Page 76 of Just What She Needed

"That's too bad, man. I mean that. It's hard to find a woman who can handle who we are and what we do. They're one in a million."

"No." Rhys forced the words through the constriction in his throat. "She wasn't one in a million. She was once in a lifetime."

"If that's the case, then I'd sure as fuck fight a little harder for her. But that's just me. You gotta do what you gotta do." Drew got to his feet. "I'm getting a little cool out here. Gonna head inside. You coming?"

"No," Rhys said. "I think I'll stay out here a while and look at the stars."

Drew laughed. "You can't see any stars out here."

"Maybe not. But if I close my eyes, I can pretend I see them."

28

I won't be a rock star. I will be a legend.—Freddie Mercury

The smell of fresh ink tickled Rhett's nose as she bent over the real estate section of the classifieds spread out over the kitchen table. Yes, she could look all this up online, and she would, too. But drawing circles around the listings that interested her could only be done on an old-fashioned newspaper. There was something satisfying in seeing those listings outlined in red Sharpie. It made her feel as if she was making progress. Too bad she was probably going to hate these houses as much as the dozen or so she already toured.

She was still in love with that old Victorian, even though she had yet to get up the nerve to call the agent about it. The fact that there were no photos of the interior online was ominous, not to mention it was still on the market after so long. And speak of the devil, there it was again in the classifieds. Price reduced.

Rhett paused, her red marker hovering above the listing. That reduced price could be either good or bad, depending. Good, because it meant the asking price was even more affordable. Bad, because no one else wanted to buy it. Why did that damn house tug at her heart so? With firm strokes of her pen, she circled the listing. She'd never know if she didn't go look at it, and she could get Gary to go with her. Even though his relationship with Mel cooled, they were still friends, like all of Mel's exes, and it couldn't hurt to have a contractor with her when she toured the place.

It was probably going to turn out to be a money pit, and to buy it would be a huge mistake. She should just cross it off her list and forget about it. Why add to a lifetime of bad decisions? The boys she dated in high school who only wanted sex, going ahead with things when Todd didn't have a condom handy, quitting her safe, comfortable job after Todd died, Rhys James Collinsworth.

She snapped the cap back on the pen and carried her now-cold coffee into the kitchen. Four months had passed since she last saw Rhys, but she still thought about him every day, whether she wanted to or not. She had to stop listening to the radio since 12 Inches, Illicit's latest album, was released, but even that didn't help. She didn't need the sound of his voice to make her miss him. It was kind of like when she broke the index finger on her left hand while helping Todd change the brake pads on his truck. Until that splint was on her finger, she never realized how much she used that hand. Tasks she took for granted became difficult, her movements while going about her day became clumsy. And the times when she forgot the finger was broken and bumped it against something, the sharp, exquisite pain almost made her sick. The times she thought about Rhys had the exact same effect on her.

She held up her left hand and examined the index finger. Despite the splint, it would never be straight again but jag a bit toward her middle finger. Her life was a lot like that since she lost Rhys, not straight and defined, but always showing the evidence of when it was broken. She didn't fault him for trying to placate his daughter, and she never would. He was a father who wanted to do the best thing for his child. What she faulted him for was the way he agreed to all of Sienna's demands, including the forced separation from Rhett. That, and not recognizing the girl's machinations to completely break them up. Being a concerned father was one thing. Being a patsy was quite another. He could blather on all day about how much he cared for Rhett and how much he wanted to be with her, but to let an eighteen-year-old spoiled brat's whining keep them apart negated all that.

The muffled sounds of "Mama Told Me Not to Come" came from her back pocket, and Rhett reached back to pull out her cell phone. She wondered where her mother was this week. Since that first spa weekend, she and her friend Patsy had become quite the travelers. They were never home, and despite their somewhat strained relationship, Rhett missed seeing her mother. In fact, the last time she laid eyes on the woman was the day she sold her house.

"Hey, Mama," she answered the phone. "So where are you this time? California again? Paris? Katmandu, maybe?"

"Rhett, honey, it's not your mama. This is Patsy."

The combination of hearing a voice she didn't expect, and Patsy's heavy, teary tone caused Rhett to go rigid with dread.

"Honey, you and Melanie need to get to Fort Worth. Your mama's in the hospital, and it's not good."

If Rhett lived to be a thousand and one years old, she would never forgive herself for not recognizing that something was wrong with her mother. So caught up in her own life, she shrugged off the changes she saw in Bettina. The sudden urge to travel when she'd been a homebody all Rhett's life, the weight loss, even the understanding way she accepted Rhett's move to Dallas and Mel's long work hours. Rhett assumed her mother wanted to make changes in her life, to embrace her freedom the way her daughters did. The truth was that Bettina was preparing for the end of her life.

If she hadn't been told the shrunken woman in the hospital bed was her mother, she wouldn't have believed it. Dealing with the pain from the pancreatic cancer that metastasized to Bettina's liver and kidneys carved deep lines in her face, rendering it almost unrecognizable. The cancer itself had eaten away at her body, leaving behind a skeletal shell. And she dealt with it on her own, the way she always dealt with things, refusing to let Patsy tell Rhett or Mel until it was almost all over.

Though she wanted to take her mother's hand, Rhett was afraid to do it. She had no idea if her mother was awake, but if she wasn't there was no way Rhett would wake her. Bettina's doctor told them that even heavy doses of morphine couldn't dull the excruciating pain. If her mother could catch a little relief in sleep, then Rhett would let her sleep as long as she could.

Movement at the door caught her eye, and she turned to see Mel tiptoe into the room. Her sister sat on the other side of the bed, and for the first time she looked every one of her forty-six years.

"Is she asleep or just knocked out?" Mel whispered.

Rhett shook her head. "I don't know. What'd the doctor say?"

"It's just a matter of time now." The muscles in Mel's throat moved as she swallowed heavily. "He said it probably won't be long. Those trips she supposedly took with Patsy? She was in the hospital every time. Pain management. The doctor said she refused any kind of treatment when the diagnosis was made. It wouldn't have...wouldn't have done any good, anyway, just put her through more hell." She pressed her lips together hard for a moment. "I oughta kill Patsy for not telling us."

"No, you shouldn't," Rhett replied. "It wasn't her decision, it was Mama's. Patsy only did what she was told."

"We should have been told. I swear, I'm gonna rip her head off next time I see her."

"No, you're not." The frail, thready voice from the bed made both sisters freeze for a moment with wide eyes and open mouths. Mel recovered first.

"Mama, we didn't mean to wake you."