Rachel Gibson - Rescue Me

She flipped through the will that included the letter her daddy had written to her and smiled. Unlike the Hollowells of the past, she would be modernizing the house. She would have all her father’s bedroom furniture stored and her own things moved in. The cowhide couch and all the portraits of her father’s horses were going into storage also. If she was going to live at the JH, she wanted to make it her own. She was also giving serious thought to taking down the numerous portraits in the hall upstairs. If and when she ever did have children, she didn’t want all those ancestors scaring the crap out of her kid as they had her.

She flipped to the part of her daddy’s will that had provided for any unnamed beneficiary, which she’d assumed meant any child or children she might have. She raised the bottle of Coke to her lips and frowned. She didn’t know if she’d misheard the clause or if it hadn’t been read right, but the clause talked about a trust fund set up for an unnamed beneficiary. An unnamed beneficiary born June tenth of 1985 in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

June tenth of 1985? What the hell did that mean? Las Cruces, New Mexico? The trust fund couldn’t be about her. She’d been born in Amarillo. And it couldn’t have anything to do with any future children she might have. What did this mean?

The back door screen slammed shut and Sadie jumped.

“I saw you drive up,” Clara Anne said as she entered the kitchen. “If you’re hungry, I can get you something from the cookhouse.”

She shook her head. “Clara Anne, you were there when my daddy’s will was read.”

“Sure was. Such a sad day.”

“Do you remember this?”

“What, honey?” Clara Anne bent over the document and her hair dipped a little to one side. She shook her head. “What is that?”

“I’m not sure, but why would my daddy set up a trust fund for an unnamed beneficiary born in New Mexico, June tenth of 1985?”

She scrunched up her nose and brow. “Is that what that says?”

“I think so. Did you hear this read in the lawyer’s office that day?”

“No, but you can’t go by me. I fell apart like a flour-sack dress that day.” She straightened. “June tenth of 1985,” she pondered, and clicked her teeth with her tongue. “I wonder if this has to do with Marisol? She left in such a hurry.”

Sadie lowered the Coke to the table. “Who?”

“Ask Mr. Koonz,” Clara Anne suggested, then bit her lips together.

“I will. Who’s Marisol?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“You already did. Who’s Marisol?”

“The nanny your daddy hired right after your mama died.”

“I had a nanny?”

“For a few months and then she left. She was here one day and gone the next.” Clara Anne folded her arms beneath her breasts. “She came back about a year later with a baby. We never believed that baby was your daddy’s.”

“What?” Sadie stood before she realized she’d jumped to her feet. “What baby?”

“A girl. At least the blanket was pink. If I remember right.”

“I have a sister?” This was crazy. “And I’m just now hearing about it?”

“If you had a sister your daddy would have told you.”

She scrubbed her face with her hands. Maybe. Maybe not.

“And don’t you think everyone in town would have talked about it?” Clara Anne shook her head and dropped her arms. “They’d still be dinin’ out on it at the Wild Coyote Diner.”

Now that was true enough. If Clive Hollowell had an illegitimate child, it would be the topic of the century at every dinner table in town. She would have certainly heard something by now.

“Then again, me and Carolynn were the only two here when Marisol showed up that day. And we never spoke about it.”

The Road Kill bar hadn’t changed much in ten years. Country music poured from the same Wurlitzer jukebox. Old road signs and stuffed critters still decorated the walls, and fashion-minded patrons could purchase rattler skin belts and tanned armadillo handbags from a display case behind the mahogany bar. The owner of the Road Kill was a taxidermist on the side. And it was said that Velma Patterson, bless her heart, had hired him to stuff her poor yappy dog, Hector, the unfortunate victim of some maniac hit and run driver.

Sadie sat at a table near the back corner beneath a stuffed coyote, its head lifted and howling at the ceiling. Across from her, dim bar lights reflected off Deeann’s red pouf as the two of them threw back a couple of margaritas. Deeann had called earlier and talked Sadie into meeting her at the bar. Not that she’d had to twist Sadie’s arm. Sadie hadn’t had anything else going on and a lot on her mind. She’d met with Mr. Koonz that morning and discovered that her daddy had been supporting “the unnamed beneficiary” for the past twenty-eight years. There was no acknowledgment of any paternity. Or even any name on the Wells Fargo bank account in Las Cruces. At least that’s what her father’s lawyer told her, but Sadie didn’t believe him.

“I always try and get out on the weekends that the ex has the boys,” Deeann said as she sipped her blended drink.

Sadie preferred hers served over rocks. Less chance of brain freeze. For her outing at the Road Kill, she’d worn a simple white sundress, a blue cardigan, and her boots. The more she wore the boots, the more she remembered why she’d liked them so much. They were so worn in; they fit her feet like the caress of a glove.

“The house is too quiet without the boys.”

Sadie knew a thing or two about quiet houses. Once the Parton twins left for the night, the house was too quiet. So quiet she could hear her daddy’s horses in the corral. So quiet she listened for a phone that never rang, a beep from a text message that was never sent, and the sound of a truck that never rolled up to her front door.

“We haven’t really had a chance to chat since before your daddy died.” Deeann took a sip. “How are you doin’?”

“Busy.” Which was how she liked it. Busy so she didn’t have time to sit around and think about losing her daddy. And Vince. Although she supposed Vince had never really been hers to lose.

“I drove past the Gas and Go the other day, and noticed the new signs. When is Vince opening again?”

Sadie had seen the new signage and Vince’s truck parked on the side of the building on her way through town that morning when she drove to the lawyer’s in Amarillo. Her heart had sped up and stopped all at the same time. A painful pound and dull thud. A pain that stung the backs of her eyes, and she’d tried really really hard to hate him. “I don’t know when he’ll open the Gas and Go.”

“Aren’t you two dating?”

Dating? “No. We’re not together. He’s free to see whomever he wants.” She took a drink and swallowed past the hurt in her chest. “You can date him.” Although she should probably warn Deeann that Vince would get bored and move on. Possibly on the worst day of her life. The day she buried her daddy and had to put up with his aunt’s Frito pie. Asshole.

Deeann shook her head, and her brows lowered over her brown eyes. “I’d never date a friend’s ex. Vince is a good-lookin’ guy and all, but that’s just wrong. It’s against the rules. The girl code.”

Sadie knew there was a reason she liked Deeann.

“Although…” Deeann stirred her drink. “I did date Jane Young’s former boyfriend.” She lifted one hand to the side of her mouth. “But she casts a wide net, if you know what I mean.”

Sadie leaned forward. It had been so long since she’d sat around with girlfriends, she’d forgotten how much she missed it. And, yes… gossip. As long as it was about someone she didn’t like. “Jane gets around?” Which she normally wouldn’t hold against a girl. But Jane had a bad soul.