5
Clara would have overslept if the Colonel hadn’t woken her to ask if she was giving up on the science club meeting. She dragged herself out of bed, showered, and swallowed 800 milligrams of ibuprofen. She didn’t have the energy to blow her hair dry so she put it up in a bun and added a sparkly headband. A little CC cream, a little mascara, and she was stumbling down the stairs to meet the day.
“I’ll drop you off,” her father offered.
“Thanks,” she sighed.
“Headache?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, but it didn’t help. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but this is my first hangover.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe it?” he asked.
She frowned at him. “I don’t know. Do you?”
There was no humor in his direct gaze. “Sure.”
She felt a surge of love for her parent.
He smiled.
“Jesse said the waitress kept refilling my margarita,” she recalled. “But I only paid for one so I don’t know why she’d do that.”
“Was DeWitt there?”
She cast her memory back even farther. “Yes. I was supposed to text you, but Jesse was there and I forgot.”
He handed her the rose gold travel mug.
She looked down at it for a moment, registering that he had made coffee for her. Then she tried to smile up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
He brushed his thumb through the lower lashes of her left eye, where a drop of moisture had inexplicably accumulated, took her sunglasses off the counter, and placed them carefully on her face. “Better get going.”
She nodded, filled with renewed purpose, and followed him out to the truck.
Clara reflected as they drove toward the high school from which she had graduated that if it weren’t for the headache, she’d be having a great morning.
It was a nice, sunny day and the bright blue sky almost made up for the dull brown desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. She knew it was ugly, objectively, but she kind of loved it.
The little town of Romeo, like all places, had its shortcomings, but a lot of it was nice to look at, with a few historic buildings and a park in the center with an elaborate gazebo. In the winter the saplings that lined the neatly swept sidewalks on the main drag lost their beautiful greenery, and the council compensated by stringing them with white lights that looked completely charming at night. By day, the banners on the streetlights were visible, teasing the upcoming Valentine’s Day festival the town was known for—at least, in Presidio County.
The high school was a traditional red brick structure from the 190s, and her mother’s STEM kids were waiting for her out front when her father pulled up to let her out. The teenagers rejoiced in her arrival and pointed her out to the curmudgeonly janitor, who unlocked the “cafegymatorium”—Home of the Romeo Rattlesnakes!—on Saturdays for student club meetings.
“Mr. Garcia won’t let us in without a grownup,” one of them informed her.
“Well, I’m here now,” she said, lifting her sunglasses on top of her head and then immediately thinking better of it. “Let’s get inside, shall we? Thanks, Mr. Garcia.”
The STEM kids were perfectly nice, but she never had anything valuable to contribute to their meetings. It was the third time she’d stood in for her mother, and she was glad she hadn’t slept through it and disappointed the seven teenagers before her.
“So how’s it going?” she asked, setting McDonald’s bags on one of the tables. She might not have any experience in science and technology, but she knew the value of breakfast sandwiches. “Anyone hungry?”
Everyone was hungry, and she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes as they chattered away over breakfast.
“You got a lot of orange juice,” one of the boys remarked.
“It’s good for you,” she answered sharply. She didn’t intend to sound so cranky but her head really hurt.
To her amusement, every one of them took an orange juice, thanked her politely, and drank it.
It was hard not to like the STEM kids.
“So what’s on the agenda? Working on the robots again?”
It was always robots.
An hour passed, during which time she was called on once or twice to man the stopwatch, but mostly she was able to vegetate in peace.
The outside door opened and Jesse Flores stepped into the cafeteria.
Clara sighed faintly, admiring his lean, powerful build and the width of his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a hat today, and his hair was combed back in just the right way.
The STEM kids ignored the intrusion.
“’Morning,” he greeted her.
“Good morning,” she answered, curious as to his mission.
“Got you something.”
“You did?” she asked in surprise.
She hadn’t noticed the big bottle of clear Gatorade he was carrying. He wrenched it open and set it on the table in front of her. Then he took a packet from his pocket, tore it open, and dumped about a tablespoon of some powdery substance into the drink.
“What is that?” she asked nervously.
“Multivitamin.”
“Oh.” She watched as he tossed the paper into the trash, closed the bottle and shook it. “Will this make me feel better?”
He handed it to her. “Not perceptibly.”
That surprised a rueful laugh out of her. “Thanks.”
“We’re even now. For the iced coffee.”
Ah, the repaying of an old debt.
“Drink the whole thing,” he added.
“Aye, aye,” she quipped, because she was unable to take a direct order without some sass. But it was sweet, him trying to doctor her, and she was grateful.
“So what’s all this?”
“Robots,” she said needlessly. “There’s some tournament coming up next month. I’m supervising. What are you doing here?”
“I thought you’d be sleeping in but your mom said you’d left hours ago.”
That was not really an answer, but she liked it. The whole situation was surprisingly Clara-centric. “Yeah, they meet at eight, don’t ask me why.”
“She roped you into this, huh?” he said, looking around at the different works in progress.
“She really had to twist my arm.” Because otherwise I’d never do something nice for someone, or anything related to academics. Because I’m a shallow little idiot.
That might have been the headache talking.
Her acerbic response seemed to surprise him. He looked down at her as though considering what to say next, but finally decided not to say anything.
Smart man.
“Do you want to meet the students?” she asked after a while.
“Yeah.”
She introduced him around and spent the second hour moodily watching him geek out over the robots. She drank the whole Gatorade, which was not easy, and had to go to the bathroom twice. She didn’t think anyone even noticed her leaving, so engrossed were they in explaining their methods to Dr. Flores.
Maybe he had only followed her here this morning because he was interested in science, technology, engineering, and math. Maybe he assumed she’d need help communicating with the nerds, being a brainless cheerleader type herself. Perhaps he’d simply had an impulse to see the inside of his old high school again. All three theories were plausible.
But why had he shown up at karaoke the night before? Not too many reasons for that one. Her mom had somehow managed to put him up to it, the result being that Clara was out two hundred bucks.
There had been a time when she would have paid a lot more than that—try her life savings—for a twenty-minute pie date with Jesse Flores in a quiet diner. He’d carried her up the stairs, too, come to think of it.
“How’s the headache?” he asked her, while the kids carefully packed their tools and materials back into their boxes and suitcases.
“Fine. A little better.” It was a lie, but a white one.
“They were telling me the school won’t let you guys use the shop on the weekends.”
“I talked to the vice principal. No chance. No labs, either. Cafeteria or nothing.”
“You know who has a pretty good workshop?”
She stared at him for a long moment. “The Colonel.”
“Wonder why your mom didn’t invite them to meet at the house. But maybe the Colonel doesn’t want them around his tools.”
“No, they didn’t start the robots until after her surgery,” Clara realized. “Duh. We should be meeting there! And Mom would love it!”
“Well, there’s always next time.”
“Oh, that reminds me! Guys, no meeting next week.”
They looked grave. “Week after next?” one asked.
“Yes, week after next. I’ll be in touch about the location.”
As they all filed out of the building, Jesse fell in beside her. “You want to get some lunch?”
She frowned up at him. “What?”
“Lunch. Brunch? It’s eleven. Not the diner—I feel like I want a burrito. I’m starving.”
And that was how she found herself in a hole-in-the-wall burrito joint, queasily watching a handsome man eat carne asada like it was going out of style.
“Went for a run this morning,” he told her between bites.
She grimaced. “Why?”
“Heart health.”
She eyed the enormous burrito in his hands with misgiving.
“Saw a big lizard in the driveway.”
“You saw a lizard. You picked it up, didn’t you?”
“Yep. Zipped it into the pocket of my windbreaker.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “And went on your run?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Clara rubbed her forehead. “Is it still in your pocket right now?”
She opened her eyes. His mouth was full, but he shook his head, his amusement palpable.
“Where did you put the lizard, Jesse?”
“Why are you so cranky?” he asked, looking mildly hurt. “I’m just trying to tell a funny story.”
She understood in a flash. He was messing with her.
“Oh, I know why,” he continued. “Princess Clara has a hangover.”
“Yeah, I do have a hangover. You picked this place on purpose, didn’t you? You’re trying to make me throw up.”
“I thought the kitchen smells might help you make up your mind if you’re going to be sick or not.”
“I’m not going to be sick.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“I never eat before noon,” she lied.
He pushed his plate over to her. “Eat some of this and I’ll tell you where I put the lizard.”
She looked down at the messy food for a long minute. Then she unwrapped a fork and speared a small piece of meat.
“Right back where I got it,” he said proudly.
She stared at him as she chewed. “What?”
“Put it right back where I got it after my run. Little guy went over the whole property in one morning—probably for the only time in his life. The Neil Armstrong of lizards.”
“If Neil Armstrong was zipped into a pocket the whole time he was off-planet.”
“All right, forget the lizard,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “The real reason I brought you here is because last night you said you and your brothers all lived in Austin after high school.”
“That’s right. My parents bought a little two-bedroom near UT and Hart and I lived in it. Then Beck moved in and Hart moved to New York, and then Nash moved in and I moved to New York. Then Beck and Nash moved to Houston and my parents sold the house.”
“Now tell me, in your own words, why no one ever told me any of that.”
It was not something she had expected him to say, and she had to think it over for a minute before answering. So she took a big bite of carne asada and then apologetically motioned to her chewing, indicating that he must wait.
“Take your time,” he invited, tossing the pile of napkins towards her. “I have all day.”
As she chewed she mulled over the possibility that he really hadn’t known. She had always believed he knew of their presence but hadn’t wanted to see them, and though it hurt their feelings at the time, they had cut him a lot of slack. If he was thinking they should have made more effort to stay in his life, that wasn’t fair. But they probably should have anyway.
At last she said, “I don’t know what to tell you. You asked not to be contacted.”
“The Doc told you that?”
She thought back. “Mom told us you were mad at her and Dad. She said it was normal because of how poorly your father was doing and the stress of school and that you’d come back when you were ready. I guess Hart’s actually the one who told me he tried to contact you and got shot down. When I first moved there…six years ago, I guess? I wanted to invite you to a party and Hart talked me out of it.”
“Six years ago I was in med school and my dad was dying,” he said slowly.
“I know,” she assured him. “No one’s blaming you.”
“I was dating this other med student named Brittany who generally made my life unlivable,” he added.
“You don’t have to tell me this stuff, Jesse.”
“I’m not telling you. I’m thinking out loud. Shut up for a minute.”
“Okay,” she said quickly, and went back to finishing his lunch. It was delicious, and she was much hungrier than she’d realized.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Are you done eating that? Let’s get out of here.”
“I thought you had all day,” she protested.
“Too late.”
She looked doubtfully at him for a second before looking over her shoulder to see who had entered the little restaurant.
DeWitt Petty made his way to their table, and he didn’t look happy. “This looks cozy,” he said. “Sharing a fork, huh?”
Clara looked down at the plate in the middle of the table. The lone fork did give the wrong impression—not that it mattered. She looked back up. “Uh, hey.”
“What are you doing here?” Jesse asked him bluntly.
Clara was startled; did they know each other?
DeWitt, too, looked a little taken aback. “Getting breakfast. What’s it to you?”
“Are you following her?”
Clara’s eyes flew to Jesse. Was it really necessary to be so confrontational? He had a mulish look in his eye, like he wasn’t in the mood to be tactful.
“No, I’m not following her. I was going to stop by the high school to see if you needed a ride, but you’d already left,” he informed Clara. “So I thought I’d get something to eat. Guess we had the same idea.”
Clara could admit to herself that she had absolutely no idea how best to deal with someone like DeWitt Petty. If he had a temper she’d never seen it, but he was huge and imposing and he seemed to think they were meant for each other.
Jesse showed no such hesitation. “How’d you know she was at the high school without her vehicle?” he asked.
“Small town, man.”
“Not that small,” Jesse said flatly.
“Kid in the STEM club mows my lawn. We were texting, and he mentioned it.”
“Right. Well, good thing you’re not following her, because that would make a lot of people really mad . Dangerous people.”
“Are you dangerous?” DeWitt asked gently.
“Under the right circumstances,” Jesse answered just as politely.
There was a long pause. Clara could not believe that she was witnessing Jesse Flores threaten someone on her behalf. Could things get any more bizarre?
“Not following her,” DeWitt reasserted finally.
“I stopped by the Gila Monster this morning to ask who paid for all your margaritas,” Jesse told her.
“You did?” She looked up at DeWitt. “Was it you? You shouldn’t do that.”
“Hey, it was my pleasure,” he said easily.
“No, I don’t want you buying me drinks.” Her nausea was returning in force; carne asada had been a bad choice. She took a slow, steadying breath. “Can we go?”
“Yeah,” Jesse said, rising to his feet. For a long moment he and DeWitt faced each other, and then DeWitt stepped aside to allow him to pass.
As they reached the car, Clara said, “The Gila Monster was open this morning?”
“I made that up,” Jesse admitted. “Are you going to tell the Colonel you have a stalker problem?”
“I don’t know,” she said briefly.
“I won’t always be here to save you,” he added virtuously.
The reminder did nothing to improve her mood.