Lone Star Nights. Delores Fossen

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded. He’d make an appearance all right. For both. His brother Riley and his bride-to-be, Claire, were getting married at the family ranch and then having the reception at the picnic so that everyone in town could attend. It made sense since the McCords hosted the event. That not only meant they footed the bill, but that the entire family was expected to show up and have fun. Or at least look as if they were having fun. It’d been much easier to do that when Lucky was a kid, and his mom and dad had been running the show. Now it was just another place for him to have memories of things he didn’t want to remember.

      Still, he’d be there. Not just because of Logan and Riley, either, but because the picnic was something his mother had started, and despite the bad memories it would bring on, the event was her legacy.

      Logan went to the guest book and signed it before he left, his boots thudding his way to the exit. That’s when Lucky noticed the purple-tube-top girls were gone. Manuel, too. Heck, even the funeral director had ducked out again.

      Lucky sank down in one of the creaky wooden chairs, wondering if he should say a prayer or something. Dixie Mae had left specific instructions with the funeral home that there would not be a service, music or food. No graveside burial, either, since she was to be cremated. The only thing she’d insisted on was the creepy picture of her that would ensure no passerby would just pop in to say goodbye to an old lady. However, she hadn’t said anything about a guy praying.

      Footsteps again. Not boots this time. These were hurried but light, and he thought maybe the tube-top visitors had returned. It wasn’t them, but it was a woman all right. A brunette with pinned-up hair, and she was reading something on her phone. That’s why Lucky didn’t see her face until she finally looked up.

      Cassie.

      Or rather Cassandra Weatherall. Dixie Mae’s granddaughter.

      She practically skidded to a stop when she spotted him, and he got the scowl he always got when Cassie looked at him. He got his other usual reaction to her, too. A little flutter in his stomach.

      Possibly gas.

      Lucky sure hoped that was what it was anyway. The only thing he’d been good at in high school was charming girls, but nothing—absolutely nothing—he’d ever tried on Cassie had garnered him more than a scowl.

      “You’re here,” Cassie said.

      Lucky made a show of looking at himself and outstretched his arms. “Appears so. You’re here, too.”

      She slipped her phone into the pocket of her gray jacket. Gray skirt and top, as well. Ditto for the shoes. If those shoes got any more sensible, they’d start flossing themselves.

      But yep, what he’d felt was a flutter.

      Probably because he’d never been able to figure her out. Or kiss her. He mentally shrugged. It was the kiss part all right. When it came to that sort of thing, he was pretty shallow, and it stung that the high school bookworm with no other boyfriends would dismiss him with a scowl.

      He’d considered the possibility that she was gay, but then over the years he’d seen some pictures she’d sent Dixie Mae. Pictures of Cassie in an itty-bitty bikini on some beach with a guy wrapped around her. Then more pictures of her in a party dress, a different guy wrapped around her that time. So apparently she liked wraparound guys. She just didn’t like him.

      “Is your dad coming?” he asked.

      Her mouth tightened a little. Translation: sore subject. “Probably not. He hasn’t spoken to Gran in twenty years.”

      Lucky was well aware of that because Dixie Mae brought it up every time she got too much Jim Beam in her. Which was often. According to her, twenty years ago she’d refused to give Mason-Dixon a loan so he could add an adult sex toy shop to his strip club, the Slippery Pole, and it had caused a rift. Or as Dixie Mae called it—the great dildo feud.

      Still, Lucky had hoped that her only child could bury the hatchet for a couple of minutes and come say goodbye to his mom.

      “My mother won’t be here, either,” Cassie went on.

      Yet another complicated piece of this family puzzle. Cassie’s folks had divorced before she was born. Or maybe they had never actually married. Either way, her mom preferred to stay far, far away from Spring Hill, Mason-Dixon, Dixie Mae and Cassie.

      Cassie walked closer, stopping by his side. She peered at the casket. Hesitating. “That’s not a very good picture of her,” she said.

      Lucky made a sound of agreement. “Her doing. All of this is. She did try to call you before she passed. I tried to call you afterward.”

      Cassie nodded, seemed flustered. “I was at a...retreat on the Oregon Coast. No cell phone. I didn’t get the news until yesterday afternoon, and I caught the first flight out.”

      “Shrinks need retreats?” Lucky asked, only half-serious.

      “I’m not a shrink. I’m a therapist. And yes, sometimes we do.” There seemed to be a lot more to it than that, but she didn’t offer any details. “Were you with Gran when she died?”

      Well, heck. That brought back the lump in his throat. It didn’t go so great with that flutter in his stomach. Lucky responded with just a nod.

      “Was she in pain?” Cassie pressed.

      “No. She sort of just slipped away.” Right there, in front of him. With that smile on her face.

      Cassie stayed quiet a moment. “I should have been there with her. I should have told her goodbye.”

      And the tears started spilling down her cheeks. Lucky had been expecting them, of course. From all accounts Cassie actually loved Dixie Mae and vice versa, but he wasn’t sure if he should offer Cassie a shoulder. Or just a pat on the back.

      He went with the pat.

      Cassie pulled out a tissue from her purse, dabbed her eyes, but the tears just came right back. Hell. Back-patting obviously wasn’t doing the trick so he went for something more. He put his arm around her.

      More tears fell, and Lucky figured they weren’t the first of the day. Nor would they be the last. Cassie’s eyes had already been red when she came into the room. As much as he hated to see a woman cry—and he hated it—at least there was one other person mourning Dixie Mae’s loss.

      Lucky didn’t hurry her crying spell by trying to say something to comfort her. No way to speed up something like that anyway. Death sucked, period, and sometimes the only thing you could do was cry about it.

      “Thanks,” Cassie mumbled several moments later. She dabbed her eyes again and moved away from him. That didn’t put an end to the tears, but she kept trying to blink them back. “Did she say anything before she died?”

      Lucky didn’t have any trouble recalling those last handful of words. “She said, ‘The bull usually does.’”

      Cassie opened her mouth and then seemed to change her mind about how to answer that. “Excuse me?”

      “I don’t know what it means, either. Dixie Mae asked about the rodeo ride that I’d just finished. I told her the bull won, and she said it usually does.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ