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Hopefully not because of something he said this time, but leaving nonetheless. Maybe this time, they could do that long-distance thing he’d mentioned last time. San Antonio wasn’t that far away. A couple of hours north, and he knew Dallas and Slate drove north to see Slate’s parents in Austin all the time. Spencer could easily hitch a ride with them, have them drop him off in San Antonio and pick him up on the way back.
“The short version?” Clarissa said. “I think I need more than that. I mean, you’re going to come to dinner with my family. That’s about as up-close and personal as you can get.”
Spencer smiled at her. “I already know your dad and brothers. It’s just your mom I don’t know that well.”
“Trust me, you don’t know my brothers either,” Clarissa said. “If you did, you’d eat before you came tonight, and then you’d be able to escape without regret.”
Spencer looked at her, more than happy to have her talk. “Why’s that?”
“They’re always so grumpy,” she said. “About everything. So judgmental about everyone and everything. Last night, we had a shouting match between Lee and Trav about how long it takes to move cattle from one pasture to another. Lee thought the cowboys were taking too long, and Trav was like, ‘dude, Lee, they need time to get animals to move.’” She shook her head and grinned. “It’s intense, dinnertime at the Cooper’s table.”
She gave him a smile, and Spencer sure did like it. It felt real, like he was getting the real Clarissa Cooper as she was today, not one from his memory, and not one shewantedhim to see.
“I can’t wait,” he said. “I’ve been dining with Me, Myself, and I for a long time.”
Clarissa looked up again, more surprise in her eyes. “I remember you being an only-child.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yep.” He quickly took another bite of soup.
“And your mother taught you to cook.” She gave him an encouraging smile.
“Yes,” he said. “Before she died.”
Clarissa did the spoon-dropping again, and Spencer should’ve warned her he supposed. “I’m so sorry, Spence. When did she pass away?”
“Years ago,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just miss her from time to time.” He lifted another spoonful of soup as if toasting Clarissa. “Like when I make this soup to impress a pretty woman.”
“Oh, wow,” she said, giggling again. “I do remember the bad pick-up lines.”
“Come on,” Spencer said, chuckling. “That was a good one.”
“Well, the soup is delicious, and I am impressed.”
“Thank you, Momma,” Spencer said, lifting one hand to his lips to kiss it and then raising it toward the ceiling.
Clarissa laughed again, and Spencer decided today was a huge win so far. He’d moved, and while he missed his friends already, he did love his little house. He’d seen Clarissa twice now, and he’d made her laugh a couple of times too. Both huge wins in his book.
He finished his soup and said, “My mother died when I was only thirteen, so she didn’t get to teach me a whole lot of different meals. I haven’t starved to death yet, so I figure it’s okay.”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Thirteen, Spence? I’m so sorry.” She swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “And here I was feeling all sorry for myself, because my mama will probably pass in the next year or so.”
“It’s always hard, no matter when it is,” Spencer said, turning his hand over and sliding his fingers through Clarissa’s. He was done spilling secrets from years gone by, and he smiled at her. “My daddy was a mean old cuss, Riss. I think I can handle your brothers.”
Fine, maybe he hadn’t finished his confessions yet.
She simply watched him for a few moments, and Spencer swore he could see pieces moving around inside her head, forming a whole new picture of him. At least he hoped that was what was happening.
The bells on the door chimed, and Clarissa flinched. They both turned toward the sound and a woman walking in with her son. “Oh, Miss Tungston. I have that herb and cheddar spread on clearance.” With that, Clarissa got up from the table and headed for the refrigeration unit, and Spencer lost her attention to the shoppe.
* * *
That evening,Spencer had unpacked all of his kitchen boxes. His clothes hung in the closet—well at least his shirts did. His jeans and shorts were all folded and sitting neatly in the dresser he’d made in the year he’d studied with a master carpenter. He’d decided that cabinetry wasn’t for him, and he’d searched for something else. Spencer had no formal education, and he was lucky to have a high school diploma.
Since he’d been at Hope Eternal Ranch for so long, and Ginger had been a partner with the Bureau of Prisons for years and years, Spencer had plenty of experience with people turning their lives around. He knew men who’d come out of the low-security prison and gotten their GED while they worked at the ranch. He’d seen them go on to college and then advanced degrees.
He didn’t want to go on to those things. He wanted to graduate from single to not-single. He thought of the feel of Clarissa’s hand in his. Although it had only happened for a couple of seconds that afternoon, it had opened about a dozen doors in Spencer’s life. Doors that hadn’t been open for him in a long time.
He pulled up to the farmhouse and peered at the cheery lights shining through the front windows. It wasn’t dark yet, but somehow the whole house seemed lit up from the inside. It pulsed with energy, and it drew Spencer toward it. Honestly, that vibrating, familial pulse of the place had called to him from Hope Eternal Ranch too. Being around people was something he craved, and finding a spot to belong among other men and women something he must have in order to feel complete.
