Flirting with Texas (Deep in the Heart of Texas) (26 page)

The sight of him had her feeling anxious. Did she really want to know about her mother? No, not her mother. Olive Washburn. Her mother would always be Jenna Scroggs. The woman who had changed her diapers, made her chicken noodle soup when she had a cold, and
washed her volleyball uniform before every game. Olive Washburn was just the woman who gave birth to her. A woman she couldn’t ignore, but who would never be more than just a gene pool.

“Hey, Jenna Jay,” Sheriff Winslow greeted her as she walked up.

“So what are you two crime fighters talking about?” she said. “Are you planning a stakeout to catch those rascally criminals who will be setting off illegal fireworks this summer?”

Dusty only grinned at her little joke, but Sheriff Winslow latched onto it like a trout to a worm.

“That ain’t a bad idea, Jenna Jay. I could set up a sting operation—”

“I think that might be biting off more than we can chew, Sam,” Dusty cut him off. “Especially when every man in Texas considers himself a pyrotechnic professional.”

Sheriff Winslow glanced around. “Well, you might have a point there. Just between us, I can’t help but buy me some of them Roman candles. It just wouldn’t be a holiday without those fiery colored balls.”

There was a slight twitch at the corner of Dusty’s mouth. “I won’t tell a soul, Sam.” He looked over at Jenna, and she could see her reflection in the mirrored lens of his sunglasses. “We were just talking about the henhouse. Sam says he’s gotten some more complaints.”

“Pastor Robbins again?” she asked.

Sheriff Winslow shook his head. “No. In fact, I haven’t heard another word about Miss Hattie’s from the pastor. This time, it was Wilma Tate who called me. She was in a tizzy about me allowin’ a house of ill repute to start up in Bramble’s backyard. Myra says she wrote some letter to
that crazy television evangelist and has gotten the Ladies, Club all up in arms. And those women can be pretty cantankerous if they set their minds to it. Especially if they think their men are going to be lured away by a bunch of painted ladies.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Jenna said. “The henhouse is just a bed and breakfast. And if you were to go out there, you would see for yourself.”

Sheriff Winslow’s eyes widened. “Uh, I’ll have to leave that to young Dusty, here. Myra ain’t gonna like me goin’ out to Miss Hattie’s—whorehouse or not.”

“I’ll take care of Miss Hattie’s, Sam,” Dusty said, “but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d try to squelch the gossip here.”

Sheriff Winslow pulled off his hat and wiped an arm across his forehead. “That might be easier said than done. There’s nothin’ like a little gossip to take people’s minds off the heat.” He tugged his hat on. “Now I better get on back to the jail.”

“You got yourself a prisoner?” Dusty asked.

“Nope, but occasionally Kenny Gene gets to foolin’ around and locks himself in the jail cell. The time that Myra and I went to visit her folks in Big Springs, he was locked in there for two days before anyone noticed.” He shook his head. “That boy has a good heart, but he’s about three marbles short of a bag.” His eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t be needin’ a deputy, now would you, Dusty?”

“Thanks, Sam, but I work better alone.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Sheriff Winslow turned and headed down the street. Once he was out of hearing, Jenna looked at Dusty and teased.

“Now come on, Sheriff, I think a deputy is exactly what you need.”

“Smartbutt doesn’t suit you, Miss Scroggs.” He swatted the brim of her cowboy hat before he started down the street toward Josephine’s Diner. “Nor does investigation work. Just why did you want me to get you information on Olive Washburn? And don’t give me that crap that she’s your mama’s long-lost childhood friend.”

“So you found her?” Jenna stumbled, and Dusty reached out and took her elbow.

“Yes, I found her. And if Ms. Washburn really is your mama’s childhood friend, it’s best if she forgets about her.”

She stopped and turned to him. “What do you mean, Dusty? What did you find out?”

He rested his hands on his hips and released his breath. “Olive Washburn has a criminal record that covers half of Texas. She has spent time in jail for prostitution, check forging, and armed robbery.”

The cement beneath Jenna’s boots seemed to shift, and she suddenly felt overwhelmingly hot and cold all at the same time. “So she’s in jail?”

“No.” Dusty looked out on the street. “But she should be. Some people are just dyed-in-the-wool criminals, and I’d say that Ms. Washburn is one of them.” When Jenna swayed on her feet, he reached out and took her arm. “Are you okay, Jenna?”

“I’m okay,” she said, even though she wasn’t. The woman who gave birth to her, whose genes ran through Jenna’s body, was a criminal.

“Did you find out where she lives?” she asked.

“If she hasn’t broken probation, she lives in a trailer just outside of Odessa.” He stepped closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. You look like you’re about to drop. Let’s get you inside where it’s cool.”

They had only taken two steps when Dusty suddenly stopped. Jenna glanced up to see Beau blocking their path. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed. His silver hair was mussed and his shirt wrinkled and unsnapped. There wasn’t a twitch of a smile on his face.

Jenna should’ve been mad at the look he was giving Dusty—sort of like a junkyard dog protecting his lot. Or the way he didn’t say a word but just pulled her out of Dusty’s arms and into his. But instead of putting up a fight and calling him every kind of control freak, she did the strangest thing.

She pressed her face in the toasty warm spot where his shoulder met his neck and took a deep breath.

The trailer was more rundown than Shirlene Dalton’s childhood home. Which was saying something. Shirlene had grown up dirt poor on the outskirts of Bramble. But at least Shirlene’s trailer didn’t look like it was about to collapse at any second. This one listed badly to one side, held up by the pathetic tree that grew in the corner of the lot.

Beau pushed back the weeds with the door of her daddy’s pickup, climbed out, and then held it open for Jenna.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked once she was standing so close she could see the tiny specks of gray in his eyes, eyes that were concerned and endearing. “I don’t think this is going to turn out so good, Jenna.”

“It’s not something I want to do. It’s something I need to do,” she said. “In fact, why don’t you stay out here? I just want to talk to her for a minute.”

“Not damned likely.” He shot her an annoyed look as he slammed the truck door. “I’m not letting you go inside that dilapidated thing alone.”

“For a worldly playboy who claims he doesn’t want to be tied down with one woman, you’ve sure gotten clingy.” She picked her way through the weeds to the metal crate that served as a front step.

“Clingy? Who are you calling cling—”

“What the fuck do you want?”

They both looked up at the large woman who stood behind what was left of the screen door. Tattoos covered her beefy arms and huge saggy breasts overflowed the tight Spandex tank top. She had jowls similar to a bulldog’s and beady eyes like a rabid ferret. Eyes that stared back at them above a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than a few times. Her hair was platinum blond with a good three inches of darker roots.

Jenna stared at the woman in stunned disbelief. This couldn’t be her mother. This woman looked nothing like the picture Jenna carried in her back pocket. This had to be someone else. Obviously, Dusty had made a mistake. She started to turn around with every intention of heading back to her daddy’s truck when Beau stepped up and took her hand.

“We’re looking for Olive Washburn,” he said.

The woman’s eyes turned even meaner. “And just who are you?”

Jenna stiffened her spine and spoke. “Jenna Jay Scroggs.”

The meanness drained out of the woman’s face, leaving her looking stunned and embarrassed. Her reactions confirmed Jenna’s worst fears. This large, scary woman with knuckles the size of a pro boxer’s was Olive Washburn—her mother.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Olive breathed. She stood there for a few seconds staring at Jenna before she held
open the screen door. “But I guess I should’ve figured it out. Your face is a carbon copy.”

Jenna stared at Olive’s leathery skin and heavy jowls and couldn’t help but wonder if this was what she would look like when she got older. It was a terrifying thought, and it took a real effort to pin on a smile as she stepped up on the crate. She achieved the smile, but what she couldn’t do was let go of Beau’s hand. She tugged him right up with her and through the open door.

The inside of the trailer was worse than the outside. There weren’t any weeds, but there were piles upon piles of all kinds of junk. Newspapers and magazines. Open bags of chips and boxes of snack crackers. And more cans of Diet Coke than Jenna had seen in her life.

Olive cleared a pile of clothing off the couch and dumped it on a birdcage with no bird. “Excuse the mess. Could I get y’all somethin’ to drink—Snapple or a Diet Coke?”

“No, thank you—” Jenna started, but Beau cut her off.

“A Snapple would sure be appreciated, ma’am.” Beau pulled Jenna down on the couch next to him, hooking an arm over her shoulder. “It’s hotter than blue blazes out there.”

“It ain’t any cooler in here.” Olive lifted her house-shoed foot to push a large, matted cat out from in front of the refrigerator. The cat hissed at her before streaking under the table. “But it’s the best I could do given the fact that people ain’t real keen on hirin’ an ex-con.” She walked back in with the Snapple and Diet Coke.

“So how is your mama doin’?” she asked as she handed Beau his drink. Jenna was kind of taken aback by the question. Taken aback and suddenly sympathetic toward a woman who realized she had no claim on motherhood.

“She’s doing well,” Jenna said. “They went to Charlotte for the NASCAR races.”

“No kiddin’?” She flopped down in a recliner that leaned as badly as the trailer did. “Well, your mama always did know how to have a good time.” She popped open the can of Coke and guzzled about half of it down before she looked back at Jenna. “Of course, she always kept it legal. Jenna is a good woman. Even when we was kids, she always followed the rules and never once let me talk her into doing anything wrong. Which was why I asked her…” She swallowed hard and couldn’t seem to go on.

Her obvious emotion broke Jenna’s heart right in two.

She released Beau’s hand and leaned up to touch Olive’s knee. “You don’t have to say anything. I know all about it. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you and let you know that I don’t hold anything against you. You did what you thought you had to do.”

Olive looked confused for only a second before she nodded. “Well, that’s real sweet of you. I can’t tell you that I haven’t thought about my little baby. ’Course, I never did regret it. Not once. I wasn’t mother material. Not the kind of mother my baby deserved, anyway. I was pretty screwed up in my younger days. I might’ve pulled out of it if I had been smart enough to stay at the henhouse. Instead, I ran off with that no-account gee-tar man and got hooked up with drugs.” She took a swig of her drink and burped. “Musicians are nothin’ but trouble.”

Beau chuckled as Olive leaned back in the recliner. The chair listed so far to one side that Jenna worried she might topple right out of it. “So how is my little Marcy, anyway? She still livin’ in Bramble?”

Jenna blinked. “Marcy?”

Olive nodded. “Marcy after my grandma. Of course, I would’ve liked her last name to be Washburn instead of Henderson, but I guess that ain’t how things work.”

“Holy shit.” Beau breathed the exact words Jenna was thinking. “Your daughter is Marcy Henderson?”

Olive sat up with a thump. “Of course. Who did you think it was?”

“Me,” Jenna squeaked.

Olive stared at her for only a second before she tipped her head back and laughed. Laughed so hard that the entire chair shook.

“You scrawny little thing, my daughter?” she gasped. “Why, you don’t have tits bigger than a kitten’s.”

Jenna could’ve ignored the insult if Beau hadn’t joined in with the woman’s laughter. She shot him an annoyed look, and he held up his hands.

“I’ve always had a thing for kittens.”

Jenna turned back to Olive. “But what about the note you sent my mother asking her to take care of your baby?”

Olive wiped the laugh tears from the corners of her eyes. “I sent that to your mama after my cousin had agreed to adopt Marcy. I wanted someone else keepin’ an eye on things for me. It was a good thing, too. Long after Evelyn stopped wanting anything to do with me, your mama kept sending me letters about how Marcy was doin’. About what a bright child she was—what a good and honest adult.” She blinked rapidly and swiped at her eyes. “It does my heart good to know that something so wonderful came from something so bad.”

Beau and Jenna exchanged looks. Good and honest weren’t exactly words that popped into Jenna’s head when
she thought about Marcy, but maybe she just hadn’t taken a close enough look. She did so now and realized that her mama hadn’t been too far off the mark.

“Marcy is a good person,” Jenna said. “I hear she spent the last couple years taking care of her mother who had a stroke. And now she volunteers at the library in Bramble and works real hard at a bed and breakfast.”

Olive beamed with pride, showing off her missing teeth. “That’s my girl.”

“T
HERE
,” M
INNIE FINISHED TYING THE
ribbon that held back Marcy’s hair. “Remember to take it out slowly and then shake your head so your hair falls down around your shoulders all nice and pretty.” She cackled her crazy laugh. “Although I don’t think it’s gonna take much more than you walkin’ in the door to seduce your man.”

Marcy wished she could be as happy about the planned seduction as Minnie. All she felt was cold and scared half out of her wits. Probably because Minnie had told her very little about the customer who had paid money in advance for Marcy’s services.

“How long do I have to stay with him?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.