Home To Texas

“Not much doing around here. Except over where Cal and his buddies bought. There’ll be some construction and stuff soon.”

Grady tossed him a mild look. “Hey, Professor. I’ve done construction. I’m not too proud to do it again.”

“I don’t look down on it,” Jonah countered. “I’ve done my share of grunt work.”

“Yeah, kid, I know.” Grady yawned. He’d already made up his mind. Tomorrow he’d go over and talk to the rich boss lady from California.

He didn’t know what he’d say to her, but inspiration would come to him. It always did around women. She wouldn’t know what hit her.

CHAPTER THREE

DEL DREAMED HE WAS LOST on a dark planet. Shadowy craters pitted the bleak landscape, and three red moons hung in the sky. He was all alone, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Behind him, he heard noises rustling wetly in the depths of the closest crater. He turned and saw what he always saw: a terrible set of tentacles reaching up from the darkness. They whipped and twisted toward him.

He wanted to run to safety, but couldn’t; there was no safety. Out of every crater, jungles of tentacles rose, writhing and glistening in the red moonlight, and they lashed, slithering toward him from every side.

Slime creatures! Surrounded by slime creatures! A dripping tentacle shot out and seized his ankle. A second wrapped around his shoulders in a crushing embrace.

He screamed while he could: “Mom! Mom! Mom!”

His eyes flew open and blearily he saw what seemed to be his room—but wasn’t. The familiar yellow night-light, shaped like a star with a smiling face, gleamed reassuringly.

His Buzz Lightyear curtains hung at the window, shutting out the night. His Buzz Lightyear bedspread covered him. His own yellow toy chest stood in the corner with his name stenciled on it in red letters.

But Del realized this was not his room. The walls were pale and dirty, the furniture was all wrong, and Lono was not in bed with him. I’ve been kidnapped by slime creatures! I’m in slime creature prison!

He took a deep breath and screamed again with all his might. “Mom! Mom! Mom!”

Then his mother was there, warm and kissing and hugging. Her hair was loose and tickled his cheek like a nice friend he had known forever. Her flannel nightshirt was soft.

Sleepiness was in her voice and the way she moved. “What’s wrong, honey? What’s wrong?”

“Slime creatures,” he moaned. “They caught me. They changed my room. They took Lono.”

She smoothed his hair. “There are no slime creatures.”

She always said this. As great as she was, for some reason she didn’t believe in slime creatures. Still, she could always chase them away. She just couldn’t keep them away.

“They got Lono,” he repeated, trying to convince her.

“Lono’s right here,” she said. And Lono himself leaped onto the bed, gave Del a sleepy kiss, then turned around and lay down next to him.

“Where was he?” Del asked. Had Lono, faithful Lono, tried to trick him? What was happening?

“He came to bed with me,” his mother said. “Let me fix your covers.”

“Why’d he do that?” Del demanded.

“Sometimes you kick in your sleep.”

“He’s supposed to stay with me.” His voice wobbled with fear and a sense of betrayal.

“He’s with you now.” His mother tucked the covers more firmly around him. “Everything’s fine.”

“They changed my walls,” he argued. He felt almost safe now, but groggy and grumpy and as if things were still very wrong but he couldn’t put it into words.

“We’re in a different house, that’s all.” She smoothed his hair again. “I put up your curtains and your own sheets and bedspread. Your toys are here. We’ll paint these walls so they’ll be just like your old ones.”

“Paint them now,” Del insisted. Suddenly he hated these walls. He blamed them for everything.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning. We’ll paint them tomorrow. I promise.” She kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m afraid.” This was true. He was afraid of the walls, he was afraid Lono would leave him again, he was afraid to go to sleep because the creatures were probably waiting to slither back and slime him to death.

“Okay. I’ll stay with you.” She settled down, soft and snuggly, beside him, one arm around him in protection. He wrapped his fingers around a soft strand of her hair because it made him feel better, like a magic charm.

Although he wasn’t supposed to, he put his thumb into his mouth. He settled more deeply into his pillow. It wasn’t just the walls; this whole place wasn’t right. It was Texas, and he hated it, and with all his heart he wanted to go home.

BY THE COLD, RATIONAL LIGHT of morning, Tara regretted her rash words. She didn’t have time to paint Del’s walls. A hundred other tasks screamed to be done. But she had made Del a promise, and she would keep it.

Of course, Murphy’s Law was operating full force. Everything that could go wrong was going as wrong as possible. The woman Lynn had hired to help Tara phoned to say that she wasn’t coming after all.

Mrs. Giddings said her husband drove a tow truck and had been injured in a terrible accident yesterday. He had a broken right wrist and could not do one single thing for himself. He was helpless as a newborn baby.

Furthermore, he’d had to be scrubbed so hard at the hospital to get the canola oil off him, he was as raw as a butcher’s bone.

“Canola oil?” Tara echoed.

Yes, and the man was traumatized by the whole accident, as well. “He’s all shook up,” said Mrs. Giddings. “He’s itching like a man on a fuzzy tree. I told him, ‘Albert, you have become an Elvis song.’ I can’t leave him alone like this.”

Tara sighed and looked at the kitchen walls, which, like all the others, needed to be scrubbed before they were painted. She’d already washed Del’s with a mixture of water and vinegar.

A man had been scheduled to come at eight to put up a temporary paddock and stalls for the horses, but he hadn’t shown, either. Although the horses might not arrive for a month or more, Tara wanted everything ready for them. Del had cried when they’d left the pony behind. Putting up the stalls and paddock would prove to him that they were coming.

In the living room, Del, settled deep in the beanbag chair, watched a video of Peter Pan. This worried Tara. If she let him, he’d watch videos day and night. Yet she could not send him out to play. This was wild, unknown country, and he could wander off as soon as she wasn’t looking.

She decided to call Lynn to ask for guidance. “I’m sorry,” Lynn said. “I don’t know where Joe Wilder is. He swore to me on a stack of Bibles that he’d be there at eight o’clock. I’m really sorry, Tara.” Then she added, “It’s hard to get help around here.”

Well, Gavin said it wouldn’t be easy, thought Tara, gritting her teeth.

Lynn went on, “It took Daddy and Cynthia forever to find a housekeeper for the Double C. As for Albert Giddings, well, he was in this really bizarre accident yesterday. Oh, I know! I’ll call the Double C and—”

Tara heard the sound of an engine in the driveway, and her heart took an optimistic leap. “Somebody just drove up. Maybe it’s Joe Wilder.”

“He’s a little fat man,” Lynn said. “With bright red hair. He drives a beat-up white truck. He’ll introduce himself as ‘Fat Joe.’ You’ll see.”

Tara peered hopefully out the window. The truck was not white, but sleek, shiny and black. A man got out, slamming the door. He was not little and fat and red-haired. He was tall. He was dark. He was—Tara swallowed—sinfully handsome.