Texas Homecoming

Luke Brand yearns for what he’s never had–family. Aside from an overprotective mother who died young, he’s never had that–until he drives his rig into Quinn, Texas to meet the family he’s never known. His cousins welcome him with open arms. 3 months later he’s still there, selling his semi to buy an abandoned house for back taxes, dreaming of settling down with a wholesome woman and raising some kids of his own.

Jasmine is not wholesome. She’s a waitress and sometimes exotic dancer at a Chicago club. A classically trained dancer, Jasmine doesn’t mind doing what she has to. It’s all for her son, Baxter. She’d do anything to protect him from the world.

When Baxter witnesses a murder at the club and becomes a target himself, Jasmine takes him and runs. Posing as her best friend, shot dead by the same killer who’s after Bax, she heads for Texas to hole up in the house her roomie inherited but wanted no part of. The only problem with her plan is the sexy cowboy who’s already living there.

LUKE STOOD AT
THE GRAVESIDE
of his best friend and mentor, the man he'd always wanted to emulate, and waited for the others to arrive—but they never did. The minister stood there, too. He was a small, skinny man with a road map of a face. He didn't wear flowing robes, though. The only things that marked him as a man of the cloth were the collar of his shirt and the Bible in his hand. It was a pretty day in Tennessee. Birds singing. Traffic rushing by. Flowers in bloom. Just like nothing had ever happened. Just like the greatest long-distance trucker in the business wasn't lying dead right now in a box about to be lowered into the cold womb of the earth. The minister looked at his watch, then at Luke.

"Are you sure we're not early?" Luke asked. He'd expected hundreds to be in attendance. Buck was a legend. A favorite of every truck-stop waitress and diesel mechanic in seven states. His rig had been the most recognizable one on the road, all decked out with chrome, and more lights than a Christmas tree. Oh, it had been a showpiece. Buck's pride and joy.

It twisted Luke's stomach to think of the way it had looked when he'd stopped by the wrecking yard to view the remains. Just a pile of twisted metal and shattered glass. Nothing left of its former glory.

And now it looked to Luke as though there was even less left of its owner-operator. It bothered him that no one had come to say goodbye to Buck.

The minister cleared his throat and met Luke's eyes. Luke sighed and gave him a nod. The preacher began to speak, but he didn't really have much to say. He read the Lord's Prayer, said how Buck had gone on to a better place. He talked about salvation. Luke listened until he couldn't listen anymore. Then he said, ‘"Scuse me, Reverend, but um...do you think it would be all right if I, uh..."

The man smiled, new wrinkles appearing in his face. "By all means, son. Say a few words. Lord knows, you knew this man better than I."

Nodding, Luke cleared his throat. He held his hat, a duck-billed green one that had a bulldog and the word
Mack
on the front, in his hands in front of him. "Lord," he said, "this man was one of the good ones. I suppose you know that already, but I want to make sure it gets said. He never passed by a broken-down four-wheeler on the roadside without stopping to offer a hand. He never left a hitchhiker out in the rain. He never left less than a dollar tip for a waitress, even if all he ordered was a cup of coffee. And there was never a better driver. Not ever. Why, I've seen Buck Waters perform acrobatics with his rig when he lost his brakes on a three-mile downgrade, when any other driver would have wound up jackknifing and taking a lot of people with him. I've seen him pull out of a slide on roads so icy you couldn't walk on them. I've seen him avoid accidents that would have killed anyone else, when ignorant folks pulled out in front of him or cut him off. In fact, he never did have a wreck— not until this one. Now, I know it doesn't seem like much of a legacy to leave behind. But it's all he had. And I sure hope you won't hold that against him. Some men just aren't cut out for settling down, raising families and all that. And just because no one's here today, no kids or wife crying at the graveside...well, that doesn't mean Buck Waters wasn't loved. He was. And it doesn't mean he didn't touch lives. Because he touched mine."

Luke lowered his head as a flood of feeling rushed up into his throat and kept him from saying more.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder. "That was very eloquent, son."

He glanced up at the minister, pulled himself together and shook his head. "It's not right that no one's here for him. There should have been lots of people here today."

The older man's brows rose. "Well, you're here." He paused a moment, deep in thought.
^"
From what you've said about your friend, it seems his life was as full as he wanted it to be. Maybe so is this service."

"No," Luke said, shaking his head. "Every man wants to think someone's going to miss him when he's gone. Every man wants to leave something of himself behind."

Smiling very gently, the minister said, "No, son. Not every man. But it's pretty obvious
you
want those things."

"Me? No. No, not me."

The minister looked at the shiny coffin and smiled sadly. "Maybe this service is Buck's way of reminding you that you won't get those things in the end if you live the way he did. Family. Loved ones. Oh, I'm sure for him his life was perfect without those things. But maybe...yours isn't?" He shrugged. "It's something to think about, at any rate."

Luke frowned but said nothing. A million disjointed thoughts were spinning in his head. Above them all was the voice of his mother, telling him he would never settle down, that he had been born with the wanderlust, just like his father.

The minister turned again to the open grave and held one hand, palm out, above it. "Lord, we commend the soul of Buck Waters into thy tender care. May his soul fly on wings of angels into heaven. Amen."

"Amen," Luke intoned. "Hammer down, Buck."

The minister patted Luke again as he left. Luke spent a few more moments in the cemetery. Then he headed into the parking lot, where his rig took up most of the spaces. It gleamed like a gem, that rig of his. A turquoise-blue Pete, with a sleeper the size of a condo. Had a fridge, a microwave, TV and DVD player. He could live in it. Hell, he did, a lot of the time. The polished Aluminum Bud wheels all the way around shone in the sunlight. On the side, in silver lettering, was his name. Lucas Tyrel Mason Brand, Owner-Operator. The rig was running, flaps on top of the twin smokestacks clicking up and down as if talking to him. You didn't just shut a semi down for a brief stop and start it up again like you would with a car. You let her idle. Let her purr. It was good for her.

Luke climbed behind the wheel, closed his hands around its familiar shape. And he told himself he wasn't all that much like Buck. Sure, his life was on the road, hauling loads of goods from town to town, state to state. He didn't really have a home.

But, unlike Buck, he had family. Well...relatives, anyway. His daddy's wandering ways had seen to that. The man had been married to two women at the same time. Fathered two kids on the East Coast and five in Oklahoma before he died in a hail of gunfire twenty-some odd years ago. Luke had no real memory of John Brand. His own mother hadn't been a wife at all, legal or otherwise. She'd just been a fling. And Luke had been the result of it. Still, John Brand's name was listed on Luke's birth certificate. And the old bastard had sent money, even come to visit several times a year until he'd been killed, according to Luke's mother. Not that Luke had much memory of the man himself, but his mother had always been very honest about it all. And when she passed last year she'd made Luke promise to visit his seven half siblings and all those cousins in Texas—the children of John Brand's brother, Orrin.

Of course he hadn't done it. Hadn't seen any reason to. Until now.

He drew a deep breath, sighed heavily. He supposed having relatives didn't really mean a hell of a lot if you'd never met them. Still, it was a daunting prospect. What was he supposed to do? Just pull the big rig into some stranger's driveway and yell, "Hi there, I'm your illegitimate bastard half brother."

His mobile phone rang. He picked it up. "Lucas Brand Trucking," he said automatically.

"Hey, Luke, it's me. How was the funeral?" The voice on the other end belonged to Smitty, one of Luke's favorite brokers.

"Not too good, Smitty. But I suppose funerals aren't supposed to be."

"Guess not. Look, I know this is a bad time, but I've got a load bound for Texas, Luke. And it needs to go out today. Can you take it?"

Luke swallowed hard. Texas. Of all places. Odd coincidence, just when he'd been thinking about the relatives he'd never met. "Where in Texas?" he asked.

"Town called Quinn. It's in the neighborhood of El Paso," Smitty said.

The words fell on Luke like bricks. He just sat there a minute, blinking in shock.