One From The Heart Read online

  “Oh,” he said when she didn’t go on. “So how long have you known this … Ernie?”

  “Eighteen hours,” she said evenly.

  He smiled and tugged at a strand of her hair. “Want to go someplace tonight?”

  “I can’t.” She wondered if he’d been listening at all.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have a baby-sitter,” she said, realizing for the first time, after years of hearing her friends and co-workers say those very same words, what an impact they had.

  “You mean the kid’s staying here?” he said incredulously.

  “Yes, of course she’s staying here. What did you think—”

  “For how long?” he interrupted.

  “Rick, I don’t know. I just told you: Elizabeth’s gone.”

  “And you’re going to keep her daughter until she comes back? Hannah, there are agencies that take care of this sort of thing.”

  “Just what kind of agency did you have in mind, Rick? The pound?”

  “The Department of Social Services, for openers. Hannah, you can’t keep her.”

  “Why can’t I? I’m her aunt.”

  “Have you got her birth certificate and immunization records?” he interrupted again, his annoyance showing now.

  “No. What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, if you want her in good day care—and I assume you do—you have to prove how old she is, you need proof that she’s been immunized. If she hasn’t got any records, she’ll have to have all the shots over again, and she can’t have them unless her parent or guardian gives permission. You aren’t her parent or her guardian. You see the problem? And what if she gets sick or hurt? You can’t give permission for anything she might need. How are you going to work unless you can get her into day care? You might find a private individual to keep her, but that’s expensive. You took a big pay cut when you came to KHRB.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” she said, feeling like the half-wit Ernie thought she was. She hadn’t considered any of these things.

  “On People’s Eye I do something about child care almost every week. You’ll have to have her declared a ward of the court and then file a petition for guardianship—”

  “I’m not going to do that!”

  “Well, what else can you do, Hannah? Who’s going to keep her for you?”

  “I am,” Ernie said from the doorway, and his frown told Hannah he’d been listening for quite a while. “I’m supposed to stay away from bull chasing for ten days,” he said to Hannah. “I was planning to hang around Dallas anyway. I’ll keep Petey for you.”

  “You can’t do that,” Hannah said, because she knew he didn’t want to, and he certainly didn’t have to.

  “Sure I can. You know she’d be all right with me.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I don’t see there’s much choice, Hannah—with the mess Libby’s left you in. I can do it for ten days or so. That’ll give you time to decide what to do if Libby’s not back by then.” His eyes held hers. Kind eyes, understanding eyes, eyes that made her want to do something silly like cry or fall at his feet in gratitude and hug his knees—knee.

  “Ernie, I don’t know what to say.” She was telling the truth. She didn’t. And she couldn’t keep from looking at him, all of him. He smiled—not the mischievous smile she’d been getting, but one that was gentle and a little shy. She was seeing the real John Ernest Watson at that moment, she thought, not the hell-raising womanizer Elizabeth had described, not the rodeo clown, and not the rascal who blithely took his pants off in strange women’s bathrooms.

  “Well, now, this is cozy,” Rick said, his talk-show-host sarcasm intact.

  “What this is,” Ernie said quietly, “is none of your business.”

  “Yeah, right,” Rick said. “None of my business. You keep the kid for Hannah, and she’ll take your pants off for you.”

  “I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

  “Oh, please,” Rick said, holding up both hands. “Spare me the Gene Autry Cowboy Code of Honor fisticuffs.” He got up and headed for the door. “Hannah? It’s been fun. Be seeing you around.”

  “Rick—” Hannah protested, but he didn’t stop, slamming the door hard on his way out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SILENCE IN the room grew long and heavy, broken only by the sound of the rain against the windows and Petey’s singsong rendition of “Honky Tonk Man” in the kitchen. Hannah tried to smile, knowing she wouldn’t have to look far to discover just who had taught it to her. Her beloved Ernie, who was probably just like the man in the song, devoted to drinking and gambling and wild women, and begging to come home to the poor woman who loved him, only when his money ran out.

  Lord, she shouldn’t be feeling the things she was feeling about him, much less considering his offer of child care! He was watching her closely, as if he expected her to cry over Rick’s dramatic departure. But Rick was the last thing on her mind, and damn it all, what choice did she have?

  She finally looked up at him. He was standing with his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets and his hat shoved to the back of his head. He hobbled over to the couch and sat down beside her—not such a good idea since he couldn’t do it without stressing his injured knee. Hannah instinctively put her hand on his bare forearm to steady him, and that wasn’t such a good idea, either. She was perfectly aware she had no business touching him and the feel of his warm, muscular arm beneath her fingers was nearly her undoing. She quickly took her hand away.

  If I just stay away from him, it’ll be all right, she promised herself. She even halfway believed it. Anyway, it was just for a day or two, until she could think of something else. “Ernie—”

  “You okay?” he interrupted, his voice as gentle with her as it had been with Petey when she’d had her nightmare.

  “Ernie—”

  “I’m … sorry about your boyfriend, Hannah. I could talk to him if you want, explain to him how you happened to take my pants off.”

  “Ernie—”

  “I don’t think he’ll stay mad long, Hannah. And you can’t blame him. When a man thinks his woman is taking off somebody else’s pants—”

  “Ernie!”

  “What?” he said finally, his face breaking into a grin.

  “Could you take care of Petey now? I’ve got to finish some scripts for a furniture-outlet commercial, and I have to monitor an adult reading class at the library. It’s part of a KHRB public service project, and those people will be waiting for me. I have to be there.” She was uncomfortable enough to be rattled, television background or not, but he’d made the offer, and she needed him, God help her, no matter how dangerous he was.

  He smiled, but he was looking at her curiously. “You’re not one to cry over spilt milk, are you?”

  “No, and I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, either. Rick is … upset, because he’d rather be upset than have to deal with a woman who has a problem. Can you take care of Petey for me now or not?”

  “You got it, Miss Hannah. We’ll stay out of your way until you get what you need to do finished.”

  “There’s just one thing—”

  “I’ve been on the wagon for twenty-two months and ten days, Hannah. If the time comes when I think I can’t make it any longer, I’ll bring Petey to you,” he said, anticipating her question and looking her in the eye. “And I’ve got to say just one thing of my own.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll look after Petey so you can work, but that’s all. I’m not taking her off your hands so you can run around with Roderick.”

  “Frederick,” Hannah corrected. “And I don’t run around—with him or anybody else.”

  “Just so we understand each other.”

  “Oh, I think we understand each other,” Hannah said. Neither of them wanted any more trouble.

  “Now, why does that make you mad?”

  “It doesn’t,” she lied, and she was careful not to make eye contac
t. The comment did make her angry, because he assumed she was like Elizabeth. She wasn’t. She was herself. And it was disturbing to her how much she wanted him to know it. “I’ll check around so I’ll know how much to pay you—”

  “Now, that’s another thing,” he interrupted. “It’s not going to do for us to keep offering each other money. It’s kind of crazy when you think about it—when two people are as poor as we are.”

  She tried not to smile, but didn’t quite make it. “I’ll pay you,” she said firmly when she had her face under control. It was the only way she could justify doing this. She glanced at him. He was looking at her—a bit tolerantly, she thought. The same sort of look he might give Petey when her ambitions exceeded her capabilities. Well, she meant what she said. She might have to pay him in installments, but she would pay him.

  “Miss Hannah, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Nothing,” she said shortly, getting up from the couch.

  “How about a little help,” Ernie said, holding out his hand to her.

  She hesitated, knowing she’d have to take both his hands to get him standing. Her small hands were lost in the warm roughness of his big ones, and the contact only served to verify what she already knew: She must be out of her mind. This infatuation of hers was going to give her nothing but grief, and Lord knew, she already had enough of that.

  Ernie was as good as his word, keeping Petey in the living room watching television while Hannah worked diligently at the kitchen table. Her mind kept wandering as she listened to their conversation. He really was good with Petey—firm, but kind. She couldn’t keep from smiling at the enthusiasm with which the two of them watched a Dukes of Hazzard rerun. It was hard to tell sometimes which sound effects came with the show and which were supplied by Ernie and Petey. She left for the library at seven, surprised that she would really rather have stayed and watched sitcom reruns with her niece and her impromptu baby-sitter. It was well after nine when she returned. She came back to an empty apartment, fighting the panic until she found a note telling her that they had taken her extra door key and gone to McDonald’s for milk shakes. She went to work again at the kitchen table, hearing them when they returned. But they didn’t seem to require anything from her, and she forced herself to keep working, finishing the scripts shortly before midnight. She was satisfied with the result, but God, she was tired. She looked up to find Ernie standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’m finished. Thanks, Ernie. I’ll take over with Petey now.” Somehow.

  “No, she’s asleep. Has been for a long time. You stay where you are.”

  “Why?” she asked as he limped into the kitchen, her first dreaded thought that he had another session of first aid planned. She couldn’t even cope with touching his bare arm; she’d never manage his bare knee.

  “You got to eat, Miss Hannah. I told you that last night. I haven’t had anything to eat since that brown milk shake, so I’m going to whip us up something.”

  “Whip away,” Hannah said in relief. She had groceries now, and she was too tired for false courtesy. If he wanted to cook, he could cook. “A brown milk shake?” it suddenly occurred to her to ask.

  “That’s what Petey ordered for us at McDonald’s: two brown milk shakes.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows once, and Hannah smiled in spite of herself. What a nice man he was, she thought in dismay. Handsome, beautiful sad eyes, kind to small children, and nice for goodness’ sake.

  He made Spanish omelets and coffee while she watched. Admittedly, she was more interested in the cook than in the cuisine, and her eyes followed him constantly, as if something he did or didn’t do was going to tell her the real reason why he’d come back to Dallas. Not that she didn’t already know the real reason—his regard for Elizabeth. She noted that he worked quickly, in spite of having to limp around the kitchen, and that he had other injuries, old injuries: a crooked little finger on his left hand, scars on the bridge of his nose and in the middle of his chin. He looked up once, she thought because he felt her staring at him, but he didn’t say anything, giving her a sassy wink and going back to what he was doing with only a brief thoughtful glance. The eggs were delicious, and she ate with more zest than she had in some time, both because she had finished the scripts and because she was quite frankly enjoying the company of the cook.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “Where did you learn to do this?” It was hard for her to accept such incongruous talent in a rodeo clown.

  “Here and there,” he answered vaguely.

  “Ah,” she said. “Some woman taught you, right?”

  He gave her his well-rehearsed mischievous grin and didn’t answer.

  “So,” she said. “How did you get to be a rodeo clown?”

  “Just kind of fell into it, I guess. I started rodeoing when I was a kid. I was pretty good at it—got to be Best All Around Cowboy once. And then one day they were short a clown, so I figured I’d give it a whirl. I was young and crazy then,” he added with a pleasant little chuckle she hadn’t heard before. “Now I’m just crazy.”

  “Go on,” Hannah said, smiling in return.

  “Well, I liked it. I like”—he paused to find the right way to say it—“keeping a man from getting hurt if I can. It makes you feel good when some cowboy comes up to you and shakes your hand and tells you he appreciates what you did for him out in the arena.” He stared too long into her eyes, and Hannah was the first to look away.

  “Do you have children?” she asked next, feeling an intense need for conversation. She had to do something. She was so aware of him she could hardly stand it.

  “No,” he answered. Period.

  “Then how do you know so much about them?”

  “I don’t. I like kids. They like me. You get to meet a lot of kids when you’re a rodeo clown. And I’m a godfather.”

  “You’re a godfather?” She didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but somehow, as good with Petey as he was, he was still supposed to be a hard-drinking womanizer—not a likely choice for a godparent.

  “I have two god-children,” he said in the same tone of voice. “A little boy and a little girl. The boy’s name is Adam McDade—he’s five. His sister’s name is Cissy. She’s almost two. They live in Chimayo, New Mexico. Their father, Mac, and I have been friends since we were boys.” He smiled and looked her directly in the eye. “I know it’s crazy for people like Mac and his wife Amelia—and Libby—and you—to go around trusting me to take care of their kids. But they do. What can I say?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Hannah looked down at her plate. She’d hurt his feelings, and she hadn’t meant to do that. The silence lengthened, and the eggs she’d been enjoying weren’t so enjoyable anymore.

  “So,” Ernie said after what seemed a long time. “Did you get fired from the big station downtown or what?”

  She looked up at him sharply, thinking he wanted to pick a fight because she’d insulted him. She still thought so, in spite of his grin. “No, I didn’t get fired from the big station downtown. Do you always ask exactly what you want to know?”

  “Always,” he assured her. “I move around a lot. I don’t have the time to waste on working up to something. So why did you leave?” he persisted, pouring her another cup of coffee without asking. He made excellent coffee, too, Hannah noted.

  “I’ve moved around a lot myself, but a little tact is never amiss.”

  “So why did you leave?” he asked again, ignoring her pointed observation. His eyes studied hers, making her feel as if there were things he wanted to know about her, things he would know, regardless of what she said or did.

  “I had a moment of truth and saw myself as a despicable person,” she answered shortly, getting back to her omelet.

  “Yeah? I had one of those, too. That’s when I quit drinking. Kind of like Saul-on-the-road-to-Tarsus, aren’t they? So where was yours?”

 
“None of your business, Watson.” She was finding conversation wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  “I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything. If I waited around for things that were my business, Petey and I wouldn’t be here. She’d be in a foster home someplace, and I’d be in South Dakota. Go on. Tell me. I’m not going to think badly of you.”

  “I don’t care if you think badly of me or not!” she said, knowing she just didn’t want him to think she was anything like Elizabeth.

  He grinned. “Then tell me. Where was it?”

  “In the Dallas airport!” she said in exasperation. His grin widened, but there was something in his eyes that suddenly lessened her annoyance—empathy, she supposed. “It was … after an airliner crashed. My cameraman and I were one of the first news teams to get there. They wouldn’t let us out to the crash scene, so we worked the airport. People … were coming in. People who didn’t know if their family and friends were on the plane that had crashed on takeoff. We dogged them through the airport—really great pictures, you know?

  “You have to get great pictures because that guarantees you a spot on the six o’clock news—maybe a chance to be picked up by the network. And if you’re in the news business you want to get picked up by the network. A few good spots today, and you’re an anchor somewhere tomorrow.” She stopped, because she’d never spoken about the real reasons for her resignation to anyone. She looked at him across the table, again noting how at ease she felt talking to him. She didn’t know what it was about him that made her let her guard down the way she did. Maybe it was because he seemed to be so open about things—about some things, at least.

  “Go on,” Ernie said quietly. She wanted to look away from him, and she couldn’t. And she wanted to tell him.