the question, taking in my disheveled appearance and heaving chest. It didn’t matter if the lung disease was ravaging her body. The medications to help the pain and progression dulled her senses but not her instincts as a parent. Her worried eyes searched my body, looking for signs of distress.
“It’s nothing, Mom, just drunk idiots at work. You know how they get sometimes,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that line, young lady. You might be all grown up, but I am still your mother. You can tell me now, or we can stay up all night and fight about it.”
I cringed. She knew I would never let her stay up. I was already worried because it was after two and she looked exhausted. The courts continued to fight on her behalf and that of dozens more, but it was a slow process. For many of them, it was already too late. The company they’d worked for having gone bankrupt, leaving the former employees they’d exposed to lethal chemicals with nothing.
“It was just some drunk asshole at work, Ma. I’m fine. I dealt with him.” I grinned.
“Alone?” Her eyes grew wide. “What did he do? Did he touch you?”
I cringed. “He got in a couple good moves before some other asshole jumped in. I would have handled it, though, even if Mr. Big Shot hadn’t shown up.”
“Oh honey, look at your shorts! They’re ripped down to the pocket. Did that man do that?”
“No, when he pulled me up in the truck bed, it caught on my door. It’s not deep, more surface damage than anything. I guess I’ll never make it as a hip model now.”
“You shouldn’t be joking around about this! Did you call the police?”
“Ma, no. I dealt with him,” I grinned. “Drained a prod right in his fat belly. He won’t be feeling right for a long time.”
She gasped. “Well! I bet he won’t be doing that again then!”
I collapsed into a fit of laughter with her. It was cathartic as my nerves started to wane, fatigue slowly creeping in. I leaned back against the old couch, taking in our apartment. It wasn’t much, but my mother had made it feel like home. She could only stay on her feet for about ten minutes before exhaustion took over.
I had tried for months when we had first moved in together to get her not to waste her energy on petty tasks like dishes. I was happy to handle it all. It didn’t take long for me to realize that she needed to be helpful, to feel needed and useful. After that, I didn’t fuss when she cooked meals or cleaned the house.
“So, who was this man who helped you?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know, some pompous ass, Jackson something.”
“Sounds like it’s a good thing he came along. I hope you thanked him. He was a nice fellow to help you like that. Maybe we could make him a pie.”
“Sure, if you plan on adding arsenic to it,” I grumbled.
My mom gave me a strange look. “Well, I guess Southern hospitality skips a generation. What did you say his name was?”
“Ugh, we don’t need to bake him a pie, Mom, and you aren’t going to go looking him up. He was very full of himself. I did thank him, now drop it.”
“Oh, you take all the fun out of things! Either way, it’s nice to see a little color back in those cheeks. If this Jackson character is the reason, I do approve.”
“Mama!” I scolded her.
I hated the way my cheeks flushed at the slightest emotion. Jackson had been a jerk, but there was no denying the heat he sent coursing through my body. He was tanned and build like a farmhand, but his expensive vest and looks told me he didn’t just work the fields. Jackson was a rancher.
My teeth ground together. Ranchers weren’t bad people. Most of them settled down early with their high-school sweethearts and went along their way. I’d heard a story or two about the ones who thought money and good looks were all they needed. Their parents had carved out a fortune and future for the spoiled Texas royalty.
They’d go around bedding anyone they wanted, writing a check, and skipping town like Wild West playboys. One look at Jackson and I knew which one he was. The most action he saw was probably at his private gym. I doubted he had worked a day in the field since his