Million Dollar Road (26 page)

“Sounded bad, from what Lireinne told me,” Bud went on, stroking the puppy resting in his lap. “That Mr. Con's sure done right by my girl, and I wish him well. Sounds like a good man, from what Lireinne tells me.”

“He's my . . . ex-husband,” Emma said, keeping her voice even with an effort. She could hardly deny it. Still, there were those pounding hoofbeats inside her chest until she saw the shrewd light in Bud's honest eyes.

“Yes,” she said, more strongly now. “I hope he's going to be okay, too. And maybe . . . well, yes, Con can be a good man. Most of the time, I guess.”

“Most of the time's a pretty fair average, in my experience.”

You have no idea, Emma thought, and if you did, you wouldn't take Lireinne's word for anything you hear about Con. But she only forced a tight smile, hoping her face wouldn't betray her. She didn't say anything more, but that smile must have said it all because that's when Bud offered her the beer.

With an exhilarated sense of having surmounted a Kilimanjaro of a challenge, Emma felt like celebrating. “Thank you, I'd love one.”

Congratulations to me, she thought, alone as Bud went back inside. I just talked about Con and didn't have a damned panic attack. And a beer sounded like a great idea. Though it had been years since she'd had one in the afternoon, it was a gorgeous day and she was enjoying Bud's conversation. Upon his return, the cold Pabst tasted wonderful. To her mild surprise, Emma discovered she didn't even smell the septic tank anymore. Clinking their cans together in a silent toast, Emma and Bud's talk turned to other things—the vagaries of dogs, Lireinne's old horse, Mose, and his new life, Sarah Fortune's bossiness, and organic farming.

“Got no idea how you go 'bout that,” Bud said, scratching his bald head. “Me, I can't hardly even grow hair, let alone grow a garden. I hear organic's supposed to be good for you, but it's a lot of work, ain't it?”

“It definitely is,” Emma agreed.

“Must be why that stuff's so danged expensive, then.” Bud's face was open, his eyes interested.

That friendly interest was all it took: Emma found herself telling him a lot more than she meant to about gardening, her life on the farm, and her recent resolution to get to know her neighbors. This felt
nice,
she realized happily. The beer helped, too, so like a flower unfurling its petals in the soft-shining afternoon sun, Emma felt herself opening up to the day, to the easy talk, to the man sitting beside her in a rump-sprung lawn chair with the sleeping white puppy on his lap.

After some time, though, with a glance at her watch, Emma knew she had to leave. She'd lost track of how long they'd been talking, but the beer had caught up with her and she didn't want to ask to go inside the trailer to use their bathroom. Both Bud and Lireinne had seemed more than determined to keep her out of the double-wide, so the state of things in there must be pretty chaotic. Emma didn't want to mar this newfound . . . whatever this was, by intruding.

“Thanks so much for the beer. It's been great, getting to know you,” she said, discovering to her pleasure that it was true. “But I'd better get home.”

“You sure?”

“Chickens and a dog to be fed, farm chores—you know how it goes.” Feeling a genuine reluctance to leave, Emma got out of the folding chair and stood with a quick stretch. She walked over to her truck and opened the door. “Thanks again. Please tell Lireinne that I'm sorry to have missed her.”

Still cradling the sleeping puppy, Bud stood, too. “Tell her yourself,” he said. “That's her car right now.” Down the drive, a dark green Explorer was turning onto the shell road leading to the trailer.

Emma's mouth was suddenly arid once more. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, watching the car rolling toward her. Emma turned and met Bud's earnest gaze. His face flushed as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Y'know, I, uh, I enjoyed this, too,” Bud said. His voice was diffident, almost shy. “Maybe sometime you could come back. We could maybe . . .”

But with a screech of worn brake pads, the Explorer jolted to a stop in the weeds across from Emma's truck. Lireinne threw herself out of the dusty green car and slammed the door. Her face was tight with anger, her eyes puffy and red as though she'd been crying.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?” Lireinne demanded. Not waiting for an answer, she stalked past them and took the puppy from her stepfather's arms before she turned to glare at Emma, her green eyes as narrow and cold as a sniper's on a target.

Here it was, the worst-case scenario. Engulfed in a smothering wave of mingled shame and suspicion, Emma had to force herself to meet that accusing stare.

“I'm so, so sorry,” Emma faltered. “But . . .”

Lireinne raised a scarred eyebrow. “Sorry, huh? Sorry
shit
. You come out here on another freaking field trip? Want to see how people who have to work for a living get on? Well, look around! Get an eyeful and then get your ass in your freaking fancy truck and go. Nobody wants you here.”

Emma's halting words deserted her. Facing Lireinne's scorn, she couldn't begin to find the courage to speak. Her eyes tearing, her mouth trembled.

“Lireinne.” Bud's deep voice was quiet. “Ease down, girl. Emma's a guest.”

His admonition only appeared to enflame the girl further. “No freaking way! You hear me, bitch? Go someplace else with your fake shit,” Lireinne practically spit. Clutching a wide-awake Lunchmeat to her chest, she turned on her heel and ran up the steps to the trailer. As she yanked the door open, thundering armies and the sounds of mortal combat poured out into the yard. Lireinne slammed the old, warped door, but it flew open again, rebounding with a bang against the side of the trailer.

“Hey, I said
leave
.” Lireinne stuck her head outside, her lovely face hard as carved white stone. She grabbed the doorknob. “Go away!”

This time the slammed door stayed shut.

Shattered, Emma's tears blurred her vision, making it hard to see her fingers frantically fumbling at the handle of her truck. The day's golden light dimmed as though a cloud had passed overhead in the clear sky above her.

“I really am . . . sorry,” she said to Bud, her voice breaking. “But I should never have come out here. I'll go now.” She turned her back on him to climb in the truck, to start the engine, drive away, and not come back. Ever.

Oh dear God, what if what she'd been fearing was true? Had it already happened? Was Lireinne this furious because she and Con were together? No, Emma acknowledged with a sinking sense of shame, all this explosive anger was bound to be directed at her alone. She'd hurt the girl, hurt her desperately. She couldn't blame Con. She was the one who owned this.

But did any of it matter anymore?

Before Emma could climb into the front seat of the Ford, though, a big hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she looked up into Bud's worried face.

“Don't take that talk of hers much to heart,” he said, his tone mild and level. “Girl's too quick to judge, 'specially when it comes to people she's come to care about. Her mother up and leaving her when she was just a little thing made her that way, I think. Lireinne hasn't ever got over it—made her untrusting-like, always too quick to think the worst.”

“I . . . heard about her mother. Sarah told me.” Emma sniffled, her eyes streaming. “Oh, Bud, I should have
known
better.” She shook her head. “I did everything wrong.”

“Here.” Bud Hooten reached into the back pocket of his worn jeans and extracted a folded red bandanna. “Dry your eyes, now, and blow your nose. Sometimes she goes at me like that, you know. It can be a hurtful thing, but she don't really mean it. When Lireinne don't care, she won't have a word for you. Shuts you out forever. At least she talked to you. Lireinne won't even talk
about
her mom. If she goes and gets mad at you, it means she still gives a damn.”

“So you're saying I shouldn't give up.” Emma dabbed at her eyes with the bandanna.

“It's just my opinion, but . . . yup. That's about it,” Bud said. “I figure you still count somehow. You know, Lireinne's mom was kinda restless. Thinking back on it now, I don't know that she ever did want a damned thing to do with her own kids. Sure took off like she never meant to see 'em again. Ain't heard hide nor hair from the woman in eleven years. It was harder on Lireinne than Wolf, 'cause she was old enough to know her own mother didn't give a damn about her and Wolf was too young to remember much about it. For a while after her mom cut out—months, maybe—Lireinne used to stay by the window all the time, always lookin' out into the yard, waiting. ‘Maybe she'll come back today,' she'd say. But then one day she just quit waiting. Never asked after her mother again.” Bud's voice was deep with regret, weighted with this recollection. “Can't say as how I blame her for that, but it's just the way she is now.”

“Poor, poor child.” Emma swallowed hard, thinking of the pain she'd unwittingly caused. “I guess that's why when I didn't call or come to see her for so long, she took it so badly. I didn't realize I was . . . hitting her where it hurt the most, but I
ought
to have known.”

“She'll come around. Just give her a little time.” Bud's words were confident and somehow Emma found a watery smile.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for this kindness. “I had my own damage to deal with, but still—that was no excuse for what I did.” Her self-involvement had caused enough misery, her own and others', however unintentional it might have been. Emma admitted this to herself with a shaky understanding.

Sarah had been right again: grow the fuck up. Quit living in the past.
Change
.

“Yep, I figured it had to be something like that.” Nodding, Bud's tone was regretful. “I could tell she'd taken a real shine to you, though. Talked for days about what a nice lady you were, how glad she was, you being her friend. When Lireinne didn't hear from you . . . well, it was a bad time.”

He hesitated before putting one big, heavy arm around Emma's shoulders in a brief hug. Up close, Bud smelled of sun-warmed flannel, a pleasant, faint trace of beer, and clean man. “But don't give up on her now, will you?” he said.

“You heard her. She told me to go away, to leave her alone. And she sounded pretty positive about it, too.” Emma's short laugh was unhappy.

Bud Hooten smiled down into her despairing, gold-flecked eyes. “And she's only eighteen. And she'll get past this sooner than you think. Tell you what, why don't you ask her over to your place sometime? I could come, too, if you want,” he offered.

Emma found a weak smile, filled once more with doubt and hope. “Really? You'd do that? You seriously think she'll be willing to talk to me again?” With a last dab at her eyes, she handed Bud's bandanna back to him.

The big man shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Anyways, all she can say's no. I think you could live with it if she does, but she might say yes. Be a start, at least, and who knows? Could be good for you and her, getting past this.”

Emma fell silent, mulling over Bud's suggestion.

Be here now
.

“You're right,” Emma said after a minute. “I'll ask her. And yes,
you
should definitely come. Somehow I think that if I invite all of you—you, your son, and Lireinne—she'd be more likely to say yes. She wouldn't feel so defensive if you were there.”

Bud was folding his bandanna, stuffing it back into his hip pocket. His glance was questioning. “You want us over for dinner? Something like that?”

Emma answered him with a vigorous nod, though that really wasn't what she'd meant, not at first. She'd been thinking of something more low-key, like having coffee one afternoon. It had been more than two years since she'd had people over for dinner. Almost always Con's clients back then: large, important business affairs with people she didn't know very well, Irish crystal and the Limoges, her family silver and hours of meaningless conversation. During those dinners, Emma had been content to stay in the kitchen, seeing to the cooking and avoiding the heavy-going of small talk, even though Con had been so very impatient with her shyness. Since then she'd grown accustomed to eating alone every night, except for Sheba.

But this time would be different, Emma told herself. This would be
her
idea now, not Con's. She was a better than good cook, she could try again with Lireinne.
Be here now
. All right, Emma thought. She was here; she'd made it out to Million Dollar Road and had faced her fears at last. She wasn't turning away from this girl again, not without another solid try to repair some of the harm she knew she'd caused her.

“Yes,” Emma said firmly. “Dinner at my place.”

Certain that she should get to it as soon as possible, she knew her own nature well enough to understand that if she didn't commit to a time and a date, she might never find the nerve to try again. Once at home, safe in her “organic womb,” as Sarah called it, she could find a thousand reasons to put this dinner off until it was too late.

“How about tomorrow night then, say seven o'clock?” Emma soldiered on, a part of her halfway hoping Bud would say no, thanks, he had a previous engagement.

But Bud smiled widely, his sunburned face beaming.

“Lady, you got yourself at least one taker. And thank you kindly for letting me invite myself to dinner.”