Karen Whiddon - The Texan's Return

Once, he’d been certain he and Hailey would end up together. Ever since they’d split, he’d felt a yawning ache in his heart, right where she used be.

As he walked up her sidewalk, still edged in what he swore were the same type of colorful flowers from the previous decade, his heart hammered in his chest. He tried to remember the words he’d rehearsed. They’d all flown out the window at his first glimpse of her tidy little white house, unchanged by time.

Unaccountably nervous, he swallowed hard. Then, before he had time to change his mind, he lifted his fist and rapped on her door. Again, he rehearsed his speech, hoping to sound casual, friendly even.

When she opened the door, annoyance in her sky blue eyes, he swallowed back whatever he’d been about to say. Their gazes met, locked and every single word he’d prepared fled again.

Damn it. He could do nothing but drink her in with his gaze. Hailey looked even better than he remembered—gorgeous, stunning and sexy. If anything, the decade since he’d seen her had ripened her lush beauty, maturing a younger prettiness into a sensual sort of beauty. She still wore her blond hair straight and uncut. Now it came nearly to her slender hips. Even in an old T-shirt and well-worn jeans, she outshone any other woman he’d ever known.

A roiling mix of emotions stampeded through him. Longing, joy and lust, of course. And more. All the memories of the time they shared, all the regret at missing the future he’d planned with her.

One thing he knew with absolute certainty. He’d been gone too long. Way too long. Still standing like a tongue-tied fool on her front porch, he realized another utter truth. He should have come back years ago and tried to right things between them. Even if she had believed the son should suffer for the sins of his father, he could have at least tried.

Perceived sins. Despite what she and everyone else believed, his father, Gus, hadn’t killed Hailey’s sister Brenda. Mac knew his dad. The elder Morrison was a kindhearted man, always helping others. He’d been a good father, a great father, and Mac had looked up to him, even after he’d been tried on trumped-up charges and sent off to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed.

When the prison had called with the news of his dad’s impending release—they’d called it Compassionate Release—due to severe and terminal health issues, Mac had been shocked. He’d immediately hightailed it up to the prison to see for himself. The sight of Gus Morrison, a once stout man, with his bones riding too close to the surface of his loose and paper-thin skin, had hurt.

“Pancreatic cancer,” Gus had rasped. “Stage four and inoperable. I don’t want your pity, son. I just want to go home to die.”

By home, he meant the family home in the town that had castigated him. Since they still owned the house free and clear and were current on the property taxes, Mac saw no reason not to give his father his wish.

So for the first time in a decade, Mac had driven back to east Texas, to the little town of Legacy, north of Mineola.

He’d finally gotten his dad settled in the wreck of a building that had once been the family home. Years of abandonment had taken its toll on the place. Mac had gone in and chased out the rodents, patched up the holes and made sure the electrical and plumbing still worked. By some miracle, they did.

Hospice had brought out the hospital bed and a bedpan, though they only checked in a few times a week. If he wanted round-the-clock care for his father, he’d have to hire a private nurse. For right now, Mac figured he’d do the best he could.

Then, with Gus settled and the hospice nurse visiting, Mac had driven out to attempt to make peace with Hailey. Her decisive reaction had put a quick end to that idea.

What had he expected after all?

Had he honestly thought the passage of time would have magically mended the huge rift between them? Closure, that oft-bandied-about term, clearly wasn’t going to be easy in this situation. In fact, he almost felt like he’d never left.

The thought made him feel uneasy. Determined to do the right thing for his father, he hadn’t thought about what going back would actually mean. After all, Gus hadn’t been around town after his arrest. He hadn’t seen the way the townspeople had reacted to the news of Gus Morrison’s indictment. Or how his wife and son were made scapegoats. Shopkeepers had refused to wait on them, waitresses wouldn’t serve them. Things had gotten so bad they’d had to drive to the next town over to buy groceries and gas.

Small towns could be brutal sometimes. But now that a decade had gone by, Mac hoped things would be different. They sure as hell better be. He wasn’t an uncertain teenager anymore.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Ten years had passed. People had moved on with their lives. He doubted anyone would even remember him, never mind consider holding him accountable for what they believed his father had done.

While the real killer, the monster who’d attacked Brenda Green and strangled her, had gotten away scot-free.

Though beautiful flowers adorned Hailey’s neat home, his place looked old, beat and barren. With all the major repairs he had to make to get the place livable, he knew he wouldn’t get around to doing anything cosmetic for a good while.

Letting himself into the small house, he followed the scent of bleach mixed with medicine. His father sat up in the bed, valiantly trying to eat while Dolores, the hospice nurse, looked on and quietly encouraged him.

Mac had read volumes on pancreatic cancer. He knew the progression of the disease would make it increasingly difficult for his father to eat.

“Son.” Spying Mac, Gus motioned him over.

Mac pulled up a chair next to the bed. “How’re you feeling, Dad?”

“Like hell.” A ghost of a smile flitted over the older man’s face. Since he’d lost weight, his skin hung loose on too-sharp bones.

Mac’s chest squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking his head, Gus waved away his words. He glanced at Dolores—a curly-haired older woman with thick eyeglasses—and winked. “Dolores, do you mind taking a break? I want a private word with my son.”

“Of course.” Dolores stood. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Gus waited until the front door had closed behind her. “I need one more favor from you, Mac. I’m sorry, because I swore I wouldn’t ask for more than you’ve already given me. But I can’t die with this stain on our good name.” He took a deep breath, then erupted in a short bout of coughing.

Waiting, Mac had a feeling he knew exactly what his father was about to say. He couldn’t say he blamed him; he’d want the same thing if their positions were reversed.

“Find out who really killed that girl,” Gus finally rasped. “You know I didn’t do it. Clear my name before I pass away. Could you do that for me, son?”

How could he not? Slowly, Mac nodded. He’d actually been expecting this request. Of course, his father had no idea that Mac had been trying to find the real killer without success for ten long years. “Sure,” he said, his chest aching. “I’ll get started immediately.”

It was the first time he’d lied to his father since he’d been a teenager.

* * *

Mac’s return was all Hailey could think about. Though he probably didn’t remember, the anniversary of Brenda’s murder was one day away. At first, they’d marked this date with somber visits to the grave, bearing flowers. They’d done a few interviews, skirting the deep emotions, vocalizing how glad they were that the killing hadn’t continued.

After a few years, they’d begun pretending the day didn’t exist. Hailey had tried to keep up the tradition by taking the kids to visit a sister they didn’t even remember, but June had finally told her tiredly to stop.