The Texan's Return. Karen Whiddon

to take a shower. He’d give Detective Logan a call first thing in the morning and check on the possibility of reopening his father’s old case.

      The next morning, after showering and preparing breakfast, Mac watched the clock, wondering when would be the best time to call. He and Gus had settled into a comfortable routine.

      At nine sharp, Mac made the call while Gus listened. When he asked for Detective Logan, he got voice mail. After leaving his name and number, he pocketed his phone. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll keep after them. If I have to go down there, I will.”

      The rest of the day, Mac kept himself busy. The old house needed constant repairs, springing a leak here or there, and it seemed he’d no sooner fixed one thing when another needed his attention. Since the work required his hands rather than his mind, he couldn’t help but think of Hailey. He’d let her get away once. Not this time. Somehow, someway, he had to persuade her to give him a second chance. To give them a second chance.

      He just didn’t know how. After a lunch break during which he also fixed his father some soup, since the elusive Detective Logan still hadn’t called, Mac phoned again. Once more he got voice mail. He resigned himself to having to make a trip to the police station in the morning. For now, he needed to complete his rewiring of the doorbell. Once he’d finished that, he made a glass of iced tea and planned to sit on the front porch and drink it. He carried it there and grasped the handle to go outside.

      The little kid standing on his front porch stepped back in surprise when Mac opened the front door. Towheaded, with freckles and bright blue eyes, he couldn’t have been much older than ten or eleven. A battered blue bicycle leaned against the porch railing.

      “Can I help you?” Mac asked, keeping his tone kind.

      Nodding, the boy swallowed hard, before meeting Mac’s gaze. “I’m Eli,” he said, holding out his hand. “Eli Green.”

      Stunned, Mac shook Eli’s hand. “Hailey’s brother? You were barely walking when I saw you last.”

      With more dignity than his age warranted, Eli nodded. “So you are the right guy.”

      “The right guy? For what?”

      The little guy lifted his chin. “My sister Hailey’s old boyfriend from high school.”

      For whatever reason, Eli’s choice of words made Mac smile. “I’m not all that old,” he teased. “But, yes, I was Hailey’s boyfriend back in school.”

      Eli nodded solemnly. He eyed Mac, looking him over as if inspecting him. “I need to know what’s wrong with you.”

      “Wrong with me?”

      “Yes. Our mother doesn’t want Hailey to go anywhere near you.”

      That didn’t surprise him. Mac hadn’t been in town long enough to find out the Green family dynamic, but the family had been heavily fractured by Brenda’s murder. The loss of her daughter had damn near destroyed Hailey’s mother, June. She’d turned to solace in the bottle. Mac wondered if she’d managed to make her way out of the depths of despair.

      He thought not, since Hailey still lived at her childhood home.

      Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs off his thoughts, Mac squatted down in front to Eli. “What’d you come here for, little man?”

      “I wanted to check you out for myself.” Again, the kid’s quiet dignity made him seem older than his what—ten? eleven?—years. “Hailey deserves to be happy. She does everything for us and hardly anything for herself.”

      Still not sure where Eli was going with this, Mac nodded. “She’s a good person.”

      “My other sister Tara showed me and Tom the photo albums. The ones from when Hailey and you were boyfriend and girlfriend. She looked like a different person.”

      “Well, it’s been ten years,” Mac pointed out. “We’re all older now.” His legs had started to ache from crouching down, so he stood and walked over to the porch steps and took a seat. Patting a spot next to him, he motioned for Eli to join him.

      After the boy had gotten settled, he sighed heavily, sounding more like a middle-aged man than a young kid. “I’m not talking about being older. She looked different because she was happy.” His solemn expression matched his tone. “Poor Hailey. I can’t even think of the last time I saw her laugh like that.”

      Concerned, Mac couldn’t help but ask. “She’s not happy now?”

      “No.” Sadness colored his young/old voice. “She tries, but she’s not happy. Not like that.”

      “What do you mean?” He felt kind of bad, pumping a kid for information about Hailey, but Eli had come to him, not the other way around.

      Eli shrugged. “She’s tired a lot. Whenever she’s not taking care of us—and Mom—she works. We’re really poor. She thinks I don’t know, but it’s hard not to, you know? Our mom is an alcoholic.”

      Stunned that a kid this young knew such a word so intimately, Mac realized he might not really know Hailey anymore. Not now.

      “How old are you?” Mac had to ask, since he couldn’t remember exactly how old Eli had been ten years ago.

      The kid’s chin came up, the gesture so like Hailey’s, Mac caught his breath. “I’m eleven. But I see things, too, you know. I might only be eleven, but even I can tell that Hailey needs more.”

      “More what?”

      When Eli met his gaze, Mac saw wisdom far beyond the boy’s years. “More smiles. More happy times. Tara—that’s my other sister—says after high school, and our other sister’s death, Hailey never got to be young again.”

      Mac felt a sharp stab of pain. This kid wasn’t old enough to remember. He didn’t understand the chain of events that had pulled the rug out from under them all. So much pain. The town had become a cesspool. People had taken sides, drawn lines, made enemies. Even time hadn’t been able to heal the old wounds. Coming here made them all fresh and new again. He could only imagine how Hailey felt, still living here, reminded constantly.

      “Do you like baseball?” Eli asked, apparently ready to change the subject.

      “Sure. What about you?”

      “It’s my favorite sport. I’m hoping to get to play Little League someday.”

      This seemed slightly odd. From what Mac could remember, T-ball started really young, like four or five years old. From there, the kids played in leagues, all the way up to Little League baseball.

      “Where do you play if you’re not in a league?” he asked.

      Eli looked down. “Sometimes my brother and I play catch. And in school, we have games. But no one will pick me for their team because I haven’t played Little League.” He shuffled his feet. “I’m not really very good.”

      “That stinks,” Mac said, meaning it. “But I bet all you need is some practice. How about you and I hit the ball around? I’ve got time.”

      The kid’s head snapped up so fast it’s a wonder he didn’t pop his neck. “When?”

      “How about now?”

      As he turned to go rummage around for his old baseball equipment, he heard a screech of tires as a car came around the corner. It barreled down his street, a little too fast. He recognized the car. Hailey’s, the same jalopy she’d been driving back in high school.

      Eyeing it, he was surprised it still ran. Various creases and dents marred the shape of the body. In the not crumpled areas, the red paint had faded and chipped, and the tires didn’t match. It slowed as it pulled up in front of Mac’s house and slammed on the brakes.

      Eli groaned. “Great. I won’t get to play catch.” He swallowed hard. “And I’m also in big trouble.”

      Mac didn’t