The following morning, Libby got a call from Julie Clark-Simpson, Matt’s mother, asking if they could meet that day.
She accepted the invitation, of course. She didn’t tell Matt because he’d already left for work; his truck was gone from his driveway. But he was expecting his mother to contact her, so it wouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, anyway. She just wished that he was as interested in the book as his mom was. That would certainly make things easier.
She headed over to the lodge, where Julie and her husband had their own suite of rooms in a quiet section of the east wing. Her anxiety mounting, she knocked on their door. A moment later, a tall, lanky man with weathered skin and thinning gray hair answered it. When he smiled, the crow’s feet around his pale blue eyes crinkled. He was probably around Kirby’s age, maybe sixty or so. But other than that, they weren’t anything alike. This old cowboy had an unassuming disposition, whereas Kirby took center stage, even when he was trying to be humble.
“I’m Lester,” he said. “Come on in. Julie will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Libby entered the main room and glanced around. Amid the woodsy decor were magazines spread out on tabletops and plaid pillows tossed on the beige-and-brown sofa. Family photos decorated the fireplace mantel. Unable to help herself, she wandered over to them. Some were of Matt when he was a kid. A handsome boy, she thought, with familiar eyes.
“I didn’t know him back then,” Lester said, joining her at the mantel.
“But you know him now.”
“Yes, I do. He’s a good man, strong and kind and generous. He gave me a job when I needed one, and now I’m married to his mama.” He gestured to a picture of an older couple. “Those are his grandparents. Julie’s folks.”
They looked happy, smiling in front of a Christmas tree, with opened gifts strewn on the floor at their feet. “It’s too bad Matt never got to meet them. He told me that they died before he was born.”
“A month apart. Can you imagine? Julie still misses them. It’s a shame that they aren’t here.”
“How did they pass, so soon apart?”
“He was sick with cancer, and she had heart failure.”
Libby studied the photo. Then she glanced at one of Matt’s childhood pictures, where he sat outside on a fence rail, his boots layered with dust. She guessed him to be about seven, eight at the most. He was wearing a cowboy hat that was far too big for him. She realized it was the same hat his grandfather was wearing in the Christmas picture. She quickly surmised that his mother had probably given it to him as a keepsake.
Lester interrupted the quiet. “Can I offer you a snack? I’ve got a pot of coffee ready to go, and Julie made some bean bread this morning. That’s why she’s running late. She was bustling around the kitchen after she called you. She wanted to have something special for you to nibble on. It’s a modern recipe based on an old Cherokee dish.”
“That sounds great.” Libby hadn’t eaten breakfast. She’d been in too much of a hurry to come here. “I appreciate her thinking of me.”
He led her to the kitchen. “Have a seat, and I’ll get it for you.”
She scooted onto one of the dining chairs. The table was round, scratched up a bit, with sturdy legs and a traditional Western star inlay pattern in the center. A matching hutch stood nearby.
“How do you take your coffee?” Lester asked.
“Truthfully, with anything you’ve got. Milk, cream, sugar, the fake sweeteners. I mix it altogether.”
He chuckled and loaded up the table with her request. “Julie likes those flavored creamers. Hazelnut is her favorite.” He set that out, as well.
“Thanks.” Libby added a dollop to her cup, along with everything else. “When I first started drinking coffee, I couldn’t decide how I liked it best, so I just went for it all.”
“You sound like an adventurous gal.” He placed a hearty piece of the bread in front of her, along with a napkin and a fork. “This is mostly made from corn, but you can see some of the pinto beans in there. We slather ours with butter,” he said, offering it to her. “Some folks put sugar or syrup on theirs. It can also be eaten with meat and gravy.”
She spread the butter and took a bite. “It’s wonderful.” The bread was thick and filling, with a homemade flavor. “I could make a meal out of this.”
“Glad you like it. Julie is all aflutter about making a good impression on you. The book you’re writing has got her coming and going. She barely slept a wink last night, and this morning she was rushing around like a headless chicken. She really wants Matt and his daddy to reconcile.”
“Me, too.” Libby continued eating. “I keep hoping he’ll come around to the idea. But he hasn’t yet.”
“I’ll leave that up to you and his mama.” He patted the back of her chair. “I need to head off to work. But first, I’ll check on Julie and let her know you’re enjoying her bread.”
“Boy, am I ever.” By now, her plate was down to crumbs.
“If you’re hankering for more, just help yourself.” He gestured to the pan on the stove. “Eat as much as you want.”
“Thanks. I will.”
After he left the room, she went ahead and took another piece, then resumed her seat and glanced out the window. She liked the ambience at Matt’s mother’s suite.
When Julie dashed into the kitchen, Libby snapped to attention. She was a striking woman with straight, shoulder-length black hair and elegant bone structure. She wore a red blouse tucked into a pair of boot-cut jeans. Her only jewelry was her wedding band. Her makeup was minimal, mostly just a splash of cherry lip gloss that accentuated her blouse. She was in her early fifties, but looked much younger.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said. “But Lester already told you how scattered I’ve been since I found out about Kirby’s biography.” She paused as if to compose herself. “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Libby stood to shake her hand. “The bread you made for me is delicious. I’m on my second helping.”
“It’s one of Matt’s favorites. I was hoping you would like it, too.”
“I definitely do.” Libby sat down again. “I’ve become friends with your son, even if he doesn’t approve of the book.”
“Matt is touchy when it comes to his father. But it’s been a long, hard road for him, having Kirby as his dad.” Julie gestured to her coffee. “Would you like a refill?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. Your husband is quite the host.”
“Lester is a sweetheart.” Julie poured herself a cup and joined Libby at the table. “I’m lucky to have him.” She added the hazelnut creamer and stirred it. “Before we get started, I want to clarify that I’m not ready to be interviewed. This is just an informal talk.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to rush you into anything.” Libby understood that Matt’s mother probably needed time to work through the past and consider the things she was willing to share. “I already explained over the phone that you’ll have to sign a release for our conversations to be official and for me to record you. So for now you can just say whatever you want, and we can start over on another day when you’re ready to do a formal interview. I want this to be a comfortable experience for you.”
“Maybe I should start at the beginning, with how Kirby and I met and why I allowed myself to become his mistress.” She glanced up from her cup. “If I tell you all of this now, I think it will be easier for me to repeat it later for the book.”
“I agree.” Libby wanted to hear as much as Matt’s mother was willing to tell her, on and off the record.
“Okay, let’s get started then,” Julie said, nervously clasping her hands in her lap. “I met Kirby when I was twenty. It was a difficult time in my life. I’d already lost my parents and was feeling terribly alone. After they passed, I moved in with my best friend and her boyfriend, but we had a falling out because I didn’t get along with her boyfriend. So they asked me to leave their apartment.”
Julie blew out an audible breath, as if the memory still pained her. “At the time I was in Austin, working at a horse boarding facility. I was also taking animal husbandry classes at a community college. I checked the bulletin boards at school and found a new roommate. After I moved in, she invited me to attend Kirby’s concert with her. She’d won two free tickets from a local radio station and didn’t have anyone to go with. She was new to the area and hadn’t really made any friends.”
Libby curiously asked, “Were you a fan of Kirby’s?”
“I didn’t know anything about him as a person, but I loved his music. It was especially exciting because the tickets included backstage passes, and it was the first time either of us had ever been backstage at a show.”
Intrigued, Libby imagined the scenario in her mind, picturing Julia as a younger woman, en route to a concert that would ultimately change her life.
“After the show, we went to this area where there was food and drinks with some folding tables and chairs set up for the guests. Our passes weren’t the all-access kind, where we could go back to the dressing rooms or anything like that. We were disappointed at first. We envisioned something grander.”
Libby understood. She knew how the levels of backstage access worked and that it wasn’t nearly as glamorous as people thought. “Did Kirby come out to where you were?”
“It took a while, but he finally did. And then he kept looking over and smiling at us, flirting, if you will. But he didn’t approach us, and we were too shy to go over to him. He was surrounded by other people.”
“So how did you meet him?”
“After he went back to his dressing room, his manager came over to us and said that Kirby was having a party the following night at his hotel and that we were invited. But my roommate couldn’t go. She was going out of town for a family wedding that weekend. I debated what to do, and if I was brave enough to attend Kirby’s party by myself.”
“I assume that you were.”
Julie nodded. “It was the scariest thing I’d ever done. Kirby had a suite that overlooked the city, and I went traipsing up there, this little nobody, totally out of my element. I was too nervous to mingle. All I wanted was to get out of there. And just as I was planning on leaving, Kirby came up to me. He told me that he’d been looking for me and my friend, hoping that we came. But mostly it was me he wanted to see. I was the reason he invited us.”
Here was where the plot thickened, Libby thought.
A range of emotions crossed Julie’s face. She sat quietly for a moment before she said, “He was the most compelling man I’d ever met, so rough and wild and charming. He wasn’t partial to groupies or women who threw themselves at him. He liked that I was a regular girl.” A frown creased her brow. “He told me that he was married, but that he and his wife had an understanding. I should have walked away then. Being with a married man, under any circumstances, wasn’t within my moral compass. But God forgive me, I got swept up in it.”
“How often did you see him after that?”
“Just here and there. He would send me airline tickets so I could meet him on the road. I kept it from my roommate. I didn’t want her to know I was sleeping with a married man. In fact, I lied and told her that I never went to the party. She had no idea that I’d even met Kirby. I pretended that I had out-of-town jobs on the weekends I was gone. After a while, it didn’t matter because she went back to the little farm town in Iowa where she was from, and I moved into a big fancy apartment that Kirby paid for. He pretty much paid for everything, so I quit my job and went to school full-time. But I had to be available whenever he needed me. I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter that he was married or that he had two small boys. According to my newfound rationale, I wasn’t a home wrecker. He’d told me that his wife’s only stipulation in their arrangement was that he didn’t have any kids with anyone except her, so I wasn’t breaking any of their rules.” Julie sighed. “About a year later, I got pregnant.”
Silent, Libby nodded.
Julie shifted in her seat. “I was on the Pill, and I was diligent about taking it. I never missed a dose. So the best I can figure is that I threw it up on one of the nights when I had too much wine with Kirby. I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I don’t handle alcohol very well.”
“How did Kirby react when you told him about the baby?” About Matt, Libby thought.
“He went nuts, freaking out about what to do. He didn’t ask me to terminate the pregnancy because he knew that wasn’t an option for me, not with my spiritual beliefs. Finally, he said that we would just have to keep it a secret so his wife never found out. And that’s what we did, for many, many years.” Tension edged Julie’s voice. “I wasn’t Kirby’s only mistress. But eventually, I was the one who ended his marriage. Melinda divorced him when she discovered Matt’s existence.”
“I know, but she’s friends with Kirby again. In fact, she wants to meet Matt. She’s interested in knowing him. So are his brothers.”
“Really? Oh, thank goodness.” Julie relaxed a bit. “My guilt has been eating away at me all these years, with the way I hurt her and her children. I realize it was Kirby who kept the truth from them, but I was still part of the lie.”
“Matt told me how faithful you were to Kirby. The years you spent being loyal to him, staying up at night, waiting for him to visit.”
“It sounds crazy when I look back on it. But he was the father of my child, and I loved him as much as a woman can love a man who’s sharing himself with other women. I think he loved me, too, in his own needy way. But he was as guilty as I was, so our relationship never really made much sense. Plus there were his drug and alcohol problems. He had all sorts of demons.”
“He’s conquered most of them, except for the way he abandoned Matt. Aside from this book, Kirby doesn’t know what else to do to get Matt’s attention.”
“Matt has other issues. Not only what he suffered from Kirby.”
“I’m aware of his divorce and how it affected him.” Libby knew he was more than just Kirby’s secret son.
Julie seemed surprised, her cup coming to a halt midway to her mouth. “He told you about Sandy and her children?”
“Yes, and I’ve been telling him about my deceased husband and my son. I’m a widow, too.”
“Oh, my.” Julie was still holding her cup in the same position, without drinking, without moving. “I’m so sorry you lost someone you loved.” Her gaze turned soft and searching. “I’m glad you’re friends with my son. That you’re confiding in each other.”
“I’m glad, too.” But there was more to Libby’s feelings for Matt than she was letting on: the ever-raging battle of their attraction. She couldn’t say that to his mother.
“I’m convinced that Matt reconciling with his father is the right thing to do. I think it’ll help Matt move on with his life.”
“I agree. But so far I haven’t been able to bring him around to my way of thinking.”
“You must be more influential than you’re giving yourself credit for or Matt wouldn’t have told you so many personal things about himself. He doesn’t do that with just anyone.”
“We’ve established a deep rapport.” But a confusing one, too. Nothing in her research had prepared her for being as attached to Matt as she was. But again, she didn’t reveal that to his mother. Libby was being cautious, keeping her romantic notions to herself.
* * *
At ten o’clock that night, Libby climbed out of a long, warm bath and put on a pair of blue silk pajamas. Her hair was pinned up, with damp tendrils curling around her face.
A knock sounded on her door, and she assumed it was Matt. She hadn’t seen him all day. Besides, who else would show up at her cabin like this?
Sure enough, when she opened the door, there he was, standing under the porch light, his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and his jeans fitting in all the right places.
He gazed at her pajamas. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you on your way to bed?”
“Not yet. I just was going to make a cup of herb tea. But now that you’re here, why don’t you come and join me?” She couldn’t very well send him away.
“Okay.” He crossed the threshold. “I just got off work. I was swamped this evening, but I wanted to see how your knee was doing.”
“It’s fine. Hardly noticeable anymore.” Unlike the pounding of her heart. Last night he’d carried her to bed to doctor her knee, and tonight he was here again, checking up on her.
He followed her into the kitchen, and she put the water on to boil. While they waited, he said, “Those match your eyes.”
“What does?”
“Your pj’s.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and now her nipples were getting hard—a reaction to being around him. She wished the water would hurry up and boil.
He shifted his stance. “That color looks pretty on you.”
“Thank you.” She reached up to remove the pins from her hair and let it fall. “I forgot to take my hair down after I got out of the bath.” She pulled some long strands forward, trying to camouflage the outline of her nipples.
Her hair wasn’t covering her all the way, but he didn’t appear to notice her dilemma. Or he was pretending not to. She could have kissed him for that. Well, maybe not kissed him, exactly. Not for real, anyway.
He said, “I don’t drink tea very often.”
She removed two plain white cups from the cabinet, glad that he’d said something mundane. She could handle normal, everyday conversation. “I prefer coffee, but herb tea is nice at night.”
“I think the water is ready.”
Libby glanced at the pot. It was just starting to bubble. “You’re right.” She put the tea bags in their cups and poured the water. “Do you want sugar or anything?”
“No, thanks. It’ll be fine the way it is.”
“For me, too.”
“You don’t put all sorts of junk in your tea?”
“I just do that to my coffee.” She dunked her tea bag, making the liquid stronger and darker.
Matt did the same thing. Then they both removed the bags and set them in the sink.
He sipped his tea first. “This tastes pretty good. It smells good, too.” In a quiet voice, he added, “So do you, Libby. Like flowers or something.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and it wasn’t just from her teacup. Damn him for putting her in this predicament. He was back to saying things she wished he wouldn’t say.
He continued, “On the first night we danced together, you smelled lemony. And on the day you came to my place dressed in that motorcycle-type gear, you smelled spicy.”
“I like to change up my fragrances.” Tonight she’d used rose-scented bath salts.
“It all works on you.” He glanced toward the living room. “Should we sit a spell?”
She nodded. Standing in the kitchen talking about how good she smelled certainly wasn’t helping the situation.
They went over to the sofa and sat down. Before he said something else that disturbed her, she asked, “Did your mother tell you that I met with her this morning?”
“No, she didn’t.” He put his cup on the end table next to him. “I haven’t seen her today.” Frowning, he asked, “How did it go?”
“It was an informal discussion. Not an interview.”
“Is she going to let you interview her?”
“Yes. She just needs a bit of time to think about how much information she’s willing to share.”
“What did she share with you today?”
Libby cocked her head. “I thought you didn’t want me to tell you.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I just got curious for a second. But forget I asked.” He waved away his interest. “I don’t want to hear about my mom’s relationship with Kirby. I lived through enough of it already. It’ll just bug me all over again.”
Libby agreed that this wasn’t the time to discuss it. But since neither of them could think of anything else to say, they slipped into a bout of painfully awkward silence.
He looked into her eyes, capturing her gaze with his, and that was all it took for the sexual awareness to come back.
Her pulse ticked like a time bomb. His was probably doing the same. Now what were they supposed to do? Stare at each other half the night, with heat zigzagging between them?
She’d never been so frazzled in all her life.