A Real Live Hero. Kimberly Meter Van
store in her doing anything more than cooking, cleaning and eventually marrying a man from good fishermen stock and settling down, she’d burned with a desperate desire to bolt at the first chance. Delainey roused herself from her mental walkabout just in time to catch Thad’s awkward conversation.
“Laney...if you give her a chance you might really like her. She’s good for Pops, you know? I mean, she’s real sweet and Pops isn’t the easiest to get along with—”
“Wait... What are you talking about?”
“Brenda.”
“Who is Brenda?” she asked, confused.
“Didn’t you hear me? Brenda is Pops’s woman now. She’s real nice, so don’t go and say anything that’ll hurt her feelings.”
“Pops is dating?” The idea had never occurred to her, but now that she looked at her old house she saw it through different lenses. There was definitely a woman’s touch, aside from the obvious cleanliness. Silk flowers were sitting in a vase on the windowsill and she could actually see through the glass of the window, when before it was crusted with years of mud and hard-water residue.
“He’s more than dating. He married her.”
“Married?” Her father was married? “I couldn’t even get a phone call?”
“Well, Brenda wanted to tell you, but Pops... You know how he can get. He’s still hurt over the way things went down when you split. And you haven’t much tried to fix things since, so he figured you didn’t need to know.”
“He wants me to fix things?” She tried not to be insulted, but her blood pressure rose just the same. “He’s the one who said he never wanted to see me again.”
“You know he just says that stuff. He doesn’t mean it.”
“No, I don’t know that, Thad,” she retorted stiffly. “Where I come from, people mean what they say and say what they mean.” Not exactly. No one in Hollywood spoke from his or her heart. Because no one had one. Being fluent in doublespeak was a requirement, and Delainey had been woefully unprepared when she’d first landed on the scene as a young producer with stars in her eyes. She hated thinking of her young self; so embarrassingly naive. “So he went and got married. Good for him. Is she deaf, dumb and blind?” She’d have to be to voluntarily put up with Harlan Clarke.
“Not generally, but I’ve been told I have an exceedingly cheery disposition, if that counts for anything,” a voice from behind her answered, and Delainey whirled to find a short, chubby woman with apple cheeks and a frizz of dull blondish curls on her head, carrying two grocery bags. Thad rushed to help and the woman unloaded her bags, eyes sparkling with curiosity and knowing. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, but I must say, I never expected you to be so much like your father.”
“I’m nothing like my father,” Delainey said, stiffening. “You must be Brenda.” At Brenda’s nod, Delainey offered a stilted apology but wanted to sink through the floor. “I didn’t realize you were here. I’m sorry for that comment.”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry yourself about that. From what my friends tell me, stepmothers and their stepdaughters are bound to share words at some point or another, so I figure we’ll just get that out of the way right quick so we can get on with being friends.”
Who was this woman? Delainey looked to Thad, almost for help, but Thad was already on Team Brenda and hoping Delainey would join the team, as well. Unfortunately, Delainey wasn’t interested in being on anyone’s team aside from her own. “I didn’t realize my father had remarried,” she said. “Congratulations.”
“Boy, I bet that cut like a razor coming out of your mouth,” Brenda observed almost cheerfully. “Darlin’, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Are you staying for dinner? I’m making your daddy’s favorite, spaghetti with meatballs.”
Delainey looked to Thad with a frown, and he supplied an explanation. “Since Brenda came around, he can’t get enough of her cooking. Loves her spaghetti and meatballs. It’s pretty good. You’ll like it.”
“My, how things change when you miss a few years,” Delainey muttered under her breath, feeling much like Alice when she tumbled down the rabbit hole. “Anything else? Perhaps Pops has suddenly taken a liking to classical music, too?”
“Goodness no, your daddy has a fondness for folk country and always will, bless his soul. I like some George Strait myself, but the bluegrass took some getting used to.” Brenda moved past Delainey and started making herself at home—well, Delainey supposed it was her home now, too. But she was discomfited to realize she felt some bristling sense that Brenda was poaching on her turf when Delainey hadn’t been around in eight years. “Are you too tired to help out? I know that flight can be a doozy. If you’re not too tired, I could always use an extra hand in the kitchen.”
“I don’t cook,” Delainey said flatly. She hadn’t cooked in years, almost refused to after she left Alaska. Cooking was domestic. She wasn’t a housewife. She was a businesswoman who held dinner meetings, if she ate dinner at all. She eyed the pasta. Too many carbs. “I’d planned to stay here, in my old room, but I didn’t realize... If it’s too much trouble, I can get a hotel room.”
“Thad has told me all about his successful sister living the glitz-and-glamour life in Hollywood, but there’s no sense in spending good money when you have family to take you in. Now, go wash your face and spritz off and we’ll gab like old hens in a henhouse before your daddy gets home. I’m sure we have lots in common.”
“I can’t,” she said, sharp enough to earn a pleading look from Thad, but she couldn’t act as if it was completely normal to cook a family meal with her new stepmother—a woman she’d never even known existed until five minutes ago—when it was bad enough that she knew her father wasn’t going to exactly do a cartwheel when he saw his ungrateful, selfish daughter showing her mug around town again. Delainey rubbed at her forehead and knew she couldn’t stay here. No. No. No. “Actually, I think it would be better if I stayed at a hotel. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the house. Besides, as much as I know you’re trying to smooth things over between me and my dad, our issues run deeper than you can imagine. It’s going to take more than sitting around the dinner table stuffing our faces with carbs to change what went wrong between us. I’m sorry.”
Brenda pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. “Suit yourself, dear. But remember, regret is a terrible companion. It’s like a houseguest who never leaves.”
“I don’t have any regrets.”
“Sure you do. We all do, but yours are plainer than most, I can tell you that.”
“You don’t know me and I don’t appreciate you foisting your brand of country wisdom on me.” She looked to her brother. “Could you please get my luggage? I’ll find a place to stay elsewhere.”
“Come on, Laney...” But when Thad saw her mind was made up, he dragged her suitcase from the room and handed it to her as she waited by the door, eager to get away. “If you’d just give her a chance,” he said in a low voice that only she could hear.
“I’m not here to make friends, Thad. I just needed a place to sleep. I should’ve known that coming home wasn’t going to be that place.” At his crestfallen expression, she softened minutely. Thad was a good kid and had always been kindhearted. She caressed the scruff on his cheek and said, “I’ll call you when I get settled and we’ll go to lunch. I promise. In the meantime, take care of that arm.”
She’d just slammed the trunk closed when the sound of her father’s old truck rumbled down the street. Perfect timing, she wanted to mutter. Another five minutes and she’d have been gone. If she’d been thinking straight, she never would’ve presumed she could stomach staying with her father. She didn’t care if she ran through her savings account like water through a sieve; she wasn’t sleeping one night under the same roof as that man...and his new wife. Hand on the door handle, she contemplated leaving without a word uttered,