Daddy for Keeps. Pamela Tracy

him? Why would I tell him?” The look in her eyes said it all. Marcus was pond scum. “We, my father and I, wanted nothing to do with Marcus, ever. We were glad he never came around. Robby’s ours. We kept him, we love him, and he’s ours. And keep your voice down. He doesn’t know he’s related to you.”

      “That’s going to change. Robby has family, on both sides, who want to get to know him and love him.”

      Natalie’s eyes narrowed.

      “By not telling my brother about Robby, you deprived him of any opportunity to know his son.” Lucky felt the words pool in his throat. Maybe knowing he had a son would have calmed Marcus down, grounded him, made him rethink what he did with his time and his money. “I know my brother. He would have taken care of Robby.”

      “No,” Natalie said.

      “Look, how and when did you meet him? What made you decide to raise his child alone? Why…”

      She covered her ears. The pain on her face so evident that Lucky stopped.

      “I can’t deal with this right now,” she said.

      He started to argue, but tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to overflow.

      “It’s too much. I’ve dealt with losing my dad, losing my home, and now you’re making me deal with losing Robby.”

      “No, not losing Robby, but introducing—”

      She held up her hand. “No, not today, I cannot deal with this today.” She took one step in his direction, and he backed up. He recognized anguish. He’d felt it every day since his brother died. Their eyes locked, hers blue and beautiful, then she pivoted and hurried quickly back to her front door.

      A moment later, sitting in his truck in the driveway again, Lucky bowed his head once more and petitioned his Father, even as his heart pounded and his own anguish threatened to take over. He’d finally thought of a Bible reference. The story of King Solomon offering to cut a child in half when two women were arguing over who was the infant’s rightful family.

      When he looked up from his prayer, his eyes went right back to Natalie Crosby.

      She stood at the front door, looking at him like he was either the Grim Reaper or an IRS agent.

      Finally, he rolled down the window and leaned out. The smell of West Texas sage grass reminded him of being at his grandparents’ house. Lord, he could use Grandpa’s advice now. “Look, Natalie, you know you’re going to wind up talking to me. I’ve got plenty of questions and seems you’re the only one who can answer them.” He shook his head. “Saturday you told me that I’m an uncle. Surely after that bombshell, you know I’m not going away.”

      Her expression didn’t change. He’d dealt with friendlier bulls.

      “Okay,” he finally said. “The next time we talk, it probably won’t be you and me. It will be you and me and my lawyer.” The next words out of his mouth shamed him, but she’d left him no choice. “And I don’t think you can afford that.”

      He fired the engine and backed out. Just when he hit the street, he paused, stuck his head out the window again, because he couldn’t stand feeling this low, and shouted, “I’m staying at Bernice Baker’s place. You can call me anytime. I know you can find her number.”

      With that, he pointed his truck toward Bernice’s, but his white knuckles and clenched teeth convinced him that no way, no how, could he sit in Bernice’s living room and not look like something was wrong. Holing up in Mary’s bedroom wouldn’t work, either. He was driving away from one headache and heading toward another. He needed to tell his family, and soon. Because if they found out about Robby from someone else, he’d never hear the end of it.

      Selena in November was a riot of colors. The trees were shades of orange, red and yellow. The grass was turning brown but still had hints of green. None of the scenery matched Lucky’s mood. He needed some black or at least a lot more brown. He drove out of town and headed toward Delaney. Maybe there he could recover some feeling of peace.

      Delaney was even smaller than Selena and just as colorful. A small sign announced the town and its population. An even smaller sign pointed to a café and general store. Both were new. School was in session. The building, the same size as the combined café and general store, had four trucks and one Ford Taurus parked in front. Lucky turned at the corner and saw a playground much improved since the days he had climbed the metal slide or fallen onto dirt and grass from the monkey bars. He still wasn’t seeing the colors that fit his mood. While the playground of old had been brown, green and silver, the playground of new was sunny yellow and fire-engine red.

      Down from the school was the church his grandparents attended. It still looked good; getting declared a historical marker had that effect on property. Lucky pulled into the parking lot and almost couldn’t get out of the truck. The church looked good but lonely. The minister who’d been there during his grandparents’ time had passed away five years ago.

      The sight of his childhood church looking pristine but unused did not help Lucky’s mood.

      He left Delaney’s few businesses and traveled five miles of dirt roads, finally reaching his grandfather’s house. He stopped just in front and let his foot hover over the gas as he reflected back on the best memories of his life. A discarded bike, a tiny pretend lawn mower and a wagon gave evidence that life indeed went on. Lucky didn’t know the family who’d purchased Grandpa’s land, but he liked them already. The place looked pretty much as it always had, even the horses running in the distance. The only thing missing was the carpet-covered barrels over by the barn and Grandma standing on the porch yelling at Grandpa to turn down the music so she could think.

      Believe it or not, Grandpa said there was nothing like Jimi Hendrix to get the adrenaline pumping. He said it was necessary for bull riding.

      Lucky relaxed enough so his knuckles returned to their normal color.

      The cemetery was a good twenty miles away and one of the oldest and biggest in the area. He’d been to Grandpa’s grave often, every time the rodeo brought him near, but today the pull was more than paying respect. It was a place to reflect.

      He certainly could have handled his encounter with Natalie better this morning.

      And it looked like he’d need to work hard to handle his mother now. In the distance he could see her standing in front of her parents’ graves. On a patch of land that usually inspired the wearing of black, his mother wore a pink button-down dress and white high heels. Yup, she was an avid member of the June Cleaver fan club. At least that’s what his friends all claimed. No one ever surprised Betsy Welch in an awkward moment. She always looked like she’d just left the hairdresser.