“She’ll let you know in the morning. Her kid is asleep and I told her people in this town don’t stand on protocol. That’s not a problem, right?”
Barney frowned. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
“Your mother wouldn’t do that to you, Barn, and you know it. Besides, it’s almost Christmas.”
Barney snickered. “I heard about you playing Santa. Not exactly type-casting, was it?”
“I’m gonna be an uncle in a few months. I’m thinking of this as on-the-job training. Come on, Barney, what’s a little paperwork among friends?”
It took some more wheedling, since Barney insisted he needed her photo ID and vehicle license number, but Cole finally got a room key. He hurried back to the car and hopped in. “Straight ahead. Number five. I’ll pick up your car while you put Joey to bed.”
“Are you sure? We can walk to it in the morning. You seem to favor one foot. I hate to put you out.”
Shit. She’d noticed his limp. I must be more tired than I thought. Usually, his ankle only bothered him after a long day of car-pentry. Of course, today he’d worked all day then bounced little kids on his knee for a couple of hours. “I’m fine. Occupational hazard.”
He parked in front of the small cabin. A rustic overhead fixture gave off just enough light for him to see the lock. He opened the door then stepped inside to turn on the light. He waited while she laid the sleeping child on the double bed.
She carefully removed the toddler’s jacket and shoes before pulling the covers over him. Standing, she arched her back slightly and let out a sigh. “I didn’t realize how heavy he could get. I’m not sure I would have made it if we’d had to walk. And he’s a real bear when you wake him up to put him into his car seat.”
“No problem. If you give me your key, I’ll run after your car. Make and color?”
She sat on the bed closest to the door and opened her purse. “White Toyota Camry. With a baby seat in the back. Please don’t wreck the car. I had to sign a waiver that said only I would drive it.”
“It’s five blocks. I guarantee it’ll be fine.”
“But they’re big, Texas blocks,” she said, dropping the keys into his outstretched palm.
He saw a sparkle of humor in her eyes that surprised him—and made him even more curious about her. He was beginning to see a bit of Sunny in her.
He pocketed the keys and left. His ankle was sore—he could tell it was swollen—but he needed this time to think.
Sunny. A sweet kid who drifted through his life right at the exact moment when the proverbial shit hit the fan. He’d helped her out of an uncomfortable situation, found her a job and a place to live. She’d repaid the favor by listening to his ridiculously stupid tale of love, loss, greed and corruption. She’d seen him at his lowest. She’d offered friendship and a shoulder to cry on one night. That was all he remembered them sharing—even if he had woken up in her bed the next morning.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about this, Sunny girl,” he muttered, trying to coax a clear memory from the haze. He’d blocked out a lot about that time.
The memories scattered the instant his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket, pausing to check the caller ID. Annie. Two years his senior. Friend, mentor, nag, sister.
“Hey, Anster. Everything okay with junior or juniorette?”
“Yes, the baby is safely on board. That’s not why I called.”
Annie and her husband, Blake Smith, who was one of Cole’s closest friends, had overcome separation, a miscarriage and Annie’s second marriage. Finally, things seemed to be working in their favor. She was happily—healthfully—pregnant.
“Good. Then I’ll get back to you later. I’m busy.”
“Oh, please. How busy can you be? Mom said you just left the bazaar. This isn’t San Antonio, where you actually have to deal with traffic. Although it doesn’t sound like you’re in your truck. Where are you?”
“Getting gas,” he lied. “Why’d you call?”
“I saw Jake today. When I asked him about the Card, he kinda gave me the brush-off. Have you heard any more about what he intends to do with the place?”
The Wild Card Saloon had never been the most popular bar in town as far as local women were concerned. Partly because the original owner, Lola Chandler—Jake’s mother—had been beautiful, independent and seemingly content to raise her son on her own.
Sadly, Lola passed away when Jake and Cole were in junior high. Her brother, Verne, stepped in to take over the bar and give Jake a home—of sorts—but Jake took off as soon as he turned eighteen. No one had heard from him again until Blake tracked him down to break the news Verne had died and to invite him to the wedding in Vegas. Now he was back in town riding a pricey Hog.
“Are you asking as a reporter for the paper? What makes you think I’d know anything?” Cole asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. Annie wasn’t the only one Jake had snubbed since his return.
“Because the two of you were thick as thieves in school.”
“Yeah, well, times change, as they say.”
Annie made a huffing sound. “Men. What’s so hard about sitting down face-to-face and starting a dialogue? Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him.”
“Yeah? Then he can wait till hell freezes over.” Cole had reached Main. Only one car was parked on either side of the street for three blocks. A white compact. Clearly a rental. “In the meantime, I don’t give a damn what he does with the Wild Card. I’m hosting next week, in case your husband didn’t mention it.”
Between Verne’s death and the big storm that took off part of the roof, the regulars had been forced to find other places for their weekly poker game.
“You don’t even have a table.”
“I will by then. Listen, Spunky, if that’s all you wanted, I gotta go. See you later.” He knew she hated that nickname. Which was why he used it. Gave her something else to stew about.
He turned off the phone and picked up the pace as he headed toward the Longhorn Café. At least Tessa had had the good sense to pick Ed Falconetti’s place for dinner. For a guy from New Jersey, Ed was one heck of a cook—even if his hot dog dinner hadn’t appeared to settle well with Joey, Cole thought with a smile.
Joey. Was there even a remote chance he was Cole’s child?
His ankle gave slightly and a shaft of pain radiated upward, making him stumble. His recovery was graceless, but Tessa’s rental car was close enough to grab, so he didn’t go all the way to the ground. As much as he would have liked to blame his sore leg on Sally and her cats, he knew the underlying cause.
He pushed himself upright and used the key to unlock the driver’s-side door. The sooner he got back to the motel and had a talk with Tessa Jamison, the sooner they could clear up this matter. He had a feeling once she heard his story—and learned about his father—she’d pack up her genetics test and leave.
TESSA PACED about the room the way she did the night before a big presentation. Her business partner, Marci, liked to tell prospective clients that Tessa lived and breathed planning and organization. True. But what had proven a boon to their thriving consulting firm wound up being something Alan, her boyfriend of two years, apparently had felt threatened by.
“Marci may let you run the whole show, and Lord knows your sister and mother never complain about you micromanaging their lives, but I’m