Texas Homecoming (2 page)

"Luke?"

"You've gotta be kidding me," Luke finally managed to say. "Quinn? You said Quinn, Texas?"

"No, I'm not kidding. Why, what's wrong with Quinn? Look, the call just came in, Luke. I guess your friend Buck was slated to take this load today, but, uh...well, with the accident and all..."

"Buck? This was Buck's run?"

"Yeah. Is that too, you know, morbid for you, Luke?"

Luke closed his eyes. In his mind he heard the minister's words of only a few moments before.
Maybe this is Buck's way of reminding you that you won't get those things in the end if you live the way he did....

Buck had never steered Luke wrong in his life. He'd been the father figure Luke had never had— had never even known he
wanted.
And crazy as it might seem, Luke had the feeling Buck was trying to guide him just one last time. It didn't make any sense to think that way. Hell, he wasn't even sure he believed in life after death. But...but he couldn't not do this. It was almost like Buck's last request.

"I'll take the load," he said finally.

"Great," Smitty said. "Luke, is there anywhere in particular you want to head from there? I can hook you up with an outgoing load if you want."

Luke licked his lips. "Let's leave this one open-ended. I might, um...I might be staying there a while."

He heard the surprise in the other man's voice when Smitty said, "Oh. Okay, sure, Luke, whatever you want. The load you're hauling out there is fertilizer. Pick it up at the Farm-Rite Depot on Eaton and Main. Can you find that?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "I can find it." He hung up the phone, glancing back toward the cemetery and the grave of his friend. "Hell, Buck, I suppose you're taking it easy on me. Cousins in Texas are going to be a lot easier to start off with than a pile of half sisters in Oklahoma."

Drawing a deep breath, he revved the engine, released the brake and slid the truck into gear.

Halfway there, Luke decided it might not be a bad idea to call these poor unsuspecting cousins in Quinn, Texas, and let them know he existed and would be in town for a visit soon. He had a momentary bout of panic when the operator told him there were five Brands listed in Quinn.

"Five?" He downshifted, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

He didn't have a clue.

"Do you know the address?" the operator asked.

"No. Only that it's some kind of a ranch."

"There's a dude ranch...."

"No, it's a regular ranch. Cattle, I think." He racked his brain to recall the name. His mom had mentioned it once, he was sure she had.

"I have two ranches. Sky Dancer Ranch, and The Texas Brand," the operator said.

"That's it. The Texas Brand." He swallowed hard. "Can you connect me?"

Luke didn't know what to expect, really. The man on the phone, Garrett Brand, had been surprised but kind, and he'd seemed welcoming. He'd even given Luke directions to the ranch from the depot in town and asked him what time they could expect him. But Luke was still nervous. In his experience, in his entire life, the word
family
had almost no meaning. It was him and his mother. And sure, they'd been close, but in more of an "us against the world" kind of way. His mother had never let anyone else into their world. Friends, neighbors, they were held at arm's length. His mother had told him over and over again that they didn't need anyone else. That they would be fine all on their own. She'd been a strong, fiercely proud woman who couldn't seem to trust. And maybe that had a lot to do with his father, and maybe there was more to it. Luke didn't know and probably never would. But in his experience, family meant, "hands off." It was a tight, closed relationship that did not welcome outsiders.

So when he pulled his rig into the dusty curving driveway, underneath the huge wooden arch that had "Texas Brand" carved into its face, Luke was totally unprepared for what awaited him.

It had only been four hours since he'd made that phone call. Yet a huge banner was draped from the wide front porch of the white ranch house. "Welcome Luke" was hand-painted in crooked letters across its face. Between that and the place where he brought his rig to a stop there must have been twenty people milling around amid picnic tables loaded with food.

His throat tightened up a little as he shut the rig down, opened his door and climbed out. When he looked up, a big man stood in front of him, wearing a ten-gallon hat and a warm smile. He reached out and clasped Luke's hand. "I'm Garrett," he said. "Welcome to the family, Luke." His grip was firm and dry, and he shook Luke's hand with enthusiasm.

Luke shook his head. "I didn't expect all this," he said. "You shouldn't have gone to all this fuss."

"Hey, it isn't every day we get a new member of the family," a dark-skinned man said. He grinned and nodded toward the woman on his arm, whose belly was swollen. "Although in a few months, we'll be getting a couple more, right, Elliot?"

Across the way another man, this one with reddish-brown hair, hugged his own woman to his side, and she, too, looked to be expecting. "Right you are, Wes. Three months, two weeks and three days, if Doc's accurate."

Wes shook Luke's hand, introducing his wife, Taylor, and then Elliot followed suit, along with his wife, Esmeralda. The next man to come up to him was as big as Garrett, but blond, and his wife was a bit of a thing named Penny, who cradled a baby boy in her arms. Then there were the handsome Adam and his wife Kirsten, who looked to Luke like they should be modeling western wear in a magazine. And then there was a fellow named Lash and his wife Jessi.

Finally yet another woman parted the crowd to bring two kids front and center. A strapping boy of six or so, and a little girl who couldn't have been more than three, stood right in front of Luke. The woman said, "I'm Chelsea, Garrett's wife. This is my son, Bubba, and Jessi's little girl, Maria-Michelle. And they have something for you."

His head spinning, Luke hunkered down to more of a level with the kids. The little girl was just as pretty as a picture, and she held up a box to him. The little boy unfolded a piece of paper, and everyone around went silent as he cleared his throat.

"In our family, we have one rule

Bigger than all the rest, 

Family comes first, and family is best!

So welcome to our family, 

We're happy that you came.

But you need just one more thing

That goes with the family name."

The little boy looked up shyly. "I wrote it myself. Mom helped."

"I don't know when I've heard a nicer poem, Bubba. Thanks."

The little girl shoved the box at him and said, "I helped whap it! I put on the bow!"

"And a beautiful bow it is," Luke said, taking the package. He opened it carefully, sticking the bow to his shirt pocket and seeing the little girl smile even wider. Then he took the lid off the box to find a soft brown Stetson hat inside.

He swallowed hard, taking it out of the box and turning it slowly, admiring its perfect shape and its hand-tooled leather band. "This is just...too much. You guys are..."

"Put it on!" Bubba said.

Luke looked at the men around him. Most of them wore hats like this one, the colors varied, of course. Slowly he took off his Mack hat and replaced it with the Stetson. Then he straightened.

A whoop went up, and then everyone was talking at once, slapping his back and tugging him toward the food. Someone turned on some country music. He smelled barbecue and smoke. And he felt...hell, he couldn't say just what he felt. It was as if his heart were swelling up in his chest. He hadn't known he could have this. He still couldn't believe it was for real. That these people wouldn't all just finish the show they were putting on for him and then send him on his way, and that would be the last he ever heard from them.

He was wrong about that, of course. Three months later he was still there, and for the first time in his life, he was part of a huge, open-armed, loving, real, honest-to-goodness family. And every night before he went to sleep, he whispered his thanks to his old friend Buck Waters for somehow leading Luke to what Buck himself had never had.

JASMINE DID NOT LIKE HAVING
her son anywhere near the dive where she waited tables and occasionally danced on them. She didn't even like having Baxter in this part of Chicago. But once again, her low-life boss had forgotten to mail her paycheck, along with her roommate's, so she'd had no choice but to stop and pick them up. She pulled the car into the employee parking area in the back. There was not another vehicle in sight, and she considered that a good thing, given the kinds of people who tended to congregate at The Catwalk. Of course, most of them would be comatose at this time of the morning. Sighing, she turned to Baxter.

He sat in the passenger seat, looking up at her through the round lenses of his glasses. Seven years old, and already his teachers were suggesting he skip ahead a grade. He was fully smart enough to understand why he should do as she told him. He seldom did, however.

"Now listen to me," she said, and she made her voice as stern as it had ever been when speaking to her reason for being. "I have to get my paycheck so we can stop at the bank on the way to school and get you some cash for that end-of-the-year field trip today. All right?"

He nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose with his forefinger. "And you have to get Aunt Rosebud's check, too."

"I know."

"And her bag, too, Mom. Don't forget her bag," he reminded her.

"I won't forget." She tousled her son's hair. "Your crazy Aunt Rosebud would forget her own head if it wasn't attached, wouldn't she?"

He giggled. "Nobody could forget their head," he said, though he was smiling. "But, yeah, she sure does forget things a lot."

Yes, she did. But last night, at least, she'd had reason for her customary absentmindedness. Jasmine's roommate had received a phone call last night from a lawyer, telling her that her mother had died shortly after she'd taken off. He'd been searching for Rosebud ever since. And even though Rosebud hadn't seen the woman in two years, the news had still hit her hard. Jasmine wanted to help, but she didn't know how. She and Rosebud were more like sisters than roommates. They worked together, lived together, shared their car, their expenses... even Baxter. Before Rosebud, Jasmine had never been willing to let any other human being into her world. It was just her and her son—no one else needed, wanted or welcome, thank you very much. But Rosebud had somehow worked her way into Jasmine's heart. It was good to have a friend. Someone you could trust. And it drove Jasmine crazy that she hadn't been able to ease the pain in Rosebud's eyes last night.

"Mom?"

Blinking, Jasmine brought her focus back to the matter at hand. Baxter. "Now, listen close, honey, it's only going to take me a minute to run into that building, grab the checks—"

"And Aunt Rosebud's bag."

"And Aunt Rosebud's bag, and run right back out again. I want you to
wait right here.
It's
very
important. Okay?"

Baxter nodded again. But already his attention was being pulled away from her, his big eyes straying as he scanned the parking area, the buildings, the pigeons on the roofs, the trash cans near Leo's office window, the rear entrance to the bar. "If there were an owl back here, there wouldn't be so many pigeons hanging around," Baxter said casually.

"That's good, Baxter. I'll be sure to tell my boss that, but you need to pay attention to what I'm telling you now."

"No rats, either. Owls are their natural predators."

"Yes, that's true."

"We need more owls around here." He nodded thoughtfully, as if certain he'd just solved one of Chicago's biggest problems. Then he looked at her in all seriousness and said, "Can I drive the rest of the way to school?"

"You can't even reach the pedals!"

"Can so! Aunt Rosebud let me drive in the parkin' lot one day!" Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, and his eyes widened. Obviously he wasn't supposed to tell that little secret.

"Aunt Rosebud lets you do just about whatever you want," Jasmine said softly. "That doesn't mean I'm gonna let you do the same. Now, do you promise to stay in the car like I told you and be a good boy for a minute, so I can get those checks?"

"And Aunt Rosebud's bag," he gently reminded her. "Yes, I'll be good."

"Promise?"

He nodded solemnly. "Spit-swear!" he said, and he spat into his palm and offered it to her to shake.

"Where do you pick this stuff up, Bax? Look, a promise is a promise. I don't need a spit-swear, okay?"

He made a face. "Okay." Then he wiped his palm on his jeans.

Jasmine locked his door, then got out and locked her own before she closed it. She blew him a kiss and headed to the bar's back door, but when she tried to open it, it wouldn't give. Locked. Damn. She would have to go around to the front. A cold shiver danced up her spine the second her car and her son were out of her sight. "It'll only be a minute," she told herself. "He'll be fine." But she didn't like him being here. Not in this neighborhood, much less in this bar. She'd be damned before she would take him inside with her.

She walked through the front door, underneath the neon sign that read The Catwalk. On the walls were photos of mostly naked women in various poses. The round tables were clean, their chairs upside down on top of them. She waited tables here four nights a week. On weekends she danced. The stage was empty now except for the poles she and Rosebud and a couple of other girls twined themselves sensuously around on Friday and Saturday nights while music pounded and men howled. She never took
everything
off. And she never turned tricks, though several of the other dancers did, including Rosebud. She didn't like dancing for drunks for a living, but some nights she could bring home three hundred bucks just in tips. She couldn't make that kind of money anywhere else. And she needed that kind of money. She needed to keep Baxter in a good school, in a decent apartment, in a nice part of town. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her son. Nothing.