Page 24 of Lone Star

In the two years since she’d come to Amarillo, Michelle had been surprised – at first – to find that she and Colin had developed a kind of friendship that existed as its own thing, outside of family obligations. There was plenty they didn’t have in common – most things, really, if she was honest – but one very important thing they did: they’d both married Snows. They were both outsiders from other cities, both had struggled to find a place here in the unforgiving desert-adjacent environs of Amarillo, and both of them loved born-and-bred club children who loved deeply…but who loved the club deeply, too.

“Candy mentioned an Agent Cantrell?” she asked.

“FBI,” he supplied, spreading grape jelly with the back of a spoon. “Your boy seems real chummy with him.”

“What?”

Colin swallowed his reply as Candy emerged from the back, carrying a still-sleepy, but dressed and presentable TJ. He made grabby hands at Michelle when they drew close, and she reached to take him and settle him in her lap. He was a heavy kid, solid, and warm, and the top of his head smelled like no-tears shampoo. An instant balm to her unsteady emotions.

“Good morning, my love,” she whispered into his hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Coco,” he said, which was what he called Colin, tongue still clumsy with babyhood, mind sharp as the knife she carried in her boot.

“Yeah, Uncle Coco’s making breakfast. You want some?” Colin asked with a grin.

TJ bounced in her lap and clapped his hands with a resounding, “Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!”

“Take that as a yes,” Colin said with a chuckle, slotting more bread into the toaster.

Michelle caught Candy’s gaze. “You’re getting chummy with a fed?” she asked conversationally.

It took a moment for her comment to really hit, judging by the way he reached for a coffee mug, and then froze a second, his whole body tensing. Then he shrugged and continued like his brain hadn’t just come to a screeching, panicked halt. The tips of his ears turned pink, though, giving away his self-consciousness. “Chummy, huh?” He managed to elbow Colin deftly while he poured coffee. “I see telling tall tales runs in the family.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Colin said.

“Well, if I was a nobody, non-officer standing in someone else’s kitchen right now, I’d watch what I called.”

“Candy,” Michelle said, sharply enough that TJ craned around to get a look at her face. She bounced him on her knees in an effort at distraction. “What’s going on?”

He was slow in turning to her, sugaring his coffee first, and when he did, he wore an expression she hadn’t expected to see directed her way: the careful, nonchalant mask he wore when he was trying to lull someone into thinking there was nothing to worry about.

“No,” she said, before he could speak.

His brows went up. “No?”

“Your face. You don’t give anyone a real answer when you make that face.”

“Babe–” he started.

Jenny came back into the room, dressed in the spare outfit she kept in her old bedroom, jeans and a knit Henley, and had put her hair up in a charmingly messy bun. “He’s here already?” she asked.

Colin set a heaping plate of jelly toast on the table, and the boys cheered.

“Yeah, I’ll walk you out,” Candy said, motioning toward the sanctuary door.

“Coffee first,” Jenny said.

The time for any kind of real answer was slipping away. Michelle met Candy’s gaze – a brief snatch before he ushered Jenny out – and it wasn’t the reassuring look she’d hoped for. A glancing kind of regard, withdrawing, holding back.

She knew a sudden, intense urge to call Fox, as she watched Candy leave, his wide shoulders filling the doorway. It was her first urge in that direction – but she waited. Only hormones, she thought, and let it lie, for now.

Thirteen

Jenny was an old pro at this sort of thing. Candy forgot, sometimes – it was in his nature to worry about the people he loved most – that he didn’t need to shield her in situations like these. Jenny went out into the common room and offered Agent Cantrell a ready handshake, her voice and smile warm, undercut with the barest hint of emotion. The proper tremor for a worried mother who’d seen two corpses staked out beyond her baby’s window. She sat down with Cantrell, while the rest of them hovered, and Candy could tell which of her little hitched breaths, and her lowered gazes were for show – but only because he knew her. Cantrell would have no idea.

She described the way she’d woken, the way she’d heard Jack stirring. Described walking down the hall, dodging toys, and how she’d heard the sound of the stakes being driven into the cold, hard ground.

“Jack said…” Her voice quavered. “‘Mama, look. That man. He looks like a star.’ God.” Deep, unsteady breath. “Sorry. I keep seeing it again, in my mind.”

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