Rescue Me

her had made her brain go all mushy and made her want more, too. Made her go out and buy new underwear. Not that she’d get to wear the new underwear for four days. She’d started her period that morning, something that was always met with either relief or irritation, depending on her sex life, no matter how condom conscientious she was.

She wasn’t positive that Vince would see her new underwear. She hoped so. She liked him, but there were no guarantees in life. Especially when her life was so up in the air. Living long-term in Lovett wasn’t in her future, at least not any time soon. As far as she knew, it wasn’t in his, either. They were just two people enjoying each other for as long as it lasted.

When she walked into the rehab hospital late that morning, her father was asleep. It was only eleven A.M. and she retraced her steps to the nurse’s station. She was told he had a slight fever. They were watching him but didn’t seem worried. Since the accident, he’d had some fluid in his lungs, which was a concern. She asked about it and was told that there was no change in the sound of his lungs.

She sat in a chair by his bed and kicked back to watch some daytime television. Until her father’s accident, she’d been fairly unaware of daytime programming, but all the court television shows pulled her in, and she vicariously watched other people’s crappy lives. Lives even crappier than hers.

The cell phone in her purse chimed, and it had been so long since it rang at all, she pulled it out and stared at it for a few moments. She didn’t recognize the phone number, and she hit the inbox button with her thumb. There was one text with two words: Bored yet?

Her brows drew together. Vince. It had to be. Who else would ask if she was bored, but how had he gotten her cell number? She hadn’t given it to him and he’d certainly never asked. Who is this? she texted back, then set the cell on the nightstand next to the yellow daisies. She looked at her daddy. He didn’t appear different, but he was usually up and grouchy by now. She thought about touching his forehead but didn’t want to wake him up and have him yell at her.

She turned her attention back to Divorce Court and shook her head at the stupidity of some women. If the first time you meet a man, his “rig” is sitting on blocks in his front yard, he probably isn’t going to be great husband material. There were just certain bona fides a man had to have. Tires on his rig was below baseline in the bona fides department.

Her cell chimed again and she opened the text and read: How many men do you have making sure you’re not bored at night?

She laughed and glanced at her dad to make sure he didn’t wake up. She ignored the squishy little feeling in her stomach at the thought of Vince and his green eyes watching her. At the moment . . . one. She pushed send and he texted her back. If the guy has what it takes, you only need one.

She smiled. She really did like him, and wrote, Hooyah. Her father moved in his sleep and she looked up at him. He scratched the fine gray whiskers on his cheeks as her phone beeped.

Bored right now? she read.

Sorry. Out of commission for the next few days. She hoped he got her meaning and she didn’t have to go into details.

A few minutes later he texted back, Are your jaws out of commission?

She sucked in a breath and her thumbs flew across the tiny keyboard in a texting fury. Seriously? she wrote. What a jerk. I’m not going to blow you just because I started my period. What a horse’s ass. And she’d liked him, too. Thought he might actually be an adult.

After several minutes he wrote back. I was going to ask if you wanted to grab some lunch. What kind of men have you been hanging out with?

Oh. Now she felt bad and texted back, Sorry. I’m crabby and crampy. Which wasn’t true. She’d always been fortunate to have light periods with few symptoms. Her father moved again and she wrote one last time before she put her phone away. Lunch isn’t good. I’ll text later.

She reached for her father’s hand on the side of the bed. It felt warmer and dry to the touch. Well, drier than normal for a man who’d lived his life in the Texas panhandle. His eyes opened. “Hey, Daddy. How’re you feelin’?”

“Right as rain,” he answered like always. If the man had arterial blood spurting from his throat, he’d say he was all right. “You’re here,” he said.

“Like every day.” And like every day she asked, “Where else would I be?”

“Living your life,” he answered like always. But unlike always, he added, “I never wanted this to be your life, Sadie Jo. You aren’t cut out for it.”

He’d finally said it. He didn’t think she could cut it. Her heart pinched and she looked down at the swirly patterns on the floor tiles.

“You always wanted to do something else. Anything but herd cattle.”

That was true. Maybe still was. She’d been in town for a month and a half and hadn’t stepped up anywhere near her father’s shoes and taken any responsibility for the JH.

“You’re like me.”

She looked up. “You love the JH.”

“I’m a Hollowell.” He coughed and it sounded a bit rattly as he grabbed his side, and she wondered if she should hit his call button. “But I hate goddamn cattle.”

She forgot about the sound of his cough and calling a nurse. Everything in her stilled like he’d just told her that the Earth was flat and you fell off into nothingness somewhere around China. Like he hated Texas. Like he’d lost his mind. She gasped and clutched her chest. “What?”

“Stupid smelly animals. Not like horses. Cattle are only good for T-bones.” He cleared his throat and sighed. “I do love a T-bone.”

“And shoes,” she managed. He looked like her daddy. Same gray hair, long nose, and blue eyes. But he was talking crazy. “And really nice handbags.”

“And boots.”

She held up the socks. “I got you something,” she said through her fog.

“I don’t need anything.”

“I know.” She handed him the socks.

He frowned and touched the nonskid bottoms. “I guess I can use these.”

“Daddy?” She looked at him and it was as if the world was indeed suddenly flat and she was falling off. “If you hate cattle, why are you a rancher?”

“I’m a Hollowell. Like my daddy and granddaddy and great-granddaddy. Hollowell men have always been cattlemen since John Hays Hollowell bought his first Hereford.”

She knew all that, and she supposed she knew the answer to her next question. She asked it anyway, “Have you ever thought of doing anything else?”

His frown turned to a deep scowl and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t answer or changed the subject as he always did when she tried to talk to him about anything that might make him uncomfortable. Instead he asked, “Like what, girl?”

She shrugged and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I don’t know. If you hadn’t been born a Hollowell, what would you have done?”

His gruff, scratchy voice turned kind of wistful. “I always dreamed of driving truck.”

Her hands fell to her lap. She hadn’t known what she’d expected him to answer but not that. “A truck driver?”

“King of the road,” he corrected as if living out the dream in his head. “I would have traveled the country. Seen a lot of different things. Lived different lives.” He turned his head and looked at her. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was making a connection with the man who’d given her life and raised her. It was just the briefest