His Texas Bride

“Why?”

“I’m holding a reception for your mother’s passing at my….” She hesitated, stumbling over her words.

Buck wondered why, but he didn’t ask. He had no intention of going to any reception in this town, but telling Ellie that without hurting her feelings was another thing entirely.

“At…at my ranch house,” she concluded, gushing out the words. “The whole town is there, Buck. They want to pay their respects to you—and your son. Where is Tyler, anyway?”

That was exactly what Buck was afraid of, the whole town being there, especially where his son, Tyler, was concerned. He would have left twelve-year-old Tyler with someone—anyone—if there was anyone to leave him with, which there wasn’t.

“Tyler is waiting in my truck,” he said, choosing to answer the obvious and avoid the rest for as long as he could.

“Oh, good. I didn’t get the chance to meet him at the funeral,” she said, her voice husky as she tried for a light tone but didn’t quite succeed.

Ellie reached out and touched Buck’s arm again, this time sliding her hand down his forearm to reach for his palm. Buck had forgotten how tiny her hand felt in his, and he simply stared at their hands as their fingers met.

“I couldn’t even get close to you,” she said softly. “You took off right after the funeral this morning without a word to anyone.”

That much was true. He simply nodded, unable to speak for the well of emotion in his throat.

“I wanted to tell you and Tyler how sorry I am about the loss of Esther,” she continued in her high, lilting voice, unashamed of the tears that coursed down her cheeks. “You know your mother was always like a second mom to me. I will miss her desperately. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Actually, Ellie could imagine just that, Buck thought, if anyone could. Ellie had been close to his mother, ever since Buck and Ellie had first started dating in his junior—her sophomore—year of high school. Ellie’s own mother had died when she was a small child. Perhaps that was the reason Buck’s mother and Ellie had formed such a strong, loving bond.

And maybe that was what made it so much harder to imagine returning home at all.

Buck didn’t really want to think about that right now. He pulled his fingers from her grasp. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said roughly, his throat closing around the words, “and I’m sure you went to a lot of trouble for the reception, so I’m sorry to say Tyler and I won’t be able to make it.”

He wasn’t sorry, but it seemed like the polite thing to say. But in his years away from Ellie McBride, he’d apparently forgotten one of her more annoying qualities—her stubborn nature.

“Of course you’re going to the reception,” she replied in a no-nonsense voice that brooked no argument. “Buck, your mother just passed. You may not care about the people in this town, but they care about you.”

Ellie glared at him, daring him to argue with her. When he didn’t speak, she continued her tirade as if she hadn’t even paused. “And they cared about your mother. It would be good of you to allow them to express their grief at her loss.”

“I don’t owe the people in this town a thing,” he bit out, shaking his head.

He believed his own words. The town he’d been born and raised in had betrayed his trust in everything he’d believed in. They’d sold their souls to the almighty dollar.

Ellie.

Even his own mother.

Why should he care what the town folks of Ferrell thought about him? He should get out of town right now, while the getting was good.

“Larry Bowman is there,” Ellie went on, obviously ignoring the fact that Buck had pulled away from her yet again. “I’m sure he’d be willing to talk with you about your mother’s will as soon as the reception is finished.”

Buck groaned aloud. With grief shrouding his thoughts, he’d temporarily forgotten he would have to take care of his mother’s estate before leaving town. He wanted to leave now. Grief washed through him once again, shadowing his other feelings.

He was his mother’s only child, and no doubt the sole beneficiary of her will. He needed to speak with Larry Bowman, the town lawyer, sooner or later; at the moment, his heart was voting for later rather than sooner.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he said, his voice gruff and low. He pinched his lips together. He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Ellie said in an equally low tone, repeating her earlier sentiment. “I know this is a rough time for you. If it helps, I’ll be at the reading of the will.”

Buck’s head jerked up, and he looked Ellie straight in her deep violet eyes for the first time. He was thoroughly shaken by the amount of warmth and compassion he read there—he’d expected more anger, he supposed—but even so, it was her words that unsettled him the most.

“Why would you be there?”

Ellie shook her head, looking away from his gaze and squeezing her eyes closed for a brief moment. Buck wondered if she had something to hide—something she wasn’t telling him. Not that he would ask.

“I just know I’ve been asked to attend,” she said, opening her eyes and once more making eye contact with him. “And I thought it might help if you had a—a friend,” she stammered awkwardly, “by your side through all this.”

Buck turned away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. Ellie had been a friend, the best friend he’d ever had. But she had been so much more than that.

His first love.

Puppy love, some might have called it, but Buck knew better in his heart.

Ellie McBride had been his first love—if he were completely honest with himself, his only love.

But that was a long time ago, in another lifetime. Too much had happened since then, for them both. He was amazed she would still consider herself to be anything to him, much less call herself his friend.

At long last he sighed and turned back to her. “All right,” he said, surrendering to the inevitable. “I’ll go to your reception. But I’m not sure what to do with Tyler. He doesn’t want to be here at all. I don’t think he’ll be keen on meeting the folks of Ferrell, Texas. Especially right now.”

Ellie nodded, her beautiful violet eyes gleaming. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to be around a bunch of strangers if I were grieving for my beloved grandmother, either. And twelve is a tough age for a boy.”

Buck barely held back his disbelief. What would she know about twelve-year-old boys? Buck’s mother, on her brief visits to see Buck and Tyler on the west side of Texas, had mentioned more than once that Ellie had never married—not that he had asked. But he knew why his mother had persisted in bringing the subject up: always in the hope he would return to Ferrell, something he’d long since vowed never to do.

Until now.

“Listen, I think I can handle Tyler,” Ellie said, brushing her long, thick, straight black hair back from her forehead with her thumb and middle finger. “Why don’t we head over to the ranch, and I’ll see what I can do?”

Buck knew any overtures to Tyler on Ellie’s part would be met with resistance by his surly son. Tyler was a handful, with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas itself.

But what else could Buck do?

He nodded and gestured toward the church, where he’d parked his truck. They walked in silence, Ellie obviously lost in her own thoughts and Buck wondering what she was thinking. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Ellie had enough reason to hate Buck for what he’d done to her twenty years ago. For all they’d meant to each other, he’d disappeared out of her life without a single word to her.

Her compassion in light of their past together confused him. Perhaps she was doing this only for the sake of his mother. He sensed an unseen wall between them, erected by Ellie’s emotions, one he knew he couldn’t break down even if he wanted to. He’d built that wall with his own two hands.

Not that it mattered, he told himself.

Buck knocked on the glass on the passenger’s side of his pickup truck, a vehicle that had seen better days. Tyler, dressed in a new pair of blue jeans and a blue denim shirt, had his head back against the seat and his eyes closed, his MP3 player in his hand and earphones in his ears. Buck knew Tyler wasn’t dozing, even when he didn’t so much as open an eyelid to Buck’s persistent knocking.

Maybe the boy was playing his music too loud to hear Buck knocking.

Choosing to give Tyler the benefit of the doubt, Buck dug his keys from the front left pocket of his black jeans, unlocked the door and opened it.