Texas Heat — Chapter 8
A thin line runs between betrayal and sacrifice. Figuring out the difference could cost a man his heart.
Corey spent the next four weeks working fourteen-hour days, seven days a week. His company had a deadline to meet on a tract of new houses, not that they were behind schedule. No, the problem was with him. He was a coward. Since that night in Telli’s, he’d found it easier to fall into bed too exhausted to think or dream.
The mornings were a killer though. Every time he straightened the bedspread, he thought about his offer. He could picture her there, all soft and dewy-eyed from his loving. Keeping her there… That was the tormentor, a sneaky little word just waiting to rip out the bars encasing his heart. Keep. Yeah, he wanted to keep her. He’d always wanted to keep her.
Rather than stew over it any longer he rinsed his coffee cup, placed it in the sink, and headed to the barn. The fence across the front of the property needed repairs and a new coat of white paint. A couple of hours later he was prying the lid off the paint can when a car pulled off the highway into his drive. Whoever it was must have seen him because they stopped at the fence line.
A man in a black suit stepped out of the sleek, silver BMW. Corey walked back down the fence line to see what the man wanted.
“Morning. What can I do for you?”
The man pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and gave Corey a thorough looking-over. “Are you Corey Donovan?”
“That would be me.”
“Mr. Donovan, I’m Charles Worth, Mrs. Covington’s family attorney.”
Corey exhaled a long, slow breath. A man couldn’t even paint his own fence without trouble from that woman. What was she doing now, suing him? And for what, breach of etiquette?
“Why would Mrs. Covington’s attorney be out here before noon on a Saturday morning? Is she in that big of a hurry to sue me?”
The man cleared his throat and reached inside his briefcase. “Not at all, Mr. Donovan. Mrs. Covington asked me to handle this personally. I’ve been endeavoring to contact you for over three weeks, without success. Since I’m leaving the country on a business trip on Monday, I decided to come out in person.”
“Okay, you got me, now what is this about?”
“Nothing detrimental to you, I assure you, Mr. Donovan. The Covington estate has transferred a piece of real estate to you. I am delivering the deeds, and I will answer any questions you may have.”
“Transferring real estate? You’ve got the wrong man. Mrs. Covington would not be transferring anything to me, much less, real estate.”
“Actually, Mr. Donovan, this transfer was done almost seven years ago. Due to your residence at that time, the papers were held in trust until you were in a position to take possession. An estate manager was hired on your behalf, and all profits have been placed in a special account opened for you in the Abilene National Bank.”
Corey’s tongue felt dry and thick. Just as well, he couldn’t think of one intelligent word to say anyway.
“Look, Mr. Donovan. All I need is your signature which I would appreciate getting right now.”
Like a magician, the man produced an expensive gold and silver pen from thin air. Before Corey could think, the pen slid between his fingers and he signed his name.
“Why don’t I leave the paperwork with you? You can look it over, and if you have any further questions before my return to the office in two weeks, my partner, Kevin Spalding, will be happy to assist you.”
Corey, still mute, took the bundle of papers.
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Donovan. If in the future you have a need for legal assistance, please give me a call. My card is, of course, included in your packet.”
The man offered his hand, which Corey took. A short handshake, a minute to get back in his car, and the man drove off in the glare of the morning sun, leaving Corey rooted to a patch of hard Texas ground in stunned silence.
Corey poured himself another cup of coffee and headed for the front porch. He pulled up his favorite straight-back chair and took a seat. Then tilted it to balance on two back legs, he stabilized himself by resting his feet on the porch railing.
After two gulps of coffee, he placed the cup next to the folder of papers on the weather-worn table currently posing as porch furniture.
What had he been thinking, signing a document he hadn’t opened, much less read? Trouble was, he hadn’t been thinking at all. Whatever he’d signed, something now belonged to him. What could Tiffany, her husband, or both, have transferred to him over seven years ago? Probably a plot in the Deliverance cemetery.
He pulled his feet off the rail and let the chair drop onto four legs. Stalling wasn’t going to give him answers. He snatched the bundle from the table and flipped it open, pulled the papers from their protected enclosure, then started to read. On the third read-through, he was sure.
“No way!” He bellowed. “No way, Mrs. Covington! You can’t buy me.”
Corey lunged to his feet and headed inside to get the keys to his truck. He grabbed the loose handle on the screen door and yanked. The door swung open, then slammed closed before he could go through. He cursed a blue streak and flung the handle, still clutched in his fingers, across the porch. If this day got any worse, he’d buy himself a plot in the cemetery.
The warped door frame allowed him to use his fingers to leverage the screen open again. As soon as he stepped inside, the phone rang. He ignored it. Grabbing his key from the horseshoe hook on the wall, he kicked the screen door with his boot. It flew open and banged against the side of the house, where it stayed, drooping precariously from a broken hinge.
He strode through the opening and turned to wedge the door back into its frame. Backing up, he paused at the top of the steps. If he didn’t get control of his temper, there wouldn’t be anything left of his house. Sucking in a deep breath, he counted to ten. For good measure, he added another five counts before allowing himself to exhale.
“You got something against doors?”
He spun at the sound of the boy’s voice. His foot, already at the edge of the porch’s first step, slipped over. Time ridiculed him as it slowed, giving him ample space to brand the scene into his brain as he tumbled headfirst off the porch.
Old lessons gave him some control. Roll. The roll was exactly what he did the moment his shoulders made contact with the brick-hard Texas ground. There might even have been a backflip with a double twist in there somewhere. Whatever, he was on his feet now, jarred to Kingdom-come, but standing.
He glared at the boy. Incredulity distorted the kid’s face, making him look as ridiculous as Corey felt. Then the kid’s mouth curled into an impudent grin.
Corey snickered, then chuckled, and finally, chest-pumping laughter burst free. He couldn’t stop. He hadn’t laughed with such abandon since he was a boy. It felt good, cleansing. Something ugly and useless drained from him. Bars rattled, then swung wide to let the pure joy of living rush through like a hungry boy called to supper. When he looked at his son again, the boy’s grin had taken on the devil’s own mischief.
“That was a really good roll. But you need to work on your balance if you want to make your movements match the steps. You know them judges don’t give you anything you don’t earn.”
Corey decided right then, that he liked this kid, not because he was his son, but because he had the right stuff where it counted.
“I think you’re right,” he replied, still chuckling. It dawned on him then, that he hadn’t heard a car. Looking around, he didn’t see one either. “How did you get here? Your mama drop you at the end of the road?”
“No, I hitched.”
“Boy, that’s a dangerous thing to do. Don’t you know the world is full of perverts that would just love to get their hand on a kid like you? Does your mama know you hitched?”
“No, Sir. She’s in Abilene taking care of some business. She won’t be back till supper.”
Corey studied the boy’s manner. He’d never seen him relaxed and congenial before. Maybe the swan dive off the porch had served to break the glacial ice between them. Whatever, he’d be smart to take advantage of the thaw.
“You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Corey motioned him forward. “Head into the house. I’ll fix us a sandwich.”
To be continued…
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