Home To Texas

Home To Texas
Bethany Campbell

Tara Hastings never meant to come to Crystal Creek. She's fled to the Texas Hill Country hoping to protect herself and her four-year-old son from the fallout of a nasty divorce.Grady McKinney's home is the open road. Born and raised in Crystal Creek, he thinks he's escaped it for good. Then an accident maroons him in the last place on earth he wants to stay.Tara's taken on the task of restoring an isolated ranch house, and she desperately needs help. Grady can do almost anything–except settle down. He also desperately needs a job. Responsible Tara shouldn't be attracted to footloose Grady, but she is. Worse, her vulnerable son adores him!

“I’m like Luke Skywalker.”

Del continued, “He doesn’t have a dad, but he’s got a buddy. Han Solo. Grady’s like Han Solo. He’s my buddy.”

Tara tried not to flinch. “You have a dad.”

Del’s face went stubborn. “He doesn’t want me. And I don’t want him. I don’t need him. I got a buddy.”

She wanted to tell him that his father still loved him in his own way. It was a lie, but she believed it was a lie he needed. He was too young to deal with the truth. As the movie’s theme music welled up, Tara’s heart sank. What were her choices? Let her son sit like an automaton in front of the television screen? Or let him fall even further under Grady McKinney’s spell?

For Grady could cast a spell, a strong one. She was close to being snared herself. Del was clearly starving for a man’s company. And so, perhaps, was she.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bethany Campbell was born and raised in Omaha, Nebraska. One of the best things about growing up in Omaha was that, like it or not, every schoolchild was herded at least once yearly through the city’s sumptuous Joslyn Art Museum. Omaha also had a great central public library, not far from Joslyn. As a geeky teenaged bookworm, Bethany spent many a happy Saturday afternoon exploring both spots.

In college she majored in English and minored in art. Her first three ambitions were to be a cartoonist, an illustrator, or a writer. Later, as a freelancer, she worked for several greeting card companies as a writer and doing rough art. She sold her first romance novel in 1984 and has won three RITA

Awards, three Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Awards, a Maggie Award and the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence

Bethany loves to hear from readers. Please drop her a line through her Web site, www.bethanycampbell.com.

Home to Texas

Bethany Campbell

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

“Make new friends, but keep the old;

One is silver, the other is gold.”

To Carol Dankert Stoner, who is pure and solid gold.

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 ONE

GAVIN CHANCE STARED AT HIS SISTER in disbelief. “You sold the horses?”

“I didn’t sell Licorice or India,” Tara said, her gaze dropping.

She’d kept her son’s pony and her own horse. But the other three animals had been sold a week ago. She’d wanted to cry, seeing them taken off, but she had run out of tears long ago.

She sat with her brother in his hotel room at a small table covered with a linen cloth and set for lunch. His visit was a surprise—he had flown to California out of concern for her. Tara had only picked at her salad, and Gavin had pushed aside his sandwich, half-eaten.

Tara looked out the picture window, but instead of seeing the skyline of Los Angeles, she saw her pretty little ranch outside Santa Clarita. Like the horses, it must be sold. There were already two prospective buyers. Soon her home would no longer be hers.

“But why?” Gavin demanded.

Tara kept staring at the skyscrapers. “We need the money.”

Gavin swore and threw his napkin down, rising from the table to pace the gold carpet. He was three years older than Tara, an exceptionally tall man, whip-lean, with thick, sandy hair. Despite his rangy build, he had an artist’s face, with a sensitive mouth and dark, expressive eyebrows.

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “I mean why didn’t you ask me for money?”

Tara toyed with a silver fork. “Del and I will get along. We’re tightening our belts, that’s all.”

Gavin came back to the table, pressed both hands on it and leaned toward her. “You’ve sold your horses. You’re selling the ranch. Good God, Tara. I’d have helped you. You know that.”