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His dad was tooling around in the garage—Cam heard metal clanging against metal—and, pulling his leather jacket up around his neck, he headed there. Harry Booker was bent over the same lawnmower he’d been working on weeks ago. Johnny Cash sang “Folsom Prison Blues,” softly in the background, and the gas heater was on full tilt. Even so, it was cold. His father was bundled against the chill, a double layer of thick plaid, and for once, he wore a knitted hat. His complexion was on the pale side, but all considered, his dad looked good.
“Hey.”
His father glanced up and tossed his tool aside. “Cameron. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“Bah.” Harry made a face. “I could do without the damn radiation and the damn cancer, but other than that, I’m not too bad, I guess. Always someone worse off than me.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “You look like shit, son.”
“I look better than I feel.”
“Oh?” Concern lit up his eyes. “Your meeting with the lawyer and children’s welfare people go badly?”
“No. The well check visit went smoothly, and good news, my lawyer found Tawny’s biological father. The guy’s in jail. He had no problem signing off on parental rights.”
“That’s good, then.”
“Yes.”
“You under the weather, then? A couple guys I have coffee with are down with the flu.”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Huh.” Harry scratched at the whiskers on his chin. “You’ve got woman problems.”
A denial was on his lips, but it didn’t quite make it out. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Blue bailed on me and Tawny. She just bailed.”
“That’s surprising. I thought you two were good.” Concern laced his father’s words.
“You and me both. I gotta say it was like a kick in the ass.”
“Some women aren’t cut out for mothering.”
“It’s not that.” No way in hell. He’d see
n her with Tawny.
“What is it, then?”
Cam frowned, clamping down on his anger. “I don’t know. What I do know is that her bullshit excuse is just that. Bullshit. It’s driving me crazy because I can’t figure out why. How can someone pull a one-eighty in less than twelve hours? She left my place yesterday morning and came back last night a different person.”
His father shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured two steaming cups. He handed one to Cam and took a sip from his own before giving his thoughts.
“Seems to me something happened in those twelve hours.”
“But what?” Frustrated, Cam swore. He lifted the mug to his mouth and nearly choked on the hot liquid. He was at the end of his rope.
“I don’t rightly know. The only way to get your answer, son, is to ask.”
“I already did that last night, and she gave me nothing.”
Harry Booker shrugged. “Then you’ve got two options. You can forget about the gal or you can go see her and figure this thing out. Neither one of them is a guarantee, mind you,” his dad said quietly. “But at least with the second option, you know you tried, and that will make the first one a bit easier on you. If it comes to that.”
Cam stared down into his coffee mug. Blue had been pretty adamant that they didn’t see each other again. And truthfully, he’d needed some time, or he might have said some things he’d regret. But that was last night, and things had changed. A fresh batch of anger punched him in the gut, and he downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. His afternoon was wide open.
He handed the cup over to his father and gave the man a quick hug. “I’ll see you Sunday for dinner. Thanks, Dad.”
“Where you headed?” his father asked as Cam turned to leave.
