The Way to Texas

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.”