Darlene Graham - Lone Star Rising

“I hope you don’t mind chamomile tea,” Robbie explained when he poked his head inside the kitchen door and said, “All done.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee,” she went on as she poured steaming water into a teapot. “Ixnay on the caffeine.” She patted her tummy. “Pregnant and paranoid, that’s me,” she said as Zack stepped into the kitchen. “I see a potential threat to my fetus in practically everything I eat, drink, drive, breathe or even think about.” She shot him an arch-browed glance as if he were in the “think about” category.

He chuckled. “Tea will be fine.” He’d never cared for the herbal stuff, but he’d drink kerosene if it meant he got to sit in Robbie Tellchick’s kitchen and listen to her banter—and look at her—while he sipped it.

He held forth the bag he’d forgotten about earlier. “Uh, hope this isn’t too toxic. I guess it’s a good thing this norther blew in since I left it on the front seat of my truck.”

She took the insulated sack and peeked inside. The little smile he was coming to crave played around her lips. “Why thank you, Zack.” She pulled it out. “Ooo. Häagen-Dazs. The good stuff.”

“Ice cream probably seems kind of dumb with this cold weather setting in.”

“Not to me. It’s my one indulgence. And the gallon that boys destroyed was going to be all I could afford this month.” The smile became full-fledged. “It was so nice of you to remember.”

Knowing he’d pleased her gave him a rush of pleasure. One indulgence down, a million more to go, if he had his way.

They settled on comfortable bentwood chairs at a little white spindle-legged table near a high bow win-dow that looked out over an overgrown backyard. The narrow, bare kitchen looked slightly cheerier in the daytime, even though the skies outside were gray and threatening rain. She had lit a candle on the table and she placed the teapot on a brightly patterned quilted hot pad between them.

“And thank you again,” she said, smiling as she poured his tea, “for taking all this time and trouble to fix my window.”

“No trouble.” He studied her in the milky afternoon light. Faint bluish circles under her eyes indicated that she was tired. Her hair was drawn back in the braid she often wore to work. She was wearing a baby blue maternity top with jeans. Watching her perform the simple task, he suddenly realized who it was she favored, at least in his mind. Nicole Kidman. Except Robbie’s hair had streaks of a deeper, purer red. But there was something about the way her full rosy lips contrasted so vividly with her pale skin and her faint freckles. He wondered how she’d react if he told her she looked like the actress.

He realized he was staring at her and turned his gaze out the window. “It really wasn’t any trouble,” he repeated. He stole a glance at her and frowned, finding that he still couldn’t tell her about the autopsy and the fire marshal’s conclusions. Not now.

The heat pattern, the trailers of gasoline on concrete, the pour patterns. It all added up to one thing: arson.

It seemed abrupt to drop a bomb like that on a pregnant woman while they were just sitting here, having tea at her quaint little table. Just the two of them, alone. That’s what really gave him the willies. Being alone with her, pregnant or not, gave rise to all kinds of conflicting emotions in him.

She raised her cup and sipped cautiously, noticing that he was watching her, eyeing him over the rim. She had probably already figured out he hadn’t come to the house on a social call last night, and she was undoubtedly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Was that too personal a thing to say to a pregnant woman?

“Fine. This is my fourth, after all. There are no surprises.”

That hit him with a jolt. Here he had been entertaining all these idealistic, quasi-romantic memories about the perky redheaded Robbie McBride last night, when the reality was she was pregnant Robbie Tellchick, experienced mother of three.

He sipped his tea. “This stuff’s pretty good.” He took another sip, stalling, angling for something to say. “So. How’s your new job working out?” He’d been watching her at the café since she started waitressing there. He missed a few days when he’d worked an extra 24-hour shift and then he’d had a hardwood floor to lay for a woman over in Wildhorse. The job had taken him two solid days because the woman, a pretty-enough blonde, kept coming around to chatter. He had wondered if the other guys had tipped Robbie adequately in his absence.

“Fine. Everybody there is so nice to me. The whole town’s nice to me, though I suppose there are some folks that think I’m crazy for going to work as a waitress and moving into this old rattletrap. They probably wonder why I don’t take my boys out to my parents’ farm and stay out there like my mother wants me to.”

“Your mother and dad live out by the river, too, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a really nice farm out there.”

“Not to me.”

Zack gave her a quizzical look which she didn’t answer. “Still,” he offered sensibly, “that might have been easier on you.” Though a selfish part of him was glad to have her right here in town where he had some hope of seeing her more often. It would be pretty hard to come up with excuses to drive all the way out to the McBride farm on a regular basis, and he had already taken to eating breakfast at the Hungry Aggie as often as possible. Lunch, too. Even dinner if she was doing that shift. Why not? Who was to question the eating habits of a bachelor firefighter?

He was making a regular pest of himself, probably, being too obvious about laying down those huge tips under the saltshaker. Occasionally he’d gotten that pretty smile of hers to emerge. “Why did you move into town, if I may ask? That’s a pretty little farm you’ve got out there, too.” Zack knew the property well. He’d coveted it, truth be told.

“It’s a pretty little place that was falling down around my ears.” She sighed heavily, and Zack didn’t like the sound of it. “It’s a long story. In any case I couldn’t keep the farm up by myself, and there were…ugly circumstances that made it untenable to go live at my mother’s house.”

“Ugly? Like what?” He downed the remainder of his tea, and she filled his cup right away. It seemed like she was enjoying this little break, maybe even his company, he hoped.

“I don’t want to bore a man like you with the McBride family’s dramas.”

A man like him? What did that mean? “I’m interested.” He wanted to add, “in anything having to do with you,” but thought better of it. He smiled at her. Just a couple of minutes more of this, Lord. Please. Just a little more normal conversation.

“Well, you knew my sister just got married?”

“Right. I saw the pictures in the paper. To Justin Kilgore, the congressman’s son, right?”

“Um. Well, she and Justin were…sweethearts as teenagers. And my mother came between them years ago. She lied to them.”

“Oh. That is kind of heavy.”

“Kind of, yes. I still haven’t forgiven my mother for what she did. There’s a lot more to it, but I’m not sure my sister would want me to share the details.”

“I understand. Where is your sister these days, by the way?” Last night Zack had decided that having the sister around when he dropped his bomb might not be a bad idea. Robbie was so vulnerable right now. Markie McBride had seemed really levelheaded the few times Zack had talked to her, and she seemed genuinely concerned about helping Robbie.

“She’s on her honeymoon in Aruba, but she’ll be back in a couple of weeks. She promised to help me get this place in order when she gets home.” The heavy sigh came again. “I have to admit I could sure use the help.”