Rescuing the Texan's Heart

The knife of guilt twisted.

He stared at the woman. “Taryn?” Eyes that striking were hard to forget. Even though she was only a kid the last time he’d seen her.

“That’s me.” She shifted from one foot to the other, tucking her short, golden-brown hair behind her ear.

“Wow. I haven’t seen you since you were what...twelve?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Try seventeen.”

Way to go, Coble. “Sorry.” He glanced at the tray in his hand. “Something sure smells good. This wouldn’t be for Gramps, would it?”

“It is.”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Well, darlin’, allow me to assist you then.”

Her smile evaporated. She stiffened. “Suit yourself.” Turning on the heel of her rubber-soled shoes, she advanced up the wooden steps, leaving Cash to wonder if he’d offended her with the age remark.

Women. He’d never understand them.

He followed her, noting the large supply of wood stacked at one end of the porch. Surely Gramps hadn’t cut all that himself.

Taryn reached past the handle of a snow shovel for the bell, when the door opened.

“I thought I heard voices out here.” Gramps held the storm door wide. His white hair was as thick as ever and his green eyes brightened when he caught sight of Cash. “Come in. Come in.”

If first impressions meant anything, Cash’s mother was worried for nothing. The old man looked great.

Scout trotted inside first, as though she belonged, followed by Taryn and Cash.

The old house looked much better on the inside. The dark wood paneling in the living and formal dining space had been painted white, brightening the room considerably. Looked like Gramps had a new recliner, too. Seemed he wore one out about every five years or so. The floral sofa, though, still looked as new as the day Cash’s grandmother bought it.

“I thought you’d be at the ice park.” Gramps smiled at Taryn.

“No, not today.”

The old man shifted his attention back to Cash, his chest puffed out. “Did you know that Ouray is the ice climbing capital of America?”

“I did not.” However, he couldn’t help noticing that the console TV was still parked near the front window so it could be viewed from the kitchen.

“We even have a big ice festival. But that was last month.”

Cash always said his grandfather should be a spokesperson for the town. The old man never missed an opportunity to talk up Ouray.

“Pretty nice setup they’ve got over there, though.” Gramps inhaled deeply. “Smells like you’ve been baking again, young lady.”

Pink tinged Taryn’s cheeks. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, Mr. Jenkins. Lots of people are baking.”

“So what’s your excuse the rest of the year?” The old man looked at Cash. “This sweet thing keeps me on baked goods that rival anything your grandmother would have made.”

Cash focused on the girl who had once followed him and her brother all over Ouray. “Beautiful and a great cook. That ought to make some man very happy.”

Those clear blue eyes narrowed for a split second.

“I’ll take this.” She snatched the tray from his hand and headed into the kitchen.

He turned to his grandfather. He hadn’t seen the old man since the last time he’d come to Texas, shortly after the birth of Cash’s niece. That was over two years ago. And while one would never guess the man to be ninety, the telltale signs of age had grown more numerous. Lines revealed a man who loved the outdoors and age spots dotted his tanned skin.

“How are you, Gramps?”

His grandfather drew him into a warm embrace. “Even better now, son.” He clapped Cash on the back with a strength that belied his age. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.”

Funny how he had to stoop to hug this man he once considered a giant. He still smelled of coffee and outdoors. Home.

His grandfather released him.

“And the bronchitis?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Taryn there nursed me back to health with her homemade chicken soup.”

“Good.” He looked around the familiar space where he’d spent so much of his childhood. “It’s good to be here. Thank you for inviting me.”

Gramps sent him a stern look. “No invitation needed. You know you’re always welcome.”

The moisture in the old man’s eyes tugged at Cash’s heart. Suddenly, he was glad he’d come. A few days in Ouray might do wonders for him. Who knows? He might even relax. Clear his head. And, with any luck, see a little snow.

* * *

First, darlin’, then beautiful.

Taryn Purcell had heard those words before. And they made her skin crawl worse than nails on a chalkboard.

It took all the restraint she could muster not to dump the cherry pie and other goodies she’d made onto Art Jenkins’s kitchen table. She loved the old man as much as her own grandfather, but his grandson left much to be desired.

She huffed out a sigh. Cash Coble. A big name for a big man with an even bigger ego, no doubt. Was it just her or were all tall, good-looking Texans arrogant and condescending? Like a woman’s sole purpose was to cook and look good for her man.

That’s probably how Cash preferred his women—in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.

Hmph. Bet Big Tex wouldn’t have the guts to strap on some crampons, grab an ax and scale some fat ice. Boy, she’d like to teach him a thing or two.

“Taryn...” Mr. Jenkins’s voice drew closer.

She turned as he entered the kitchen with his grandson. From his short blond hair to his boot-cut jeans and pointy cowboy boots, Cash had Texan written all over him. Right down to the swagger. And those dimples...

Biting her lip, she shifted her attention to Scout, who was happily tucked under Cash’s arm, licking him as if the man was a side of beef. Scout was usually afraid of men. Even Mr. Jenkins had to bribe her with a treat before the mutt allowed him to pick her up. And he’d known her since she was a puppy.

“You remember my grandson, Cash, don’t you?”

She gripped the metal edge of the ancient Formica-topped table behind her and forced a smile. “I do. Not that we spent much time together.” Cash was five years older than her, the same age as her brother Randy. Guess that would make him thirty-two.