Lone Star Rising

Now he wondered if Robbie Tellchick remembered that night at all.

“I think your oldest boy, especially, could use a break, don’t you?” he said quietly, bringing his thoughts back to what was important in the present. The idea of a twelve-year-old being told to put on his pajamas made Zack cringe. “Maybe seeing me, when he wasn’t expecting it, kind of bothered him, you know?”

She looked down at the white circle the flashlight made on the ground. After a moment she nodded.

“Mrs. Tellchick?” He swallowed. “Robbie?”

She turned her face up to him again.

“I told you this once, but I want to be sure you understand that I really meant it. I want to help you and the boys in any way I can.”

She looked back down to the ground. After a long silence, without looking up at him, she said, “It wasn’t your fault, you know that, don’t you?”

He did know that. And he also now knew some things she didn’t. But that wasn’t the point. Danny Tellchick had died a horrible death, possibly a suspicious one, and now his defenseless family was thrown into turmoil and suffering through no fault of their own. If Zack could only push a giant “undo” button on the whole thing, he would. But he couldn’t change anything. All he could do now was step in, be of some assistance somehow, in some way.

“Could I…would you let me come and fix this window? Tomorrow?” He wanted to add, no strings attached. He wanted to say, I don’t mean anything by offering. No pressure. It has nothing to do with the fact that I had a wild crush on you in high school. I just want to help. But saying all that, with her so recently bereaved and being in her condition, might seem foolish—insulting, even.

Her eyes darted around, obviously tempted by the offer. “I go to work really early. The boys get themselves off to school.”

“What time do you get home?”

“Around two. Then I usually try to get a little something done around here before I feed the boys supper. Sometimes I have to go back for the dinner shift if Nattie Rose needs help.”

“Why don’t I come over here at say, about two thirty? Tomorrow’s my day off from the fire station. I’ll have plenty of time to drop by and measure earlier—I can do that from the outside—and then I can have the glass all ready, so it won’t take much time. I have all the other materials. I own my own carpentry and remodeling business.”

“I…I don’t know when I’d be able to pay you. I mean, we are finally getting a little social security income now, but…” She bit her lip and glanced at the window. “I sure don’t want my landlord to see this.”

Her admission tore at his heart so much that he made an involuntary move toward her and reached out to comfort with his open palm. But she shifted sideways, out of range of his touch, bringing her hands up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, clutching it tightly around her shoulders. She looked so vulnerable with her tummy protruding and her messy hair reflecting the misty yellowed light from the window that it was all Zack could do to keep from turning her toward him and wrapping his arms around her.

“Don’t worry about paying me. A guy like me clears plenty in a town full of historical houses.”

She nodded, then sighed dejectedly. “Okay. I think this time I’m going to just have to accept your kindness. I really appreciate it, Zack.” Clutching the jacket, she bent awkwardly to retrieve the flattened carton of ice cream.

“I’ll finish this. You’d better get out of the wind.”

He hoped his offers of help hadn’t hurt her pride. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t told her what he came to say. Until now, Danny Tellchick’s death certificate had read “under investigation,” but soon the young widow would receive a supplementary certificate of death that revealed the truth. But for now Zack decided that bad news could just wait until a better time. Those boys weren’t the only ones who needed a little mercy around here.

CHAPTER THREE

I WOKE UP at 2 a.m and couldn’t go back to sleep. The wind is rattling the creaky windows of this old house worse than a hurricane.

I switched on the lamp and prowled around this room like a cranky mamma bear who’d been jolted out of hibernation, until I found this journal on the dresser. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to follow my sister’s advice and scribble down a few of my black little thoughts.

Markie wants me to seek counseling. But what’s a counselor going to tell me? Mrs. Tellchick, you’re sad? You have some very bad memories to deal with here? You’ve got another baby on the way, and you get to raise this one by yourself?

All summer Markie kept reminding me that this baby may seem like a burden now, but that he is a real person, who is probably going to grow up to be absolutely wonderful, a blessing. I know that. And that’s not the point.

Markie is all idealistic about having children because she’s recently met her beautiful all-grownup and well-behaved son, Brandon. She forgets I’ve got three that I’ve been raising from scratch, out on a dryland farm where Danny and I barely eked out a living. I don’t have any idealistic illusions about raising babies. Sleepless nights. Health worries. A steady stream of bills.

And then they become little boys, with all their antics. Like that broken window!

I have absolutely no hope of producing a girl. I’m convinced Danny didn’t have any girl genes in him. None. Nada. Zip. He used to joke that we were raising our own little home-grown football team.

I just got tears in my eyes when I wrote that last part. Part of me feels like all of my hopes and dreams died with Danny in that barn. My husband wasn’t perfect, but I’ve been with him since junior high and I don’t know how to be any other way. I sure don’t know how to raise these boys alone!

Seeing Zack Trueblood has got me picturing the fire in my mind all over again. It seemed like it just exploded at one point. One minute I was standing at the kitchen window, thinking I smelled smoke, and the next I was outside staring up at a whole wall of the barn engulfed in flames. I knew when I ran out there, even as I was punching 9-1-1 on the cell phone, that there was no way the fire trucks could make it from town in time. It only took me a couple of minutes to figure out where all the boys were, and that Danny was nowhere to be found.

I feel so guilty now because now I’m thinking about Zack again.

I’m thinking about him following me into the kitchen last night. (Brave man!) That sounded a little sarcastic, even to myself, but I mean that literally. Zack Trueblood is the bravest man I know, bar none. He’s so brave it takes my breath away. I’ll never forget what he tried to do for me and my boys. The man plunged into a burning barn to pull out my husband’s body. I get tears in my eyes every time I think about it. And here they come, right on cue. These late-night weeping sessions have got to stop. My sister’s right. I am exhausting myself. I don’t think I can write any more right now.

THE NEXT DAY a blast of cold Canadian air howled down from the north, making Zack’s job on the window much more of a hassle than it should have been.

“You want something hot to drink?” Robbie called through the pane to him when she could see that he was almost done.

“Sounds good.” His fingers were getting stiff with cold as he smoothed a seam of glazing around the glass. For more than one reason, he was glad he hadn’t delayed getting this window fixed for Robbie. A stiff norther was swooping down off the Edwards plateau. The gray clouds gathering on the northwest horizon promised a cold rain later. The beginning of the fall rains was both a curse and a blessing for local firefighters.

It signaled the end of the grass fire season, but it also gave rise to the inevitable auto incidents in which folks who didn’t understand how to drive the treacherous Hill Country roads after a flash flood got swept off one of the many low water bridges in the area.

While he’d been walking the perimeter of Robbie’s house earlier this afternoon, he’d noticed quite a few more things that needed repair: loose shingles, broken porch rails, a badly bent gutter spout. He was going to have a word with old man Mestor about all of that. In Zack’s opinion, that old boy needed to spend more time over here fixing up his rentals and less time gabbing with his cronies over at the Hungry Aggie.

Zack knew Mestor employed pick-up loads of Mexicans out on his farm, and he could dern well put some of them to work on his shabby rental properties in town.

Zack was all about civic pride. Five Points had all the historical significance and charm of the Hill Country towns surrounding it and capitalizing on its potential was just a matter of getting old guys like Mestor to have a little more vision. Flag waving and decorating Main Street for the odd summer barbecue wasn’t enough. In Zack’s mind, the town’s charm would have to come from more permanent improvements. But sometimes it was like pulling eyeteeth to get people to do things right.

“I hope you don’t mind chamomile tea,” Robbie explained when he poked his head inside the kitchen door and said, “All done.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee,” she went on as she poured steaming water into a teapot. “Ixnay on the caffeine.” She patted her tummy. “Pregnant and paranoid, that’s me,” she said as Zack stepped into the kitchen. “I see a potential threat to my fetus in practically everything I eat, drink, drive, breathe or even think about.” She shot him an arch-browed glance as if he were in the “think about” category.

He chuckled. “Tea will be fine.” He’d never cared for the herbal stuff, but he’d drink kerosene if it meant he got to sit in Robbie Tellchick’s kitchen and listen to her banter—and look at her—while he sipped it.

He held forth the bag he’d forgotten about earlier. “Uh, hope this isn’t too toxic. I guess it’s a good thing this norther blew in since I left it on the front seat of my truck.”

She took the insulated sack and peeked inside. The little smile he was coming to crave played around her lips. “Why thank you, Zack.” She pulled it out. “Ooo. Häagen-Dazs. The good stuff.”

“Ice cream probably seems kind of dumb with this cold weather setting in.”

“Not to me. It’s my one indulgence. And the gallon that boys destroyed was going to be all I could afford this month.” The smile became full-fledged. “It was so nice of you to remember.”

Knowing he’d pleased her gave him a rush of pleasure. One indulgence down, a million more to go, if he had his way.

They settled on comfortable bentwood chairs at a little white spindle-legged table near a high bow win-dow that looked out over an overgrown backyard. The narrow, bare kitchen looked slightly cheerier in the daytime, even though the skies outside were gray and threatening rain. She had lit a candle on the table and she placed the teapot on a brightly patterned quilted hot pad between them.

“And thank you again,” she said, smiling as she poured his tea, “for taking all this time and trouble to fix my window.”

“No trouble.” He studied her in the milky afternoon light. Faint bluish circles under her eyes indicated that she was tired. Her hair was drawn back in the braid she often wore to work. She was wearing a baby blue maternity top with jeans. Watching her perform the simple task, he suddenly realized who it was she favored, at least in his mind. Nicole Kidman. Except Robbie’s hair had streaks of a deeper, purer red. But there was something about the way her full rosy lips contrasted so vividly with her pale skin and her faint freckles. He wondered how she’d react if he told her she looked like the actress.

He realized he was staring at her and turned his gaze out the window. “It really wasn’t any trouble,” he repeated. He stole a glance at her and frowned, finding that he still couldn’t tell her about the autopsy and the fire marshal’s conclusions. Not now.