KeepingFaithCole Read Free

dark-haired girl with the
luscious dark chocolate eyes would not only hate his mother, she’d hate him,
too.
    But, then again, Lucille had
never shown too much interest in him anyway. More than once, he’d tried to
catch her eye, but whenever he tried to talk to her, she always turned away,
always had better things to do.
    Not that he blamed her.
    Like everybody else in
Sunset, she looked down on him, and why the hell not?
    All the same, he’d held on
to some crazy hope that maybe, with Ma working at the dressmaking shop, they
could all get better acquainted. Maybe Lucille would look beyond the coarse
exterior and come to see what was inside of him.
    Just one more foolish dream,
that’s all.
    His mother grabbed the reins
and pulled back.
    “Ma? What the—”
    “There’s one, right there.”
She pointed to the two-story building on the corner. The one with the swinging
doors. The Red Mule saloon.
    “We’re not stopping.”
    She reached out and placed a
hand on her son’s arm. “Tommy, listen to me, please. You think I don’t know
what’s in your head?”
    The softness of her voice
touched him. Never had he heard his mother speak with such sincerity.
    “You’re thinking I’m nothing
more than an old sot who can’t handle her liquor, but
you’re wrong, son.” She lifted her gaze, studying him with clear, blue eyes.
“I’m not asking you to take me out and let me go off on a spree.”
    With his thumb, Tom wiped a
tear from her cheek.
    “I know I made life hell for
you and Sally when you were coming up, and I’m sorry for it. The last few years
have been hard ones for me, but in a lot of ways, they’ve been good ones, too.
Good, because I’ve learned from them.” She lowered her gaze. “I’ve changed,
Tommy, and I intend to do right.” Her breath shuddered, and she looked up
again. “Just keep that damned, self-righteous minister away from me, and give
me one bottle of good rye whiskey. That’s all I’m asking.”
    “Ma, I—”
    “Hush, baby, let me finish.”
She stroked his callused hand with her long, knobby fingers. “Just let me sit
in my rocking chair at the end of each night, have a little nip of whiskey, and
I’ll be all right. I’ll get up every morning, and I’ll go to work. And I
promise you, I’ll work right hard at that shop, doing whatever I’m asked to do.
I’ll make you proud of me.” She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “I had
no right to expect you to give me another chance. But you did.”
    He held her close. “It’s all
going to work out.” For the first time since he’d seen his mother standing at
the stage depot that afternoon, Tom actually believed it could work. And if he could find Sally, they could be a real family
at last.
     
    * * * *
     
    Too nervous to do any fancy
stitching, Lucille McIntyre held a tin canister filled with buttons on her lap
and pretended to sort through them. She wasn’t accomplishing anything, just
passing time. She glanced up, looked around, then tried to return her attention
to her task. She couldn’t concentrate.
    From across the shop, she
heard her mother’s soft laughter.
    “Watched pots never boil,
dear.”
    “I’m not watching any pots.”
Lucille frowned.
    “No, but you’re sure keeping
a close eye on that door.”
    “I know.” With an anxious
sigh, Lucille turned toward her mother. She hesitated, unsure whether she
should speak her mind or remain silent. “Do you think we’re doing the right
thing?” she asked at last.
    For a moment, mother and
daughter looked at one another. Neither seemed to be too certain. Finally, the
older woman nodded.
    “Yes, I think we are.”
Although a smile appeared on her face, her voice showed her doubts. “It’s our
Christian duty to help where we’re able.”
    Lucille wished she could be
as accepting as her mother, but she had too many misgivings. “I’ve heard things
about her, Mama. Things we didn’t know when we offered to help.” She clutched
the tin canister