Take one saddle bronc champion who hasn't got out on the circuit yet because of the flu.... add in a neighbor who's a ne'er do well trying to get a truck from Lamont for free...and include a kid in trouble who needs someone...and A Cowboy's Prayer begins.
A fatal overdose ups the stakes and when the kid's aunt from New York City arrives, she doesn't seem to be a fit for Oklahoma life.
Blurb: Oklahoma saddle bronc champion
Lamont Fortune lives a lonely life. He has family he doesn’t see very often and
although once a man of faith, his has faded. He’s late getting out on the
circuit this year but before he can put his spurs on for the season, his life
changes when he takes in a neighbor’s stepson after a fatal overdose. When the
boy’s aunt arrives from New York City, it’s complicated. Matilda Mannheim and
Lamont bristle but when they learn Shayne can’t leave the state, Lamont is the
only option. Lamont nicknames her ‘Tilly’ and both realize they misjudged the
other. With many challenges looming, Tilly has the faith he lacks. As he takes
tentative steps toward God, he resists prayer until everything changes. His
chance to build a life with Shayne and Tilly depends on whether he can make the
right choices and most of all, if he can manage a prayer.
From a review:
Reviewed in the United States on November 4, 2024
Grab a copy of The Cowboy's Prayer today. Check out the first two chapters and scroll down for buy links!
Chapter One
First time he ever laid eyes on the kid, Lamont wasn't
impressed. Scrawny as a scarecrow, the kid needed a haircut like last month.
His eyes were too big for his thin face, and his clothes hung large on his
skinny body. Teddy Anderson came to his place on Saturday to look at the old
Ford Ranger pickup Lamont had listed for sale and brought the boy. Anderson,
his loud-mouthed neighbor from down the road, reeked of beer and weed. He
talked too much and twitched like he might need a fix. Tweaker. Had to
be, and Lamont loathed illegal drugs of any type. As much as Teddy came on like
a spring tornado, fast, furious, and out of control, the boy kept his distance.
He said little, but Lamont would bet he watched everything and didn't miss anything.
The compact blue Ranger sat behind
the main barn, weathered and worn. The paint job had taken a beating in a hail
storm a decade earlier but despite having over 200,000 miles, it still ran
well.
"I don't know," Teddy
Anderson hedged as he walked around the old truck. "Looks awfully rough to
me. How old is it?"
"It's an '85," Lamont replied
with a sigh. "It's got a lot of miles, but it's still sound. Looks don't
turn the wheels."
"I think you're asking too
much."
Lamont squinted against the sun
dropping low on the western horizon. He'd set the price below what the vehicle
could bring despite an affection for the old truck. It had survived a tornado
that took everything else on the place. "You don't have to buy it."
He doubted Anderson, a roofer who
worked when the sun shone or, if he had the inclination, had the money in his
pocket.
"I could use a truck, though.
Would you consider payments?"
If Lamont did, he knew it was likely
he would never get more than the first. Anderson was notorious for not paying
what he owed. Lamont could remember when his neighbor competed in local or
regional rodeos. On the circuit, Teddy borrowed often and seldom repaid,
earning a poor reputation. Recent gossip that Lamont picked up from another
neighbor indicated Anderson owed more than one drug dealer – but was unable to
pay.
"Can't do it," Lamont
replied. Right now, he wanted the man off his property and out of sight. The
way Teddy jerked and trembled made Lamont's nerves jangle.
His neighbor's face twisted into a
grimace. "Can't you give a fellow cowboy a break?"
Lamont Fortune rode saddle broncs
for the last few years and bulls before that. Anderson used to ride bulls but
hadn't in several years. Lamont recalled him from a long time ago but hadn't
seen him compete for the last couple of seasons. Anderson sometimes showed up
at rodeos to watch, envious as a hound eyeing a man devour a good steak. Lamont
didn't remember ever seeing the boy, but maybe he hadn't paid close attention.
"No." Lamont's daddy had
taught him no explanations or excuses were needed to refuse. "If you come
up with the money, though, and it's still here, I'll sell to you."
Anderson mumbled and turned to go.
When the kid hesitated, he whirled around. "Let's go. There's nothing for
us here, so get moving."
"I don't wanna walk," the
boy said. "My feet hurt."
Lamont glanced down and winced. The
boy wore ragged tennis shoes, the kind bought at a dollar store that usually
came apart in a month. Both toes were scuffed and one was worn through enough
he could see a dirty sock. Holes dotted the sides of both shoes.
"You'll be all right,"
Anderson said. "Kid never stops whining."
"Your son?" Lamont asked,
curious.
"Not mine, no. Stepson. I got
stuck with him when his mom managed to get herself killed in a car wreck.
C'mon, Shayne, let's make tracks."
That news wrenched Lamont's heart,
strange when he could care less about most things. His former fiancée had ended
their relationship before the planned wedding. Her parting shot had been that
he had a cold, cold heart like in the old Hank Williams song. Maybe so because
he'd shrugged and gone on with his life without Remy.
The boy gazed up at Lamont with
brilliant blue eyes. He didn't resemble Anderson in the least. I should have
known they weren't related. It also explained why he hadn't seen the boy
until now, although he'd never known Anderson had a wife. "Mister, would you give us a ride
back home? It's hot."
Teddy Anderson smacked the kid
across the face. "Don't start begging. Ol' Lamont here ain't going to do
anything to help, not when he won't let us have the truck."
Fury exploded through Lamont. He
ached to punch his neighbor in the nose. "Don't hit the kid again, or I'll
punch you. I'll drive you home. Just because I won't hand over the old truck
for nothing doesn't mean I'm cruel."
Shayne rode in the middle when they
climbed into Lamont's old Chevy truck.
"I'm Shayne Sawyer," the
boy told him and extended his right hand. Lamont shook it.
"Lamont Fortune, and yep,
that's my real name." People usually asked, so he got that out of the way
first thing.
"Cool!" Shayne grinned for
the first time. When he did, it lightened his face and made Lamont realize this
was one good-looking kid. "Does that mean you're a lucky guy?"
"Maybe sometimes." Lamont
didn't feel fortunate. He'd lost both his parents in a plane crash, the old
family farmhouse had been destroyed by a tornado while he was on the rodeo circuit
three years ago, and his fiancée bailed on him. That last, though, was a good
thing because he doubted they would have made it as a married couple. He'd
replaced the house with a brand-new home, nice, but so far it never had really
felt like home.
The Anderson house was a mile down
the road from his place. Until Lamon turned into the drive, he hadn't
remembered how dilapidated it had become. The wood had weathered gray, and he
saw at least one broken window patched with cardboard. He wouldn't want to set
foot on the porch because the boards sagged, and the roof did, too. A strong
wind or heavy snowfall might bring it down. A variety of junk littered the
yard, everything from discarded aluminum cans and plastic jugs to a rusted
washing machine and a motorcycle without wheels. A battered vehicle sat near
the front door, and Lamont guessed it was the usual ride.
"Car's not running. Needs a
battery." Teddy Anderson climbed out of the truck. "Thanks,
Lamont."
"No problem. Let me know if you
decide to buy the Ranger."
Teddy responded with a bitter laugh.
"That's about as likely as pigs flying, but sure, I will. Get out of the
truck, Shayne."
Shayne hadn't moved from the cab.
With his head bent, Lamont wondered if he had been praying. The boy scooted
across the seat to exit from the driver's side and when he did, he slipped a
folded piece of notebook paper to him. "Thanks for the ride."
"You're welcome."
The folded square fit into his hand,
and Lamont kept it concealed. He didn't open it until he'd parked the trunk
under a big oak tree at home.
"Mister, please call my aunt
Matilda Mannheim. She lives in New York City."
Lamont read the childish printing
twice, then sighed. The cryptic note disturbed him. If he had to live with Teddy Anderson, he
would want to escape, too. He wondered about the boy's mother and tried to
imagine what kind of woman would have married Anderson. He crumpled the note,
then paused. Maybe the boy needed a rescue, and this aunt was someone who would
deliver him from Anderson's clutches. But she might also be another tweaker.
Lamont decided he'd ponder it before deciding. He had too much to do to worry
about it.
He was already late heading out on
the circuit. Although it was just April, he should have been gone by mid-March,
but a late winter bout of flu had laid him low. Lamont planned to leave within
two weeks. He always came home when he could, but he'd be on the road most of
the season, driving from one rodeo to another.
The kid haunted him, though. Lamont
couldn't forget the way Anderson had smacked the boy or spoken to him with
distracted cruelty. By now, if he'd found any money, Anderson was probably
high. He considered calling the authorities to report possible child abuse, but
that wasn't his way. He preferred to handle things himself. After two days,
Lamont plucked the note from his dresser. It appeared to have been written
sometime back. The folded creases were deep. The kid must have carried it
around until he found someone to hand it to. With a deep sigh, Lamont set out
to locate Matilda Mannheim. It took less than a half hour with his computer to
track her down. Mannheim wasn't a common surname.
Matilda Mannheim lived in midtown
Manhattan. He'd figured she would have some highfalutin career, a model or a
fashion photographer or a up and coming actress. Instead, her name was
associated with a bakery where she made specialty cakes.
Allowing for the time difference, he
made the call after evening chores. Lamont sat down in his favorite overstuffed
armchair and propped his feet on the hassock. He took a long, deep breath and
dialed the number he located, hoping he would make a connection and even more
than the woman would care about her nephew.
"Hello."
Lamont had expected some fancy New
York accent, not a sweet tone that sounded like pure Texas. "Is this
Matilda Mannheim?"
After a pause, she said, "Yes,
it is. Who's calling, please?"
"My name is Lamont Fortune, and
your nephew asked me to give you a call."
She gasped. "Shayne? You know
where Shayne is? Oh, thank God. Is he all right? Where is he?"
The series of questions caught him
by surprise. "Whoa, now, lady. Give me a second. One question at a time.
He lives down the road from me with his stepfather, I guess. He's pretty skinny
but as far as I could tell, he's okay. I guess this confirms you are his
aunt."
"I've been trying to find him
since my sister died." Her voice broke as she spoke and Lamont realized
she wept. "Where do you live? Is he still in Texas?"
Flustered, Lamont babbled. "Ma'am,
I live in Oklahoma. The closest town of any size is Claremore. Teddy Anderson's
been my neighbor for a few years but I didn't know he had a stepson until they
came over to look at a truck I have for sale. I don't really have any answers
for you beyond that. The kid handed me a note that asked if I could call his
aunt. He gave me your name, but I had to figure out the number myself."
"I'm glad that you did. I'm
coming out there as soon as I can book a flight. Can I fly to what was it,
Claremore?"
Lamont hated flying. He didn't like
it, and since his parents died in a plane crash, he didn't plan to ever take a
flight again.
"No, you'll have to fly into Tulsa," he told
her. "Tulsa International Airport."
First, he heard a pen scribbling on
paper, then the click of computer keys.
"Got it. Tulsa. I'm booking a
flight for tomorrow. I'll rent a car and come find Shayne."
Matilda might be from Texas but she
didn't sound like a country girl. "Miss Mannheim, I don't live in
Claremore. My place is out in the boondocks, and your nephew lives down the
road. I don't think you'll be able to find it without getting lost."
"I can use GPS."
Lamont laughed. "Around here,
GPS will take you on a wild goose chase about half the time. How about I come
pick you up at the airport?"
When she huffed into the phone,
Lamont rolled his eyes and wanted to throw up his hands. She's gonna be
difficult.
"I'll rent a car so I can get
around without relying on you or anyone else."
"Then pick up one in Claremore.
You're not familiar."
"And you are?"
Lamont closed his eyes and counted
to five so he could avoid smashing something or throwing the phone at the wall.
"I've lived here all my life, so, yeah, I am. Text me what time your
flight will arrive, and I'll be there."
Matilda said nothing for a few
seconds, and when she did, her voice had an edge that could cut a good steak.
"I've booked it online. My flight arrives in Tulsa at 9:38 p.m. tomorrow
night."
"Then I'll be there."
He ended the call with a sigh. The
last thing Lamont wanted to do was face Tulsa traffic or navigate the airport,
but he would do it. Since he hadn't
eaten supper yet, Lamont made a thick bologna and cheese sandwich with a
handful of chips. He parked at the table to eat, but he hadn't taken more than
three bites when someone beat on his door.
"Mister, are you there?" a
young voice shrilled. It was the boy, Shayne Sawyer.
Muttering, Lamont opened the front
door. "You got good timing, kid. I just talked to your aunt, and she's
coming out here."
Gasping as if he'd run from his home
here, Shayne shook his head. "It's not that. It's, it's…."
Shayne choked on a sob. Lamont
realized not only was the boy's face brick red, but he'd been crying. His guts
tensed as he realized something must be wrong. "What's the matter?"
If Anderson had beat the child,
Lamont would have it out with the man.
"It's Ted…Ted…Teddy,"
Shayne cried.
"Did he hurt you?"
The boy shook his head fast and
furious. "I think he's dead, Mister Fortune."
It took a moment for it to sink it.
"Dead? Teddy Anderson's dead?"
"I'm pretty sure," the kid
stammered. Still wheezing, Lamont thought he appeared to be on the edge of
collapse or a meltdown.
"Come inside, and you can tell
me what happened." Why did this have to happen to him? Lamont liked
minding his own business and keeping out of trouble. It appeared he wouldn't be
able to do either.
In the living room, Shayne stopped
and stared, then parked himself on the loveseat. Lamont sat upright in his
armchair.
"Are you all right?" he asked, realizing he
should ask.
"I guess. Yeah, maybe."
"Do you want a soda pop or a
sandwich?" Lamont had lost his appetite, but maybe the boy needed
something.
"I don't think so, thank
you."
"Tell me what happened."
The story was short and terrible. Not
surprisingly, Anderson had been high on meth.
"Sometimes he smoked it, sometimes he used a
needle," Shayne said. "It seemed like it took more and more of it to
get him high. He'd shot up several times, and I'm pretty sure he'd taken some
fentanyl, too. He fell over on the floor."
When his stepfather collapsed, Shayne figured he had
passed out, which wasn't uncommon. But this time, he made some gurgling sounds,
then went quiet. "I thought he'd gone to sleep," Shayne told Lamont.
He twisted his hands together as he spoke. "He usually left me alone when
he got high, and when he was sleeping it off so I didn't bother him. But that
was last night, and he ain't woke up yet. His lips are a funny color, and he's
stiff. He kinda smells weird, too."
If he were still a praying man,
Lamont would have been on his knees. Instead, he reached for the phone and
called the county sheriff's department. He told them what Shayne had told him
and promised to meet them at the Anderson place.
He didn't think the kid should go,
but he had no place to leave him, and besides, the deputies would want to talk
to him.
Lamont pulled his boots back on and
wished he was a drinking man. Right now, he could use a beer to mellow his
nerves, but he'd given all that up a long time ago. "C'mon, kid, we gotta
go over there."
"Are you gonna make me stay
there, even if he ain't dead?" The question came in a harsh whisper.
Lamont made a swift decision, one he
would keep. "No, you're not going back once we get done with the Sheriff.
Until your aunt comes, you can stay here."
He just hoped he could make it
happen.
Chapter Two
Shayne strutted in new blue jeans.
His feet sported brand-new shoes with no holes or rips, and he wore an Oklahoma
Sooners jersey. It had taken a lot of fancy talking to keep Shayne out of Child
Services custody. Since Sheriff David Wills was Lamont's first cousin, he'd
leaned on the authorities more than a little to persuade them that Lamont could
take the kid home.
"His aunt's coming and she can
file for emergency custody," Lamont had told Davy.
"Bring her to my office first
thing the morning after she's arrived," David had replied. "We'll get
it sorted out one way or another."
Shayne shadowed Lamont, sticking
close to his side. That grated on Lamont's nerves and made him antsy. He lived
alone, and even on the rodeo circuit, he kept to himself.
But
he took the kid shopping for clothes at a local discount store because
everything he owned had been fit for the rag bag. After a quick fast-food supper
in Claremore, Lamont headed for Tulsa.
He navigated the airport, found
parking, and located the concourse where Matilda Mannheim would arrive. Both
took a seat on the hard plastic chairs and waited. It would be more than an
hour until her flight was due. Being in an airport made him antsy although he
could manage. Seeing and hearing planes land was one thing – flying would be
another, and that wouldn't be happening in this lifetime.
"You'll recognize your aunt,
won't you?" Lamont had seen her photo online, but she'd been wearing a
double-breasted white chef's garb, a chef's hat, and an apron. Her face had
been in shadow and the focal point of the picture had been the cake, not the
baker. He might not spot her in normal garb.
"I don't know," Shayne
said. The more time he spent with Lamont, the more he talked. "I haven't
seen her since I was a little kid. I don't really know her."
Lamont shot a look in Shayne's
direction. "Then why did you want me to call her?"
Shayne shrugged. "I figured she
might come get me. I don't have anybody else except you."
"How long had you been toting
that note?"
"I've always had it. My mom
told me that Aunt Matilda would come if I ever needed her. She had me write
that note. Mama said to give it to somebody when it was time. Teddy was gettin'
worse, and so I handed it to you. He beat me a lot."
If Lamont thought much about that,
he'd get mad, and now wasn't the time to be angry, not waiting to pick up a
city woman likely to look down on both him and Oklahoma.
"She's your mom's sister,
right?" Lamont didn't count on
anyone, and he'd rather Shayne not depend on him. He wasn't family.
"Yeah, Matilda and Melissa. My
mom was Melissa, but everyone except Teddy called her Lissy. Is she taking me
back to New York?"
"I don't know." Lamont
hoped so. He didn't want the responsibility of a child or to deal with the
woman who had seemed difficult on the phone.
"I want to stay here."
Shayne spoke those four words in a quiet voice, each one dropping like a pebble
into water. He gazed up at Lamont as he spoke, his eyes soft and filled with
trust.
Lamont didn't know what to say. He
cleared his throat and took off his cowboy hat, then put it back on his head,
then pretended not to understand. "Here at the airport?"
"No, in Oklahoma, with you,
Lamont."
They'd made the leap from Mister
Fortunate to Lamont. That made him glad, but the rest of it didn't. It scared
him. He parted his lips to tell Shayne that wasn't an option, but something
about the boy tugged his heartstrings. "We'll have to see what your auntie
thinks, buddy."
Buddy. That had been his
nickname as a child. Both his parents and his granddaddy had used it more often
than his name. His brother and sister still did on occasion.
"Okay," Shayne said and
yawned. The flight was delayed, and the kid fell asleep. Every passing minute
increased Lamont's anxiety. He didn't do well with most women, and his broken
engagement proved it. Remy's accusation that he had a cold, cold heart hit the
mark. He could have his pick of buckle bunnies when he was out on the rodeo
circuit, but Lamont ignored them. Somewhere along the lonesome way, he'd given
up on finding a woman to date or marry.
When he came down with a bad case of
flu earlier this spring, Lamont had wished for a woman. Soft hands to soothe
him would have been welcome. Someone putting a cold compress on his feverish
head and bringing him a cup of tea with some over the counter meds would have given
comfort. Somebody who asked how he felt and worried over him a little would
have been nice. Instead, he had weathered being sick alone and was miserable
for the better part of two weeks.
When the flight arrived, and the
passengers streamed into the terminal, Lamont stood after nudging the boy
awake. His eyes darted from side to side, seeking a woman that resembled the
one he'd seen online and watched Shayne for any reaction. He dismissed one
woman after another. Two were much too old, gray hair revealing their age.
Another had to still be in her teens. Three walked beside small children. One
of the last passengers to appear wasn't as tall as he would have guessed, a
brunette with short hair somewhere between her ears and shoulders. Despite her
petite size, she toted a carry-on bag and rolled a huge suitcase along.
"Mama!" Shayne shouted
with more delight than he'd heard from the kid. "It's Mama."
Since Lamont knew his mother was
deceased, it wasn't her. Shayne ran forward, and the woman halted. Her bags
were abandoned as she rushed forward and knelt to hug the child.
"Shayne, oh, Shayne!"
The boy drew back and stared at her.
"You're not Mama. I knew that, but for a second, I thought…"
"I'm your Aunt Matilda. It's
been too long, but I'm glad I'm here. You're so tall for ten."
After glaring, her nephew said.
"I'm twelve."
Shayne pulled away from her and
stood at Lamont's side, edgy like a frightened animal, ready to bolt at the
first hint of danger.
Uncomfortable and feeling awkward, he extended his
hand. "I'm Lamont Fortune, Shayne's neighbor from down the road. We talked
on the phone."
"Matilda Mannheim." Her
brown eyes shone with unshed tears. "Thank you for coming to pick me up. I
didn't know you planned to bring my nephew."
Honesty was best, even when blunt.
"I didn't, but things changed. His stepfather died."
"Tim Anderson is dead?"
Her mouth hung open with surprise. "What happened?"
"Drug overdose." Lamont
picked up her bag and put it over his shoulder, then maneuvered the larger
case. He headed toward the exit.
"When?"
"I heard about it right after I
talked to you last night." He kept his tone level. "Buddy, there, he
came to tell me."
Her lips twisted into a frown.
"And so, you brought Shayne along with you? I hope his stepdad isn't lying
cold and dead in some hovel."
Hovel was an apt description of the
place her nephew had been calling home, but her assumption that Lamont might be
an idiot who didn't report the death rankled. "No, he isn't because I
called the sheriff's department. They took Anderson's body away and did an
autopsy early this morning, which confirmed it was drug related. Shayne's been
with me."
He raised his voice a fraction, then
remembered they were still at the airport and lowered it. Lamont glared at her
and she sent an evil look in his direction.
"Lamont bought me some new stuff,
and I got a haircut," Shayne said, the first time he'd spoken directly to
her since her arrival. "He said I don't have to go back to the house at
all if I don't want to go there."
"Did he?" Her tone had
softened a fraction.
The boy nodded. "I've been
staying at his place. I want to keep staying there."
Matilda wrinkled her forehead and
gawked. "I thought you'd want to be with me."
Tired, ready to go home, and
irritated with the woman for no valid reason, Lamont asked, "Where did you
book a room?"
He would deliver her to the hotel of
her choice, leave Shayne with her, and then he'd be finished with his good
deed.
She wore heeled fashion boots, which
tapped out a rapid rhythm on the tiled floor, but the question brought her to a
halt. "That's what I forgot," she said, in such a low voice, Lamont
wasn't sure if it was meant for him or if she talked to herself. "I didn't
make a reservation anywhere. I'm sorry."
"It's all right." It
wasn't, but he could roll with the unexpected.
"Is there a hotel nearby?"
They reached his vintage truck, a
1970 light green Chevy that he had restored. Lamont put her luggage in the
back. Matilda paused, then followed Shayne into the cab. "Several,"
he said. "But it'd be easier if you stayed in Claremore – it's about
thirty minutes away from here, but it's closer to my place. You're welcome to
stay with me. I have three extra bedrooms."
As soon as the words flew out of his
mouth, he couldn’t believe what he offered. Yeah, he had four bedrooms and two
baths plus a den, along with the usual living room and kitchen, but Lamont
didn't have many guests. Once a year, his older sister, Lanelle, came to visit
for a week, usually around Thanksgiving. His brother, Logan, came more often,
sometimes to fish and to hunt every deer season. Sometimes, one of Lanelle's
kids accompanied her which didn't happen often. Logan's wife, Tatum, occasionally
came with him. So did their daughter, Paisley, age six.
As he waited to hear her reply,
Lamont pulled out of the parking area and headed for the main road. He glanced
over Shayne's head. Matilda chewed her lip as she stared through the
windshield. She didn't say anything as he turned onto Airport Drive, but after
five long minutes, she said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I don't see
any hotels, at least not on this road. And I don't know you."
To be fair, he didn't know her
either. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you agreed I'd
pick you up at the airport. Do you know anyone in Oklahoma?"
She raised her hand to her lips and
nibbled at a hangnail. "Just Shayne."
Lamont laughed. "You don't
really know him."
"Yes, I do, he's my
nephew…"
"And he must have been a little
guy last time you saw him. You thought he was ten years old, and he's twelve.
You didn't even know where he was until I called."
He didn't intend to be rude, just
honest, but Matilda squawked and clutched her purse tighter. It sat on her lap
as if she thought he might snatch it and steal anything of value.
"Stop!" she shrieked.
"Stop right here and let us out. I'll call for a taxi or an Uber or
something. I'll hitchhike or walk."
Beside him, Shayne stiffened and
leaned closer to Lamont. "I don’t want to get out," the kid mumbled.
"I'd rather stick with you."
Lamont jerked the truck onto the
shoulder of the four-lane major thoroughfare. "Okay, Tilly, you listen,
and you listen good. I understand you're here for this kid. You want to do
right by him. So do I. But let's get something straight. You don't know me, but
I'm not some criminal that you can't trust. If I take you to a hotel, you're
gonna be stuck there until you can rent a car. You're not familiar with Tulsa
or Oklahoma. I am. So why don't you just chill out a little and come home with
me tonight? Tomorrow, the sheriff wants you at his office to talk about custody.
After that, you can figure out what you want or need to do."
Matilda tried to open the passenger
door, so he locked it. She kicked her feet against the truck floor and made a
wild noise. "I can call 911."
Lamont wanted to beat his head
against the steering wheel. "If that's what you want, call but the kid's
under my temporary custody per order of the Sheriff. Calling 911 is more likely to hurt your
chances, not help them. Besides that, you don't want out here – look around. Do
you see anywhere to go? That's Mohawk Park across the road. You want me to tell
you some of the crimes that happen there? I wouldn't go there at night unless I
was armed, and I sure am not about to let you take Shayne over there."
She twisted around to stare at him.
"How do I know that's true?"
"How do you know it's
not?" he asked. "Why would I lie?"
Shayne pouted, his lip jutted out,
and his arms folded. Matilda looked at her nephew, then at Lamont. She sighed,
long and hard. "I guess I don't, and I can't think of any reason you would.
Maybe I'm overreacting."
Maybe? Definitely. Lamont removed
his hat long enough to run both hands through his short, blond hair. "Look,
it's late. I bet you're tired and maybe hungry. Can we start over?"
He suggested it for the kid's sake.
He'd just as soon drop her off at a hotel or return her to the airport and
never see her again. Beside him, Shayne offered a thumbs up.
"We can," Matilda said
after a few moments of silence. "I haven't eaten at all today, and that's
probably part of the reason I'm cranky. I think this is a different time zone.
This situation is more than I expected. I'm pleased to meet you, Lamont Fortune
and glad you are helping my nephew."
She stuck out her hand to shake and
he took it.
To his way of thinking, there wasn't
a situation, just a boy who needed someone, a kid who'd been mistreated by his
now deceased stepfather. "No problem, Tilly."
"It's Matilda. Matilda
Mannheim."
"I got that, Tilly. It's a
nickname, woman, because the other is a mouthful."
She almost smiled. "I suppose
it is."
"Why is your name Mannheim, not
Sawyer like me?" Shayne questioned.
Matilda blushed and Lamont realized
under her gruff exterior, she was quite pretty.
"It was Sawyer but I was
married for a very short time to a German baker, Freddy Mannheim. I always
planned to take Sawyer back but I never have gotten around to it."
So, Shayne's mom hadn't been married
until Teddy Anderson. Interesting. And Miss Matilda had survived a brief
marriage. Lamont wondered why it ended, but he wasn't about to ask and start
any fresh contention.
"Let's go find some food,"
he suggested. "Then we'll go home. Do you like hamburgers?"
If she asked for a salad or organic
food or yogurt or tofu, Lamont thought he might yell out loud and drop her at a
hotel anyway.
"I do," she replied.
"That sounds good. I'm sorry if I've been difficult. I didn't mean to
be."
Her quieter tone softened his
attitude. "De nada. It's all a lot to deal with."
Despite the late hour, the hamburger
joint in Claremore had a full parking lot. Once inside, Lamont ordered them all
burgers, family size fries, and chocolate malts. Seated at a table, Lamont
dived in, but Matilda bowed her head and reached for their hands.
"Thank you, Lord, for this
food, for the kind man who provided it, for being reunited with my nephew, and
for whatever happens with Shayne. To God be the glory, in Jesus Name,
Amen."
Surprised, Lamont removed his hat at
the last moment before she asked a blessing. Shayne goggled at his aunt,
apparently as unaccustomed to saying grace as Lamont.
"Can I eat now?" Shayne
asked as he pulled his hand free.
"Of course," Matilda
replied.
As they ate, the kid devouring his
burger with speed, Lamont realized they must look like a family. At first, the
idea made him a little uncomfortable, but then he liked it, at least a little. He could imagine family life, something he'd
once wanted. Of course, it would have to be with a different woman, not some
city slicker who pitched a fit before they were two miles from the airport.
Lamont needed a country gal or a small-town woman, someone who knew how to
nurture and make a man feel better, not worse. So far, this Tilly hadn't done a
lot for his self-image.
Having a kid, though, he liked that
idea a lot. Shayne seemed like a fine boy, one most men would be proud to call
son. Lamont didn't like the way Anderson had treated the child or how he'd made
sure to mention Shayne was his stepson. Steps were something you went up or
down, in Lamont's opinion. They had nothing to do with a relationship. It was
your kid, or it wasn't, he figured.
"This is delicious,"
Matilda said, blotting her lips with a paper napkin.
Lamont liked the compliment on the
humble fare and liked her a bit better for it. Then she ruined it with her next
comment.
"It's basic, but I never
expected anything this tasty in the wilds of Oklahoma," she said between
bites. "It's not wagyu beef, and although it's not topped with anything
like shallots, Gouda cheese, Shitake 'shrooms, or a special mustard, it's
actually yummy."
"Food doesn't have to be
fancified to taste good."
To him, the double meat burger
topped with grilled onions, lettuce, pickle, tomato, and American cheese on a
toasted bun came near perfection. Maybe by New York City standards, the burger
seemed basic, but to Lamont, it was prime eats.
"I like it just fine,"
Shayne said. "Fries are good, too."
"Darned straight," Lamont
said.
Matilda glanced up with a frown.
"I didn't say that food had to be gourmet. I like it."
"I'm glad it passes your Big
Apple approval," Lamont said, allowing sarcasm to flavor his words.
"I might just have me another one."
He didn't, though. This late,
another burger on top of the fries and shake would be too much. They spent the
rest of the meal in silence, broken only if Shayne said something and Lamont
answered. As soon as the last morsel of food passed between Matilda's lips, he
gathered their litter onto the plastic tray and headed for the nearest trash
can.
"Let's get a move on," he
said. "I'd like to get some sleep before morning. We gotta be at the
sheriff's office by 9."
The woman slung her purse onto her
arm and stood up. "I'm ready."
Once all three were in the truck,
Lamont fired the engine. He drove through Claremore and headed for home on the
two-lane. When he turned onto the gravel road that would take them to his
place, Matilda sat up straight.
"I didn't realize you lived
this far out."
"It ain't all that far,"
he said, dropping into cowboy talk on purpose. He figured it would irritate the
city gal. "I like having some
space. Never been much of one for town living."
"It seems remote, that's
all."
Probably did, he realized. He'd been
to New York and had ridden once in a rodeo at Madison Square Garden, back when
he rode bulls as well as broncs. All those skyscrapers and apartment buildings
hadn't impressed him. Lamont had hated the traffic clogged thoroughfares, the
crowds, and the never-ending noise.
"That's what I like about
it."
Lamont vowed he would say as little
as possible until he got shed of this woman. With any luck, after they met with
the Sheriff and probably a social worker, Matilda Mannheim would get custody of
the kid. Then they both could ride off into the sunset, and he'd be done with
them.
He rolled the truck to a stop.
"We're home," he said. "Come on."
After retrieving her luggage from
the truck bed, Lamont led them up the wide steps to the side entrance. They
came through the den, his favorite room, then his office space, and through the
kitchen. He put down her bags in the living room.
"My room's through there,"
he said, indicating the master suite. "Shayne's been staying in the
smallest bedroom on the other side. You can take your pick of the others,
Tilly. One has a bathroom."
Matilda glanced around, eyes wide.
"This is nicer than I imagined."
Because he wanted to go to bed,
Lamont swallowed the hot words that sprang to his lips. She's clueless and
suffers from foot in the mouth syndrome. "Glad you approve," he
told her. "Good night."
With that, he headed into his
bedroom, shut the door, and shucked his clothes. After a long, steaming shower,
he crawled into bed, but he had trouble falling asleep. His mind spun in
circles. To help a kid, he'd landed himself in the middle of one hot mess. The
sooner they could work through it and get custody resolved, the better.
After Remy, a Dallas socialite,
wealthy from her family's oil money, he'd had his fill of highfalutin women. He
would be glad to see the last of Matilda Mannheim.
She might be pretty, but she was as
prickly as barbed wire, difficult and edgy.
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