Changing Lanes (The Lone Stars Book 3) (10 page)

Laney supposed that turn about was fair play. Devon had met her father and now it was time for her to meet his mother. The gated community on Lake Travis where Devon lived was full of stately old–money mansions. It’s not what she’d expected. He seemed more like a ritzy condo downtown, but they’d just turned into a—modest by mega–mansion standards—nineteen twenties Mission Revival. She was intrigued. He clicked a button in the visor of the Escalade, a wooden garage door rolled up, and they pulled in.

“I texted my mom that we were coming over, but I didn’t hear back from her.” He stepped out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door. “With my mother, it’s best to call first.”

“Okay. Do you want me to wait here?” She looked around. The four bay garage had one empty slot, a red Cadillac sedan in one bay, the black Dodge Viper he’d driven this morning in another, and now the Escalade. Were all of these cars his?

“Let’s go into the kitchen.” He settled his hand in the small of her back and led her to the door at the back of the garage. He opened the door and waited for her to enter.

Devon seemed nervous for her to meet his mother. That she understood. Maybe his mother was overbearing like her father?

“Give me a second. I’ll go check the guest house.” He led her into a huge kitchen. The entire back wall were windows overlooking a lush, green backyard. Off in the distance, an azure–blue pool winked in the waning sunlight.

Devon led her to a pair of overstuffed red leather chairs positioned in front of a massive indoor, outdoor fireplace in the middle of wall of windows. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and then opened the door to the backyard and went to find his mother.

The kitchen was amazing. Two sets of commercial ovens, three stoves, and what looked like a wood burning pizza oven were surrounded by miles of marble countertops. Two huge islands made a large V in effect pointing to a large round kitchen table. There were groupings of sofas, end tables, and chairs. Without a doubt, it was the largest kitchen she’d ever seen. The colors and textures were done in warm browns, reds, and golds. Cheerful plants in colorful pots dotted surfaces and despite its size, it managed to be both homey and quaint.

If she ever took the time to cook, this is the kitchen she’d want to do it in. This room had life and love everywhere. It was used and cared for … and not beige.

Ten minutes later, Devon opened the back door and shaking his head, stepped into the kitchen. Disgust and horror mingled on his face.

Laney rose and went to him. “What happened? Is she hurt?”

She glanced outside looking for any sign of emergency. Off in the distance, a woman stepped out of the pool. Laney blinked to make sure her eyes were working. The woman didn’t appear to be wearing a swimsuit or well … anything at all.

“What’s the treatment for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? I’m pretty sure I have PTSD.” Devon blew out a frustrated breath. “My mom was practicing her erotic, tantric swim routine. Apparently, she’s making an instructional video.”

“Wow.” Was all Laney could come up with, “I don’t know the protocol for PTSD, but I can find out.”

“Mom is, well …” He looked around like the right words would appear from thin air. “She’s a great mother, don’t get me wrong, but she’s um … different.”

“How?” Since her own mother had died when she was thirteen, she was fascinated by mother–daughter relationships. From what she remembered of hers, it had been okay, if not a little formal. Her mother had been a world–renowned back surgeon who had pioneered many surgical procedures still in use today. But she hadn’t been fun. While other kids’ mothers took them to the park to picnic and play, her mother had taken her to the hospital to see patients.

“She’s open … about everything. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a wonderful mother, but she … let’s say takes her sexual freedom very seriously. Ever since my father died, she claims to be exploring her sensual side.”

“I’m sorry about your father. How long ago did he die?” With Laney, it wasn’t just common courtesy that dictated the ‘I’m sorry’ but a true understanding of the finality of death.

“He died when I was ten.”

“That’s a lot of exploring.” Laney couldn’t wait to meet the woman who’d spent the last twenty years exploring her sensual side.

“You have no idea.” Devon rolled his eyes. “You know that phrase about trying anything once, maybe twice … well, she’s willing to try anything and she won’t stop until she’s conquered it. Ballroom dancing, bungee jumping, erotic ceramics, gardening. Unfortunately the erotic ceramics and the gardening were at the same time so I had nipple fountain spurting water into a penis shaped koi pond.”

His face turned an interesting shape of red. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Your mom sounds like fun. My mom invented a new procedure to fuse vertebrae.” Fun didn’t exactly describe Dr. Marjorie Beaumont–Nixon. She was willing to bet that as a child Devon had birthday parties with silly party hats, cake, and iced cream. He probably got tons of presents. She got a check—not even a birthday card, just a check. As an adult that was fine, but as a ten–year–old, it left something to be desired. That was of course when they remembered it was her birthday. Her parents were important people whose careers left little time for family. Beginning in high school on her birthday, she bought herself some cupcakes, party hats, and birthday candles. If she were ever lucky enough to have a family, they would always come first.

“That’s something. Your mom sounds very … um, smart.” Devon shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it on a chair. He rolled up his sleeves. “How about dinner?”

He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl and a baking sheet covered with aluminum foil. “I’ve got macaroni and cheese my mom made yesterday and some beef ribs off the grill.” He smiled sheepishly. “Leftovers are all I have. We could order something though.”

“I love leftovers.” She stood and stretched. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, Honey.” A sultry female voice called from behind her.

Laney turned around and felt her mouth drop open.

A curvy blonde woman who had to be in her fifties sauntered up to Laney. In black silk slacks and a matching low–cut black silk top, she was sexy in a giggly nineteen fifties sexpot kind of way. Everything about this woman was sensual, but not trashy just plain
va–va–voom
. If this was Devon’s mother, he must have to keep a big stick close to fight off all the men.

She held out her hand. “I’m Sweet Louise Harding.” She nodded toward Devon. “Please excuse my son’s manners for not introducing us properly. God knows I tried to teach him, but the boy’s got a head twice as thick as his father’s. And that man made a mule look like God’s most biddable creature.”

She took Devon’s mother’s hand, shook it firmly, and let it go. “It’s so good to meet you. Devon talks about you all of the time.”

Sweet Louise’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “All good I hope.”

“Nope.” Devon said under his breath.

“I apologize.” She walked to her son and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “No respect for his elders.”

“What elders? You act like a horny teenager.” Devon pulled the foil off the pan.

“You’d disrespect me in front of company?” The mock horror on her face made Laney smile.

“I think you took care of that by skinny dipping in my pool.” Devon hip–bumped his mother.

She hip–bumped him right back. “It could have been worse … a lot worse.”

“I live in fear of that everyday.” Devon unwrapped plastic wrap from the bowl. “I already have several images that need to be burned from my memory.”

He glanced at Laney. “Can that be done?”

She walked to the island they stood behind, pulled out a barstool tucked under the ledge, and sat. “Nope.”

Devon grinned. “She’s a doctor.”

The pride in his voice shouldn’t have made her heart beat faster but it did.

“A doctor.” Sweet Louise sounded impressed. “That beats the … what was the last one you brought home? A bikini waxer?”

“That was like three years ago.” He sighed heavily. “When are you going to let that go?”

“She was so dumb her tattoos were misspelled.” Sweet Louise shot her a knowing look. “Hell’s Angles. Can you believe that? I asked her if she was a mathematician. She told me she was a Baptist.”

“Wow.” Laney laughed. “Can I meet her?”

Maybe there was something medically that could improve her brain function.

“Sadly, Ms. Hell’s Angle moved to in her words, ‘to one of those I states, you know, in the middle.’ I hope she was good in bed, because I couldn’t find any other qualities to recommend her.” Sweet Louise spooned macaroni and cheese into a baking dish, covered it with foil, turned on the oven, and popped it in. “I’m pretty sure she got lost and is still looking for that I state in the middle. Too bad … she was a keeper. I’m sure she would have produced some high–quality babies for me to cuddle.”

The eye roll was implied.

“Mom.” Devon was mortified.

“What?” Sweet Louise hunched her shoulders. “I can’t be having stupid grandbabies. And then they’d have babies and those babies would have babies. I’d be the matriarch of a dynasty of stupid people. I can’t have that be my legacy. I need to be known for my love of humanity and my art.”

She smiled at Laney. “You look like you’d give birth to really smart, beautiful babies.”

Devon made a choking sound, turned on his heel, walked to a huge built–in cabinet on the left of the sink, opened it, and selected a bottle of what looked like Kentucky Bourbon. He unscrewed the cap, tipped the bottle to his lips, knocked back a good gulp, and screwed the cap back on. Without missing a beat, he replaced the bottle, closed the cabinet, and returned to the ribs. “Remember that offer of a sharp stick to poke in my eye. Same goes for you.”

“At least he’s not a closet drinker. That’s got to count for something.” Sweet Louise winked.

“Are you two always like this?” Laney grinned. Their house must be like living in a sitcom. Clearly, they loved each other. All the sparring back and forth was balanced with a deep affection for one another.

“Yes, pretty much. My son needs a lot of woman to keep him in line.” Sweet Louise looked Laney up and down. “I think you may be just what he needs.”

“Are you trying to drive me to the liquor cabinet again?” Devon’s voice was higher than normal. He turned to Laney pleading. “Don’t listen to her. The craziness in our family skips a generation.”

Sweet Louise patted him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry it landed on you. At least my grandbabies won’t be afflicted. That gives me comfort.”

Devon went to the refrigerator and pulled out a small metal bowl, pulled up one corner of the plastic wrap, grabbed what looked like a fat paint brush from a red ceramic canister holding lots of paint brushes on the counter, dipped the brush into the bowl, and brushed a brownish liquid all over the ribs. “My secret barbecue sauce.”

He brushed sauce on both sides of the ribs, opened a drawer in front of him, pulled out a box of aluminum foil, and ripped off a giant piece. He wrapped it around the ribs, opened a second oven, and popped in the ribs while punching in numbers to get the perfect degree of heat.

“Laney wants to do something reckless.” Devon nodded in the direction of his mother. “Since you’re the poster child for reckless, I thought you might have some ideas.”

“Really?” Laney sat up. “Got any tips for the newly reckless?”

Sweet Louise brightened. “Well now, let me see …” She leaned against the counter. “Are we talking physically reckless, emotionally reckless, or stupid reckless?”

Devon nodded. “That’s what I wanted to know.”

Laney thought about it for a minute. “Physically reckless, I guess … to start.”

Sweet Louise cocked her head to the right. “The first thing that comes to mind is the hobo hopping my best friend and I used to do in high school.”

Devon stopped long enough to stare at her. “Do I want to know what hobo hopping is?”

“Train hopping. My friend Denise and I used to hop a cargo train at the railroad crossing in my home town and ride the train thirty or so miles to party in a college town. We’d hop a return train at three in the morning. So much fun.” Sweet Louise nodded. “God, I miss Denise. After she married that Baptist preacher, she was no fun at all.”

Devon’s mouth was hanging open. “You hobo hopped trains? I don’t even know what to say to that.” He turned to Laney. “You’re not allowed to ever do that.” He turned back to his mother. “Neither are you.”

“Like that was the most risqué thing I’ve ever done.” Sweet Louise rolled her eyes. “I’ve skinny dipped in that big fountain outside of the LBJ Library. Luckily the cops were very nice. They told me to get out, put on my clothes, and go home.”

Laney laughed at the horrified look on Devon’s face. She propped her chin on her fist. “How old were you when you did that?”

“Fifty–five. It was last month.” She grinned.

Devon’s eyes got so big, Laney actually thought they might pop out of his head.

“If you want something sort of tame, try going through the McDonald’s drive thru naked. They sometimes upsize your fries.” Sweet Louise was enjoying her son’s discomfort.

“Mom, stop talking. Forget I asked about your reckless adventures. I don’t want to know.” Devon looked horrified. “I thought you’d talk about driving the Jet Ski after dark, or riding your horse bareback, or maybe even how you ‘borrowed’ your father’s car and accidentally broke the tail light sneaking back in.”

“Please, I only told you the tame stuff. You asked for reckless and these are the things I could think of off the top of my head.” She picked up a dishtowel and wiped down the counter. “Speaking of reckless, you’ve got your own stories. Have you told her about Mexico yet?”

His face turned an interesting shade of red.

Laney laughed. “We agreed to never mention Mexico, but I’d love to hear some other stories.”

“He and his best friend used to race home. He had a ’68 Mustang and his friend had a ’72 Camaro.” Sweet Louise was so blasé about the whole thing.

“How’d you know about that?” Devon put a dirty spoon in the sink.