A Little Texas. Liz Talley

      “He can’t keep secrets from me, Rick,” she said softly, tucking her hands into her back pockets and shivering. The wind had picked up and the jacket she wore afforded little protection against the air sweeping across the hilled pasture.

      “Don’t get involved in this, Vera.”

      She shrugged. “I know my husband. Knew what kind of man he was before I married him. A secret love child comes as no surprise to me.”

      Love child? Rick didn’t think the term could be applied to Kate. Not the way Justus had talked about her mother. Rick didn’t sense any tenderness where Susie Newman was concerned. She’d been just another woman who’d thought she could catch the mighty Justus Mitchell and failed.

      Rick studied the woman who hadn’t. Her face bore the tale of losing her only child and surviving her husband’s declining health, yet, she was lovely. Touched by time and misfortune, Vera still held traces of that Alabama Southern belle she’d been. She was a woman who could serve up coffee and pound cake with the hands she’d just used to transplant a hydrangea or nurse a sick child. She’d been Rick’s only friend for a while…aside from the gangly boy who’d dogged his heels when he’d first come to live at Cottonwood.

      “You’ve talked to him about this girl?” he asked as he walked toward the rear of the house.

      She followed, tossing her gardening gloves onto a bench outside the mudroom. “Not exactly, no. But I always know what’s going on, Rick.”

      “So you’re just pretending not to?”

      Vera smiled. “Of course. Justus will tell me when he’s ready. He thinks I’m weak. That I have to be protected.”

      For good reason. Vera had been hovering on the edge of severe depression since Ryan’s passing. Few things brought her joy.

      They entered the kitchen where Rick’s grandmother Rosa ruled. Rosa had been with Justus for over forty years. She ran Cottonwood, and she was the reason for every good thing in Rick’s life.

      “Hola,” Rosa said, her accent still thick despite the years she’d spent in the United States. His grandmother stood at the stove stirring something in a pot. It seemed he could always find her there. The kitchen smelled like barbecue and made his stomach growl. “Mr. Justus said to go to his office. He just called down, upset you weren’t here.”

      Rick shrugged. “He’s going to get even more upset. Put antacid next to his plate tonight, abuela.”

      Vera disappeared before he could say goodbye.

      Leaving Rick to tell Justus that Kate played by her own rules.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      KATE HADN’T GOTTEN MUCH SLEEP. Mostly because she’d stayed up late listening to Nellie lecture her. Eventually she’d fallen into a fitful, shadowy sleep. When she’d woken this morning, her head pounded and she could barely swallow. A suspicious substance dripped from her nose. The pine trees of East Texas had done their job. Her allergies were going haywire.

      Even so, she’d staggered from Nellie’s guest bedroom, managed a long shower, and pulled on a tight sweaterdress with black kick-ass Tory Burch boots. Of course, her slightly red nose didn’t match the violet minidress, but at least it was in color range.

      The kitchen was empty. Kate made herself at home, grabbing a cup of black coffee and a Pop-Tart. After three bites of the pastry, she remembered why she never bought them—they tasted like flavored cardboard. Her half-eaten breakfast hit the trash can just as the doorbell sounded.

      Rick had not forgotten. Damn.

      She took another sip of coffee with an unsteady hand. She’d once read an Emily Dickinson poem in college where Death had politely rung the doorbell. When answered, Death had taken the dude on a trip that ended at the cemetery. This felt a little like that.

      The doorbell sounded again.

      “I’ve got it,” Kate called out, forcing herself to move. She didn’t want Nellie to answer. Almost always reserved, Nellie left the outlandishness to Kate, but if and when Nellie got her dander up, there was no subtlety about it. And last night, Nellie had been as mad as Kate had ever seen her. She wasn’t sure if the fury was at her, Justus or Rick.

      Kate threw the door open, and Rick jumped back before giving her a quasi grin. “Good morning, cupcake.”

      She snorted. “I’ve been called lots of names before, but never cupcake. Come in. I’ll grab my purse and gun.”

      “Bring plenty of ammunition. His wheelchair is motorized and he’s pretty fast in it.”

      “I have a whole box,” she said as she turned toward the kitchen where she’d left her purse. Nellie hadn’t appeared. Thank the Lord. She figured her friend didn’t trust herself not to lash out at Rick for carrying out Justus’s heinous mission. Kate hadn’t been able to reason with her over this whole fiasco. And it was a fiasco, but Nellie didn’t seem to understand Kate had asked for this when she’d written that damn letter. Nor did she understand why Kate hadn’t come to her for the money.

      Kate had thought Nellie would get why she hadn’t made that call. Everyone in Oak Stand knew Kate and her grandmother had lived off donations and cast-off clothing, and everyone knew Kate was embarrassed by that fact. Kate had never asked Nellie for anything. Ever. No matter how desperate she felt, it was an unwritten code they never talked about. Another elephant in the room of Kate’s life, one that had so many pachyderms in it, it was a wonder she had air left to breathe.

      Kate wouldn’t take charity. Not from a friend.

      But she would take Justus’s hush money.

      She scooped up her purse and checked herself in the den mirror. She looked good for someone who had a raging sinus headache. She’d made up her eyes a little too heavily, but the blue streaks in her hair balanced the look. She’d finger-combed her hair into a straight edgy look and added dangly hoop earrings. The outfit was cutting-edge fashion. Overall, she looked like Justus’s worst nightmare—something like Posh Spice meets Reno prostitute.

      She sauntered to the foyer where Rick studied a collage of Mae. The whole damned house was Ode to Mae. Nellie must have taken a picture of the baby every single day of her fifteen months of life.

      “She’s a cute kid,” Rick said as he turned to her. His gaze swept her length, lingering on the high points. Namely her small breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra because she didn’t really need one. She felt her nipples harden under his perusal. The friction of the sweater dress only served to incite the heat in the pit of her stomach.

      Rick Mendez was a nice piece of work. He’d look good on her, no doubt.

      “Yeah, she is,” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But they could give the camera a rest. Jeez.”

      “Ready to go?” Rick stepped back to let her pass through the door he’d left open. The last day in January felt cool and rain-soaked.

      “Yeah. You have the blindfold ready?” She shrugged into her coat and tugged the ties.

      “Blindfold?”

      “For the firing squad.”

      He narrowed his eyes. They were nice eyes. Chocolaty-brown, but forceful all the same. Like they’d seen and endured much.

      She shot him a brave smile and trotted down the steps toward the ’66 convertible Mustang parked in the curved drive. The car was salsa-red with a white top. A muscle car to match the intensity of the man walking behind her.

      “I carry the blindfolds in my glove box,” Rick said, following her to the passenger door. He pushed a key into the lock, pulled the door open for her, then walked around to slip into the car beside her. His shoulder brushed hers as he pulled the modified seat belt over his chest and she got a whiff of him. He smelled clean. His short hair looked damp, as though he’d climbed from the shower only moments