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Slate exhaled, and Spencer could just picture him running his hand up the back of his neck and through his hair. “Wow, Spence, this is tough.”
Spencer didn’t like that Slate didn’t just tell him what to do. “Yeah,” he said. It was a tough situation, and he didn’t want to reason through it on his own.
“You have to go with your gut,” Slate said. “What’s it saying?”
“It’s saying that if I don’t call the police, Ernest could end up here again, and I don’t want that.” He got to his feet and paced away from the kitchen table where he’d eaten a few meals with his dad. They’d talked about very little, as Spencer had found he had nothing to say to his father. And his dad had never really had any use for Spencer.
That had stung and reopened several stitches in Spencer’s life that he’d thought he’d closed permanently. He just wanted someone to want him so badly, and without his momma, that desire had fallen on his dad.
But his daddidn’twant him, at least not for more than a few nights of shelter so he could hide from the authorities. Spencer had given him a couple hundred dollars too, and he wondered if he could get in trouble for that.
“Maybe you should call then,” Slate said.
“Yeah.” Spencer sighed. Not calling made breathing difficult, and his next thoughts turned to Clarissa, her brothers, and her parents. Everyone else working on the ranch could be in danger or trouble because of Ernest. Spencer wouldn’t be the reason for that. “I think I’ll call.”
“I’m sorry,” Slate said. “I was hoping this would have a happy ending, but it might not.”
“It’s okay,” Spencer said, the smile flashing across his face almost painful. “We each have our own path to trod.”
“Stay strong, brother,” Slate said. “Let me know what happens.”
Spencer promised he would, and the call ended. The clock told him he needed to get over to the shoppe, as he’d agreed to meet Clarissa a half an hour early so she could demo her recipe for him. Her interview at The Hot Italian was on Thursday, only a few days from now, and she still hadn’t decided for sure what she’d be cooking.
Before he left, he leaned closer to the computer and tapped in the number for the hotline in New Jersey. A woman answered only a moment later with, “Atlantic City Police Department, how many I direct your call?”
“My name is Spencer Rust,” he said, and then he inhaled deeply. “My father is Ernest Rust, the man your cops are looking for. He stayed at my cabin in Texas over the weekend, and I know what vehicle he’s driving.”
Silence came through the line, and then the woman said, “Hold, please. I’m transferring you to Deputy Chief O’Connell.”
* * *
“You’rethe macaroni to my cheese,” Spencer said, grinning at Clarissa as she put a bowl of the creamy, steamy macaroni and cheese in front of him. She didn’t even crack a smile, and Spencer shook his head. “Come on. That was funny.”
“Just try it,” she said. “I can’t watch.” She turned away from him, her nerves as palpable as the joy had been when Marco Holmbrook had first called over the weekend.
Spencer picked up his fork and dug right through the breadcrumbs and parmesan cheese topping to the savory noodles beneath. “Smells good,” he said. “Looks good. I think you’re checking all the boxes.”
“Mac and cheese is so trite,” she said, pacing over to the counter where a binder lay.
“It’s Italian,” he said. “It’s going to be perfect.”
“It’s Kraft,” she said, turning to face him again. “It’s Southern. I don’t know if it’s Italian in the truest sense of the food culture.”
“It’s pasta,” he said. “Which you made from scratch and then refrigerated until your demo. That’s going to win him over for sure.”
Her green eyes widened and watched him take the first bite. The creamy milk and tangy cheddar, combined with a flavorful noodle, made him roll his eyes back in his head and moan. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “This is amazing.” He took another bite, almost wishing there weren’t any breadcrumbs or topping. He wasn’t going to say that though.
He hadn’t told her he didn’t want her to go to San Antonio. He wouldn’t crush her plans and dreams by saying or doing anything stupid this time. His role here was of support, and he was determined to be her biggest cheerleader as she set off for San Antonio and the restaurant career she so wanted.
They hadn’t talked about what might happen to them once she left Sweet Water Falls, but Spencer was viewing it as a bridge he’d cross when he had to. Right now, they were just circling it, trying to find another way across the gulf to each other.
“I think this is reallygrate,” he said, grinning at her. She finally gave him a smile in return, and he was going to need to look up more cheesy puns to make it through this week. “Seriously,” he said. “It doesn’t get anycheddarthan this.”
Clarissa burst out laughing then, and Spencer joined her.Finally, he thought. She joined him with a bowl of mac and cheese, and they enjoyed lunch together without any interruption from the bell out front.
Spencer washed their bowls while she put the mac and cheese into the same containers they used for spreadable cheese. “Mama will love this,” she said.
He turned and put his arms around her, glad when she leaned back into his embrace. “I’m going to miss you while you’re gone this weekend,” he murmured, his lips right at her ear. The scent of cheddar, orange, and vanilla filled his nose, and he closed his eyes as the moment lengthened and softened.
