“Where are they?” Cal asked.
“They’re at the ranch, with my parents. They love Nana and Granddad,” he said.
“Where’s their mom?” Cal’s question was innocent enough.
“She lives in Houston.” Working seventy-hour weeks as the youngest partner at the Law Offices of Hirsch and Martinez. That was who Barbara was. “She’ll be out next month for the girls’ birthday party. But they Skype most nights, so they can see each other.” Barbara worked hard, but she made sure to set aside time just for their girls. And when she visited, she left her work behind.
“Divorced?” Cal asked, waiting for his nod before asking, “Miss her?”
He shrugged. “We’re good friends.” Which was true. He and Barbara might want different things, but they both wanted the best for the girls.
“I don’t see my dad at all anymore,” Cal said. “I don’t mind.”
Brody tried not to look at India. He tried not to react to Cal’s matter-of-fact delivery. It didn’t work. His gaze met India’s—before she turned all of her attention on the remains of her peach ice cream. The look in her eyes made his stomach drop. He didn’t like it.
“How long are you visiting?” India asked him, still focused on her ice-cream cone.
“I’m staying put.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, waiting for her reaction. They’d made a pact, years ago, to get out—and stay out—of Fort Kyle. Now, here they were, eating the same ice creams and sitting on the same stools they’d always frequented.
“I thought you were some fancy lawyer?” she asked, putting her cone in Cal’s empty sundae cup and wiping off her fingers with a napkin.
“I was,” he agreed. “Big cars, fancy house, all the bells and whistles.” He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
His father’s heart attack hadn’t been unexpected. His dad ate badly, drank too much and refused to exercise. The family doctor had written down a detailed list of the changes he need to make to increase his health and posted it on the refrigerator so there was no confusing things. But had Vic Wallace listened? Hell, no. That man was stubborn as a mule. And twice as crotchety.
Since his mother couldn’t handle her husband on her own and Brody didn’t want the girls raised by a nanny, moving home made sense. Barbara, thankfully, had agreed.
India glanced at him then, her smile back. “You gave that up? And moved back?”
He nodded, wishing her surprise didn’t still make him go soft inside. “You?”
“Mom and I live on Papa and Gramma’s ranch,” Cal offered. “It gets crowded sometimes.”
“I’m working at Antiques and Treasures, doing some substitute teaching—until I can take my school counselor certification test.” She ran a hand over Cal’s close-cropped hair. “It’s all temporary.”
Brody was sad to hear that. And more than a little curious to know what had brought her back here in the first place. Not that he’d ask—not yet.
“You any good with computers?” Cal asked. “Mom’s trying to fix the computer at Gramma’s shop.”
“Oh?” Brody knew a thing or two about computers.
“I’ll figure it out,” India interjected, stubborn as always.
“You always tell me to ask for help,” Cal grumbled. “You’ve been trying and trying—”
“And I’ll get it,” she interrupted, sounding tense.
Brody knew a thing or two about the Boones. India Boone was stubborn as hell—just like her father. Not that he’d dare say such a thing to her.
His cell phone rang, the old-fashioned telephone ringtone echoing in the Soda Shop. “Excuse me,” he said. “Brody Wallace,” he answered.
He saw Cal’s eyes go wide, saw him tugging on his mother’s arm and his frantic whisper into her ear.
“Mr. Wallace, this is Rebecca Grant, your father’s nurse. He’s refusing to do his therapy again. Insurance won’t cover my care if he won’t comply with doctor’s orders.” It was the same song and dance every couple of weeks. And one of the reasons Brody had to stay. His mother would wring her hands, cry and call him anyway. Better to deal with it here, in person, head-on.
“Mrs. Grant, I’ll head that way now.”
“Well, I can’t make him, you know that.” She sounded exhausted.