Lone Star Father

His daughter was a tough girl. She kept things inside like he had at her age. Before he turned out the light, he studied her face, searching for traces of himself. Aside from her blue eyes and dark hair he couldn’t see a resemblance. He hurt for Jessie. It was obvious she’d been close to her mother.

And now she’s stuck with you.

But unlike his father who hadn’t given a crap about him, Reid was determined that he’d always be there for Jessie as long as she needed him.

Chapter Two (#u1ea5f248-7f43-5850-befc-2f2b4c9a8458)

Scarlett sipped her coffee in front of the hotel window as she watched the sun peek above the horizon Saturday morning.

She’d caught a few winks after Reid and Jessie had retired to their room last night, but she was eager to relinquish her desk duties to the part-time employee Gunner had hired to cover for him while he helped Lydia with the baby.

Her gaze swung to the High Noon room and she envisioned Reid sprawled across one of the double beds as he slept. The cowboy had been her first crush and she’d never forgotten him or his kiss. Every once in a while she’d recall that afternoon and wonder where he was or whom he was with. But she’d never imagined him being a father.

Eventually the streaks of pinkish orange along the horizon gave way to bright sunlight. The pace of life in Stampede was turtle slow compared to the hustle and bustle of Wisconsin’s state capital. Last year she’d despised the tiny Texas town for luring her cousins away from Madison. Not in a million years had Scarlett believed she’d be living here, too.

If not for being duped by Dale, and having been forced to resign from her job, she wouldn’t have packed her belongings and moved south. Fortunately there was a need for social workers, and Family Crisis Services in Mesquite had offered her a job right away.

The door to the High Noon room opened and Jessie stepped outside with Fang. The little Chihuahua was dressed in his Superman T-shirt and his owner wore pajama bottoms, pink fuzzy slippers and a sweatshirt. Coffee in hand Scarlett left the office and followed the duo behind the motel. “Good morning,” she said.

Jessie jumped, then slapped her hand against her chest. “Crap, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” Scarlett sat at the picnic table.

Jessie walked the dog until he did his job, then scooped him off the ground and joined Scarlett, placing Fang on top of the table.

“The plastic bags to pick up his doo-doo are over there.” Scarlett pointed to the waste station.

Jessie put her hand in front of Fang’s face and said, “Stay,” then walked off to clean up the dog’s mess. When she sat down again, she removed a single-serve can of pet food from the pocket of her sweatshirt and popped the lid off. Fang’s tail twirled like a propeller as he gobbled his breakfast.

“Where did you get your coffee?” Jessie asked.

“There’s a Keurig machine in the office. Do you drink coffee?”

The preteen nodded.

Twelve was a little young to get hooked on jitter juice. After the dog finished his meal, Scarlett said, “There’s milk in the office fridge.”

“I like coffee.”

They returned to the office, where Jessie filled a disposable cup with water from the cooler and offered Fang a drink.

“You take very good care of him.” Scarlett watched Jessie make herself coffee, then dump three creamers and two packets of sugar into the cup—definitely not a proper breakfast for a twelve-year-old.

“If you like animals,” Scarlett said, “then you’ll love visiting the petting zoo at your great-grandfather’s ranch.”

Jessie sipped the hot brew, squinting over the rim of the cup. “If we’re allowed to go to the ranch.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad said he wasn’t a very good grandson.”

Scarlett wondered how much of his childhood Reid had shared with his daughter.

“If no one wants my dad to stay, then we’ll probably go back to El Paso.”

Time to change the subject. “Are you hungry? There’s a box of instant oatmeal in the back.”

“Sure,” Jessie said.

In the makeshift kitchen behind the office, Scarlett microwaved two bowls of apple-cinnamon oatmeal. When she handed Jessie her breakfast, the girl said, “You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” Scarlett was aware of her beauty. She’d been blessed with flawless skin, luminous eyes and high cheekbones. As far as hairdos went, she looked good in any style, which was why she wore a wash-ʼnʼ-wear haircut, because it saved her time getting ready for work each morning.

“I used to have long hair.” Scarlett touched her lower back. “All the way down to my hips. My friend told me guys liked long hair so I never cut it.” She finished her oats. “Then I woke up one morning in college and stared at myself in the mirror and said, ‘Why do I care what guys think?’” She smiled. “I cut it all off and I’ve been wearing it short ever since.”

Jessie scratched Fang behind the ears and the dog’s eyes closed. “My mom had long hair.”

Scarlett sat down in a chair. “Were you and your mother close?”

Jessie nodded. “It was mostly just me and my mom.”

“I was close to my mother when I was your age,” Scarlett said.

“Is she still alive?”

“Yes. She taught second grade, but she’s retired now.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Someday maybe.” Scarlett smiled to cover the sting she felt when she thought of Dale’s daughter Amy. She’d loved the six-year-old as a mother not a social worker. “I have a full caseload of kids at work.”

“My mom wanted more kids, but after Mike broke up with her, she never got another boyfriend.”

Not only did Jessie have a rough time of it, but her mother had, too. “What kind of work did your mom do?”

“She was a supervisor in a warehouse.”

“I like hearing about women bosses,” Scarlett said.

Jessie sat up straighter. “Sometimes she drove a forklift.”

“Impressive. The largest vehicle I’ve ever driven is the van I borrowed from a friend to move to a new apartment.” Scarlett’s cousins had nicknamed her gypsy because she only signed one-year leases at apartment complexes.

Jessie dropped her gaze. “My mom died at work.”