Riding Shotgun
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Barb Han
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Chapter One
One photograph had turned the life Emerson Bennett had known for nearly thirty years on its head, shifting her world into chaos. A woman holding an infant, beaming. The baby in the picture was Emerson and she had no idea about the woman except the knowledge she was Emerson’s mother. Strange, because she’d grown up with the belief her mother had died in a car crash, and the photos in frames around the house had a very different woman in them.
A need for answers brought her to the small Texas town of Cider Creek and to an even smaller convenience store, B-T, which she assumed stood for Bait and Tackle since that was the main advertisement. There was a two-handle gasoline pump out front, and the store window promised ice, snacks and soft drinks.
The smell of worms and dirt struck her the moment she opened the glass door. A bell jingled but the large-framed attendant who looked old enough to be her father barely glanced in her direction.
“Excuse me.” Emerson stepped toward the gentleman in overalls who stood behind the counter. The man was tall, six feet two inches if she had to guess. Sunspots dotted the skin of his face. Timeworn skin hung on a sturdy frame. He had the body of a man who knew a hard day’s work.
He mumbled something unintelligible as he flipped the page of the fishing magazine he was browsing. She had a name and this address. The links to the woman in the picture weren’t so clear.
Emerson approached the counter, her gaze steady on the man.
“Are you Bynum Ross, by chance?” she asked.
Without making eye contact, the man reached for an object on the opposite side of the cash register. He produced a small key attached to a big orange plastic bauble with Ladies written on it in black permanent marker.
“Mr. Ross, I’m not here to use the restroom,” she said, a little more insistent this time.
The man dropped his hand to the counter with a clunk as the key hit the glass. He held up a finger, halting her next words in favor of continuing his reading. A couple of beats later, he lifted his gaze. For a split second, she could have sworn recognition dawned, which made no sense because Emerson was certain she had never seen this man before. She’d never been to Cider Creek, and as far as she knew, never met any of the town’s residents.
“Do you know me?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.
“No,” he said quickly, a little too quickly.
She didn’t respond, contemplating if he’d just lied.
“What can I help you with, darlin’?” he asked, regaining his composure in a heartbeat.
She bit back the urge to tell him the first thing he could do for her was not call her darlin’. Being addressed like a four-year-old at nearly thirty was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Getting answers trumped pride, so she cleared her throat and started over.
“Since you didn’t correct me before, I’m hoping that means you are Bynum Ross.” As she spoke, his grip around the orange plastic bathroom key bauble caused his knuckles to turn white.
Mr. Ross gave an almost imperceptible nod, but his lips and eyes told the real story. His gaze narrowed and his lips compressed into a frown. Obviously, he wasn’t happy to see her.
“I’m looking for someone,” she started. She’d rehearsed half a dozen lines on her way here from Arlington, where she’d grown up with a single father. Now saying the words out loud caused her tongue to stick to the roof of her mouth.
“Looks like you found him,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her. All hope he would be cooperative flew out the window given the chilly reception she received so far.
The bell on the door jingled as Emerson’s pulse kicked up a couple of notches. All she had to do was remember to breathe and she could do this. The hope of figuring out who the woman was in the photo she’d found tucked behind another in a frame as she’d gone through her dad’s things spurred a boost of confidence.
“Not exactly. It’s not you,” she said before pulling the photo out of her purse and setting it on top of the counter. “I’m trying to locate the woman in the picture, and I thought you might know who she is.”
Mr. Ross balked. He barely glanced at the photo before shoving it toward her as though it might bite.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said briskly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
Emerson looked around. There was one customer inside the shop and none at either of the pumps. The physical presence of the man at the wall of coolers behind her filled the room. She didn’t dare turn to get a good look at the distraction. Instead, she quirked a brow as she turned to face Mr. Ross.
“Is there anyone in town you could recommend that I speak to?” she asked. “It’s important that I find this woman. It’s personal.”
“Not one,” he said as he shrugged her off like she was an irritating fly on a horse’s backside.
“Sir, please. Any information you have that might help me in my search would be much appreciated.” She wasn’t above begging after, while at her father’s wake, she’d overheard her aunt say what a shame it was that Emerson had no idea who her real mother was. Grieving, Emerson could have sworn she’d heard wrong. After subtly confronting her aunt, who denied she’d said anything of the sort, Emerson’s suspicions grew. Her aunt’s dishonesty was a huge red signal.
And then Emerson had found the picture that was so old it was literally stuck to the one in front of it. She’d peeled the second layer off to find a woman holding and beaming at infant Emerson while standing in front of B-T.
So, she was here for answers. She had no idea how she was going to get them out of the stubborn man behind the counter. But returning to Arlington empty-handed after coming this far couldn’t be the way this day ended. There were too many questions buzzing around inside her head, penetrating her thoughts, disturbing her sleep. She couldn’t walk away from her only lead. Every person had a right to know the basics about themselves: their name, where they’re from, who their real parents are. If what her aunt had spoken in hushed tones that cold November afternoon was true, Emerson had been lied to her entire life by the one person she’d trusted implicitly. Her father.
“Sorry, I don’t have what you need here. Might want to head on home,” Mr. Ross said and then waved his hand like he’d just dismissed her. Right before the brush-off came a warning look so fast she almost missed it.
Head on home? Was this man serious? Based on his lackluster expression, he was. Giving up on the only lead Emerson had was unimaginable. The hard lines on Mr. Ross’s face told her that he wasn’t one to give in once he dug his heels in. To prove the point, he started flipping through the pages of the magazine again. Small towns were known for taking care of their own. Was her mother from here? Did she grow up in Cider Creek? Was she still here? If she was, would she want to meet her daughter?
An awareness of the other person in the small building who was walking up right behind her drew her attention away from Mr. Ross. A woodsy and spicy all-male scent filled her senses when she inhaled, causing a low-burning fire to start in her belly.
“May I help you?” Mr. Ross looked over her head at the customer standing behind her. She sidestepped to allow passage as she noticed how wide Mr. Ross’s eyes had become.
“Rory Hayes? Is that you all grown up?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” A strong male voice sent sensual vibrations skittering across her skin. And...awareness.
Emerson risked a glance at the tall, handsome-as-sin stranger. He was taller than Mr. Ross by a good two inches, younger by several decades and clearly more attractive. There were big expressive eyes on a face of hard planes with a dimpled chin. He had enough scruff on his face to be sexy. His hair was cut almost military short. A scar on his right cheekbone and rough hands suggested he performed manual labor. The Hayes name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t really recall why.
Ignoring the heartbeat that was currently battering inside her rib cage, she unwittingly locked gazes with the stranger. An emotion passed behind those brown eyes of his that she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but she could stare into those honey-browns for days.
“Are you home to stay?” Mr. Ross asked. The man seemed a little too ready for a distraction.
“Visiting,” Rory stated. His tone had that polite but impatient edge that Mr. Ross seemed blissfully unaware of. Or maybe the older man was trying to force conversation with Rory so she would give up and leave. Since all her hopes of figuring out who the woman in the picture could be were pinned on Bynum Ross, she stayed rooted to the spot. Maybe she could wait him out and he’d get so tired of her standing there that he would give her some piece of information. Anything would be better than what she’d walked in the door with.
“How long has it been?” Bynum asked.
“Almost thirteen years.” After he swiped his card and while waiting for his receipt, Rory stared at the picture that was still on the counter. He turned to her. The air in the room crackled the second their eyes met.
“I grew up here and still know a few folks in town. I’ll be around a couple of days and don’t mind asking around if you need a hand,” he said.
Those words sounded like heaven. Did she dare hope this man could help find her mother? If so, was Emerson headed toward another reality slap?
“THAT’S NOT NECESSARY,” Bynum Ross interjected in a surprise move to Rory. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why the older man cared at all.
“I just heard you saying that you couldn’t help,” Rory pointed out. “Now, I might have been gone a long time, but last I checked, folks in ranching communities still helped each other out. Or has something changed I don’t know about?”
The stranger blinked a couple of times like she couldn’t believe her ears. A twinge of guilt hit Rory. He hadn’t been home in twelve years. Had Cider Creek changed so much that he could no longer recognize it? Bynum still owned the bait and tackle shop, so, clearly, not everything was different.
“Emerson,” she said, turning to him and offering what could only be described as long delicate fingers in a surprisingly firm handshake.
“Rory Hayes,” he said before shooting Bynum a look. “What’s going on?”
“I didn’t say anything was.” Bynum seemed to backpedal as he threw his hands out. “This young lady is mistaken. No one here can help with what she’s asking. That’s all. There’s no need to waste her time when she probably has better things to do.”
Bynum had never been one to speak unnecessarily. The fact he was babbling didn’t sit well with Rory. Meant he was either covering up something or lying. The question was why.
“The ‘young lady’ probably has a good handle on what she wants to ask and why,” Rory defended. “I’m sure she has her reasons that have nothing to do with any one of us. But if we can help her, we should. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Suit yourself,” Bynum said with a shrug. And yet, his stiff shoulders belied the sense of ease he was trying to portray.
Again, why?
What could Bynum possibly have to gain from dismissing Emerson? Rory was curious now and he was in no rush to get home anyway.
“It’s okay,” Emerson said before turning to Bynum, who pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted the small beads of sweat that had formed on his upper lip. Interesting that the older man could be sweating considering it was fifty-eight degrees outside last time Rory checked the thermometer in his truck.
His cell buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and checked the screen.
“I need to take this,” Rory said by way of apology as he started toward the door. “I’ll be back to get my things.”
“Go ahead. They’ll be waiting right here,” Bynum said. The sense of relief in his voice sent up another red flag but Rory had to take this call. He made a beeline for the door before answering. He could call Liv back if she rolled into voicemail but he couldn’t risk anyone in town finding out he had a daughter before his mother heard the news. He would be in trouble either way but there was no use making it worse.
Outside, he immediately answered and caught the call in time.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Hi, Daddy,” Liv practically chirped. On the cusp of her thirteenth birthday, his once sweet and innocent child was morphing into a teenager complete with the emotional ups and downs to prove it. He never knew what her mood was going to be. Based on her tone, she was having a good day.
“How was school today?” he asked, glancing back through the glass doors in time to see Bynum coming around the counter at Emerson. With his index finger, Bynum poked the newcomer in the middle of the chest. Whoa.
“It was good,” Liv said, interrupting his train of thought before starting into a detailed exposition about her friends Rachel and Dirk, who had apparently got into yet another verbal sparring match in the lunchroom. Liv sighed heavily. “Now no one wants to sit together and I’m supposed to decide which one of my friends I like the most. It’s insane, Dad. Like, how am I supposed to deal with them when they won’t speak to each other?”
“I’m sure they’ll work out their differences,” he reassured. In truth, Rory couldn’t remember what he’d been like at twelve years old, but the word handful came to mind, especially considering he had five brothers. Rowdy was another word that probably fit the bill. He and his brothers had been close growing up, which caused another pang of guilt at the fact they’d grown so far apart. Most didn’t even know they were uncles.
Friendships were everything to Liv at this stage.
“I highly doubt it,” she protested. He’d also noticed how dramatic she’d become in the past year and feared it was only ramping up.
“Can I call you back in a few minutes?” he asked. Liv didn’t seem to have anything critical to report or discuss, and he very much wanted to go back inside to find out what the hell Bynum’s problem was. He’d been a longtime friend of Rory’s father. They’d been close enough for him to attend a few barbecues every summer. The man was going too far as he backed Emerson up a couple of steps, and Rory couldn’t idly stand by.
“Sure, Dad,” Liv whined. She really was a great kid and he hoped he was doing a good job with her. Being a single parent was not for the faint of heart, and he’d been a kid himself when she’d been born.
“Or we could keep talking,” he offered. Without a partner around to help bring up Liv, everything was on him. All he wanted was for his daughter to be healthy, grow up happy and figure out what she wanted to do in life—the same as every other parent. At least he guessed others wanted the same things. He’d never had the time to join any parent groups as he’d been busy building a home construction business from the ground up.
“I’d love to, Dad, but Rachel’s calling, so I better go. Love you,” Liv said and immediately ended the call before he had a chance to respond.
This encounter summed up life with an almost teenager. She needed him until she didn’t. But what had his attention right now was the way Bynum was treating Emerson. Blame his upbringing or the fact chivalry wasn’t dead in his book, but he couldn’t watch a person being intimidated by someone bigger or louder.
He might regret his actions, but that didn’t stop him from marching back inside.
“What the hell, Bynum?” Rory asked.
“Mind your business, son.” Bynum’s words shot right through Rory.
This was his business now and he intended to keep at it until Bynum gave an acceptable answer.
