Tangled Up in Texas Page 3

  “Sunny? McCall?” Carter continued to yell out as if she might not have seen him. Or as if she might bolt. Which she considered doing. She was tired, hurting and just wanted to get to Em’s so she could take some meds.

  “A friend of yours?” Ryan asked as he put the last of the grocery bags in the back of the SUV.

  “A friend in only a generic sense. I went to school with him from kindergarten all the way to high school. Whatever you do, don’t shake his hand.”

  That got Ryan’s attention, and she would explain later that unless Carter had, well, actually grown up, he was still a prankster. An annoying one who had crossed too many lines too many times. Ironic, since he was also a mortician. A mortician who, according to Em, had a bumper sticker on his truck proudly announcing My Other Car Is a Hearse.”

  Wearing a T-shirt that boasted My Clients Give Me the Cold Shoulder and jeans with a rodeo buckle the size of a 1960s Buick hubcap, Carter darted across Main Street. That didn’t take much effort, considering it was just two lanes and there was little traffic.

  “Sunny? McCall?” Carter repeated, trotting to her.

  “Sunny,” she confirmed.

  “Funny Sunny.” He grinned, exposing overly bright teeth. The man had obviously gone through a vat of whitening strips, and the enamel looked radioactive. “Tell me a joke,” he added with a wink.

  Those were four words she’d come to hate. Four words she’d probably heard more often than Carter purchased whitening strips. Most people might not be able to pinpoint the exact moment such a comment had become an annoyance, but Sunny could. It’d been the catchphrase on Little Cowgirls, started when she’d been five years old and had fancied herself a stand-up comic.

  Things had gone downhill after that.

  She’d stood up. She’d performed a five-year-old’s version of comedy, and the producers had loved it so much, they’d built it into the show.

  “I’m sort of joked out at the moment,” she muttered.

  That refusal and what had to be a sour expression on her face didn’t deter him. Still grinning, Carter stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she caught a glimpse of the little metal device on his palm that would no doubt shock her or make farting noises if she touched it.

  Sunny just shook her head and sighed. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to visit. Or to be pranked. Granny Em’s waiting for me.”

  Carter nodded and stuck out his hand to Ryan. “Carter Bodell,” he greeted. “And you are?”

  “Ryan Dunbar.”

  He didn’t shake Carter’s hand. Didn’t explain either that he was her almost-stepson. Of course, if Ryan had mentioned that little detail, there’d be questions about why he was with Sunny and not his father. Why he was an almost and not an actual stepson. Those questions would come soon enough anyway, but she hoped to delay them until she’d at least had a nap or two.

  “I guess you know all about your mom once being a big star around here,” Carter commented. “Little Cowgirls was the number one reality show back in the day.”

  Obviously, he’d assumed that Ryan was her son, and Sunny didn’t correct him. In fact, she got in the SUV and motioned for Ryan to do the same. Carter didn’t pick up on the not-so-subtle signs—her repeated sighs, disinterested expression and under-the-breath mutterings—that he should say his goodbyes and let them get on with their day.

  “Your mom was always the funny one of the Little Cowgirls,” Carter went on. “Funny Sunny, that’s what folks called her. McCall was the prissy pants good girl, and Hadley... Well, she was bad.” He added a laugh and a wink to that.

  There it was in a nutshell. The labels the producers had put on the Dalton triplets. Labels that had become self-fulfilling prophesies in a ball-and-chain, live-up-to-the-hype sort of way.

  Sunny figured she’d gotten the so-so deal out of those labels. Funny Sunny was much better than Prissy Pants, especially after it’d become a childhood taunt of “pissy pants” for McCall, who’d lagged behind in toilet training. And Funny Sunny was better than Badly Hadley, as well. That had always sounded like a grammatically challenged outlaw name to Sunny, which would have been okay until the teenage years when it’d taken on a smutty tone.

  One that Hadley had reveled in.

  “Of course, these days I hear you’re called Runny Sunny,” Carter said, winking at her.

  As if she might not have caught the dig that had been in the tabloids, Carter looked at her bare ring finger. The one that would have had a wedding ring if she hadn’t run. Sunny wished she had wizard powers to make Carter, stupid labels and the tabloids vaporize.

  “Did you see the episode where your mom said she wanted to grow a weenie like her brother?” Carter hooted with laughter. Apparently, so had many viewers. Since that’d happened when she was three, Sunny had had three decades of folks reminding her of that particular toddler pipe dream.

  Ryan didn’t respond, and neither did Sunny, but that didn’t stop Carter from keeping it up.

  “And how about the episode where she wore her mother’s lace panties on her head and announced that she was now a redhead?” Carter did more hooting.

  Sunny gave him as polite a smile as she could manage. But she needed no such reminders that camera crews had followed her and her family and captured every embarrassing moment there was to capture.

  Including the kiss.

  The one that’d given Shaw sore nuts. Judging from Shaw’s reaction, she could surmise that sore nuts was even worse than boob pain. Possibly worse than a first-time Brazilian.

  “Let’s go, please,” she told Ryan the moment he’d started the engine.

  “Say, don’t you want to visit a while longer so we can catch up?” Carter said.

  Since she was the funny one, Sunny wasn’t rude, though she wanted to be, and she merely said, “Some other time.”

  “But I wanted to ask you out,” Carter went on. “How about dinner tonight?”

  Sunny shook her head. “I can’t—”

  “Tomorrow night then. Or anytime this week.” Carter wasn’t actually begging, but it was close.

  Sunny didn’t think she was a great beauty, but her “fame” seemed to prompt men to hit on her. Sometimes she hit back. But she wouldn’t be hitting back in Carter’s case. Not in anyone else’s for that matter. Two broken engagements was enough. A sort of reverse charm. She obviously sucked at relationships and needed to put a stop to any future suckage.

  After Sunny muttered a goodbye to Carter, Ryan drove off, lurching the SUV only a little when he put his foot on the accelerator. A huge improvement since his starts and stops were usually a lot shakier. Still, he was a good driver, especially considering he’d only had his license for four months.

  “Carter’s a real charmer,” Ryan remarked. “I’m betting it’s been a while since someone’s fallen for the hand buzzer?”

  “Not since ninth grade. I think Carter has a hope-springs-eternal mind-set that we’ll all develop severe memory loss so he can play his tired pranks on us.” Sunny motioned to the stop sign just ahead. “Take a left there,” she instructed, since Ryan didn’t know the way to Em’s.

  The speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour, which meant that even the short distance gave Sunny a chance to take a look at the shops and businesses that lined Main Street.

  There were no chain stores here. They were all mom-and-pop businesses and services that covered the basics for a small town. Fred’s Grocer, a small hospital, the Lickety Split Ice Cream Parlor, the police station and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, a diner that also served as a bakery and coffee shop.

  The owner wasn’t a Tiffany but rather Hildie Stoddermeyer, who was obsessed with the author Truman Capote. Not only had Hildie painted the diner the signature Tiffany color of robin’s-egg blue, but she had items on the menu like Holly Golightly pancakes, Moon River gravy fries and even Capote cranberry compote.

&
nbsp; The diner itself was filled with movie posters, quotes and Capote’s other books, which Hildie also adored. While the woman took things to extremes, Sunny figured that most people were just happy that Hildie hadn’t insisted the diner be called by the title of one of his other famous books, In Cold Blood.

  “Who was the cowboy back on the road earlier?” Ryan asked after he took the turn off Main Street. “The one whose arm you touched?”

  Oh, so he’d caught that. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you. That was Shaw Jameson.”

  Ryan didn’t exactly get an aha expression, but it was close. “The guy you kissed on Little Cowgirls when you were a teenager?”

  Yep, the very one, and the hidden cameraman had managed to capture that embarrassing and painful moment when her braces had cut Shaw’s mouth so deep that he’d gushed blood. Then trying to help, she’d smacked him on the nose with her elbow hard enough that he’d cursed a string of cuss stew that had to be bleeped out of the footage.

  For the finale of the attempted kiss, Shaw had staggered into her, causing her to lose her balance, and during her fall, she’d kicked him in the groin with her seriously pointy-toed cowboy boots that the producers had insisted she wear.

  That’s when Sunny had burst into tears.

  The tears had gotten a whole lot worse when the cameraman had stepped out from the shadows, announcing that he’d “caught it all.” All her crying and begging had nearly caused him to delete it, but then her mother had gotten involved. Sunshine had insisted that it be aired, just as Sunshine had done with other moments that Sunny and her siblings had begged and cried not to be used.

  Later, Sunny had let people believe that the scene had been scripted, as so many of them were, but that one had been the real deal. As spontaneous as spontaneity could be. And Shaw had gotten the sore nuts to prove it.

  “Shaw and I go way back,” Sunny added.

  Unlike Carter Bodell, Shaw wasn’t a friend in the generic sense. He’d been the source of many teenage fantasies. Not just hers, either. If tall, dark and hot were what you went for, then Shaw was the right guy for every one of those, and a couple of decades hadn’t changed that. If anything, he was taller, darker and even hotter.

  She frowned.

  Thinking like that wouldn’t stop future relationship calamities. Besides, she liked Shaw and didn’t want him caught up in her emotional baggage that was now the size of a cargo ship.

  Sunny motioned for Ryan to turn into the driveway. And there it was. Granny Em’s house.

  Home.

  Sunny supposed that most adults had mixed feelings when making a long overdue visit like this. So many memories, both good and bad. Em thankfully fell on the good side when it came to the images and memories that started to do a slippery slide through Sunny’s head. So did her siblings. Mostly anyway. But there were clearer images, those preserved in reruns that she’d never quite come to terms with.

  Now, on top of all of that, she needed to try to help Ryan work through his issues with his dad. Oh, and heal both mentally and physically from a health scare that had shaken her all the way to the marrow. And try to get her own life back on track.

  All of that might be more than too much for her Funny Sunny personality self to come back from.

  Ryan pulled to a stop in front of the two-story yellow Victorian where nothing had changed for as long as Sunny could remember. There was something comforting about that. If a house could weather stuff, then maybe she stood a chance, too. Of course, she couldn’t be fixed with a fresh coat of paint and occasional new roof.

  “Remember not to mention anything about my surgery,” Sunny reminded Ryan. “I don’t want Em to worry.”

  He nodded and didn’t say anything about her already having warned him multiple times. “I’ll bring in the suitcases and then come back for the groceries,” Ryan offered.

  She thanked him, gave his arm a gentle squeeze and went up the steps. Before she even made it to the door, it opened.

  “You’re here,” the woman in the doorway announced. It wasn’t a happy announcement, either. It sounded more like a scolding, one doused with enough dread to erase any ray of sunshine.

  The woman was Bernice Biggs, her grandmother’s part-time housekeeper and someone else who hadn’t changed. In fact, Bernice had the same iron-gray hair styled in the same tight bun as it had been when Sunny was a kid. It had always reminded Sunny of a lump of jagged ice, which was also a fitting description for the woman.

  At least Sunny wouldn’t have to deal with a painful hug from Bernice. The housekeeper wasn’t the sort to dole out any affection.

  “Tell me a joke,” Bernice grumbled.

  The woman knew that the request felt like the equivalent of a poke to sore ribs, but two could play this irritating game. Sunny picked through the repertoire of lame jokes that were branded in her memory and came up with a bad one.

  “What do you call an apple that falls on your head?” Sunny asked, and didn’t pause before she gave her the answer. “A fruit punch.”

  Yeah, it was lame enough to make Bernice probably wish that she hadn’t gone for rib poking. The joke hadn’t been worth the energy that Bernice had to expend for an eye roll.

  “Bernice, this is Ryan,” Sunny said. She kept her Funny Sunny tone and expression to bug Bernice even more. Sunny also secretly hoped that some of that sunniness would rub off on the woman. A thin temporary veneer of fake pleasantness would do.

  “Your boyfriend’s son,” Bernice muttered. That sounded like another scolding. “Your boyfriend who didn’t come with you.”

  Bernice no doubt knew about the breakup, knew that Hugh Dunbar and Sunny hadn’t parted on friendly terms after she’d ended their engagement one week before the wedding.

  “Hugh’s traveling around the country on buying trips and meeting with investors for some new stores,” Sunny settled for saying, and that was possibly the truth.

  Possibly.

  Hugh often traveled looking for rare and antique books for his small chain of bookstores, One More Chapter, that were scattered throughout the major cities in Texas. However, he hadn’t seen fit to fill in either Ryan or Sunny on his plans.

  Sunny got why Hugh wouldn’t have cc’d his ex-fiancée his travel itinerary. He was pissed off at her. Likely hated her guts. But, unfortunately, Hugh had let his broken heart and sour feelings spill onto his son.

  Hugh had just assumed that Ryan would stay with her as he normally did when his dad was traveling. And Ryan and Sunny had indeed wanted that particular arrangement to continue. But this time Hugh hadn’t bothered to clear it with either of them. In Sunny’s opinion, that made Hugh a giant, smelly turd who should be subjected to a Brazilian.

  On a huff and as if it were a great chore, Bernice stepped back to let Ryan bring in the bags. “Any reason this boy isn’t in school?” Bernice asked. “It’s April. Kids should be in school this time of year.”

  “I graduated from high school early.” Ryan set the suitcases on the floor. “I’m taking some online college classes, but I’ll be moving to the campus dorm in the fall to start a premed degree.”

  “You’re staying until the fall?” Bernice asked, her mouth tightening more than some prunes past their expiration date.

  “To be determined,” Sunny supplied as Ryan went back to the SUV for the groceries.

  When Sunny had spoken to Em, she’d been vague about how long she’d be staying, and she hadn’t offered any explanation about Ryan other than he would be coming with her to the ranch, too. Of course, Em hadn’t wanted explanations or the length of the stay and had instead said they were “welcome there forever.”

  “What about work?” Bernice asked. “Or did you ditch the job when you ditched your fiancé?”

  “No job ditching,” Sunny assured her. “I can work from here.”

  It wouldn’t be hard to do since she normally did her il
lustrations from home anyway. And, thankfully, she was so far ahead that she could determine her own workload for a few months, which was a good thing considering her low energy level.

  “Still working on those comic books then,” Bernice commented.

  “Graphic novels,” Sunny corrected. “Yes, I still work on them.”

  Well, she did the illustrations for one anyway. One very odd graphic novel series that had taken on a life of its own. Slackers Quackers, a lazy duck who woke up every morning in a new time and place.

  Sort of like Doctor Who with feathers.

  J.B. Whitman, the reclusive author, had originally written the stories for kids, but many adults—especially college students—had decided Slackers Quackers could be enjoyed on many levels. Levels that likely included huge amounts of tequila and other party enhancers.

  After ten years or so, Slackers Quackers now had a huge cult following, which in turn gave Sunny a paycheck. But it was more than that. So much more. Most people wouldn’t understand that the often silly drawings were on a different level for her, too.

  “You can put those in there,” Bernice said, tipping her head toward the kitchen when Ryan returned with the bags. “Though if Sunny did the shopping, I’m betting there’s not much in there that the rest of us will eat.”

  Since Sunny’s mouth was starting to hurt from all the fake smiling and teeth gritting, she went in search of Em. She threaded her way through the place. No modern open floor plan in this house. The rooms tumbled into each other with no rhyme or reason to the design. The living room fed into a guest bedroom, then into the dining room, then into a library/study.

  And that’s where she spotted Em.

  Her grandmother was at the window, earbud headphones in place, which meant she was listening to music. Not songs from her generation as many would expect. No, Em preferred rap, specifically Lil Jon’s “Get Low.” Sunny chose to believe that Em didn’t understand the curse words and sexual references in the song but merely liked the beat.