Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

I’m real sorry her friend got killed, but it does seem that she’s leaning on you awful hard. Why didn’t she move to another room at Chet’s or to another motel? I just wonder what Candace thinks of you being so sweet to Miss L-O-R-N-A.” “She’s fine with it,” I said in a low voice. “She understands that Lorna needs me.” “Jordy, you’re as stupid as you are tall. No woman understands an ex-girlfriend needing her man.” Sister sat back in her chair with grim satisfaction. “You know, lots of men sure would like to date Candace. She got chased plenty before you moved back to town, and I bet if you wander out of the picture, that race’d be back on in no time. Some men appreciate her, even if you don’t.” Sister was spared the sizzling reply I was busily working on by the doorbell. She leaped up to answer it. “Clo, talk some sense into that boy.” “No way. I’m staying free and clear.”

I heard Sister’s muffled voice at the front door, and she walked back into the kitchen frowning. “Your father is here,” she said coldly. I couldn’t blame Sister for not particularly warming up to Bob Don Goertz; after all, our mother had had an affair with Bob Don. And her adjustment to Bob Don’s presence in my life had not been smooth.

However, she was at least grateful to him for saving us all during that last bit of unpleasantness in town and for helping with Mama’s care. Bob Don paid Clo’s salary. I went out into the living room and found Bob Don talking gently with Mama. He knelt by her, a big blond man with a small-town haircut. He was dressed in his usual uniform of short-sleeved shirt, tie, khaki slacks, and brown, weathered cowboy boots. He was holding Mama’s hand and using a soft voice he didn’t use out on his car lot: “How you doin’ this morning, Annie? Sure is a nice morning and you look real pretty today. Clo must be taking good care of you.” “She is, Bob Don,” I said so he’d know I was there. He stood up, absently patting Mama’s hand. She’d hardly looked at him. She doesn’t always register presences. “How you feeling today?” “Fine, son, fine.” He calls me son every now and then, but I’m still not used to it. “I understand you had a helluva night.” I shrugged and indicated my arm. “Between the semimad bomber, an ex-girlfriend coming back to town, and a murder, I don’t know why people say they get bored in small towns.” Bob Don shook his head and sat on the couch. I offered coffee, but he declined. I could hear that the chatter in the kitchen screeched to a halt; no doubt Clo and Sister were more interested in other folks’ conversations. We won’t have to send Sister to old-biddy school to get her ready for her golden years. “You heard about all this?” I asked. “Yep. Got a phone call early this morning from Junebug. Wanted to know if I’d heard from this Greg Callahan fellow about selling him my land.” “Had you?” “Hell, yes, he came by the other day, offering good money for my stretch of riverfront property. I figured he’d come see you, too. I was gonna call you about it, but then you got hurt and I didn’t want to mention it to you while you were in the hospital.” I shrugged again. “He sent in reinforcements.” I told him about Lorna’s visit and last night’s events. I had discussed Lorna with him a few weeks back, during our first attempted father-son dinner at the Sit-a-Spell. “Were you going to sell to Callahan?” “I wanted to, but Gretchen thought we should hold out for more money,” Bob Don said. Let me digress for a moment about Gretchen Goertz. Gretchen is Bob Don’s wife and they’ve had about as happy a marriage as the Royals. Gretchen used to drink pretty heavy, but after it came out that Bob Don was my daddy I guess she decided to clean up her act so Bob Don wouldn’t leave her. She’d checked herself into a clinic in Austin, dried out, and had been sober for the past several weeks. She’d also been cloyingly sweet to me. I didn’t believe for a second it was because she’d been dying for a stepson and was just showing her appreciation for my debut in her life. I couldn’t tell, though, if her kindness was because she was finally sober for the first time in years or because she wanted to stay on Bob Don’s good side. Either way, I avoided her as much as I could. “Well, it doesn’t look like Gretchen will get any money now,” I said. “Who even knows if Intraglobal will still be interested in building here after this mess?” “Good morning,” a voice came from the stairs. It was Lorna, her hair a bit disheveled, dressed in some old pajamas and a robe of mine. God, I hoped Candace didn’t see her in that. Bob Don leaped to his feet. “Hello, there, darlin’, you must be Lorna. I’m Bob Don Goertz, Jordy’s daddy. It sure is nice to meet you, but I’m just sick that it’s under these here unfortunate circumstances.” Lorna wasn’t quite awake yet and in full command of her etiquette. She stared, I mean stared, at Bob Don. From the helmet of carefully coiffed hair to the scuffed tips of his well-worn cowboy boots. “You’re-you’re Jordan’s father?” “Yes, ma’am, proud to say I am. He’s just the best boy a man could hope for, you know, he is as smart as a whip and got his mama’s good looks and of course he’s all educated-” I didn’t want Bob Don quoting my resume for the remainder of the day, and he will do so given the opportunity. “Bob Don, I bet you Lorna could use some coffee. Lorna, that sound good?” “Wonderful.”

She wiped sleep from her eyes, regarded Bob Don anew, and offered her hand. “Forgive my rudeness, I’m not quite myself this morning. I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Goertz. Jordan told me all about you last night and it’s obvious he thinks you’re a remarkable man.” Bob Don’s eyes lit up like he’d won the lottery and his mouth worked as he smiled at me. All right, so I’m not the most affectionate soul around.

He knew I cared, didn’t he? I frowned and fled, going to get Lorna her coffee. Sister crossed her arms and grimaced at me as I came in.

“Well, those two ought to get together like a house afire. They’re both into trying to bust up relationships.” Clo quickly excused herself to go use the rest room. I poured a fresh cup for Lorna and turned around. “Let’s get this straight, Sister, right here, right now. I don’t care if you like Lorna. I don’t care if you hate Lorna.

But she is a guest in this house, and I think Mama would be ashamed of you for talking trash like you are.” Sister opened her cavernous mouth to respond, but I didn’t give her a chance to spew further venom. “And as for the other side of that little crack, I will remind you-once and just once-that you are talking about my father. Now his presence in my life may not set well with you, but this is my house, too, and I will not have him bad-mouthed in it.” She shut her mouth and I paused for breath. I’m not really used to giving my big sister that much sass and I waited for the imminent explosion. I’d miscalculated. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she sounded it. “I’m mad at him, and I don’t know how not to be mad at him. I appreciate what he’s done for us. I do. But when I see him, I don’t think about the good things he’s done, I think about all those years ago when he must’ve tried to steal away Mama from Daddy-” “Daddy is dead. Mama is dead in nearly every way. You have me, you have Mark. We aren’t going anywhere, okay? And enough craziness is going on without you and me bickering.” She nodded, unable to look at me for a moment. I could’ve hugged her and had a real Kodak moment. It got spoiled, though, by another ring of the doorbell. I patted Sister’s hand, went through the kitchen, and out to the front door. It was Junebug, which wasn’t a surprise. The surprise was that he was accompanied by a dark-haired woman I didn’t know, a smiling Gretchen Goertz, and a frowning Billy Ray Bummel, Mirabeau’s pride and joy of the legal system.