What the Heart Wants (21 page)

Sawyer started to rise. “Let's go order. I'll buy you a frozen custard to soften you up before I begin third-degreeing you.”

Jase laughed. “Sure thing. Lead the way.”

A heavyset man wearing a badge identifying him as the store manager greeted them with a big smile. “A Blizzard, as usual, Mr. Sawyer?”

“Of course, Juan. It's Cookie Dough this month, isn't it?” He turned to Jase. “And what's your poison, young Redlander?”

“A dipped cone, I guess.” That's what Maxie always ordered for him when he was a kid.

As soon as they got their treats, his host led him to a booth in the back of the side room, several tables distant from the herd of exuberant Cub Scouts who had taken over the front area.

Sawyer sucked in several spoonfuls of Blizzard before he started in on him. “Now, Jason, tell me about yourself. I understand you've accumulated considerable real estate holdings up and down the I-35 corridor.”

“Yessir. I started out with one parking lot, and it just grew from there.” He decapitated the custard's curly top.

Sawyer produced a small notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Actually, I've googled most of your official information. What I really want to know are what your plans are for our fair city.”

“You don't use a recorder?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Makes people too nervous, like they're being interrogated.”

Jase paused to recapture a large piece of the frozen chocolate shell that had broken loose. “I know the feeling.”

He liked Art Sawyer as an adult even more than he'd liked him as a kid. The old guy was a straight shooter.

Sawyer enjoyed several more spoonfuls of his Blizzard, then started in again. “Now, about your plans…”

“I'm not holding back on you, sir, but I'm unsure yet what my plans are. I bought the old Anderson tract east of the river, and I'm negotiating on a smaller lot, but that's all I can say.”

“The Anderson tract. That's within spitting distance of the Espinoza addition, isn't it?”

“Fairly near. They'll probably tie in eventually, but I'm not assuming anything right now. It's an investment, that's all.” He'd reached the cone, the crisp, crunchy, sweet cone.

“Do you think you and Raymond might get together businesswise at some time?”

“Maybe.” Crunch, crunch. “Who knows? I've always dealt in land, but I might go into homebuilding at some point.”

“Even in this economy?”

Jase wiped his hands on a paper napkin and shrugged. “There's always opportunity.”

Sawyer's eyes lit up. “There's always opportunity! I like that!” He scribbled in his notebook, then made a big show of replacing it in his pocket.

“Strictly off the record, what about Laurel Harlow?”

Jase was caught completely off guard. “I, uh, we're friends, close friends.”

Sawyer glanced at his rumpled shirt, the same one that Jase had worn at the Bosque Club, and raised his eyebrows. “And where did you spend the night?”

“Not where you think,” Jase countered. Not where I would have liked to. “I slept in my car.”

Sawyer nodded like a wise old owl. “She kicked you out?”

“No, I…yeah, she kicked me out.” He couldn't say he'd left Laurel because he was mad at her father. It didn't make sense even to him.

Sawyer looked at him as if reading his mind.

“Now, listen to me, young Jason. Every person on this planet, no matter how good, has feet of clay. People are a mixed bag, and Edward Harlow was no exception. He did some terrible things, but he also did some good things too, some
very
good things. This doesn't excuse him, but it's important to recognize both sides of the man. People around here have not only vilified Edward Harlow, but they've also extended their anger to his family. Dovie Kinkaid was one of the sweetest, gentlest women I've ever known, and they drove her to suicide. Laurel is stronger than her mother, and I think she'll make it, but she's got to get the hell out of Bosque Bend.”

Sawyer tilted his cup up to get a last swallow of his Blizzard, put the cup down, and looked Jase in the eyes. “I came in on the end of Betsy Simcek's tantrum last night and saw Laurel's face. And yours. I can't tell you what to do except that you can never go wrong by doing the right thing. You said there's always an opportunity, and I'll add to it: There's always an
opportunity
to do the right thing.”

Jase nodded. “Don't worry about my relationship with Laurel, sir. I'll be back in Bosque Bend in a day or two. I just have to—to figure everything out.”

Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Laurel. “Okay, spill. What's been going on over here?'

“Nothing much. I've been answering the phone all morning. First there was a guy who wanted to contact Jase, then Jase, then my Realtor—it looks like the house might sell.”

“What about the call from Jase?”

Laurel shrugged. “He said he'd stay in touch, whatever that means—I'm not holding out any hope.”

“What I'm asking for is that you tell me what the heck's been going on this past week?”

Laurel shrugged. “I think it's fairly obvious. I've been having an affair with Jase Redlander, and now it's over.”

“Bullshit. And don't get that mulish expression on your face, Miss Priss. He adores you, and you've been in love with him since you were fifteen.”

“He left me.”

“He left you because Betsy Wetsy made a spectacle out of herself?” Sarah frowned at her. “Wait a minute—are you telling me Jase didn't know about—about your father? You never told him?”

“How could I? All he could talk about was how great Daddy was, how much he'd influenced his life. I was afraid once he found out, he'd leave me. And he did.”

Sarah's face hardened. “Then he isn't worthy of you. Hold your head high. You didn't do anything wrong. My father was a lawyer, and, as far as I know, children are not accountable for their parents' crimes.”

“Maybe not legally, but the whole town hates me for what Daddy did, and when Mama was alive, they hated her too. You and your mother acted like we were dead.”

“That's not true. My mother tried to be supportive of you and your mother, but your mama turned her away at the door, then sent us a letter saying our attentions were not welcome. Mother decided to give you all some private time, but the last straw was when Dad died last year and neither of you attended his funeral.”

Laurel hung her head. “She didn't want to embarrass you.” Also, Mama had begun blaming Charles Bridges for the situation, as if his arrangements had caused them to have to withdraw from public life, not what Daddy had done.

Sarah sighed. “As I see it, there's been a lot of rejection on both sides. But as to the town, sure, there are some people who are always going to be whispering behind your back, but people's memories fade, and there are a lot of new people in Bosque Bend now.”

“I lost my job.”

“I know. Mom said that ol' Betsy talked to the school board. But you can't let people like her get to you. Move on with your life. Get a new job and find another tall, dark, handsome guy.”

“I'm not sure about a new guy, but—don't laugh—I am thinking about getting a dog. The house seems so lonely now that Jase is gone.”

“A dog? What kind?”

“I don't know. Just so it's had all its shots.” She'd didn't want to end up with rabies like her great-aunt.

Sarah took her arm and guided her to the stairs. “Then go get dressed and I'll drive you to the pound and I'll treat you to a nice dog with all its vaccinations up-to-date.”

Inwardly quaking, Laurel followed Sarah as she walked down the rows of cages. It was so noisy she could hardly think.

The dogs were throwing themselves against their wire doors as if they wanted to tear her to shreds, and the smaller the dog, the more desperate it seemed, barking and jumping like its life depended on it, and maybe it did. On the way to the facility, Sarah had described in graphic detail what happened to dogs that weren't adopted.

They walked into the next room, which housed the larger cages. The dogs were quieter here, more despondent, as if resigned to their fates.

“You'll probably want to start small,” Sarah said, moving quickly past the cages.

“Maybe not.” She'd always liked the Great Danes that Mrs. Bridges favored. She moved closer to read the index card taped to a cage:
WALDO, MALE, LAB-RIDGEBACK MIX, APPROX. 6 YRS., NEUTERED, HOUSEBROKEN.

The dog limped slowly over to the front of the cage to look up at her. His leg was in a cast. Had he been hit by a car?

Waldo continued to stare at her. Without thinking, Laurel stuck her hand through the wire. Waldo regarded it for a moment before cautiously extending a long, pink tongue to lick her fingers. Then he backed off, sat down, and gazed at her, his heart in his eyes.

Laurel's own heart answered him. “Sarah, this is the one.”

Sarah joined her in front of the cage. “Are you sure?” She read Waldo's information card aloud and frowned. “He's six now, so he won't live more than four or five years longer.”

Laurel tightened her jaw. “I like him. But his name isn't Waldo. It's Hugo.”

Sarah shrugged. “Okay, then. Hugo it is. Get his number, and we'll tell the lady out front.”

The attendant who helped Laurel fill out the forms told her “Waldo” had been deserted by his first family when they moved out of state, and the neighbors called the dogcatcher when he started begging up and down the street. Hugo's second owner, a college student, had kicked him down two flights of stairs when he was drunk.

Sarah stepped in with her credit card when the woman added up Hugo's adoption fees.

“Thank of it as a late birthday present,” she said as they loaded Hugo into the backseat of her Mercedes. “I've missed a couple of years in there.”

Their next stop was at Walmart, where Laurel walked Hugo in the grass margin while Sarah went in “to pick up a few things you'll need.” Twenty minutes later she was back with a full cart.

“This is my late Christmas present,” she announced breezily, extracting a red leather collar with manly studs on it from the pile, slipping it around Hugo's neck, and attaching a matching leash. Then, as Laurel held the big dog in check, Sarah hefted a heavy bag of dog food and a luxurious-looking dog bed into the back of her car. Bowls, a chew toy, and a jar of dog treats completed her perception of canine necessities.

Laurel got in the car and looked back at Hugo, and he moved forward to nuzzle her neck. “Thank you, Sarah. This is the best Christmas and birthday I've ever had.”

Jase told himself he really had meant to get in touch with Laurel again in a day or two, but somehow a whole week slipped by without his calling. He wanted to explain everything to her, but he didn't know what to say, because he was still in a mental turmoil. And then he didn't know how to explain his delay.

He loved her, but he still couldn't put his head around her father and who he really was—the saintly pastor or the man who…who did what he did?

And then Lolly came home from a three-day tennis camp with a sunburn, her expensive racket, and a lot of questions about his relationship with Laurel that he couldn't answer even if he wanted to. He'd always encouraged her spunk, but didn't like it when she directed it at him.

Right now she was standing in front of his desk, her hands fisted at her waist like the Jolly Green Giant, but she wasn't in the least jolly.

“So that's it. Just like that, you left Laurel high and dry? Here you've been dreaming about her all your life, and you've got her at last, and you're letting her go?”

Jase looked up from behind his desktop computer and a barricade of work papers. Damn it, couldn't she see he was busy? “Don't speak to me in that tone of voice, young lady! Laurel Harlow is my business, not yours!”

Had he really deserted Laurel? He hadn't thought of it that way. He'd told her he'd be in touch. And he would, as soon as he sorted her out from her father.

Lolly's eyes flashed. “If she's going to be a part of the family, she's my business too! She'd be my stepmother, so it's important whether I like her or not!”

“Well, do you?”

She gave him the “duh” look. “What do you think? Yes, I like her very much. I want you to marry her. Now, are you going to?”

Jase glared at his daughter, but she didn't back down. She never did. He studied her militant stance, her bouncing curls and sparkling eyes, the cute summer outfit designed to show off her precocious figure.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her mouth. “Well, are you?”

Jase ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as if to clear it. “I don't know.”

Exhaling in disgust, Lolly turned on her heel and stalked off.

He felt like a fool.

Maxie attacked him next, but she was more subtle. “Laurel Harlow is such a lovely girl,” she mentioned in a casual voice as they sat together on the patio that evening. “And you did spend a lot of time with her. I do hope we'll be seeing her again, Jason. Perhaps she could visit us for a week or so.”

He didn't answer. Everybody was on his case, damn it. When Craig Freiberg called from Bosque Bend to report on the latest with the Anderson tract, he artlessly let it fall that Laurel had said Jase would be staying in Dallas from now on. Obviously Craig was fishing for more information about their breakup, but Jase left him dangling.

God, is that what he had done to Laurel—exposed her to still more speculation and gossip?

He should go right back to Bosque Bend today and assure her that he still loved her. But at the moment he had a lot to catch up on with the business. As soon as all that was settled, he and Laurel could straighten everything out. Yeah, once he got his mind in gear, he could figure out exactly how to handle the situation with Laurel.