The antiquities man from Austin had almost salivated as he loaded them into his van, and the money had, fittingly, paid off the last of Daddy’s obligations.
Claiming a spindly ribbon-back chair for herself, Laurel gestured Jase toward the same velvet-upholstered sofa on which the two of them would sit and talk while Jase was waiting for Daddy to emerge from his study and summon him for his weekly counseling session. At first they had discussed school events in stilted little conversations, but after a while, when he started coming half an hour early, they’d relaxed with each other and began talking about what was going on in their lives. Jase had shared her joy when she made straight As and was elected sophomore representative to student council, and he’d consoled her when Mama and Daddy said she couldn’t have unchaperoned dates until her next birthday.
In turn, she tried not to look shocked as she learned about the way he lived. Everyone in Baptist-dry Bosque Bend knew that Jase’s father was a bad-tempered bully who kept a rowdy tavern just over the county line, but Laurel had been horrified to learn that Growler Redlander was such a poor excuse for a parent that his son had been working odd jobs since he was nine to support himself.
Jase had shrugged off her concern. “Laurel, I was five six when I was in the fourth grade. By the time I hit middle school, I was five ten and could pass for an eighteen-year-old any day of the week. The car wash is easy, and it’s only one night a week. The only problem with the yard work is hiding the mower from my father so he can’t toss it in the river like he does everything else.”
Laurel’s fifteen-year-old heart had opened to him. He was so brave, so valiant—and so handsome, just like the heroes on the covers of the romances she borrowed from Mrs. Bridges’s extensive collection of paperbacks.
But that was sixteen years ago. What had brought Jase back to Bosque Bend? What sort of “family emergency” could possibly involve her?
She watched him deposit himself carefully on the delicately carved sofa, as if afraid it would break under his weight. He focused his gaze on her, and she took a quick breath. She’d forgotten how dark his eyes were—so black that iris and pupil seemed to blend into one. But why was he staring at her like that? Was something wrong? She glanced down at her silky white blouse. None of the buttons had come undone, and the zipper of her gray slacks was still closed tight.
He blinked, waved his hand in apology, and shifted his gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seem so much the same. Somehow I expected you to look, well, older.”
Suddenly nervous, she pushed a heavy sheaf of dark hair back behind her ear and gave a little laugh, flattered but disbelieving. She was thirty-one years old, had been through hell, and didn’t doubt that every bit of it showed on her face.
Nothing to do but seize the conversational bull by the horns. “You said you have an emergency?”
He exhaled deeply and rubbed his fingers along the nap of the sofa. “It’s my daughter. She ran away from home this morning and left a note saying she was going to Bosque Bend to find her roots. I think she might try to contact you.”
His daughter? Jase had a child?
Through the years, Laurel’s mind had frozen him at age sixteen, standing alone against the world, her tragic lost love. The idea that he would marry one day and have a family had never even entered her head. Jase Redlander hadn’t seemed to be the type to settle down. Instead, she’d pictured him as an unshaven roughneck putting out oil fires—or maybe a steel-jawed hero fighting off a Mexican drug cartel. Year by year, he’d become a fantasy figure to her—a heroic dark knight. Certainly not a father.
He pulled a photo from his wallet. “Here’s a picture of Lolly from last year. She looks a lot older than she is, but don’t be fooled—she’s only fifteen.”
Using a thick-barreled pen, he scrawled something on the back of the picture before offering it to her. Laurel reached for it. Their fingers touched and a sizzle of awareness shot through her. The picture fell to the carpet.
Jase bent down to retrieve the photo and placed it on the rococo table beside her, his eyes catching hers for one long moment. “I’m at the old house,” he said, his voice a bit deeper. “It’s between renters right now.” His gaze moved to her mouth, and his pitch dropped even lower. “You remember it. You were there…once.”