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Vic smiled sadly. The
re was a lot his son didn’t know. “Let’s go.”
Claire left ahead of them, drawing his gaze to the feminine shape of her body. She waited by the truck for him to open the door and climbed into the back like she always did. Never once did she accidentally do anything in order to get closer to Vic.
For months now he’d waited for a sign that she saw him as more than an employer and Jeremy’s father. But at this point the writing on the wall was clear that the miracle he longed for wasn’t going to happen. Other women came on to him, but since she’d come to work for him, his thoughts had turned more and more to her until he couldn’t see anyone else.
You’re a fool, Malone.
He started the truck and circled around to the street.
“Hey, Dad—how come we’re taking the horse trailer? I didn’t know you loaded the horses.”
“I didn’t. I guess I forgot to unhitch it, but it’s too late now.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you turn on the radio and find some music you like?”
Jeremy crooked his head at Claire. “What’s the kind of music I like again?”
“Do you mean reggae?”
“Yeah.”
Vic learned something new every day. “I like that reggae, too.”
His son’s head whipped around. “You do?”
“Sure.”
“When we go in the car, you always listen to the weather or the news.”
Good grief. To prove he wasn’t a grandfather yet, he turned on the radio and scanned for the right station. Austin radio played a lot of good reggae. Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” was playing now, bringing back memories. For the most part he’d avoided listening to music since the tornado because it filled him with haunting pain. But for some reason it didn’t bother him today. On the contrary.
Vic turned up the volume so it filled the interior of the truck. “Is this what you like?”
Jeremy’s face lit up. “Yeah.”
“It’s cool music, huh?”
“Yeah. Did Mom like it?”
“She loved it. You must be her son.”
His comment passed right over Jeremy, who said, “Claire likes it, too.”
Of course Claire liked it. He flicked her a glance through the rearview mirror, but she was looking out the window. In fact, every time he’d tried to make eye contact with her during the drive, she’d been studying the landscape. Was it on purpose, or was he truly invisible to her as a flesh and blood man?
He smiled at his son. “I think everyone likes reggae. It’s fun.”
“I know. Claire told me it comes from Jamaica. We looked it up on the map. It’s not that far away from Texas. We both want to go there someday. Have you ever been there?”
“Not yet.”
For the moment his son’s unhappy mood had lifted. The music was entertaining. Don’t fix it if it’s working. Vic left the station on and they were treated to reggae music all the way to Luckenbach.
“Are we going to Clint’s house?”
