Desired (Miranda's Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

A preview of what I was letting myself in for scrolled through my mind. But what choice did I have? Put her into an institution of some kind? Even if I were willing to do that, I couldn’t afford it. If I found her a more qualified doctor, or doctors, in Fort Worth, she might get better faster. I had to believe that.

“Listen, let’s cheer up around here. It’s lunchtime. I want you to go get dressed up, Mom. Make yourself look pretty. I’m going to take you and Lisa out to lunch before I go back to Fort Worth. Okay?”

My mother had always loved to primp. Once, she had spent copiously on cosmetics and skin care products. She still did spend more than she could afford. God knew, I had heard about it from Lisa at different times. She must have passed that vanity gene on to me because I, too, spent freely at the cosmetic counter.

I took them to eat lunch at Roundup Cafe, the only place to dine out in Roundup besides the Dairy Queen. Afterward, we shopped for groceries and I bought a heaping basket of food. I dropped Mom and Lisa back at Grandma’s house, my head already spinning with all that I had to do to prepare for Mom to move into my condo. Among other things, I had to find a babysitter to stay with her during the hours I wasn’t at home.

Privately, I told Lisa, “You could call up that real estate agent and talk to him about selling this old house. And you could start packing Mom’s things. I’ll arrange for a moving truck or something.”

Lisa was in a better mood and more compliant now that I had shown no anger at her wanting to go. It occurred to me that I should perhaps move her to Fort Worth and give her a job in my business. But one mountain at a time was all I could climb, so I put that thought on hold.

Then I was on the road back to Fort Worth, preoccupied with thoughts and memories of my mother. She had been so beautiful in her youth, I had once thought of her as a fairy princess. Now, the beauty was fading. She was a forty-five-year-old woman with no skills, no means of support and no money in the bank. And she was a victim of a terrible affliction. She had wreaked havoc in many people’s lives through the years, including mine. Fortunately, she hadn’t given birth to more kids, though it wasn’t from a lack of trying. In my more cynical moments, I had diagnosed my mother as a good candidate for sterilization.

Mom was seventeen when I was born. For the first six years of my life, she had been a single mother. To this day, I had no idea who or where my father was. If Grandma knew, she had gone to her grave with the secret.

I was five and Mom was Lisa’s age when she got married the first time and Husband #1 moved us to Las Vegas. Some days, Mom had taken me shopping in the most expensive department stores and I thought we were rich beyond measure. Later, I learned she had spent money like there was no tomorrow, lost thousands in the casinos and accumulated a $50,000 credit card debt her truck-driving husband had no hope of repaying.

When I was seven, Lisa was born. Soon after that, Husband #1 was gone and we never saw him again. I hadn’t yet started school. Ostensibly, we had moved from Las Vegas to Roundup to live with my grandmother so I could become educated. But I believed the truth was that Mom recognized the monster within herself. She knew she couldn’t be trusted to take care of me and Lisa and she had no way to support us. If not for my grandmother, I don’t know what would have happened to my sister and me or Mom either.

After that, Mom had never been able to hold any kind of job for very long. Or stay married. Husband #2 had been a reasonably good man as far as I recalled, but, like the others, he must have run out of patience dealing with Mom on a daily basis.

As I drove through the monotonous landscape, childhood recollections flashed in and out of my mind, along with more current memories of Tack Tackett.

Just forget him
, my wise inner voice told me.
He’s shown you what he thinks of you. And stop checking your phone for calls from him. You’ll never hear from him again. And you aren’t going to have time to fool with him.

That voice of good sense was right, of course. Besides being breathtakingly good-looking and even charming in a chauvinistic way, Tack was such a typical one-hundred-percent alpha male. Blunt and never revealing what he was thinking. If I spent enough time with him, no doubt he would get around to calling me “darling” or “honey.” For some damned reason, I had always found that macho attitude irresistible. And it was in total conflict with my convictions as an independent woman.

By the time I pulled into the driveway at my condo, I knew I would be late getting to Smoky Joe’s. I changed clothes and showed up at the cocktail lounge at 4:30 in body, if not in spirit. My boss, Joe, was there. He and Winter, the cocktail waitress, both asked me if I was sick. I must have looked worse than I thought.

Cheery customers began to drift in. They distracted me from my woes. A nice man who had often asked me out sat at one end of the bar most of the evening entertaining me with jokes and clever conversation. He left me a hundred-dollar-tip. Why I had always declined his invitations to dinner I didn’t know. When I counted my tips at the end of the evening, I’d had a good night.

On Wednesday, I dove into a long to-do list. I called the two college students who would be conducting two different birthday parties for eight-year-olds and made sure they were ready. I wouldn’t be able to work out on Thursday or Friday, so I strapped my MP3 player onto my biceps, plugged in my earbuds and set out on a fast walk around the complex where I lived. During fast walking, I had done some of my most creative thinking.

When I returned, I poached an egg for breakfast and toasted a piece of low-carb bread I bought at the health food store. Afterward, to set my mind in a more positive direction, I went shoe shopping at the mall near my condo. Neiman Marcus was having a sale.

Shopping always elevated my spirits. The mall already showed vestiges of Christmas mixed in with Halloween that was only days away. I tried a pair of elegant red pumps that would probably go with anything I bought to wear through the holidays. I already had several parties booked for December. As I handed the clerk my credit card, I thought about Tack and Christmas. Where would he be spending Christmas—hosting his sister and her family in the penthouse condo in Skyline? With other family members?

I was due to show up at a TV studio in Dallas at eight o’clock on Thursday for the first of two days of non-stop facials. The experience turned out to be interesting and educational. At the end of it on Friday, I came away with the silkiest, softest complexion I had ever had and a thick portfolio of professionally made photographs for which I had been granted rights to use, not to mention a nice paycheck. And my agent assured me this gig and the TV exposure would open doors for me for similar little jobs. If that were true, I hoped those opportunities hurried my way. I was twenty-eight years old. How much longer would I be lucky enough to have flawless, wrinkle-free skin?

On the weekend, I plunged into cleaning out the second bedroom in my condo and turning it into a place where my new roommate would be comfortable. I prevailed on my neighbor’s two teenage sons to move my desk into my own bedroom. I hauled all of the clothes I had put in the second bedroom closet into my own overcrowded bedroom closet. I cleaned out the dresser and the chest. The whole time I worked, I lectured myself about my voluminous wardrobe and the money I spent on clothing. No one needed as many cocktail dresses as I owned or as many designer shoes. The only consolation was I took a good part of my clothing expense as a tax deduction. My CPA told me I was pushing the envelope, but doing it made sense to me. I wouldn’t buy the dresses and shoes if I didn’t need them for this or that event.

I no longer knew how much space Mom required, but she had always had a lot of clothes, shoes and cosmetics. I redecorated the room a little—a new comforter with a bright, colorful pattern, a new flat-screen TV.

I had worked at expunging Harvey O. Tackett from my brain, though on dark nights when I couldn’t sleep, memories of his arms, his mouth, his tongue came back to haunt me, sort of like the handsome prince in a fairy tale. BOB no longer appealed to me.

I had been in touch with Lisa more often than usual, determined that nothing would interfere with the plan to sell my grandmother’s house and move Mom away from Roundup. Lisa assured me that everything was still under control and Mom was prepared for the move. I planned to drive to Roundup on Saturday morning, meet with the real estate agent, help Mom list the house and bring her home with me on the same day.

Late on Friday, after returning from the grocery store, I was unpacking groceries when my doorbell chimed. I opened the door and saw a UPS truck driving away. A small square cardboard box had been left on the porch. The return address said
Hellman’s, Midland, Texas
.

I didn’t know what Hellman’s was and the only person I knew in Midland, Texas, was Tack Tackett. The coincidence gave me pause for a second. The only thoughts I’d had about him the past week were the ones that had sneaked past my busyness and my defenses. Achieving that much had taken all of my will power. His dark, intense eyes and his words, though I now knew them to be phony, still overpowered my good intentions at unexpected moments.

With a frown of puzzlement, I carried the box into my living room. This was crazy. No one sent me presents. I sank to the edge of the sofa and tore open the box. Inside, I found a small ball of bubble wrap and an envelope. I carefully opened the envelope to see a note handwritten on what was obviously expensive paper.

To: Miranda the Beautiful

I wanted to forget you, but I can’t. I hope you haven’t forgotten me. Something happened between us. I want us to see more of each other. Fingers crossed that you want the same. Please don’t think I’m an ass for not staying in touch.

Sincerely, Tack Tackett.

My heartbeat began to thud in my ears. Tears rushed in and blurred my sight. I slashed them away and unfolded the bubble wrap to reveal a package wrapped in silver paper and tied with a silver bow. I carefully removed the bow and the paper and found a soft gray velvet box. Inside it was a shiny silver cuff bracelet at least an inch wide and heavy. If it was real silver, it had cost him a dollar or two.

I studied it, looked for a marking or a signature, finally saw the tiny engraving on the inside: .925 Sterling. I also saw a larger engraving:
October 18, 2014.

Oh. My. God.
The date of the Lockhart Concepts open house, the day I met Tack Tackett.

I gasped and grabbed the note. As I re-read it, tears spilled over my eyelids.

My mother rushed into my head. Irresponsible, unpredictable and constantly in need of attention. And forever in need of someone to look after her. All packed and ready to move in with me.

I hurriedly pawed through the bubble wrap and paper looking for a phone number or an address, but found neither. I couldn’t even call him or write him to thank him.

Oh, my God. What happens now?

The End

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The Cattleman, Book 2

The Horseman, Book 3 (Coming Soon)

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