nodded. “She’s a good strong filly. How’s Amber Mac today?”

“Seems okay. I’m going to feed him when I’m done here.”

“Not too much. He’s not showing hog fat, but we’ve got to trim him down anyway.”

“I know, Dad. We talked about this. I won’t overfeed him.” Brady sopped up a pool of gravy with a biscuit. “At breakfast I went over the vet reports on him again. His vaccinations are up-to-date and his vitamin regimen seems appropriate for his age and weight.” He pushed his plate back and stood. He shouldn’t have to prove himself to his father every time they talked, yet he constantly felt the need to. “I’ve got to go, Dad. See you later.”

Marshall picked up his paper and resumed reading.

Brady returned to the mudroom for his boots and hat. He left by the back entrance and headed across the two hundred yards of lush green lawn that separated the stables from the house. He regretted not taking the golf cart…his knee was acting up. But he believed in the old-fashioned theory that pain can be walked off. Dodger, the family’s Jack Russell terrier yapped at his heels. “Where did you come from? I didn’t see you begging for scraps at lunch.”

The dog alternated between scuttling on his belly and nipping at the hem of Brady’s jeans. “Calm down. And stop that barking. We’re almost at the stables. You’re supposed to be a horse’s companion, not his biggest aggravation.”

They reached the stalls and Brady told Dodger to stay put, out of sight of Amber Mac. Predictably, the terrier didn’t pay any mind. Instead, he scratched at the bottom half of Mac’s door and resumed yipping. Amber Mac reared, hitting his rump against the back of the stall.

At the sound of laughter behind him, Brady whirled around. Dobbs picked up Dodger, set him in the yard, put his hand up in front of the animal’s face and said, “Stay!” Dodger didn’t move and Brady experienced renewed admiration for the trainer. And a bit of jealousy.

Dobbs walked over to him. “That’s what comes from a dog not knowing his place in the scheme of things around here,” he said. “In the daylight, that crazy pup is out here at the stables, then come evening, Angela gives him a bath in perfumed shampoo so he can sleep on a velvet pillow at the foot of her bed.” Dodger hadn’t moved, but was panting with excitement, probably anticipating his next opportunity to sneak back to the stalls. “You don’t know where you belong, do you, boy?” Dobbs said. He clucked his tongue a few times at Amber Mac and coaxed the animal to the door. “He’s acting skittish. I think it’s more than Dodger bothering him.”

“He’s probably hungry.” With a slow, deliberate motion, Brady lifted his hand to stroke the thoroughbred’s nose. “Time for lunch, fella.”

Mac jerked his head out of reach.

“Okay, so we’re not best friends yet.”

Dobbs handed Brady a feed bucket. “He’s only getting a pound of oats,” Dobbs said. “He’s been on grass and doesn’t need any more than that.”

Brady poured the oat pellets into the feed bucket. The horse immediately began to eat.

“Let’s leave him be,” Dobbs said, motioning for Brady to follow him. “Don’t get discouraged. This is only his first full day at Cross Fox. He needs a good week or two to adjust to his new environment, even if these are the luxury accommodations.”

Brady stopped halfway to the house and looked back. Dobbs turned to see what had caught his eye. The stables, built of brick and pine, stretched in a U-shaped arc with a stone statue of a thoroughbred in the center. Dutch doors opened onto each twelve-by-twelve stall. In the summer, when temperatures soared above ninety degrees, fans circulated continuously, keeping the horses cool and flies at bay.

Two full-time grooms cleaned brushes and kept the horses’ coats glossy. A pair of stable hands washed feed buckets and mucked stalls twice a day. An industrial washing machine was constantly running, keeping blankets, bandages and wraps sanitary. The Cross Fox gardener manicured the lawn around the stable until it resembled a putting green and kept oak planters in front of each stall. This month they were still filled with the brilliant red poinsettias of the holiday season. Marshall spared no expense.

Amber Mac’s accommodations were the best of the best. His stall opened onto a private paddock so he could come and go at will, allowing him the exercise needed to trim to an acceptable weight.

Brady crossed his arms and watched as Mac, finished with his meal, trotted into the paddock and stood with his head over the fence. “He’s got it pretty good.”

Dobbs started to comment but the sound of a car’s laboring engine interrupted him. “You expecting company?”

“Not me.” Brady peered down the half-mile drive. A rolling speck of white approached in a cloud of dust. “Who do we know who drives a tiny foreign thing like that?” he asked Dobbs.

“Nobody I can think of.”

But suddenly Brady knew. Strands of dark brown hair whipped from the driver’s window. George Strait blared from the radio. “Uh, Dobbs?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember seeing that car in Cliff’s parking lot?”

The car stopped two-thirds of the way around the circular drive, just past the entrance to the house. “Damn, Brady,” he said. “That sure looks like our Molly.”

“Shit, no, it can’t be.” Brady pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Sweet mercy, Dobbs, it’s her. And she’s got somebody else in the car.”

Molly shut off the engine. Dust settled over the car, turning the faded exterior a gritty beige. She raked her fingers through her mussed hair, gathered it into a bunch and deftly wound some sort of band around it. She stepped out of the car and leaned an elbow on the top. “You told me not to wait too long,” she said. “I guess this should be quick enough for you.”

He tried to think of something to say, but his head was filled with the chug of her car as it came up the drive and the snorts of amusement coming from Dobbs. Not to mention the appearance of a woman who looked entirely different from the demure waitress in a red dress. This Molly filled out a pair of jeans about as well as anyone could. Her long-sleeved blouse opened at her neck revealing a turquoise charm dipping from a silver chain all the way down between… He looked up like a kid caught with his eyes on a centerfold.

She stepped away from the car and smoothed her hands down the sides of her jeans. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“You could have called first,” he said, and resisted the urge to slap his hand against his forehead before something else equally inane came from his mouth.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. We pretty well sealed the deal yesterday.”

Had they? Well, yeah, he supposed she was right. But he hadn’t expected her to actually show up. Yet here she was, standing in his driveway, her car loaded to the tops of its windows with stuff. And something else. He pointed. “Who’s in the car?”

She leaned into the driver’s window. “You can get out, Sammy. It’s okay. This is the place I told you about.”

The passenger door opened and a kid emerged, his sneakers crunching on the fine white gravel of the Carricks’ drive. He stood there, the brim of a Dallas Mavericks ball cap shadowing his eyes and nose. A worn cotton horse, its hind legs squeezed in the kid’s fist, dangled beside him. In the other hand, he gripped a plastic Slurpee cup. A T-shirt emblazoned with Prairie Bend Elementary School hung to the knees of a pair of husky-sized jeans.

Molly hurried around the car and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Say hi to Mr. Carrick and Mr. Dobbs.”

The horse jerked upward, its front legs wiggling. “Hi.”

“This is my son,” she explained, as if it made perfect sense for her to descend on Cross Fox Ranch with family in tow. “His name is Sam.”

Dobbs stepped forward and grinned at the kid. “Hello, Sam.”

Brady acknowledged him with a nod. A silence which might have become uncomfortable was broken by Dodger. The dog darted around Dobbs and ran at the kid, barking excitedly and wagging his stub of a tail.

Molly yanked the boy behind her. “Keep the dog back, will you?”

Brady released a snort of laughter. “That dog’s not going to bite.”

“I don’t know that.”

Dobbs called Dodger back and did his magic hand thing again to quiet the animal.

Brady stared at Molly. “I thought you said you didn’t have any family.”

“I believe I said I wasn’t leaving behind anyone that matters. That’s true. I brought Sam with me.”

“A kid isn’t part of the deal.”

She settled her hand on Sam’s ball cap. “No, he isn’t.”

“But how…?”

“You let me worry about that. It’s not your problem.”

“Like hell—” She scowled at him, and he clamped his mouth shut.

“If you’d like to discuss this later, I’d be happy to,” she said. “Now’s not the time.”

If ever a man felt like he was being rail-roaded, this was it. When Brady got up that morning, he never thought he’d be trying to figure out what to make of Molly. He never believed he’d actually end up teaching her the ins and outs of poker. And he never figured that if she did show, she’d bring a carload of baggage that included a lot more than a few suitcases of clothes.

Brady reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. “What’d it cost you to get here, Molly? I wouldn’t want you to make the drive back today so here’s enough for a motel room and dinner tonight. There’s a nice place in town…”

She took a couple of steps toward him. “I don’t want traveling expenses. I want the lessons. That’s what you told me I’d get.”

He frowned. “That was yesterday. And you brought a lot more to the table than you ever told me about, so why don’t you take the money, head on back to Prairie Bend and we’ll call the whole thing off.”

She breathed deeply and spoke so low he had to lean in to hear her. That damn silver chain glinted in the sunlight and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes off it. “Okay,” she said, “maybe I should have told you about Sam.”

“You think?”

“But if I had, you wouldn’t have offered me the deal.”

“Damn straight.”

She rolled her eyes to Sam. “Language.”

Somehow he reined in his temper. “Why don’t you take Molly’s son for a walk?” he said to Dobbs.

“Sure. I can do that.”

It was a great plan in theory, only the kid wouldn’t budge. “Sit in the car, honey,” she said to him. He got inside and sucked on the Slurpee.

Molly turned back to Brady. “Look, I’m sorry about blindsiding you, but Sam’s going to start school soon. And when he’s not in school, he won’t be any trouble. He’s a well-behaved boy. I will need to spend time with him, of course, but I’m sure you and I will find all the opportunities we need to study.” Sensing he wasn’t convinced, she added, “And I’m a fast learner. Really, I am. And I want to do this. I’m prepared to study hard and listen to everything you tell me.”

He slanted a suspicious look at her. “Just exactly why do you want to learn poker, Molly? What do you want the money for?”

She parroted the line he’d given her the day before. “It’s personal.”

“I didn’t get away with saying that yesterday,” he said. “Why should I let you get away with it today?”

“You don’t need to know,” she evaded. “I did need to have answers about your motives. I’m the one taking a chance. I’m the outsider.”

“You’ve got to give me something, Molly.”

“I need a fresh start.” She stared intently at him, like she’d done when they first met in the diner. “All you need to know is that when this is over, I’ll leave. Like you explained yesterday, win or lose, I’ll be out of your life. I give you my word.”

Her word? What did Brady know about the word of a woman he’d just met? And yet he believed what she was saying. Unfortunately, believing did not mean he was ready to take on the responsibility of a newly unemployed waitress and her silent, overweight kid.

“What’s going on out here?” Marshall’s booming voice captured everyone’s attention. He strode out the front door, crossed the veranda and came down the steps. Stopping at the edge of the drive, he looked at the overstuffed vehicle that Brady had now identified as an older model Honda, bent to check out the boy inside and turned his focus to the three adults several yards away. He thrust his hands on his hips and said, “Damn, if you didn’t show up after all.”