Sweet Texas Charm (24 page)

He deserved her rage. All of it. He’d admit that going undercover had been deceitful, and, yeah, his reasons for originally doing it were solely focused on getting her shares, but things had changed. His motivation for staying undercover was driven by the desire to get closer to Becca because, well, he wanted to.

He’d fallen hard for the smart, beautiful, feisty line supervisor, and he was crazy in love with her. He wanted to tell her, but there was one big, giant roadblock preventing him from doing just that.

She wanted nothing to do with him and had given Roselyn her official two weeks’ notice shortly after flying out of the conference room.

Her quitting wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t sure what he could do to convince her to stay, but he sure as hell was going to try. She was good for Guac Olé, and she was good for him. He just needed to prove it to her.

He’d been racking his brain all week for ways to show her how much she meant to him but came up short. Flowers from This Bud’s for You weren’t going to work. A homemade dinner followed by a special cake for dessert from Betty Lou’s wasn’t going to do it, either. It needed to be big.

He’d thought about dropping in to the factory, but by now his employees probably knew about his disguise. He wanted to apologize not only to Becca, but also to Franco, Tangie, and all the other line workers he’d gotten to know—even the two jerks who’d constantly messed with the conveyer belt’s speed when he was lidding dips. He just wasn’t sure how to do it.

But judging by the gathering clouds, it was time to go. He headed to his car, placing the box and photos on the passenger seat. He backed out of the driveway and drove a few feet forward then stopped. Becca had said her mother lived in an assisted living housing just over the hill.

A light bulb flipped on in his head.

Could he go and visit Mrs. Nash? Confirm once and for all that she was the woman in the photos and ask her when and how long she’d dated his father?

Not really knowing if that answer was yes, he backed up and proceeded in the other direction. Five minutes later, he pulled into the Ridgemont Assisted Living Center and selected a spot in the visitors’ parking area. He picked up the strawberry charm key chain off his console and got out of his car, placing it in his pocket. Making his way up the pebbled path to the main office, he admired the manicured landscape with its pink and red flowers.

A plump woman with blond hair and black glasses greeted him as he stepped into the main office. “Can I help you?” she asked, adjusting her royal blue top over her hips.

“I’m hoping so. I’m here to see Nora Nash.” His heart sped up at that request. Was he not only going to meet Becca’s mom, but also his dad’s lost love?

“Nora Nash?” The woman scrunched up her eyebrows. “I’m afraid there isn’t anyone here by that name.”

“There isn’t? Are you sure?”

She snapped her fingers and sat down in front of her computer. “Let me double-check. I just started last month, so I’m still getting to know all the residents.” She tapped on her keyboard, staring at her flat computer screen. After what seemed like an eternity, she said, “No. Definitely no Nora living here, and no one with the last name Nash.”

Grayson frowned at that news. There had to be a mistake. This was the only assisted living residence in town as far as he knew, and it had to be the one Becca had been visiting the night her truck broke down.

He offered his thanks to the woman and headed out the door. It was probably for the best. He didn’t know what he would have said to Becca’s mom, anyway.

Walking toward his car, he came upon two women seated on a bench. One of them held up a painting, admiring it. “This is simply beautiful. I can tell you’ve spent a lot of time on it.”

“Thank you,” the older woman said, and Grayson smiled at them both as he passed by.

“You have such a special gift. The details you’ve painted on the box are exquisite, Lenora.”

He stopped in his tracks.

Lenora.

Nora.

The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, but he kept walking. Once inside his car, he watched as the two women chatted. Could he go back and join them? What would he say?

A few minutes later, the young woman stood and patted the older woman on the shoulder, walking away.

Now’s my chance.
He got out of his car and walked straight toward the older woman.

“May I join you?” he asked, stopping in front of the bench.

She looked up and her eyes widened. “Jack,” she said in barely a whisper.

That one word spoke volumes.

“Actually, my name is Grayson.” He took a seat next to her.

“I’m so sorry.” She smiled, looking more than a little embarrassed as she adjusted her light pink shawl around her shoulders. “You look very much like a young man I used to know.” Her voice trailed. “When I was a young woman.”

“What, last year?” he joked and that got a big grin.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer? Just like the guy I once knew.” Not only were her dark eyes similar to Becca’s, her smile was exactly the same. “At least I think I knew. I’m trying hard to remember him.”

He glanced over at the painting in her lap and this time, it was his eyes that widened, because the dark brown item on the blue painted canvas was sitting in the passenger seat of his car. “Is that box special to you?”

Her head dropped to the painting. “I don’t know. I think it is. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be, and it’s getting worse with each day.” She sighed. “You don’t drink, do you?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, don’t make a habit of it.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s why I live here.” Lowering her head, she touched the wooden box on the canvas. “I can’t remember things like I used to.”

His heart was breaking.

He pointed to the picture. “Did you ever have a box like this?”

Her face fell as her fingers traced the
J
and
L
on the box. “I don’t remember. I think so. My daughter, Becca, is visiting me later today. I thought maybe she might know if I owned this box and where it is. I brought it out to show her when she gets here.”

He brightened at hearing Becca’s name. This
was
her mom. He settled onto the bench, resting his left arm along its top. “May I ask what she’s like? Your daughter?”

Nora’s earlier frown turned up. “She’s beautiful, smart, and independent. I’m so proud of her and the woman she’s become.” She chuckled. “Although she got her temper from her father’s side of the family. His mother was Colombian. My daughter takes after her grandmother and can be a spitfire when something sets her off.”

Don’t I know it.
He only needed to have guacamole dumped on his head once to learn that lesson.

“She’s living in a tiny studio apartment with barely two nickels to scrape together. I don’t know how, honestly, she could afford to move me in here, but she makes it work.”

So, Becca’s mom doesn’t know about the inheritance.
Nora might not even know—or remember—that her daughter worked at Guac Olé.

“I’d like to see her fall in love,” she said out of the blue, touching his knee.

“Me too.”

“You would?”

“I mean”—he stumbled—“um … she sounds like a lovely gal. I’m sure any man would be lucky to have her in his life, Mrs. Nash.”

“Oh, heavens.” She laughed and touched his knee again. “I haven’t been called that in years. It’s Ms. Strawberry, as in the fruit, but you can call me Nora.”

“Ms. Strawberry,” he repeated in shock, reaching into his pocket and feeling his key chain.

“Nora,” she corrected him.

“Nora.” He smiled at the old woman, whom he now knew in his heart was the love of his father’s life. The woman whom he was all but certain had inspired his father to match his sons up with Macy, Charlotte, and Becca.

And this wonderful woman had little memory of his father other than that he’d been charming. He stared down at the painting, for once in his life, speechless. Her memories of him were clearly inside her, desperate to come out. If only there was something he could do to help her.

That was it! He stood. “Ms. Strawberry, I mean, Nora. I have something for you in my car.”

“For me?”

“Yes, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He rushed to his convertible. Grabbing the unlocked wooden box in the passenger seat, he opened it and tucked the old photos underneath the letters.

This woman, who had inspired his father to give his sons the precious gift of true love, deserved her own happy ending. Maybe he couldn’t bring his father back, but this box and what was in it might help her remember their special, once-in-a-lifetime love. Though they’d both moved on with other people, she’d finally know from the last letter that his father had loved her.

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the strawberry charm key chain and looked up at the fluffy white clouds in the sky.

He now knew what was sweeter than success.

• • •

Becca greeted her mom on the bench, surprised she was out here this late at night. It was nearly 8 p.m., and she’d gotten here a little later than she originally planned. She’d spent most of the day combing through job announcements on the Internet at the local library. After coming up short, she stopped by Betty Lou’s Diner, where her old friend and mentor offered her a sympathetic ear and a job if she needed it until she found something else.

So, in one week, Becca would begin waiting tables. She found it slightly ironic that that was exactly what her mom did when she’d hit rock bottom. If it wasn’t for Betty Lou, her mom’s alcohol-related dementia could have been ten times worse.

Now they took each day one moment at a time. Her doctors said her mother was doing quite well and her short-term memory hadn’t deteriorated. As for her long-term memory, there were things about her earlier life that she just couldn’t remember.

“What are you doing out here, Mom?” she asked, taking a seat. Why hadn’t one of the staff helped her back into her apartment by now? The clouds rolling in had teased that it could rain all afternoon. She’d have a chat with them this week and make sure they were keeping an eye on her. The last thing she wanted was her mother wandering off.

Her mom looked up from misty eyes. “Oh, Becca, I received the most extraordinary present.” She pointed to an exquisite box next to her.

“That is a pretty box.” She looked at it closer. “Who gave it to you?”

“This wonderful young man.” She paused in thought. “I can’t recall his name. Mason maybe. He was very handsome.”

Mason? Becca’s eyes narrowed. Was the Guac Olé CEO playing another trick? “This handsome man wasn’t Grayson by chance?”

Her mom’s face lit up brighter than the Rockefeller Christmas tree. “Why, yes. I think that was his name.” She touched Becca’s knee.

Becca grabbed the box. “I’ll return it. You don’t want anything that man gives you.”

“You will do no such thing.” She bent down and reached for a canvas from the ground. “Not when I’ve been trying to get it back.”

Becca looked from the canvas to the box and back. “Is this the painting you’ve been working on for weeks?”

“It is.”

“And this man gave you this wooden box today?”

“He did.”

“Was this the first time you’ve seen him?”

“No.” She shook her head, but then nodded. “I mean, yes. He looked like a man I once knew.”

“Who?”

Her mom only smiled and touched the lid of the box.

Becca shook her head in utter disbelief. How did Grayson manage to get his hands on the same box her mother had been painting since she moved in here? Whatever game he was playing, he wasn’t going to get away with it. He could manipulate her, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that to her mother. “You can keep the painting, but I’m taking the box.”

“Wait.” Her mom reached over and touched her arm. “It’s not empty.” She put the box on her lap and placed her tiny, feeble hands on its top. “The young gentleman told me there were letters in there.”

“From who?”

“From me … between me and the man I loved.”

How on earth did Grayson have in his possession letters from her mom and dad? One thing was for sure, they were going to have to open it.

“Would you like me to see?”

Becca’s mom nodded slowly. Becca took the box from her mom’s shaky hands, placing it on her lap. The lid had two letters entwined, and if she was not mistaken, they were a
J
and an
L
.

Her dad’s name was Mario. Definitely not the
J
.

She opened the lid and found a small stack of letters inside. She pulled one out and began to read it out loud. “My darling, sweet girl.” Becca stopped, her gaze jumping to the end of the letter and her jaw dropped. “Until Saturday, Jack.”

Her mom put her hand to her heart. “Oh, I hoped they’d be from him.”

“Mom, who was Jack?”

“A wonderful man. I think I loved him.”

Becca scanned the rest of the short message that was unmistakably a love letter. Was it to her mother? She flipped it over, but it was blank on the other side. Was this from Jack Cooper?

When had they even dated?
She recalled the conversation she’d interrupted between them all those years ago in the diner’s alley. Her mom had brushed it off as Jack only needing to break change for a twenty.

Becca blew out a breath. There was no fault with her memory—her mom had been crying that night. Had she and Jack been seeing each other back then? Had Becca interrupted a lovers’ quarrel?

“Would you read the others?” her mom asked, motioning to the box.

Becca folded the first letter and reached for a second. Good idea or not, she was more than a little curious to read it.

She read the second letter out loud. This one was from her mother. At least she assumed it was from her mom. It wasn’t signed.

Her heart swelled at the purity and honesty of what unfolded with each letter—a beautiful love story. Her mom, young, shy, and from a modest upbringing, had fallen for the charming and wealthy Jack Cooper.

And he loved her, too. Her mom had clearly enchanted one young Jack Cooper, who seemed to do everything he could think of to woo her.