Page 20 of Cowboys at Coconuts

At Rosa’s Mexican Restaurant, a server placed chips and salsa on the table as Hope and her biological dad chatted about their respective days. Hope mentioned her favorite student Britney and her recent meeting with the macho, quibbling student athletes. Paul discussed his seemingly never-ending court case that had ended in a hung jury. Shaking his head, he added, “It’s been all over the news so I’m not discussing anything confidential.”

“As if you would.” Hope dunked a chip in the salsa. “By the way, I like your purple tie. It’s a nice change.”

Paul glanced at his chest. “Better than my favorite yellow one I wear almost daily?” Fingering his new tie, he said, “The court reporter noticed it too. I guess I need to branch out more.”

“Nah. I love your yellow tie. It’s like sunshine.” Eating another chip with a healthy scoop of salsa, Hope said, “So, mystery man, what’s the news?”

“Want to order margaritas first?” Paul didn’t wait for her response and waved the server over. “I think you’ll want to have a drink.”

“You’re scaring me.”

After their drinks arrived, Paul slid a newspaper across the table. “Read this.” He pointed toward a photo with a feature story.

Hope studied the photo of a sixtyish-looking blond woman propped up in what looked like a hospital bed. The woman had balls of yarn spread across the sheet and was knitting. The headline read: PATIENT CREATES PLANT HOLDERS FOR RESIDENTS.

Hope’s heartbeat did double time, even though she had already read the article in the teachers’ lounge with Willow and had a copy tucked in her drawer. She had tried to suppress the irrational, shocking news and pretend it didn’t exist like the weird dream after that ridiculous season of Dallas decades ago. But seeing her attorney father’s serious face as he held the newspaper confirmed her worst fears. “I’ve already seen this.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You have? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first I was in denial. I thought I had buried Montana and couldn’t deal with this roller coaster of emotions again.” Hope set her half-eaten chip down. Staring at the table as feelings from jubilation to disbelief overcame her, she lowered her voice to an almost-whisper. “How is this possible? How can Montana be alive?”

Paul shook his head. “If this is her, it’s unbelievable.” He pointed to the article. “It looks like Montana based on her courthouse wedding photo I uncovered. She has aged but really hasn’t changed that much over the years.” Scratching his bald head, he said, “Beats me how she survived. No one thought either could have made it out alive after the train accident, but apparently they both did. You know what they say. Truth is stranger than fiction.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I hope you don’t mind but I hired a private detective to look into this case.”

Hope took a huge sip of her margarita. Peering at him from above her frosted glass, she said, “No, I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad you did if it’ll bring us answers. Have you learned anything?”

Paul reached into his pocket. Unfolding a piece of paper which contained two blurry photos taken in front of a convenience store. He slid them across the table. “The quality is bad, but even though the photos are grainy, you’ll get the gist.”

Hope stared at the pictures in disbelief. Wearing his usual worn, faded jeans, Larry appeared to have dark stains—likely from blood—and several tears on both legs. He sat along a curb propped up against the convenience store. Squinting at the photo, Hope noticed her adopted dad’s stringy hair appeared to be blood-soaked as well. His favorite KISS tee was nearly shorn in half.

Wearing her customary short, fringed, denim shorts, Montana appeared to have something—a rag, maybe—wrapped around her knee. Hope studied the blurry photo. “Is a trucker lifting her into a big rig?” Brows furrowed, she asked, “Why would she leave Larry behind?”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Paul slid another photo across the table. “Here’s another angle.”

The other picture showed the back end of the truck as it drove out of the parking lot. Barely visible in the corner of the photo, sat Larry on the curb. He tipped a bottle of something wrapped in a brown paper bag, likely liquor, up to his lips.

Hope clapped her hand over her mouth. “I don’t understand. Why would they separate?”

Shrugging, Paul said, “Who knows why? Maybe they didn’t want to be found and thought if they separated they’d have a better chance of escaping authorities. Maybe they had pot in the van they were driving and didn’t want to be charged.”

Bobbing her head, Hope said, “I hadn’t thought about that. I’m sure they had pot with them. They always did, so that’s a likely scenario.” She swallowed past a huge lump in her throat as tears filled her eyes. “Maybe they were escaping me after I threw them out of my house. I screamed at them.” Between sobs, she continued. “I told them they were hippie losers and I was sick of paying their bills.” Voice cracking, she buried her face in her hands. “I made them leave my house until they could stand on their own two feet. I’m the reason they—”

Paul got up and sat beside Hope. Stroking her hair as she leaned against him, he said, “There, there. I’m sure that’s not the reason. I’m positive they love you. Everyone does.” Looking into Hope’s big, brown doe eyes, just like his own, he kissed her cheek. “Maybe Larry can explain everything to you.”

Sniffing, Hope wiped her nose with a napkin. “Unfortunately, Larry still doesn’t remember a darn thing.” She took a big gulp of margarita for fortitude, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders. “Do you think I should go see Montana? She may not have been a good mother but she’s the only mother I ever knew.”

Wincing, Paul said, “I wish you had known your biological mom. You would have had a very different life.” Shaking his head, he said, “I still can’t believe she died right after giving birth.” This time, his eyes welled with tears. “But she gave me you.”

Hope squeezed her dad’s hand. “I love you and wish I had known her too. What do you think? Should I go see Montana?”

“She’s in another state.” Paul pointed toward the article in the paper. “Tennessee, I believe, near Nashville.

“Nashville is drivable in a day. Do you suppose she has any memory?”

Paul grinned. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter 21

At home enjoying a Diet Coke with lime, Cheri curled up in a chair, munched on almonds, and stared at her laptop.Even with the fiasco between my chefs fighting,I can’t stop thinking about Cole. He knows where I live. Why hasn’t he been by? Maybe this house scared him off. Maybe he didn’t like me.

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