Книга - The Way to Texas

The Way to Texas
Liz Talley


Her stay in Oak Stand, Texas, is only temporary. After a series of setbacks, Dawn Taggert is giving herself one year to pull everything together so she can start over somewhere else. No putting down roots here. No romantic entanglements. No exceptions!Not even the very persuasive Tyson Hart can change that. A contractor looking for a fresh start himself, Tyson is the type of guy who promises forever–and means it. But Dawn refuses to let those whiskey-colored eyes, that smooth voice and the broadest set of shoulders this side of Houston weaken her resolve. Her mind is made up. Now, if she could only convince her heart…









Tyson’s hand touched her cheek


It was the slightest of touches. Dawn forgot how to breathe as his lips brushed against hers.

She pressed her mouth to his, fully, sweetly and not so gently. He curled his large hand beneath her hair, angling her head so he might sample her lips fully.

He tasted like warmth, crackling fire and butterscotch schnapps. She couldn’t stop tasting him.

A dam broke inside her, flooding her body so that the woods faded around them. All that existed was this man, this incredible man who did incredible things.

She’d never felt anything like it. Ever. And that was the most dangerous sensation of all.




Dear Reader,

I love second-chance stories—or in my heroine’s case, third chance. Something about weary, beaten people finding love when they least expect it restores my faith in romance all over again. I’ve always believed when people stop wanting love badly or planning for love, it’s sure to sneak up on them and grab them by the heart.

Dawn and Tyson are like so many couples in the world today. They each emerge scarred from divorce, so their conflicts with falling in love come from family, bad experiences and self-doubt. And let’s be honest, is anything easy when teenagers are involved? But in the end love triumphs. Of course.

I hope you enjoy a trip back to Oak Stand, Texas. It’s such a wonderful little town, and in this story I’ve got some octogenarians who will make you laugh. And, of course, you’ll see Nellie and Jack again.

I would love to hear from my readers either by post at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171 or through my website, www.liztalleybooks.com.

Happy reading!

Liz Talley




The Way to Texas

Liz Talley







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


From devouring the Harlequin Superromance books on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance novel. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath her baby-food-stained clothes a dream stirred. Liz followed that dream and, after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a menagerie of animals. Liz loves strawberries, fishing and retail therapy, and is always game for a spa day. When not writing contemporary romances for Harlequin Superromance, she can be found working in the flower bed, doing laundry or driving carpool.


This book is for my brothers, Matt and Blake.

Two guys who believe in happy endings and always see the glass as half-full…just like Tyson.

It’s also for my grandparents, whose warm humor trickled down into all of us and made hard times a bit softer.

And I can’t forget my husband and boys—you are my world.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


IT’S A KNOWN FACT THAT when a woman can’t find her day planner, all hell will break loose.

But as Dawn Taggart stamped the last of her paper work, she gave herself a mental pat on the back. No day planner. No problem.

Hell had been firmly contained.

“Here you go, busy bee. Have some homemade pound cake,” her sister-in-law Nellie said, entering the small office off the kitchen. She placed a pretty filigree plate holding several pieces of cake on the desk.

“Nell, you really need to rest before the baby gets here.” Dawn gave Nellie a firm look—the same look she’d given her very pregnant sister-in-law over the past several days. Of course, her stomach growled, ruining the reprimand.

Nellie shrugged. “Can’t seem to rest. Guess I’m nesting.”

“You think?” Dawn said, recalling the cranberry muffins Nellie had made earlier, not to mention all the polishing she’d done on the silver pieces displayed around the center.

Nellie dropped into the chair next to the desk, groaning as she supported her distended belly from underneath. “I’m just worried about the center. I know you can handle everything. It’s been important to me, you know?”

Dawn picked up a piece of the still-warm cake. It would go straight to her thighs but was worth it. “We’re going to be fine.”

And they would. The huge Victorian Tucker House had belonged to Nellie’s family for generations. When Nellie had married Dawn’s brother, Jack, and moved out to the ranch, she’d converted the home into a much-needed senior center, designed to help families by caring for their elderly family members during the workday. The whole concept had been wildly successful.

When Nellie had learned she was pregnant, she’d asked Dawn to serve as temporary director for Tucker House. The situation proved fortuitous because Dawn not only needed a job, she also needed a break from life in Houston. A life that had made her vulnerable—a feeling she hated beyond all others.

“Ow!” Nellie said, rubbing her back.

“You okay?”

She shifted on the chair. “Yeah, just a backache I’ve been fighting all afternoon. It’s killing me.”

She had probably overdone it today. Jack had dropped her off early this morning and she’d worked steadily around the center, only stopping to play one game of canasta with a few clients. Way too much activity this close to her due date.

A thready voice interrupted from the open doorway. “Homer’s not here yet.”

The last client of the day, Aggie Richards, stood there, her bent form casting a long shadow on the polished wood floor of the hallway. Late-afternoon sun somersaulted through the leaded glass window and fell onto her housedress in whimsical patterns.

“Miss Aggie, I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Nellie said, rubbing her back again.

“He had to go to Longview to get a part for that truck of his that’s always breakin’ down.” The elderly lady’s voice wavered as she fiddled with the buttons at her throat.

“He’s running late,” Dawn said, rising from her swivel chair and patting the elderly woman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll give him a call. If he got tied up, Nellie and I will run you by the salon on our way home.”

“Pish,” said Miss Aggie, waving a blue-veined hand in her direction. “I guess I can see myself home. Did it all my life, didn’t I? Don’t need to hassle with Judy. She’s an imbecile.”

Dawn bit her lip. She had to agree with Aggie. The elderly woman’s daughter-in-law was an imbecile. “Why don’t you sit and have a piece of Nellie’s pound cake? I’ll go call Homer.”

Dawn slipped into the kitchen to use the phone, leaving the other two chatting about the merits of planting shrubs in the fall. She wanted another cup of coffee though her nerves still felt raw from an afternoon of wading through a mound of applications and permits, not to mention a surprise call from Larry the Snake, her ex. He’d miscalculated on his taxes the year before and wanted her advice. As always. The man wouldn’t allow her to break all the ties between them, not that she could, since they shared a son. Still, his constant intrusion really got old.

So as soon as Miss Aggie left, she had a date with a glass of chardonnay and the bathtub.

As she grabbed the cordless phone, the color-coded calendar she kept on the bulletin board next to the butler’s pantry caught her eye.

And that’s when she saw it.

Highlighted in orange.

Tyson Hart. Tuesday. 5:30.

Nellie must have penciled the appointment in on the backup calendar. It hadn’t been in the day planner Dawn had set on the counter but couldn’t find that morning. Damn.

Tyson Hart was the contractor Nellie insisted they hire to finish the upstairs of the center. She’d raved about Tyson all week. About the success of his business in Dallas. About his knowledge. His skill. His broad shoulders and whiskey-colored eyes. The last two attributes had Dawn worried. She didn’t need Nellie trying to match her up with random guys no matter what color their eyes were. Presently the romantic part of her life was closed for reconstruction. C-L-O-S-E-D. As in the last thing she needed was another guy to deal with. Between her brother, son, ex-husband and the elderly men at the center, she had plenty of testosterone to juggle, thank you very much.

Still, another one was about to invade whether she wanted him to or not. And he’d do it, according to the microwave clock, in fifteen minutes.

No bath. No wine. No rest for the weary. Double damn.

She shut down her whiny thoughts as a knock sounded on the back door. Big Bubba Malone poked his head in.

“Hey, I smell somethin’ good.”

Though Bubba was another man to deal with, Dawn couldn’t stop the smile that crept to her lips. After all, very few people could resist smiling at Bubba. “Hey, Bubba. Nellie baked a pound cake.”

“So I smelled from the drive,” he said, stepping into the roomy kitchen. His affable smile offset the hulking shoulders, unlaced work boots and meaty paws. He was a mountain of a redneck with a heaping side of good ol’ boy.

“Well, help yourself. Coffee, too, if you want,” Dawn said, tapping the schedule with one of the highlighters attached by a brightly colored ribbon, wishing the appointment would magically vanish from the box in which it had been written. “Nellie’s in the office with Miss Aggie if you want to say hello.”

“Actually, I come to fetch Miss Aggie. Homer called me and he’s runnin’ late. I’m gonna run her over to Judy, whose doin’ something to Betty Monk’s hair though I can’t imagine what—she ain’t got as much as me,” he said, cramming a piece of pound cake in his mouth. Crumbs fell onto the tiled floor. Like a typical man, Bubba didn’t see them. Or he pretended he didn’t see them.

“Well, she’s not going to want to go to the Curlique, but I can’t worry about that now. I have an appointment with a contractor.” Dawn set the cordless phone in the cradle.

“Tyson Hart, huh? Knew him back in the day. He’s solid.” Bubba poured a cup of coffee and gulped it down like mother’s milk. He drank his Budweiser the same way. Cold. Hot. Didn’t seem to matter to Bubba.

“Yeah, well at least it’s not Brent Hamilton.”

Bubba laughed. The sound reminded her of rusty stovepipes. “Yeah, Ol’ Brent’s good at his job, but he’s a horn dog. Tyson ain’t thick-headed like that.”

Horn dog was right. Brent Hamilton, the contractor who’d added safety rails and ramps to the lower floor a few months ago, figured himself to be Oak Stand’s answer to stud muffin extraordinaire. Good looking enough to qualify, the man romanced everything in a skirt. Or shorts. Or jeans. And if Dawn hadn’t vowed to stay away from all men, she might have been tempted. But, the past year had proven what she’d suspected all along. She was bad at picking men. And she wasn’t ready to sacrifice herself upon that painful altar again. At least not until she found direction in her life.

So Tyson Hart had better not follow in Brent’s footsteps.

Bubba stomped off toward the office, and even though she didn’t need another cup of coffee, Dawn refilled her mug. After adding some flavored creamer and a package of pink artificial sweetener that she knew probably caused brain cancer, she took a sip and sighed. Mmm. Good. She propped one hip on the gleaming granite countertop and drank almost the whole cup.

Bubba lumbered into the kitchen with Miss Aggie on his arm. “Alrighty, I’m takin’ this pretty lady home with me,” he said winking at Dawn. “Don’t wait up on her.”

Miss Aggie beamed and punched Bubba on his beefy biceps. “You do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“It’s what my momma always said.” Bubba’s smile held firm, but his eyes flashed with pain. Bubba had lost his mother to cancer only four months before. Wilma “Willie” Malone had been the inspiration for Tucker House. The idea for a senior care center had bloomed after Nellie had cared for Miss Willie while Bubba worked. All of Oak Stand seemed to feel the absence of the courageous woman who’d made them laugh with her wry sense of humor and lightning-quick wit.

“And Willie was a smart woman,” Miss Aggie said, patting Bubba’s arm this time. She unclasped her purse, pulled a wadded pink tissue from the depths and wiped her eyes. “I do miss her.”

“We all do,” Nellie said from the doorway of the kitchen.

Nellie’s eyes met Bubba’s, and they both smiled. The small-town oil heiress and the backwater redneck. Go figure. There couldn’t have been a more unlikely pair of friends in all of Howard County, Texas.

“Later, ladies,” Bubba called, opening the door for Miss Aggie and helping her down the back steps.

“Bye, Bubba,” Dawn said, finishing off the last of her coffee. She eyed the carafe, wondering if she should have a third cup or not. Something more to fortify her for a late afternoon appointment with a contractor who would want to show her blueprints and codes and whatever else contractors liked to talk about. But she didn’t need more, so she dropped the mug into the empty sink.

“Ready to meet with Tyson?” Nellie said, as she sank into one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting area of the kitchen.

“I guess.” Dawn sighed, pressing a hand over the yawn that appeared from nowhere. “I still think we should put off construction. With the baby due in a couple of weeks, there’s too much going on.”

“The center can still function with ongoing construction. We need the room so we can meet the demand. We have a waiting list.”

“I hate you’re going through all this trouble. The rooms above us are perfectly functional. They need some refurbishment, that’s all.”

Nellie shifted in her chair. “We need a kitchen upstairs and an up-to-code bathroom. The rooms need to be gutted and converted to smaller rooms for resting. Now is the time. I know this is temporary for you, but eventually someone else will step in as the director and I want Tucker House to be fully operational.”

Dawn’s heart trembled at those words. She’d taken this job when she’d been forced to close the doors of her antiques redesign shop in Houston last spring. The damn economy had stomped her dream to dust, and with her son, Andrew, on partial baseball scholarship at the University of Houston, she needed money. Tucker House had opened for business a mere two months ago under her direction. She’d told Nellie she’d stay for a year, no more.

But she had no idea what she would do when the year was up. She’d leased her house in Houston to an oil and gas consultant whose rent covered her mortgage. But she had no leads on a job, no idea what she wanted to do. Didn’t know if she even wanted to go back to Houston. Currently she floated with no tangible future to grab on to. And she couldn’t stand not knowing what direction she should take. She needed a plan.

Nellie bit her lip. “Ouch.”

Dawn dropped all thoughts of her own problems. “You’re not in labor, are you?”

Nellie shook her head, causing a chunk of caramel-colored hair to fall from her hair clip. Her emerald eyes held unease. “I’ve still got two weeks left. Just a backache. I think.”

“Maybe we’d better call Jack.” Dawn reached for the cordless phone.

Her sister-in-law waved a hand. “Don’t bother him. I saw my OB yesterday. He said I’m on schedule for October 23.”

“I don’t know, Nell. Babies set their own schedule.” The doorbell rang interrupting her lecture.

Dawn’s gaze skittered to the clock. 5:25 p.m.

Tyson Hart wasn’t just prompt. He was early.

Nellie waved a hand at her. “Tyson’s here. Go let him in. I’ll be okay.”

Dawn wasn’t so sure, but the bell sounded again. “Fine. You sit and I’ll handle this. We’ll call Jack after I cancel the appointment with Mr. Hart.”

“Don’t cancel,” Nellie called as Dawn left the kitchen.

She walked through the living area, which was neat except for a deck of cards left on one of the small tables and a sudoku puzzle book on the other. In the media room someone had left the Wii on. Dawn made a mental list to make sure everything was turned off and put away before they left for the evening.

The doorbell sounded once more.

Dawn released a pent-up breath and pulled open the door.

No one was there.

For a minute, she was confused. Then she looked down. Hunter Todd.

“Hey, is Nellie here? She said she bought me some of those ice cream bars with sprinkles.”

“Ice cream with sprinkles?” Normally Dawn loved having the irascible six-year-old who lived next door visit, but she didn’t feel like entertaining him today. “I don’t know, Hunter Todd. Nellie’s not feeling well, and I’m waiting on someone, so—”

“That’s okay. I know where she keeps ’em.” Hunter Todd shoved his pudgy little body between her and the door, slipping inside quicker than a cat with a dog on its paws.

“Hunter Todd, please, honey. It’s not a good day for a visit.” Her plea went unanswered. She leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

“Bad day?”

Dawn jumped about a foot. “Oh, my God!”

She turned and met another dancing pair of eyes. These were the color of amber glass. Or sparkling brown topaz. Or aged honey. And they were attached to the most compelling man Dawn had seen in ages.

He filled the doorway and everything about him reminded her of warmth. From his ruffled sun-streaked brown hair to his lime-green-and-black running shoes. A smile curved his lips, lips that made her think of things she was supposed to have put behind her. At once it struck her—this man was dangerous in that golden retriever, scratch behind the ears sort of way. He looked affable and harmless. Like a woman could take him home. But Dawn had been bitten not once, but twice. She wasn’t picking up his leash.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, stretching out an arm. “I’m Tyson Hart, and I think this is where I am supposed to be.”

Dawn met his hand with hers. His grip warmed her to her toes and made her feel like a gangly teenager. “Hi. Dawn Taggart, the director. Nellie’s sister-in-law.”

“Nice to meet you, Dawn.”

For a moment, she stood there stupidly, her hand still in his. Then she came to her senses and pulled it away.

“Well, come on in.”

Tyson stepped inside the foyer as Nellie waddled around the corner with Hunter Todd on her heels. The six-year-old held a huge ice cream bar, which didn’t prevent him from lifting the cover of the antique piano in the parlor and plinking a few keys. Sprinkles from the treat fell to the polished floor.

“Tyson,” Nellie said, a warm smile curving her lips.

“Nellie,” Tyson replied, his voice as smooth as Scotch and likely just as addictive. “So good to see you again. It’s been ages.”

Dawn tore her eyes from Hunter Todd and his shedding ice cream and looked at Tyson, which in itself was a treat. The man was abnormally good looking in a not so obvious way. More of a rugged, cigarette ad way. Careful, her mind said, crushing what her libido said, which was something like, wrap your legs around that.

Nellie rubbed her back. Another grimace moved across her face. “I’m so glad you’re back in Oak Stand. And you’re perfect for this job. Quick. Good. And available.”

Tyson grinned and little crinkles appeared at the corners of his incredible eyes. “I bet you say that to all the contractors you meet.”

He winked at Dawn and she couldn’t stop the silly blush she felt burn her cheeks. Damn. He was everything she needed to stay away from. Good-looking men were like her personal crack—a dangerous addiction that left her strung out and broken.

Nellie laughed then winced. “Sorry, guys, but I’m going to have to sit this construction talk out. Go on up and check out the space. Hunter Todd said he’d swing me on the porch swing.”

At the sound of his name, Hunter Todd banged the lid on the piano and took off, circling Nellie and making weird noises. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes.

Even Tyson looked concerned.

“I don’t think I better leave you right now.” Dawn ran her damp palms down the sides of her khaki crop pants. A strange sense of foreboding welled within her, and Hunter Todd pretending to be a screeching jumbo jet wasn’t helping matters. She pushed her hair over her shoulders and turned to Tyson.

“Mr. Hart, I know you drove all this way, but I’m not sure this is a good time to meet.”

Tyson opened his mouth to speak, but Hunter Todd took that moment to shove past them. A trail of ice cream followed him as he circled her and Tyson.

Dawn let out an exasperated breath. She didn’t want to have this stupid meeting in the first place. And now she looked totally unprofessional with chaos prevailing all around her. The man probably thought he’d stepped into a care center for the insane rather than the elderly. She had to get control of the situation. “Hunter Todd, enough! Go sit on the swing and stop yelling.”

She propped her hands on her hips and tried to look as though the noise the child made had not accelerated the throbbing in her temples. A whopper of a headache was coming on. No doubt about it.

The boy skidded to a halt and turned an injured expression upon her. “I’m just playing Transformers. I’m Megatron. He’s a Decepticon.”

Dawn tempered her reprimand with a small smile. “I appreciate your ability to sound like a real…robot machine airplane, but Nellie doesn’t feel well. You need to be a good boy. Go sit and finish your ice cream.”

“Megatron’s not an airplane,” Hunter Todd said, licking the dripping bar. “He’s a— Hey, Nellie, you’re peeing on yourself.”

“What?” Nellie said, looking down, her eyes growing wide as reality set in. “Oh, crap! My water broke!”

Hunter Todd took another lick of his ice cream bar. “Crap is a bad word.”

And that was when it hit Dawn.

Hell had broken loose after all.




CHAPTER TWO


TYSON TOOK TWO STEPS back and hit the doorjamb. Pregnant women made him uncomfortable. Pregnant women who sprang leaks made him want to run and forget about the contracting job.

And he needed this job. Not so much for the money, but for what it would do for him. Re-establish him within the community. Give him ties to Oak Stand. Give him a home for his daughter, Laurel.

So he didn’t run. Besides that would be pretty chicken shit of him. He’d faced armored tanks and grenade-tossing insurgents in Iraq. Surely, he could deal with a woman in labor.

He stepped forward and attempted a calming smile. He’d been through this before. Kinda. “No big deal, Nellie. Women have babies every day.”

“Have babies?” Her voice sounded panicky. She looked at her sister-in-law. “Today?”

Dawn nodded. He got the feeling Nellie’s sister-in-law was the right person to handle a crisis. That impression likely had something to do with the lift of her chin and the squaring of her slim shoulders. “Just let me call Jack and we’ll head to the hospital.”

Dawn turned and ushered the boy from the house. “Okay, Hunter Todd, go finish your treat on your own porch. We’ve got to get Nellie to the hospital.”

“You mean, she’s havin’ the baby today?” he asked, not missing a lick.

Dawn sounded agitated as she placed her hand between his shoulder blades and steered him toward the open door. “Maybe. Probably. But you have to go home now.”

Once the child disappeared, Dawn spun around and walked toward the kitchen. Nellie still seemed freaked out, so he smiled again and tried not to let his discomfort show.

Dawn returned in less than five seconds with several towels which she handed to him.

“Do me a favor and wipe up the floor.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

Tyson looked at the floral towels which had seen better days but smelled April fresh. Then he glanced at Nellie’s feet. He’d cleaned up worse. Surely.

Poor Nellie stood frozen, her eyes misty and wide. “Today?” she said again.

“Don’t worry, Nellie.” He grasped her elbow and helped her step from the puddle.

She took a small step then clutched her stomach. “Ow!”

Something in the air felt wrong. He’d always had a sixth sense about calamity. In fact, such a premonition had saved his life in Baghdad. He looked over at Dawn, but the only visible sign of distress she showed was one slender foot tapping on the floor. After a moment, she pulled the phone from her ear and glared at it. “Not answering. That figures. The most important day of his life, and the dumb a—” Her mouth snapped shut, and she seemed to regroup.

“No problem,” Dawn said, as he dropped a towel on the floor and moved it around with his foot. “I’ll get my car. We’ll call him on the way. The doctor, too.”

Nellie clutched her stomach again. “Ow. This really hurts.”

“Oh, no.” A horrified expression appeared on Dawn’s face. “My car’s at the garage getting new brakes. It won’t be ready till tomorrow. Jack was going to pick us up today.”

Nellie groaned again calling his attention to where she was holding on to the arm of the old-fashioned-looking sofa.

“Maybe you better sit down, Nellie,” he said, pausing in his cleaning.

Nellie lowered herself onto the couch before popping up again. “Wait, give me a towel. I don’t want to ruin the couch. Dawn just reupholstered it.”

Dawn’s head snapped up. “Are you serious? You think I care about the stupid couch? Because I don’t. You’re in freaking labor. You don’t have a bag packed and I haven’t finished the quilt for the nursery. And my stupid brother isn’t answering his phone. And we have no way to get to the hospital, which is not exactly down the road. So, please, sit on the couch.”

Time to do something more than play cleaning lady. Even if it meant he’d be too late to catch a movie with Laurel. “No problem. Let me pull my truck into the drive and then we’ll be on our way.”

“But the hospital’s almost thirty miles away,” Dawn said, abandoning her irritation and pushing her long dark hair from her face. She moistened her bottom lip, a very sensual movement he didn’t fail to notice even though they were in full-on crisis mode.

“I’ve been known to drive such distances before.” He smiled at Nellie, trying to do his best to reassure his longtime friend. Mild terror had taken its place upon her face.

“What about Bubba? Maybe he can take us,” Nellie said, crossing her feet ladylike as she perched on the edge of the couch. “I mean, I hate to put you out, Tyson. You came for a meeting not a…birth.”

“Are you kidding?” Dawn said, her brown sandals clacking on the floor as she approached her sister-in-law. She pushed Nellie’s hair off her forehead and patted her shoulder. “Mr. Hart doesn’t care about the meeting right now. We’ve got a baby on the way, and even if the first one usually takes a while, we need to get you to the hospital now. So, on your feet. We’re taking Mr. Hart up on his offer.”

“Tyson,” he said.

Her gaze found his. “What?”

“Call me Tyson,” he said, taking Nellie’s elbow and helping her toward the entrance. The bevel-paned door was still ajar from Hunter Todd’s hasty departure. As they passed it, Nellie grabbed it, bent over and groaned.

Tyson mouthed one word at Dawn. “Hurry.”



TYSON TRIED TO FOCUS on Highway 80, but it was hard to do with Dawn’s light floral scent filling his nose and her nicely rounded butt sliding against his thigh. Which should not have mattered since Nellie was in full-blown labor. But he couldn’t help noticing. After all, he was a man.

He also couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the clock on the console. Nellie’s contractions were coming too fast to still be ten miles from the hospital.

Every few seconds or so, Dawn’s chocolaty brown eyes would meet his and a clear message was sent. Something was wrong. Tyson felt it in his gut as certain as Sunday. He was afraid he’d have to pull the ten-year-old pickup truck to the side of the highway so Dawn could catch her new nephew as he made his debut into the world.

And that would suck.

Not just for obvious reasons, but because they hadn’t been able to get in touch with Nellie’s husband. Tyson believed every man deserved to witness the miracle of his child being born. It had been the best memory of his life—one of those moments that could not be recreated in any way. So precious was the first breath his daughter took. So treasured the initial high-pitched cry. And Tyson wasn’t the sentimental type of guy. Okay, he was. His hands were calloused, his shoulders broad enough for burdens, but his heart was s’more-worthy. As in a big ol’ marshmallow.

He wanted Jack to be there to see his son seize life—not the glorified handyman.

“It’s okay, Nellie. Don’t push. Whatever you do, don’t push,” Dawn said squeezing her sister-in-law’s hand while shoving several tendrils of hair out of her own eyes. Tyson noticed her hair seemed to get in the way a lot. He wished he had a rubber band. At least he would be doing something helpful, something more than keeping the truck between the mustard and the mayonnaise.

“I…can’t…help…it,” Nellie panted, “I want to get it out of me.”

Tyson risked a glance at the two women. Dawn had Nellie’s chin in her hand, trying to direct Nellie’s eyes to hers. “Look at me. Don’t push. Deep breaths only. Focus.”

He directed his attention to the patched highway as Nellie panted like a wounded animal. About fifty yards ahead was a green sign listing mileage. Longview was only five miles away. He knew firsthand the hospital was in the middle of town. He’d been stitched up there several times during his dirt-bike-racing days as a teen. He’d have to navigate late-afternoon traffic.

“Oh, God, something’s wrong, Dawn. Something’s wrong,” Nellie moaned. Her arms locked against the dash of his truck and her frantic breaths sounded louder than any he’d ever heard. It scared him shitless, but he didn’t want her to know.

“Just a few more miles, Nellie,” he said, angling the air-conditioner vent toward her. Sweat streamed down her face.

Dawn cajoled, murmuring encouraging words as she wiped Nellie’s brow with some napkins from McDonald’s she’d found in his glove box.

After minutes of passing hilly Texas countryside, Tyson saw the first smattering of Longview businesses—a gas station, a place with shiny tractors out front and a fast-food restaurant. Reaching the edge of town didn’t help his anxiety level because as they passed the city-limit sign, his passenger screamed, “Oh, my God! It’s ripping me apart.”

Tyson pressed the accelerator all the way to the floorboard when he saw Nellie’s knees spring into the air. The old truck leaped forward as the cell phone sitting on the dashboard rang.

Dawn looked busy. He didn’t really want to know what she was doing, since all he could see was Nellie’s white thigh. He heard Dawn chant “Oh, shit…oh, shit…oh, shit,” so he grabbed the phone and flipped it open.

“Hey, sis, what’s going on? You sounded weird.”

“Uh, Jack, this is—”

“Who’s this?” the voice erupted from the phone.

“Listen. This is Tyson Hart—”

“Who? Where’s my sister?”

“Shut up,” Tyson growled into the phone, as Nellie let out another screech. “I’m driving your wife to the hospital. Get in your vehicle and get your ass to Longview. Now.”

Tyson clicked the phone shut because a red light was about fifty yards in front of him. The truck swerved over the center lane as Dawn’s round butt connected with his arm, and he threw the phone onto the dashboard then applied the brakes.

“Almost there. Jack’s on his way.”

“Hear that, Nellie?” Dawn’s voice sounded soothing, “Jack is on his way and we’re here. You’re doing great, honey. Just hold on a little longer.”

The litany of her voice calmed him. And he felt as twitchy as a man who’d been in lockdown for a month. He searched for a hospital sign, but all he saw were blinking signs advertising pawnshops and Laundromats. Finally he found the blue H symbol and followed the arrow toward 259 North.

More panting, more cursing and more sweating ensued before the three-story white rectangle emerged on the horizon like the Holy Grail of hospitals. Tyson hit the emergency-room drive like a race car driver hit the pit. He likely left two long tire marks when he skidded to a halt.

“Go get somebody,” Dawn said, sliding herself nearly across his lap as she turned around in the seat toward Nellie. She didn’t have to tell him twice. Nellie’s knees were bent and her skirt hiked high.

A woman in scrubs met him at the swooshing doors. Her face held a mixture of annoyance and concern. She held an unsmoked cigarette in her hand.

“I need a stretcher or wheelchair,” he said, looking over her head at the open entrance. “If you don’t hurry, she’s going to have that baby in my pickup.”

The woman sprang into action, first pocketing her cigarette, next calling into the doorway, “Cheryl!”

For a moment, Tyson simply stood and took a deep breath, taking in the aroma of hot asphalt and burning leaves. He wanted to reach into the nurse’s pocket and grab her cigarette and fire it up. But he had quit smoking when he’d quit drinking the hard stuff.

Another woman in scrubs appeared with a stretcher. She rolled it toward his truck, lowered it in one movement, then helped the other woman ease Nellie onto it. Dawn held her sister-in-law’s shoulders and still talked soothingly into her ear. Nellie’s face was streaked with tears. His eyes held her face because he would not, could not look down at where her knees still seemed to be parted.

One of the nurses pulled a sheet over Nellie’s knees and he blew out a sigh of relief.

They rolled past him and Dawn caught his eye. “I’m going with her. Will you stay and bring Jack when he gets here?”

He nodded and, oddly enough, her shoulders sank with what he imagined to be relief. “Let me park the truck and I’ll be right in.”

He watched for a moment as she followed the stretcher into the E.R. Her silk blouse clung to her back and her once crisp pants held more wrinkles than an old circus elephant. But something about Dawn made him want to take a deep breath, one of those deep cleansing breaths that chased away shadows and cobwebs.

Then again, something about her made him want to sink into her, claim her as his own. A visceral, animalistic reaction—one he’d not had in a while. Her long tan arms and dark tresses were made for wrapping round a man, and her soulful dark eyes hinted at a sensuality he wanted to explore.

Which was a bad idea all around.

He was in Oak Stand to start a new life. After a rotten marriage and a rocky relationship with his daughter, he needed a clean slate. No need to muddy things by lusting after the sexiest thing he’d seen in months. That would be beyond stupid.

Tyson climbed into his old pickup, noting that the Texas dust made his truck’s silver paint look dirty gray. A few empty coffee cups from a gas station still sat in the cupholders and he needed to sweep out the gum wrappers that had fallen to the dusty floormats. Thank God, Nellie hadn’t had her baby in here.

He parked near a group of medical offices and headed toward the hospital. Just as he crossed the landscaped path two things happened.

First, Dawn emerged from the open E.R., her smile radiant, her eyes dancing. She opened her mouth and yelled, “It’s a girl!”

Second, a huge F250 roared into the parking lot with a Longview police cruiser following. Blue lights flashed, tires squealed and a disheveled dark-haired man sprang from the truck and flew toward the E.R.

Jack Darby had finally reached Longview.

In record time, no doubt.




CHAPTER THREE


DAWN WATCHED AS NELLIE stroked the face of her newborn daughter and remembered the first time she’d held her own son. Only a little fuzzy hair was visible above the tightly bound blanket.

“Can you believe it’s a girl?” Nellie said, smiling serenely, not taking her eyes from the bundle in her arms. She softened her voice and murmured to the baby.

“And all this time we were calling you a boy. So sorry, sweet girl.”

Dawn smiled at her sister-in-law, feeling both incredibly happy and exhausted. Amazingly, her headache had disappeared. “I can’t believe a lot of things that happened today.”

Jack rubbed a hand over his face as he peered at Nellie and the baby. “You think she’s going to cause this sort of a ruckus all the time?”

Jack seemed to have permanent shock etched on his face, and she wondered if he might have acquired a few gray hairs over the past hour. It would serve her too-handsome brother right. With Nellie having been so close to her due date, the man should have had his cell phone plastered to his hand. Instead he’d left it in his truck. Luckily, he’d been at a farm just outside Longview when he’d found out Nellie was en route to the hospital.

“No,” Dawn said, walking over to the stretcher. She looked down at the red-faced baby sleeping peacefully after her traumatic entry into the world. “She’s going to be the sun rising and setting for you, little brother.”

Jack’s face emoted into pure love. “For once, I won’t argue with you.”

Dawn gave her brother a good-natured punch on his arm and looked over to where Tyson stood by the emergency-room curtain. The man didn’t look comfortable, but he didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable, either. She wondered why she had wanted him to stay. She could have handled everything by herself. But something about Tyson seemed rock-steady and for a few moments, she’d needed his strength.

“Hey, Tyson, let me buy you a cup of coffee.” She at least owed him that. The man had gone above and beyond. Besides, the hospital staff was about to move Nellie to a private room and Dawn could really use a break.

Tyson glanced at Nellie. “Sure. I could use a good cup of coffee. Jack?”

But neither Jack nor Nellie paid the least attention to anything other than their baby, lost in the little world they had created.

Dawn’s heart pinged.

She glanced back at Tyson and his eyes met hers. He felt the poignancy of the moment, too. She jerked her head toward the exit.

They slipped from the emergency room and headed toward the cafeteria. Her sandals clacked on the polished hospital floor, echoing down the corridor. The sound seemed to heighten the silence between them.

She searched for something to say, but words wouldn’t come. The adrenaline that had surged through her body during the past few hours had deserted her, leaving her limbs feeling shaky. She needed to sit down, have something to drink and force her body to relax.

They reached the cafeteria and Tyson frowned at the door.

“What?” Dawn said.

“Closed five minutes ago.”

Dawn sighed. “Well, maybe there’s a soda machine. I could use a shot of something.”

“If I remember correctly, we passed a Starbucks when we got off 259. Let’s grab a cup there.”

Dawn wavered. She didn’t want to leave the hospital. Nellie and Jack might need her help as they got settled in a room. She hadn’t been able to complete any paperwork and wasn’t sure where she’d put Jack’s insurance card.

“Listen, they’re not going to even notice you’re gone. She’s got to be moved to a room, and in my experience that always takes a while. We’ll get coffee and pick up a few things for Nellie, like a toothbrush and something to change into.” Tyson took her elbow and guided her toward the entrance. Obviously, the man wasn’t going to wait for her to argue.

And she had no real reason to fight against his suggestion, so she allowed herself to be pulled toward the double glass doors. His hand on her bare arm felt nice—warm on skin that had grown cold in the hospital’s overzealous air-conditioning. But what was even nicer was the thoughtfulness he displayed. Most men wouldn’t have bothered to think about Nellie’s needs. Still, that didn’t mean Tyson was even on her “guy” radar.

He so wasn’t.

They stepped into the glow of the evening as an ambulance came screeching around the corner, lights flashing and siren wailing. Tyson stiffened and dropped her arm. His eyes met hers and something dark flashed within.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine,” he said, stepping onto the flagstone path leading to the parking lot. “I served a tour in Iraq with the National Guard. The sound of an ambulance always does that to me. Police sirens, too.”

“Oh,” Dawn said, tracing his footsteps. She didn’t know whether his statement invited further questions or not. Many veterans of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were tight-lipped about what they experienced in the deserts and mountains overseas. She wasn’t sure it was good they didn’t talk about their experiences, but she understood not wanting to relive an awful time. It was human nature, plain and simple.

“Not that the sirens sound like the ones I heard. Just reminds me of things I’d rather forget,” he said, digging into his pocket for his keys. She watched his broad shoulders ripple with the motion. He was tall, slightly taller than her brother, but his breadth made him seem much larger.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking the question. “Were you injured?”

Silence swelled between them before he said, “Only slightly. I took a bit of shrapnel in my shoulder. I was one of the lucky ones.”

Which Dawn took to imply that there were others in his unit who were not so fortunate. Damn. This man had been injured in places no one could see. That much was evident to her. She decided not to pursue the conversation any further until they knew each other better. If they got to know each other better.

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt too badly,” she said as they reached the truck. “Now, which way to Starbucks? I seriously need a shot of espresso.”

He unlocked his door and climbed inside, popping the lock on her side of the truck. “Sorry, I should’ve opened the door for you.”

Dawn shrugged. “It’s not a date.”

“Right,” he said, shoving the key into the ignition.

Dawn slid into the sun-warmed interior, aware for the first time how much the cab smelled of him. There were no greasy bags of food on the floor or flyers peppering the dash like in so many guys’ trucks. It was virtually clean except for two disposable coffee cups sitting in the cup holders and a few gum wrappers. She inhaled the scent of sandalwood, so manly and so unlike the ocean-breeze scent she had in her own car.

They rode in silence, and seeing the familiar sign, Tyson pulled into a parking spot outside the door. When Dawn entered the café, she felt calm for the first time that day. Something about the familiarity, the jazz flooding the speakers and the half-burned smell of espresso soothed away the anxiety of the past few hours.

She sighed and allowed her shoulders to relax.

“Right choice, I can see,” Tyson said in her ear.

She started at his voice so close behind her. His baritone sounded as warm as he seemed. In fact, everything about him radiated warmth. Honey hair, honey smile, honeyed words. For a moment, she longed to lean against him and to feel his solid body against her. She knew how he’d feel—hard and good. She took a teensy step back before she caught herself and moved toward the Order Here sign.

“Absolutely,” she murmured, perusing the menu board above the barista who was busy steaming milk. Dawn ordered a café americano with an extra shot and a low-fat blueberry muffin then gestured for Tyson to order. “Go ahead. I’m buying.”

He shook his head.

“I insist,” she said, before realizing she couldn’t pay. She’d left Oak Stand without her purse. “Uh, wait. In all the hubbub, I left my purse.” She felt stupid. How could it have slipped her mind she didn’t have money? She hated that feeling. Being so out of control. At someone else’s mercy.

“Don’t worry,” he said, sliding a credit card from his wallet and ordering a black coffee. “And don’t think I won’t take you up on owing me. I’m pretty partial to a good caffeine fix.”

Dawn gave him a sheepish smile and found a small table near the window. She sank into the straight-backed chair and sighed. Sitting there felt like heaven. A minute later, Tyson set her drink and muffin in front of her. She took a sip and closed her eyes.

“So that’s what it takes to make a woman sigh like that. I’ve been doing it all wrong,” Tyson said, as he sat.

Dawn opened one eye. Was he flirting? He struck her as more the easygoing than flirty type. But every guy had a little flirt in him, though Tyson didn’t seem to need it. His smiles were so delectable, they made her toes curl.

Stop, she told herself. “Yep, just give a girl a delicious cup of coffee. Now that you know the secret, you can’t tell.”

“I feel privileged.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. The café wasn’t particularly busy at the moment. No doubt business would pick up as couples stopped by for after-movie lattes and teens gathered for legal stimulants. Dawn missed this aspect of city living.

“So about the job, I think it’s pretty much yours.” In all the chaos, they hadn’t had the opportunity to talk about the center. “When Nellie heard you were moving back and starting a contracting business, she’d already signed you up in her head. It’s a safe bet she’ll hire the dude who rushed her to the hospital and spared her delivering her firstborn on the front steps.”

Tyson smiled. “I won’t hold you to that.”

“But you do want the job?”

He took a swallow of coffee and the muscles in his neck rippled, drawing her attention to the opening of the polo shirt he wore. It was mossy green with a red crawfish on the left breast, and the rich color heightened his amber eyes. “I want the job.”

“Good,” she said, tearing her eyes from assessing the breadth of his shoulders. “I have a few things I’d like to suggest in remodeling the space.”

“Shoot,” he said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. At that moment, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a man look so intense and yummy at the same time. The attraction hit her like a triple-shot espresso.

She ignored the sudden spike in her internal temperature. “Currently there are five bedrooms and two bathrooms. I think we can make a general gathering place from three of the bedrooms and one of the baths. I only want to take up half of the floor space. I like the idea of other rooms being available for clients who need rest or aren’t feeling too well. We don’t really have those capabilities on the first floor.”

“Well, it’s hard for me to judge without looking, but I’ll keep your wishes in mind. It’s been a while since I’ve taken on a remodel. I’ve been designing and building entire subdivisions for the past few years. But, I got my start doing remodeling jobs in college, so it’ll come back. Let me look at the space and the blueprints.”

She frowned. “I didn’t think about blueprints. Nellie would have those. No doubt they’re locked in a safe-deposit box at Oak Stand National.”

“You want to commit to a time for meeting and reviewing the structure?”

Dawn tried to picture the calendar in her planner, but her brain felt fuzzy. The planner was her secret crutch, a concrete guideline to keep herself straight and from feeling as though she’d fall apart. Without it, she couldn’t remember. A bazaar was coming up one Saturday in October, but she couldn’t recall which day they’d picked. “I don’t have my calendar with me, and I’m sure Nellie will need a little help. But I think it’s safe to meet next Saturday afternoon.”

“Saturday it is,” he said, draining the last of his drink.

“I have a few things to finish at Sammy Bennett’s place anyway. If you can send the plans to me before then, I’ll get something rudimentary drawn up for a starting point.”

Dawn nodded and mentally highlighted next Saturday, praying she’d remember it. She popped the last of her blueberry muffin into her mouth, took one more swig of her coffee, then pushed back her chair. “I’d like to pick up a few things for Nellie but I’m afraid I’d need to borrow the money. I’ll make sure you get reimbursed.”

“No problem,” he said, rising and stretching. Again, she watched each movement. Damn. Why did the contractor have to be so hunky? She didn’t entirely trust herself to resist this kind of temptation.

“Are you sure?” she stammered, trying to direct her thoughts to her sister-in-law, who was stranded without even a toothbrush.

“Absolutely,” he said, tossing his cup in the trash can beside the door. “I saw a Wal-Mart across the highway. No problem to swing by there.”

And Dawn believed him. Tyson seemed the kind who handled everything in an unruffled manner, as though nothing got under his skin. As though he was as steady as the rain starting to fall outside. The man was like jazz, black coffee and faithful dogs. Totally mellow. Likeable. And likely to bring you back for more.

And that was the consolation in the whole attraction thing she had going for him. She didn’t like the slow, steady guys, no matter how great they looked in piqué polo shirts. She liked the flashy types, the ones who pressed their advantage, who sent overblown roses and bought her girly drinks designed to make her drop her panties. She liked guys who played it fast and loose. Guys who were totally unreliable at everything except breaking her heart.

Falling for those unreliable ones had been her modus operandi from the moment she first noticed boys.

So she wouldn’t have a problem with Tyson. He had safe and dependable stamped all over his delicious body. He probably had a first-aid kit in his truck and a condom in his wallet.

No, Tyson Hart wasn’t her type at all.

There would be no problem with having him working above her every day, lifting boards with his big, strong arms and taking off his shirt when it got too hot.

She swallowed hard at the thought of Tyson’s bared chest.

Stop it, Dawn. Stop picturing the man as a man. He’s a contractor. Period.

The contractor in question swung open the door of the coffeehouse and allowed her to pass. She ignored the loose grace of his walk. She ignored the way the truck smelled like him. She ignored the way his arm brushed her shoulder when he threw it over the seat to look behind him as he reversed out of the parking lot.

She sighed in self-congratulation and crossed her legs. Her sandal kicked something underneath the bench seat. She leaned down and saw a first-aid kit lying at her feet.

Bingo.




CHAPTER FOUR


TWO THINGS STRUCK TYSON as he walked up the drive toward Tucker House the following Saturday. Elderly people had more energy than he thought. And Dawn Taggart looked extremely hot.

The front lawn was covered with several tables sporting old-fashioned checked tablecloths. He wasn’t certain what was going on, but he spotted several plants clustered on tables and assorted blue-haired ladies in aprons scurrying around. Of course, the highlight was the peek of Dawn he’d caught before she disappeared around the corner. Dawn, wearing cutoff jean shorts, a white T-shirt and soap bubbles in her dark hair.

She was barefoot and laughing.

It jolted him unlike any sight in a long time.

“Hey, come on over here and buy some shortbread cookies. I made ’em myself,” a frail bird-like woman called to him. Her blue-veined hand beckoned and the smile on her face had him changing directions and veering toward a table showcasing cakes and cookies.

“I ain’t seen you around here before,” she said, patting her silver bouffant and tossing a look over one shoulder to her friend, who tittered like a wren. Both sets of eyes sparkled beneath the bifocals they wore.

The friend, who wore a striped apron that read “I’m not aging, I’m increasing in value” nodded her head. “I haven’t seen you, either.”

“Well, now, ladies, I don’t mind being the stranger who sweeps into Oak Stand and buys up all these cookies,” he said, giving them his best charming grin.

“Why, Grace, he’s a sweet-talker, just right for me and you, honey,” the silver-headed lady said, setting out several jars of jam.

Grace agreed. “In that case, may I suggest the poppy-seed muffins and the sour cream pound cake? And don’t forget Florence Roberts’s mayhaw jelly. You just can’t buy that off the grocery shelf.”

He stuck out his hand. “Sold. And I’m Tyson Hart. My grandfather—”

“Grady Hart’s grandson. Well, I’ll be darned, Grace. You remember this boy from Sunday school? He’s the one who ate the paste and Dr. Grabel had to give him that ipecac.”

Grace clapped her hands together. “Of course, Ester. He chased girls all over Oak Stand when he came to town each summer. My granddaughter, Becca, was one of ’em.”

Ester peered up at him. “You still a rascal, Tyson?”

He cleared his throat, but was saved from answering by a kid shouting behind him. Which was good because he didn’t want to recall a past that involved consuming paste. Or chasing Becca. Obviously, the impression he’d left on the small town hadn’t been the one he’d hoped.

“Chasing girls, huh? Wouldn’t have pegged you for that type. And paste?” It was Dawn’s voice behind him. Damn, he’d hoped she wouldn’t hear the ladies’ comments. He didn’t want her to think he was unreliable or slimy. But why it mattered so much escaped him.

“Never underestimate the power of paste,” he said, turning. “It was my secret weapon with the girls. Could hardly peel ’em off me they stuck so hard.”

Dawn rolled her eyes then offered her hand. He took it, surprised to find it was wet. She withdrew her hand and wiped it on her shorts. “Sorry. Hunter Todd and I are running a dog wash.”

She smiled and something bumped in his chest, not to mention a certain heat built south of the border. Her damp T-shirt clung to her rounded breasts. The shirt was big enough to slide off one shoulder and reveal a lacy bra strap. Her wavy dark hair was in a ponytail, though some tendrils escaped to stick to her cheeks. Her painted pink toes wiggled in the grass. He’d be tempted to say she looked like a teenager, but there was nothing gawky or innocent about Dawn.

She was full-on woman.

He tucked his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, hoping to detract from the stirrings of arousal at her alluring sexuality. Speaking of teenagers. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d been one.

Damn. This was supposed to be business.

“Dog washing, huh? Just what kind of operation are y’all running ’round here?” he asked, winking at the two elderly ladies eyeing Dawn and him with more than slight interest.

“We’re raising money for some new games. We’re short on cash for Wii games, Monopoly and the like. Margo Mott, the assistant director, came up with the idea of a bake sale. And that evolved into a bake sale slash plant sale slash dog wash. Hunter Todd came up with the last one, and since I’ve been known to kill a perfectly good plant and burn cookies, I got the dog wash.”

Hunter Todd raced in between them, dousing them with a squirt bottle. “Gotcha!”

Dawn put two fingers between her lips and whistled.

The boy skidded to a stop. “Cool. How’d you do that?”

“Water stays on the other side of the house. Ester will tan your hide if you get her desserts wet.”

Hunter Todd’s lower lip poked out.

“But I’ll teach you how to whistle like that later,” Dawn said, giving him a wink.

“Cool,” Hunter Todd said, zipping toward the tub of soapy water he’d left behind.

“Impressive. Will you teach me, too?” Tyson asked.

An emotion he couldn’t quite pin down flashed across her eyes before she grinned. “Sure. I’m quite talented with my mouth.”

Tyson opened his mouth to deliver a zinger, but Ester beat him to it. “Don’t think I’d be giving those kinds of secrets away so easily, my dear.”

Tyson couldn’t stop the laughter.

Dawn’s brown eyes bulged before she choked out her own laughter. “Jeez, the sun is getting to me. Really, I’ve been around teenage boys long enough to know better.”

“Been around teenage boys? Were you a teacher?”

“Heavens, no. I have a nineteen-year-old son.”

“You’re joking,” he said, stunned at her answer. It couldn’t be possible. She looked much too young. “But you don’t look much beyond…twenty-eight.”

His words made her laugh harder and caused a faint blush to color her cheeks. “I wish. Just turned thirty-seven.”

The two ladies shifting baked goods around on the table weren’t very good at hiding their interest in the conversation. He could have sworn Ester turned up her hearing aid.

“Can you tear yourself away from the pups long enough to show me the second floor?” he said, stifling the urge to unstick a damp tendril of hair from where it clung to her cheek. His fingers even twitched at the thought of her silky skin beneath them. Silky skin that still looked dewy and fresh. Not like the mother of a nineteen-year-old.

“Pups?” she snorted. “We’ve only bathed two dogs so far—a Chihuahua and a mutt so I won’t be missed. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

She slid on a pair of flip-flops and called to Hunter Todd that she’d be right back. He frowned but perked up when she gave him a sign and sent him toward the sidewalk to drum up business. Then she led Tyson up the porch steps toward the huge beveled glass door.

Tyson had liked the colossal Victorian the first time he’d seen it. He’d been ten and had been riding by on his bicycle en route to the Dairy Barn for a soft-serve ice cream cone. The house still held the same appeal with its wide porch, white columns and cheerful presence. Nellie’s forefathers may have built the huge house to impress, but they didn’t neglect its ability to charm with round inset windows, unique arches and a widow’s walk.

He followed Dawn inside, where it was clean, bright and engaging. Rocking chairs with cheerful quilted cushions, old-fashioned couches with lacy looking things on the arms and polished oak floors made the house seem like a home rather than a senior adult care center.

Dawn turned toward him before ascending the stairs. She opened her mouth but he beat her to the words.

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you out there. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Her eyes left his face. “You weren’t prying and it’s no secret. Andrew’s father looked really cute in his board shorts when he showed up at the local pool that summer. Dating a surfer gives a sixteen-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears gal all kinds of perks including a bun in the oven.”

Her tone was sharp, and the brown eyes that met his carried a spark of embarrassment. Obviously, she didn’t like having to address her past.

“Surfer dude, huh?” he said, trying for lightness. “In Texas?”

She smiled. “Not quite. I’m from California—dairy country. And when that smooth talker came to town, he found a country girl like me easy pickings. Which is why I’m glad I had a son and not a daughter. Girls you got to worry about.”

He started to tell her he’d not been granted that luxury. His daughter already wore lipstick and heeled sandals. Thirteen had nearly killed him, and he wasn’t looking forward to when she turned fourteen. Laurel’s recent leanings were exactly what had led him to Oak Stand and a new life away from the fast-paced city.

But Dawn had started up the stairs, gesturing to the wall on which the grand staircase was fixed. “My first thought was to put in an elevator, but that’s expensive. What about one of those chairlifts? Think that would work?”

Tyson nodded, glad she’d shifted the topic. This was a business meeting even if he was totally checking out the sweet curve of her behind as she trotted up the stairs. He also appreciated the fact she’d gotten a little scissor-happy on the shorn-off jeans because they rose a tad too high on the back of her thighs.

He cleared his mind. “I think they’ve improved those chairlifts quite a bit. But you need to check the disabilities act. You may be required to have an elevator. I included one in the draft.”

“Didn’t think about that and I should have. See? You’re paying off already,” she said, stepping into the second-floor hallway before turning around. “I got your estimate. I’m assuming Jack dropped off the original blueprints for the house? I have to check because I’m not sure his brain is functioning. Mae doesn’t like to sleep at night.”

He looked up at her, silhouetted in the gloom of the hallway. She was just too damn pretty. “Yeah. I got ’em.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“Is that what they named the baby? Mae? ’Cause it’s October.”

Dawn’s chuckle bounced off the walls. “Not exactly. They had a boy’s name ready to go because the ultra-sound technician thought it was a boy. Tucker James Darby. Now it’s Dorothy Mae Darby. After Nellie’s late grandmother.”

“I like it. It fits this town.”

Dawn snorted. “It should. Nellie’s grandmother ran Oak Stand. Her great granddaughter doesn’t fall far from the tree. Mae’s ruling the roost already.”

Dawn began opening the doors on either side of the hallway and calling out the names of each. One was clogged with old books, one a nursery, one obviously Nellie’s old bedroom, if the posters of George Strait were any indication.

“So which ones are you thinking about keeping intact?” he called out, stepping inside the last room off the hallway. It was quaintly furnished with a colorful patchwork quilt covering an old-fashioned iron bed. Dawn followed him inside but he didn’t realize she was behind him until he turned around and bumped into her.

She stepped back, but he caught her slight intake of breath. His body tightened at the feel of her breasts brushing his arm.

“Sorry,” he said, grasping her arms and setting her aright. Her golden skin felt soft under his work-roughened hands. “Didn’t realize you were right behind me.”

Silence met his apology and the air crackled with tension. They’d both felt the jolt of attraction, but neither would acknowledge it.

“I thought this room and the one next door would work for when our clients need some privacy.”

He stepped past her and ducked his head in the adjacent room. “I don’t think so. It would be better to use the nursery and this room, since they are closer to the stairs. Let me look around at the structure a bit, and I’ll meet you downstairs to show you what I’ve drawn up.”

A furrow creased between her eyebrows. “But that doesn’t make sense. These are bedrooms. With beds in them.”

Tyson shook his head. “I’ll show you what I’ve drawn up and then we can argue the finer points. Okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, I’ll head downstairs and get that cup of coffee I still owe you.”

The blip of sexual tension between them still pulsated in the quietness of the room, but Tyson let her slip out the door without doing anything about it. And his body so wanted him to do something about it. But his mind said no. He had to remind himself yet again why he was in Oak Stand and why acting on such an impulse was not a good idea.

Hell, he hadn’t even signed the divorce papers yet.

And that was a good enough reason to ignore the stirrings Dawn caused inside him.

He listened as the slapping of her flip-flops faded away, then he got busy inspecting the soundness of the structure and cementing his ideas for the remodel. He was certain what he’d drawn up would be perfect.



DAWN RINSED AND FILLED the carafe with filtered water. Afternoon coffee was always a good idea even if she didn’t need the caffeine. She hadn’t been sleeping well, which probably had to do with Andrew’s latest attempt to get her and Larry back together.

It all stemmed from an incident several months ago before she’d left Houston. Her ex-husband suffered a burst pipe in the small patio home he leased. Andrew had talked her into letting his father sleep in their extra bedroom. Big mistake. Larry had been on his best behavior, making his famous banana-macadamia waffles and picking up his wet towels. She’d even laughed at his jokes as he flipped the chicken on the grill. But the coziness had given Andrew license to envision his parents together once again.

He’d also complained over the past few months about split holidays and trying to spend time with both of his parents separately. Like every other nineteen-year-old on the planet, he wanted what was easiest for him. Too bad if his convenience didn’t work for anyone else. And reconciling with Larry definitely did not work for Dawn. She had to figure out a way to make that point to Andrew wihout alienating him.

So, yeah, she’d take that jolt of caffeine even if it meant tossing and turning all night.

Jolts. There’d been plenty of them going around upstairs, and she could not, would not, pay attention to them. Look where following her libido had gotten her with the last guy. She’d been instantly attracted to the guy who owned the café across from her design shop in Houston. Murray had been good-looking, suave and totally attentive. He’d also been very married—a little fact he’d failed to mention during their impromptu lunches and romantic weekends. For the first time in a long time, she’d been happy. She’d been in love. And it had been with another woman’s husband. The thought still made her want to vomit.

So she wasn’t listening to any crazy sexual static. Call her chicken. Or smart. Either way, Tyson Hart would be getting no play.

She glanced at the schedule mounted on the wall. Blue, green, orange and yellow highlighted sections all awaited her perusal. That’s how she liked it. No danger. No surprises.

The object of her musings stepped into the kitchen and ran a hand through his hair. The action caused the band on his polo shirt to rise above the sculpted biceps of his arm. The salmon color made his eyes glow. Dawn felt her mouth go dry with desire.

Hell.

“Coffee?” she said, before clearing her throat. She’d sounded like a bullfrog.

“Absolutely,” he said, placing a rolled-up paper on the granite countertop. “I ran out to my truck and grabbed the plans I’d worked on. By the way, Hunter Todd had a customer. It looked like a rat, though he assured me it was a dog.”

“Herman,” Dawn quipped, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. “He’s the Chihuahua that belongs to the Sandersons. We’ve bathed him once already.”

She poured him a cup and handed it to him.

“Just the way I like it,” he said, before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. “Very good.”

“So show me what you’ve got.” She smiled. Another sexually charged statement. Jeez. She was losing it. But Tyson chose to ignore this one, and instead unrolled the plans with the enthusiasm of a boy with his prized collection of baseball cards on display.

“Okay.” He set his coffee mug far away from the plans. “Here’s the second floor. The rooms aren’t labeled but you can see the library, nursery and so on.”

She nodded as if she didn’t already know what the second floor looked like. As if she’d never walked the halls, slept in Nellie’s old room the couple of times she didn’t feel like driving out to her brother’s ranch.

“These are the plans I’ve drawn up. First, here are the two rooms you’ll keep. We’ll divide those into four dormitory-like rooms for resting. Then we’ll section off this area and create a bank of bookshelf-style units for storage. We’ll install a sink, built-in fridge and a dumbwaiter that will lower to the kitchen on the first floor.”

She studied the plans as he ran a finger over the sections, explaining what each would be. Periodically, he would stop to discuss materials or ask for a suggestion. Occasionally, Dawn’s interest waned and she watched the enthusiasm he had for the project. Architecture wasn’t really her thing, but she could tell he had enjoyed designing the space and that he loved creating something exceptional out of something ordinary.

It was not too different than what she had done in her own redesign shop in Houston. She’d taken old pieces of furniture—things that no one wanted anymore—and created a new piece of furniture. She’d pick up an old chair on the side of the road, repair it, strip it, give it a faux finish and recover it with vintage fabric and, voila, it became a work of art. She liked getting her hands dirty in design work, so she totally understood the pleasure Tyson took in revisioning the space.

“It’s fabulous,” she said when he’d finished. “I can’t believe you can actually do all of that within these four walls.”

“Well, part of it is using good design principles. We’ll draw the eye upward to give a better sense of space. Using quality materials will offset the lack of square footage. Add some expansive colors, and it will feel airy.”

She laughed. “Did you just say airy?”

He shrugged. “Okay, so I watch a couple of design shows on HGTV.”

Dawn smiled, enjoying his small discomfiture. A picture of him with a notepad balanced on his lap while he took notes from a designer on TV popped into her mind. “I appreciate a man who does his research. So let’s talk time frame. When can you start and how long till completion?”

“I can start Monday,” he said. “Two months if I can find the right guys to help me. We should be finished before Christmas.”

Dawn took a sip from her mug. “Then it’s a deal.”

“You don’t need to talk to Nellie?” he said, reaching for his own mug and taking a long swallow of coffee.

“No, not unless it involves the frequency of nursing or the best diaper-rash creams,” she said, rolling her eyes comically.

“Okay, then,” he said, putting out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Dawn placed her hand in his. It was dry, warm and enveloped her entire hand. A little frisson of electricity—the kind she was supposed to ignore—shot up her arm. She jerked her eyes to his. He felt it, too.

Then he did something totally unexpected. He pulled her to him. And she went. She could feel the hitch in her breathing, could feel his breath fan her cheek.

She tore her eyes from his and focused on the pulse at the base of his throat. Was it her imagination or was it beating erratically? Her breasts lightly brushed the front of his shirt, prickling immediately at the contact with his body.

She felt his fingers push strands of hair from her forehead. One of his massive arms curled around her, his hand sliding against her back, searing her with the heat of his touch.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She knew it was stupid to let him. Knew it was not what she should want, but she also knew if he didn’t press his lips to hers and claim the heat of her mouth, she’d go insane.

She chanced looking up at him.

Her passion was mirrored in his eyes.

He lowered his head and pulled her tighter against him.

She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. A sigh of acceptance. A sigh of need.

His lips hovered above hers, teasingly.

Then something wet hit her ankles.

Dawn squealed as the wetness wriggled. She stepped back and heard a yelp.

“You stepped on him!” Hunter Todd shouted. “You hurted his paw.”

Dawn looked down to see Herman limping around, holding up his front paw. He did indeed look like a drowned rat. And the worried six-year-old didn’t look much better. He, too, was dripping on the tiled floor.

Tyson sighed. “Hunter Todd, I think you have about the best timing of any kid I’ve ever known.”




CHAPTER FIVE


DAWN DIPPED HER SPOON into the bowl of Golden Nut Ohs. The planner she’d found under some of Jack’s papers sat in front of her, open to the list she’d scribbled in the back. Her secret list that made it into every planner each new year. A list of the things she wanted to undertake by the time she was forty.

Her accomplishments to date were dismal.

She’d never learned sign language. She didn’t have two children. She’d never seen the Grand Canyon. Or run a marathon. Or visited the Louvre.

She’d also never had sex on a beach. Why the hell had she put that on there anyway? Gritty sand in hard-to-reach places, sunburn on tender places and seaweed in her hair? Couldn’t be good, could it?

Tyson’s image popped into her mind. Tyson bare-chested on the beach, sand clinging to his sun-kissed shoulders. Mmm.

How in the name of all that was holy was she going to see that man every day and not get tangled up in him? Even knowing that a man as capable and self-reliant as Tyson could seriously undermine her need to control her life and her sense of responsibility for everyone, didn’t stop this wanting. Sorting out where she was going probably wouldn’t happen if she got involved with him—she’d be too busy trying to run his life to pay attention to her own.

So okay. She could do it. She could stay away, slide around corners when she saw him coming, and throw up some mental barbed-wire barriers when she absolutely had to talk to him. But something inside, some little know-it-all voice, said it wasn’t happening.

She was toast.

“Want some toast?”

“Huh?” Her chin slid from where it rested on her palm. She jerked upright and looked at her brother, who’d obviously used ninja skills and snuck up on her. Stealth dwelt in the arsenal of a younger brother.

“I said—” he yawned “—do you want some toast? I’m making some.”

“No. I’m still working on this cereal.” She tossed the spoon into the half-eaten mush.

Jack padded around the kitchen in his boxers and snug T-shirt, slamming drawers and banging cabinet doors.

“Are you trying to wake the baby?” Dawn drawled.

“’Cause you’re doing a good job of trying to wake the dead.”

“You’re cranky,” he said. “Have another cup of coffee.”

“I’m not cranky,” she groused, knowing she was. She’d been crabby all of yesterday as she’d cleaned out the second-floor rooms at Tucker House. Mostly because she really needed to go over the résumé she’d been prepping to send out to the design firms in Houston. Because that was her future. Oak Stand was temporary. She had to keep one eye on what came next even while she gave this job her all. And that meant today she’d have to help Bubba cart the boxes to the third-story storage. Then she’d have to see the man who’d almost, but not quite, kissed her.

“So what’s with you? Is the baby keeping you up? I know our room is downstairs, but the kid has a pair of lungs like her aunt.”

She ignored the barb. Her coffee was cold. But she didn’t move a muscle to warm it. She ran her finger round and round the rim of the cup. “No, I’m just tired. Got a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

“I know things have been tough lately. Hell, there’s been so much change in all of our lives that sometimes it’s hard to keep up,” he said.

Dawned nodded. Two years ago, Jack had been an eligible Las Vegas nightclub owner and she’d been a small-business owner with a teenager in the house. Neither she nor Jack had ever heard of Oak Stand, Texas. And never in a million years had either of them thought Jack would be standing at the kitchen sink, washing bottle nipples, letting his exhausted wife sleep in, or that Dawn would be trying to start her life over again.

“Yeah, it’s been…different than what I’d imagined for myself.”

Jack pulled out a chair and sat. His blue eyes glanced at her planner then met hers. She saw pity pooling in their depths. She hated pity. He scratched his head, leaving his hair sticking straight up. Dawn might have smiled if she had it in her. “So give yourself some time. You don’t have to make any decisions about Houston, or a job or anything else.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Heck,” he muttered, “I’m so not good with this brother-sister stuff. I don’t know what to say. Your life ain’t been peachy and mine’s about as good as I could ever imagine. How do I make you feel better about Larry and Houston and that married son of a bitch who duped you when I’m so happy?”

She patted his hand. “You don’t. You just love me. And I know you do. You’re trying your best to take care of me, but I can take care of myself.”

She rose and carried her bowl to the farmhouse sink, rinsed it out and loaded it into the dishwasher. Even as she’d said the words, they rang hollow in her ears. Did she believe them? Thus far, very few people would say she’d made good choices. That much was obvious. Every decision she’d ever made seemed wrong. From going all the way with Larry, to trying to start a new business, to accepting the first lunch date with Murray. All a total waste of her time. All wrong.

Except for Andrew.

Her son was the only thing she’d done right. She’d taken that downy-haired baby and raised him into a tall, strong man—well, nearly a man. At nineteen, he was handsome, smart and, outside of trying to arrange dates for her and Larry, had a practical nature. She missed him and wished he’d come to Oak Stand for a visit.

She could feel Jack studying her, so she turned and gave him a brave smile. “I’m off to work. The contractor’s coming today to start demoing the space upstairs. And I’m going to look at another rental so I can get out of your hair.”

“Do you think we want you out of our hair? Who’s going to change all those dirty diapers?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. Every daddy does.”

Except Larry.

He’d taken one look at Andrew’s dirty diaper and vowed he’d never change one.

It was the one promise he’d managed to keep.

“Bubba will be there by nine. He’s running out to the barn to check on Dynamo, but he said it wouldn’t take him—how’d he put it?—two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Dawn smiled. Bubbaisms ran rampant on the ranch. The ranch. Jeez. She still couldn’t believe her city-slick brother got up every morning, pulled on faded Levi’s, and headed out to a barn. The urbane Jack Darby actually loved raising wild broncs for rodeos. When she looked at him now, she saw his life was peachy. The thought lifted her spirits. Gave her hope for herself.

“Okay then,” Dawn said, delivering a salute. “Hand me my day planner and I’ll be off.”

Jack frowned at the planner sitting on the table. “Why don’t you use a PDA like everyone else on the planet?”

“Because I like to use a pen and paper. No need to charge a battery.”

“Dinosaur.”

“Shut up,” she said, holding out an expectant hand.

“This works just fine. Keeps me straight.”

He handed the leather-bound agenda to her with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “It’s a crutch. You can’t schedule everything in life. Some things won’t tolerate being put into a column and highlighted pink.”

“Whatever,” she said, spinning around and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ve yet to meet the problem that can’t be better handled with proper scheduling. Or at least a list of emergency numbers.”



TYSON WATCHED DAWN WALK around the side of Tucker House, digging in her handbag for what he assumed to be the keys. His watch read 7:40 a.m. He’d been here for ten minutes. Dawn was late, but he’d forgive her because she looked too lovely to berate.

She’d braided her hair, though pieces had already escaped to frame her face. Her light blue shirt was open to a swirly looking yellow-and-blue undershirt. She wore denim trousers that flared just slightly above her trim ankles. He knew they were called crop pants. His ex-wife had worn them. Brown loafers graced her feet. She looked poised and fresh, just right for the first cool October morning, if one could call fifty degrees cool. He knew it would be in the midseventies by lunchtime.

“Sorry I’m late,” she called as she mounted the steps, keys in hand. “I’m rarely late, but Jack’s damn dog dragged a mutilated, half-rotten squirrel onto the porch and dropped it on my foot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It dropped a dead squirrel on your foot?”

She shivered. “Not just a dead squirrel, a decomposing squirrel. I have no words for how disgusting it was. I had to shower again.”

Tyson dashed away the thought of her standing beneath the showerhead, water sluicing down her delicious body. He shrugged. “No problem. Sorry your morning hasn’t been…easy.”

Dawn shook her head, an ironic smile curving her bottom lip. “It’s par for the course for me, Hart.”

Tyson started at the sound of his last name on her lips. Hart? So she was distancing herself. After Saturday afternoon’s near lip-lock in the kitchen, he expected as much. But he was surprised at the flicker of disappointment in his gut. He’d wanted her to want him. To want to further their brief encounter.

But at the same time, he knew it was better this way. He needed to focus on his job and on creating a better life for his daughter. He’d agreed to visit Laurel in Dallas last weekend because she absolutely had to see the new Taylor Swift movie, but she’d be in Oak Stand this weekend. He wanted to take her to the Dairy Barn and to the small pond on Gramps’s property. Maybe they could crank up the four-wheeler and take a spin. She’d finally see in Oak Stand what he saw—a chance for a new beginning with a very different way of life.

“Well, no one can help when such unforeseeable circumstances occur, like a rotten squirrel on your foot.” He chuckled, following her into the dim house.

“Yep. God likes to teach me lessons. ’Cause that totally wasn’t scheduled in my planner.”

He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he didn’t ask. He’d learned long ago that when a woman was agitated, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. With or without a dead squirrel.

“So, I’m going to head upstairs and start making some marks on which walls are going to have to go. I hired a couple of local guys to help me, but they won’t be here until this afternoon.”

She’d already headed toward the rear of the house, but called to him as she ducked into her office. “I’m gonna pop some cinnamon rolls in the oven. We won’t have clients until 8:00 a.m. Bubba will be here shortly to move the boxes to the attic. I labeled them clearly with the area in which they should be stored. I’ll help when Margo gets here.”

He decided to forego the stairs and followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have any ground rules about noise? Because it’s going to get noisy at times. Nothing I can do about that.”

Dawn smiled. “I’ll have them turn their hearing aids down.”

He grinned. “Seriously.”

She shrugged before pulling open the refrigerator and taking out a tube of ready-to-bake pastries. “I don’t foresee a problem. They know there will be ongoing construction for the next few months. We’ll just do our best, but I would like to see something in place to prevent dust downstairs. Some of our clients have fragile health and I can’t imagine construction dust would be good for them.”

“I can handle that,” he said. “We’ll put plastic at the entrance to the stairs and I’ll place a fan in one of the windows to draw some of the dust particles outside.”

Dawn pulled out a pan and began unwinding the paper from the cinnamon rolls. Silence fell between them.

“Look, Dawn, about Saturday,” he began.

She waved a hand at him, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Look, no big deal. It was a weird moment. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

He wasn’t sure they could. He’d learned long ago it was best to not ignore potential problems. Meeting head-on was the only smart solution.

“But it did happen. We can’t pretend there isn’t something between us,” he said, glancing out the window to where leaves floated to the ground on the breeze. Gold, red and orange danced across the yard, scudding against the yellowed grass.

She slid the pan into the oven and stood, straightening her spine like a soldier. Her brown eyes met his. They were guarded. “I can’t afford to—” she paused “—dabble with a man. I’ve made too many mistakes down that road lately. So I want to forget about Saturday. It’s easier for me that way.”

“Okay,” he said, catching a glimpse into her life. His own path had been much the same. Full of wrong turns and rocks in his shoe. “I agree with you. I don’t have room to screw up, either. I’ll sign divorce papers next month, and I need a fresh start with my daughter.”

He saw the questions lurking in the depths of her chocolate eyes. “You have a daughter?”

“Yeah, her name’s Laurel. She’s nearly fourteen. The divorce has been hard on her. Coming here to Oak Stand, a place where I spent my happiest times, is a new chapter for us. I hope.”

“I’m taking a break myself. And I’m looking for a new direction.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, as though showing her own vulnerability was wrong. He could see the mental shake of her head.

“Well, so we agree to ignore any, um, weird feelings? Keep everything business?”

He nodded. “But, let’s not call it business. Let’s agree to be friendly.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“With no physical contact. Friendship only. I could use another friend in this town. I didn’t actually grow up here. Spent mostly summers and an occasional year with my grandfather.”

She smiled. “I’m not local, either. And I could use another friend in this town, too. So sounds like we have a deal. But we won’t muck it up by shaking on it this time.”

Yeah. No touching. And just when his fingers wanted to curl around her upper arms and spin her toward him so they could finish what they’d started two days ago.

But it was over before it began.





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