A Piece of Texas Trilogy Page 21

  “Did Zadie work for your mother, too?”

  “Yes, but she went to work for a restaurant in town after my mother passed away. After my wife died, I realized I needed a cook, so I stole her away from the restaurant. She’s been with me now about six years I guess.”

  Reminded of the delicious meals Zadie had prepared, she pressed a hand against her stomach. “I can understand why you’d want to steal her, but how on earth do you keep from getting fat? Much more of her cooking, and I’ll have to revert to wearing maternity clothes again.”

  “Zadie says you eat like a bird.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’ve seen how much I eat! We share every meal. I clean my plate.”

  “But refuse seconds.”

  She thought of the second helping of coconut cake Zadie had waved beneath her nose the night before, with its thick, creamy filling and the sprinkles of toasted coconut on the icing, and moaned pitifully. “The woman should be shot. How am I supposed to lose weight, when she keeps shoving those fabulous desserts in my face?”

  “I’ll tell her to cut out the sweets.”

  Fearing that she had just cut off her nose to spite her face, Addy said, “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t say anything. I wouldn’t want to take a chance on hurting Zadie’s feelings.”

  He shot her a sideways glance. “Is it Zadie’s feelings you’re worried about or satisfying your sweet tooth?”

  Pursing her lips, she snatched the burp pad from his shoulder and slapped his arm with it. “Jerk.”

  He ducked, chuckling. “That’s what I thought.”

  He looked down at the baby and his smile slowly faded. He caught a dribble of milky drool with his thumb and wiped it on the leg of his jeans. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  She frowned at him in confusion. “For what?”

  “For pulling me back.” He angled his head to look at her. “Remembering hurts.”

  Addy sucked in a breath, stunned by the pain she saw in his blue eyes, the years of sorrow she saw stacked behind it. More than anything, she wanted to cup a hand at his cheek and soothe away the sadness, take away the hurt.

  Before she could give in to the urge, she stood abruptly and held out her arms. “I better take him so you can get back to work. I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

  He turned his shoulder to block her. “Nothing that can’t wait. Go on and relax while you can.” He glanced down at the baby and smiled. “Johnny Mack and I need us some man time.”

  Addy lay on a chaise lounge on her private patio, her eyes closed, the sun warm on her skin. A ring of condensation pooled around the tall glass of lemonade that stood within easy reach of her hand, while the magazine she’d been reading lay open over her stomach, marking her page. She felt relaxed, lazy even, and sinfully content.

  To say she had landed in heaven wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration, she thought with a sigh. Mack’s home was lavish, the food five-star-restaurant quality, her every need met before she could voice it. And she never had to lift so much as a finger. Zadie cooked all the meals, while Mary took care of the cleaning and laundry. All Addy was allowed to do was care for the baby, and even that small task was lightened by the three other adults in the house, who were constantly looking for an excuse to steal Johnny away from her. New mothers need their rest, Mary would claim and disappear with the baby. Babies need constant stimulation, Zadie would say and whisk the baby off to the kitchen where a playpen had been set up by a wide set of French doors.

  Then there was Mack. And of the three, he was the absolute worst. If Addy didn’t know better, she’d swear he slept on the floor beside the crib at night. Before the baby could open his mouth to cry, Mack was in the nursery changing his diaper. He would rock him a while to make sure he was hungry and not just lonely, before delivering him to Addy. And he seldom left after bringing her the baby. He would usually stretch out across the bed at her feet and keep her company while the baby nursed.

  She knew it was foolish, but she’d begun to look forward to that time with Mack. She found him easy to talk to and their conversations as intellectually stimulating as they were entertaining. Equally enjoyable were the times when they didn’t speak at all. The peacefulness of the hour and the shadowed darkness of her room added an intimacy to their time together, giving it an almost dreamlike quality.

  During the short time she’d been in his home, they had developed a friendship of sorts, one that she had grown to cherish. They talked, laughed, watched television together. He’d even invited her to take a few walks with him—to the barn to check on a mare or to the front gate to collect the daily mail. She knew the short jaunts were his way of getting her out of the house for a while and away from the baby, something she was reluctant to do. To Addy, it was yet another indication of his thoughtfulness, his consideration.

  “Look what I found?”

  Addy jolted at the sound of Mack’s voice, then turned to find him standing in the doorway, holding the baby.

  She gave him a stern look. “Mack McGruder, if you woke that baby up, I’m going to be really mad.”

  “Didn’t have to. He was already awake.” Using the toe of his boot, he dragged a chair next to hers and dropped down, stretching out his legs, while he shifted the baby to cradle in the crook of one arm.

  Addy watched, impressed at the ease with which he handled the infant.

  “I’ll bet you were a good father.”

  The thought was out of her mouth before she realized she’d spoken it out loud.

  She laid a hand on his arm, regretting the thoughtless comment. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look so natural holding Johnny, so at ease.”

  He shook his head. “Being reminded I was a father doesn’t bother me.” He angled his head to look at her. “But I don’t know that I was a good one. Sometimes it takes losing something before you realize how precious it is.”

  She nodded solemnly, thinking of all the regrets he might have, the if-I-could-only-do-it-overs he probably lived with every day. “What was your father like?” she asked impulsively.

  He raised a brow, as if wondering where the question had come from, then shrugged. “Fun.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “My mother swore that I could ride a horse before I could walk, and I imagine there was more truth in that statement than exaggeration. My father took me with him everywhere he went. Checking cattle, riding fence line, hunting, fishing.” He shrugged again. “Whether it was work or play, he dragged me along.”

  Addy smiled, envying the relationship he’d described. “You were lucky.”

  “Yeah, I was,” he agreed, then glanced her way. “What about your father? What was he like?”

  “I never knew my dad. He was killed in Vietnam.”

  “That’s tough,” he said sympathetically.

  She shrugged. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

  “What about your stepfather? Were you close to him?”

  “Which one?” she asked wryly.

  He looked at her askance. “You have more than one?”

  “Four to be exact.”

  His eyes rounded in amazement. “Four?”

  “Yes, four. And, no, I wasn’t close to any of them.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, the first three weren’t around long enough for me to develop any kind of a relationship with them, and by the time the fourth came along, I really wasn’t interested in trying.”

  “Four,” he said again, as if having a hard time getting past that number.

  She hesitated a moment, then figured he might as well know her whole sordid past. “That’s how many times my mother’s been married. Four.”

  He frowned thoughtfully, as if mentally completing the steps to solve a complicated math problem, then gaped. “Your mother and father never—”

  “No. They never married. When she told him she was pregnant, he ran off and joined the army, rather than make an honest woman of her. She’s never forgiven him that slight.”

  He blew a silent whistle. “Well, that certainl
y explains some of the things she said on the phone.”

  “I can just imagine what all she had to say about my father. She never forgave Tony Rocci for what he did to her. And after he died, she shifted the blame to me.”

  “Well, that’s just plain wrong,” he said indignantly. “You can’t be faulted for something you had no control over.”

  “Yeah? Well, try telling my mother that.”

  He stifled a shudder. “I think I’ll pass.” Frowning, he shifted the baby to his other arm. “Do you have any contact with your father’s family?”

  “No. My mother refused to have anything to do with the Roccis. I guess she blamed them for him abandoning her, as much as she did their son.”

  “But she gave you his name,” he said in confusion.

  “That wasn’t a courtesy, I assure you. It was revenge. She wanted the world to know what a rotten SOB he was, that he’d gotten her pregnant, then skipped out on her.”

  He gave her a pointed look.

  She drew back with a frown. “What?”

  “Does this story sound at all familiar?”

  She pursed her lips and looked away. “Parts of it maybe. But I’m nothing like my mother. I may detest your brother—”

  “Half brother,” he reminded her.

  She flapped a hand. “Whatever. The only similarity between my mother’s situation and mine is that we both got pregnant out of wedlock. I didn’t give my baby his father’s name, I gave him mine. Or would have,” she added, and sent him a glance, “if you hadn’t adopted him. And I will never blame Johnny for what happened. Getting pregnant was my fault and I accept full responsibility.”

  She dropped her gaze to the baby, and her face softened. “But I’ll never regret having him,” she said, and reached to take the infant from Mack. Cupping a hand at the back of the baby’s head, she nuzzled his cheek with her nose. “How could I regret something as sweet as this?”

  Settling back, she patted the baby absently, her thoughts growing reflective. “The weirdest thing happened the day I went into labor.”

  “A strange man showed up at your house?”

  She shot him a look. “Besides that.” Turning her gaze to the distance again, she frowned, remembering. “This lady called. She said that our fathers served together in Vietnam. Her call caught me totally off guard, because I seldom think about my father.”

  “I’d imagine it was a jolt to hear his name.”

  “Yeah. But what was weird was that she called to ask me about a piece of paper she found while going through her father’s belongings. She wanted to know if my father had sent something similar to my mother.”

  “Did he?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Beats me. If he did and Mom kept it, it’s probably in her trunk. When she moved to Hawaii, she left it in my garage. It’s filled with all kinds of junk. Things she saved from her high school years, previous marriages, that kind of thing. Things she didn’t want her husband to know she’d kept.”

  “If you know that’s where you’d find it, why didn’t you look?”

  “I never had a chance. I went into labor.” She slid her back down the chair, continuing to pat the baby’s back, while letting her mind run with the possibilities. “Wouldn’t it be something if it was valuable?” she said, thinking out loud. “I could get rid of my old sled and buy a new one.”

  “Sled?”

  “My car. All that’s holding it together are baling wire and duct tape.”

  He dropped his head back and laughed.

  She gave him a quelling look, and he quickly sobered.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “It was the duct tape and wire. I thought only country folk used that kind of stuff for repairs.”

  She jutted her chin. “Necessity and creativity know no boundaries.”

  He tipped his head, conceding the point. “No, I don’t suppose they do.”

  She waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. It’s foolish to put any hope in something that doesn’t exist.”

  “You don’t know that it doesn’t,” he reminded her. “It could be in the trunk.”

  “I doubt it. Even if he did send it to her, she wouldn’t have kept it. She hated him. She wouldn’t have wanted anything around that would remind her of him.”

  “He’s smiling.”

  She blinked in confusion. “What?”

  “The baby. He’s smiling.”

  She lowered her son to her lap to see for herself. “He is!” she said in excitement, then laughed and lifted him to press a kiss on his cheek. “Johnny Mack, you are the sweetest baby ever,” she cooed. “Your mommy loves you so much.”

  “Guess that makes it official,” Mack said.

  She looked at him in puzzlement. “What?”

  He gestured at the baby. “You called him Johnny Mack. Makes it official.”

  Five

  A woman could stand being waited on hand and foot just so long. After a month in Mack’s house, Addy had reached her limit.

  The kitchen was Zadie’s domain, and she guarded it like a chicken would her eggs, refusing to allow Addy to so much as boil water. Mary, though much kinder when declining Addy’s offers of help, was just as territorial about her household duties.

  At first, Addy had enjoyed being spoiled, had considered the women’s concern for her thoughtful, even sweet. Now it grated on her nerves, and she was determined to put an end to it before she went stark raving mad.

  Thinking it best to discuss the situation with Mack before saying anything to the women, Addy went in search of him. Not finding him in his bedroom or office, she headed to the kitchen, where she found Zadie busily kneading dough. Steam rose from a large pot simmering on the stove, and the scent that emanated from it momentarily distracted her from her mission.

  “What’s cooking?” she asked, as she crossed to peer into the pot.

  “Stew. Mr. Mack requested it special.” Chuckling, Zadie rounded the island. “That man does like my stew.”

  Addy dipped her head over the pot and inhaled deeply. “I can see why. It smells delicious.” She reached for the wooden spoon, intending to give it a quick stir.

  Before she could, Zadie snatched the spoon from her hand.

  “I does the cookin’ ’round here,” Zadie said, wagging the spoon in her face, like a stern finger, “not you.”

  Something in Addy snapped, and she snatched the spoon right back. “I’m the woman of this house and I can stir the damn stew anytime I want.”

  Zadie fell back a step, her eyes round as saucers, then flattened her lips. “Well, fine then,” she said and returned to her dough. “Stir. But mind you do it gentle like,” she warned. “Mr. Mack likes his taters in chunks, not shredded to bits.”

  Addy released a long, shaky breath, as surprised by her fit of temper as Zadie obviously was.

  Dipping the spoon into the pot, she began to stir, careful to keep her strokes slow and easy.

  Remembering her purpose in coming to the kitchen, she asked, “Where is Mack?”

  “Don’t know. Left ’bout an hour go. Got a call and took off like the devil hisself was chasing him.”

  Addy looked up in alarm. “Was something wrong?”

  Zadie pushed a fist into the ball of dough, flattening it. “Didn’t say. Just hung up the phone and lit out of here like his tail was on fire.”

  Addy’s stomach knotted in dread. “Do you know who called?” she asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

  Zadie pursed her lips and kept right on kneading. “Who Mr. Mack talks to is his business, ain’t no business of mine.”

  Addy dropped the spoon, sure that she knew who the caller was. “It was Ty, wasn’t it?”

  “Ty Bodean?” With a humph, Zadie slapped the rolling pin down on the dough. “Mr. Mack wouldn’t give that no-good boy the time of day. He done wore his welcome out here a long time ago. Always comin’ ’round demandin’ money.” She humphed again. “Just like his daddy, that’s what I says. But Mr. Mack made that promise to his mama, so he
kept givin’ it to ’im, knowin’ as well I did that the boy would have it spent ’for he was out the door good.” She shook her head sadly. “Went on for years till Mr. Mack finally got a stomachful of his foolishness and told him he wudn’t gonna give him no more. Made Ty madder than a hornet, it did. Stormed outta here cussin’ and yellin’ and tellin’ Mr. Mack how he’d get even with him.”

  “When?”

  Zadie looked up, her brow pleated in confusion. “You mean about Ty leavin’?”

  Addy nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Zadie puckered her lips thoughtfully, then shrugged and went back to rolling out the dough. “Goin’ on two years, I’d guess. Hadn’t heard so much as his name mentioned ’round here, till the postmaster called and told Mr. Mack about those letters you sent. Stormed around for days, ’for he decided he’d best do something ’for Ty found hisself stuck with another paternity suit.”

  Her hands froze on the rolling pin and she glanced up, her expression stricken. “I didn’t mean no disrespect, Miss Addy. Just ’cause Ty can’t keep his zipper up, that ain’t no reflection on you.”

  Even though she feared it was, Addy shook her head. “None taken.”

  Seemingly relieved, Zadie went back to rolling out the dough. “Marryin’ you and bringin’ you and the baby home with him wasn’t what Mr. Mack had in mind that day he left for Dallas, and that’s a fact. He was plannin’ to pay you off, the same as he did the others.” Chuckling, she set aside the rolling pin and wiped her palms down the front of her apron. “But I guess the Good Lord had somethin’ else in mind for him this time around.”

  “What was that?”

  Zadie looked up at her in surprise. “Why, Mr. Mack marryin’ you and bringin’ you and the baby back home with him, that’s what.” She picked up the biscuit cutter and sank it into the dough, frowning thoughtfully as she gave it a turn. “Now, I know it ain’t none of my business,” she began hesitantly. “But I think it’s high time you was sharing Mr. Mack’s bed. I know you had a hard time with the birth, and all. Mr. Mack tol’ me about that. But that baby’s a month old or more and you need to be doin’ your duty to Mr. Mack and not sleepin’ in that room by yourself.”