Texas Dad. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ a plan, and she wasn’t prepared for it to go awry. But late that afternoon when she checked into the motel in La Mesa, her plan did just that. The clerk at the front desk handed her a phone message from Mack’s daughter, Zoey. The girl couldn’t meet J.J. as arranged, the note said, because her best friend’s mother couldn’t bring the kids to town today. The message instructed J.J. to meet the girls at the public library at ten the next day rather than going out to the ranch.

      Once in her room, J.J. stared out the window at the Western town that had grown little in the time she’d been gone. She admitted to being curious about the child Mack had with Faith. She hadn’t known Faith well. It was Mack who had included the thin, pale woman in their college group. Sparing a moment to reread the message, J.J. felt a niggling suspicion that Mack might not be aware that he was going to be displayed in a high-circulation women’s magazine. But she knew the staff had sent him a release to sign, so J.J. would meet the kids, then proceed. The staff of Her Own Woman, most of them mothers, had empathy for the motherless Zoey Bannerman. It hadn’t occurred to them that anything might be amiss with the kid’s nomination of her father. And maybe nothing was. This uneasiness in J.J.’s stomach could well be her own reservations over seeing Mackenzie again.

      Had she known of this delay earlier, she’d have phoned her mom and taken her to dinner. Too weary now to drive back to Lubbock, she elected to go in search of food in town before calling it a night.

      Fewer than twenty minutes later, a short walk down the main street from her motel, she sat at the counter of a hole-in-the-wall café, checking her messages while awaiting delivery of her order. It was frustrating as she kept losing her signal. Purely by chance, she heard Mack’s name mentioned. A trio of rancher types in jeans and cowboy hats were discussing a year-long drought in the area that was of major concern, considering summer was just around the corner.

      “If Bannerman has to sell his herd early and take a loss, he might not be able to underwrite this year’s steak-fry festival,” the man closest to J.J. said.

      An older man bobbed his shaggy gray head. “Be a shame if Mack had to cancel the event when more wounded veterans than ever need retro-fitted homes. Last year Mack raised funds to help three local veterans.”

      “Yep, I know. But our pastures are as dry as I’ve ever seen ’em in the spring,” lamented a man J.J. couldn’t see past the bulk of the others.

      “Uh-huh, two bad grass fires already. Hey, Jody, how about a refill on the coffee,” he called to the waitress, wagging his cup in the air. “And slices of that lemon pie all around? My treat,” he told his companions.

      J.J.’s soup and sandwich came, and the men quit talking to wolf down their pie, after which they dropped money on the counter and trooped out. J.J. found herself feeling sad to think Turkey Creek Ranch might be struggling. And Mack. He was the fourth generation of Bannermans to raise cattle. His great-grandfather was one of a few old-timers who’d built a Hereford herd with cows and bulls brought over from England. Mack had planned to crossbreed and produce a strain of hardier cattle more able to survive the extreme Texas weather. She’d once promised to support him in every way. Obviously he hadn’t wanted her help.

      She pushed aside half of her sandwich, wondering why she’d recalled that or anything else about Mack. It had taken her a long time to bury her pain.

      Paying at the register, J.J. walked back to her motel, determined to put Mack out of her mind for the night.

      * * *

      THE NEXT MORNING, just past 10:00 a.m., she hurried into the library. It smelled like all the libraries she’d spent time in during her school years in Texas. The odor of pungent wax didn’t quite hide the musty scent of old books.

      The heels of her boots clacked on the weathered wood flooring. Rising late after sleeping better than she’d expected to, she’d hastily thrown on a citified version of cowgirl wear—skinny jeans, a sleeveless black linen blouse and understated gold accessories that were a staple when she traveled. Assuming she’d be driving to the ranch later, she’d pulled her hair in an easy twist that looked elaborate but really wasn’t. It kept her hair contained and out of her face when she shot photographs in remote locations. Slung over one shoulder she carried her ever-present worn leather bag filled with cameras, light meters and other equipment she never found time to unpack between trips.

      “I’m supposed to meet a couple of teen girls,” she told the librarian. The woman pointed her to a round table partially hidden behind a counter on which sat two computers.

      Crossing over to the waiting pair, J.J. smiled and said, “Sorry I’m a bit late. I’m J. J. Walker. I’m from Her Own Woman magazine.” She was surprised that she couldn’t readily identify which of them was Mack’s daughter, given that she’d known both of the girl’s parents. She’d forgotten Texas ranch kids tended to look younger and more scrubbed than teens she encountered on a New York subway.

      For the girls’ part, they seemed struck mute.

      Not wanting to intimidate them, J.J. slid out a chair, dumped her bag on the floor and sat. “Well, I don’t know who’s who, but you know why I’m here. It must be exciting to have your essay and photographs chosen by our staff,” she said brightly.

      The girl with reddish brown braids sat up straighter. “I’m Zoey Bannerman. This is my friend, Brandy Evers. I took the pictures, and Brandy gave me suggestions for my essay.” She kept her gaze downcast, which didn’t allow J.J. to see if the girl’s eyes were gray like Mack’s.

      Removing a folder and business card from her bag, J.J. said, “Our next step is for me to interview your father and take some professional photos. We want shots of him doing what he does every day on his ranch.” Her gold bangles clinked as she spun her watch around to check the time. “If we head out now, I should be able to wind things down by four o’clock.”

      “Today?” The girls shared a look of consternation. Before J.J. could decipher it, the front door to the library flew open, creating a cool breeze. J.J. saw both girls stiffen as a man’s deep voice called, “Zoey.” Zoey jumped up and almost fell over the camera bag.

      Leaning down, J.J. tucked the bag farther under the table, then let her eyes track over scuffed cowboy boots, up worn blue jeans, to a shiny belt buckle. Panic set in when she completed the journey and got stuck on the tanned, lean face of none other than Mackenzie Bannerman. Thankfully, he wasn’t paying any attention to her, and that gave her time to take a deep breath and pull herself together.

      “You should’ve let me know you girls were coming into town, Zoey. I expected you to be at Brandy’s house. Erma fell down our back steps. She may have broken her hip. I had to bring her into the urgent-care clinic, and I wasted precious time tracking down Brandy’s mom, who didn’t hear her phone. Since I’m here, she asked if I’d drive you kids home. So grab your books and check them out. I have to swing back to the clinic to get the verdict on Erma.”

      The girls remained glued to their spots, Zoey standing and Brandy seated across from J.J.

      “What’s wrong with you two? Hop to it. Whether or not Erma broke her hip, she’s going to be laid up for a while. I need to stop by the employment office and see if they can scare us up a temporary housekeeper.” Only then did Mack seem to realize there was someone else at the girls’ table.

      J.J. knew the exact moment he noticed her—and recognized her—because his breath escaped his lungs in a hiss. He reeled back on his heels and swore out loud.

      “Mack,” she said, inclining her head ever so slightly to meet those incredible eyes. СКАЧАТЬ