Lone Star Read Online Free

Mostly.”
    Web appeared around the side of the house and took the steps in that long stride of his. “Where the hell were you?”
    “Sleeping. Where the hell were you?” It came out muffled because by then Mamie had shoved the picnic basket to Mitch and thrown her skinny arms around him. Mitch hugged her back instinctively—and then harder when he felt the fragility of her bones and smelt the familiar scent of honeysuckle and soap.
    “Welcome home, honey,” Mamie whispered and there was an unexpected sting in Mitch’s eyes.
    “Crawling in through your bathroom window,” Web answered Mitch’s previous comment. “I thought maybe you hit your head harder than you thought last night.”
    “I didn’t hit my head last night.”
    Mamie and Web exchanged disbelieving looks. Mitch put a cautious hand to his forehead and winced. “Did I?”
    “Honey, you look like somebody throwed you in a blender and turned it on high. Why didn’t you tell anyone you was comin’ home?”
    “I didn’t know myself.” Mitch turned and went back inside to have a look at the damage. Mamie and Web followed, Mamie still scolding him for not letting anyone know he was planning a visit.
    “It was last minute.” Mitch paused at the mirror in the hall and peered at himself. His hair was chestnut-colored and currently styled in what Mamie would probably describe as a rat’s nest. His wide, tilted eyes were green and made an interesting contrast to the bruise darkening the left side of his face. His beard was coming along although the assorted nicks and cuts he’d picked up during the accident made it look like he’d had second thoughts about that.
    “I don’t remember getting hit in the face. I guess I caught some of the air bag when it deployed.”
    “I guess you did.” Mamie shivered. “Web told me the whole sorry story.”
    “I bet.”
    Web said grimly, “You’re lucky not to be crippled or dead.”
    Mitch couldn’t help an instinctive shudder at the word crippled . “So you said last night.”
    “Well, you’re home now and you’re safe and sound.” Mamie stroked Mitch’s arm as though he were a nervous horse than needed gentling. He smiled at her. He had always liked Mamie. Maybe even loved her. He didn’t have anyone like Mamie in his family. Hell, he didn’t have any family except his old man and now he didn’t have his old man.
    That was the good news.
    Except, strangely, today it didn’t feel like good news.
    His stomach suddenly growled, far too loudly to be overlooked. Web and Mamie laughed, and after a moment so did Mitch.
    “I’ve got the remedy for that, don’t you fret.” Mamie led the way to the kitchen. Mitch followed, uncomfortably aware of Web treading practically on his heels. The back of his neck prickled in atavistic response.
    Mamie went straight to the long, wooden table where Mitch had eaten meals separated by eight feet of polished maple wood from his father. She opened the picnic basket and began to unload its contents while Mitch looked on helplessly. A small, old-fashioned milk bottle came out followed by several plastic food containers.
    “What is all that?” The warm fragrance wafting from the basket made his stomach do a petit saut .
    Mamie began to peel the lids back. “Fresh strawberries, blueberry pecan muffins… Web said you hadn’t had time to pick up any grub. I told him that was a sorry kind of homecoming, and I put together this little ol’ breakfast basket and made him drive me straight over here.”
    “That was…neighborly of you, but you really didn’t have to.” Mitch watched Mamie lift out a white plate covered with wax paper. His taste buds were salivating. He hadn’t had food like this in years.
    “Texas quiche,” Mamie informed him proudly. “Made with green chilies and Tabasco sauce.”
    Mitch glanced at Web, who was silently watching the proceedings. “Texas quiche? Isn’t that an oxymoron?
    “Aunt Mamie has been taking cooking classes. We’ve been