The Cowboy's Texas Twins

She doubled her pace, hoping to get in and out of the supermarket before the storm broke. Grabbing a cart, she formulated a mental shopping list. Pasta with shrimp was quick and simple, and she could round out the meal with a salad. As she made her way toward the seafood counter at the back of the store, a crash reverberated. Not thunder this time, but something closer and more difficult to identify. Had it come from the next aisle?

She heard the scolding murmur of a man’s deep voice, followed by a high-pitched wail. Then a little boy yelled, “You made my brother cry!”

“Sam, I didn’t—Tyler, don’t...” The man’s voice was slightly panicky as he tried to shush the unhappy children. “Boys, please!”

His ragged tone made Hadley want to help. Besides, she didn’t recognize the man’s voice, and she was unabashedly curious. Her mother used to say it was a toss-up as to what would get Hadley into more trouble—her overactive imagination or her need to investigate situations that were none of her business. Momentarily abandoning her cart, she peeked around the corner at the cereal aisle.

Boxes were everywhere. Among the cardboard wreckage, one boy sobbed facedown on the floor while another sat a few feet away, making similar noises. Yet his eyes were suspiciously dry, as if he wasn’t so much crying as expressing solidarity. It took her a second to realize the boys were identical. Meanwhile, a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man was trying to placate them while simultaneously righting the freestanding display that had been toppled.

She cleared her throat softly. “Need a hand?”

The man whipped his head toward her, almost guiltily, and she got her first clear look at him. Hair so dark it was almost black was brushed upward from his forehead. The short style emphasized the masculine beauty of his square, stubbled face; granite was softer than that jawline. “Sorry about the disturbance, ma’am.”

Flashing him a reassuring smile, she kneeled to retrieve a dented box of cornflakes. “This hardly qualifies as a disturbance. You should see the library on story day when half the preschool audience needs a nap.”

He gave her an answering grin, and dimples appeared. Oh, mercy! His muscular body had been impressive even before he turned around, but now that he was smiling and his eyes shone with—

“What the heck happened here?”

Hadley glanced past Dimples to find a bewildered Violet Duncan, holding a bag from the pharmacy while she gaped at the sobbing boys and scattered boxes. Violet was a web designer who volunteered her skills to keep the library’s online community calendar updated.

The horizontal twin lifted his tearstained face and responded, “It w-w-was a accident!”

“Grayson yelled at Sam!” the other twin accused.

Grayson...

Good Lord. Dimples was Grayson Cox? Hadley hadn’t recognized her former classmate. She knew he was Violet’s nephew, of course, but she’d been under the impression that his visits to Cupid’s Bow were as rare as unicorns. Was he in town for their high school’s ten-year reunion next Saturday? And who were these little boys? With their brown eyes, she might have guessed they were his except the kid had called him Grayson, not Dad.

“I did not yell!” Grayson defended himself. “I told him to stop running, which he didn’t, and then I pointed out the consequences of not listening.” He gestured at the mess around them.

Violet scooped up Sam and set him in the shopping cart. The action startled the boy out of his crying.

“I’m too big to ride in the cart,” he protested.

“You’re also too big to throw temper tantrums in the grocery store,” Violet said mildly. “If I let you walk, will you quiet down?”

With one last dramatic sniffle, Sam nodded.

“Good. If you and your brother will behave, you can come help me pick out something for dessert tonight.” With a sigh, she turned to Grayson. “You want to finish restoring order here and meet us in the baking aisle?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ducked his gaze, looking as boyishly chagrined as young Sam.

When Hadley chuckled at his expression, all eyes turned to her.

Violet gave her a wan smile, acknowledging her as she shepherded the boys away. “Hey, Hadley.”

“Hadley?” Grayson echoed, turning back toward her. He blinked. “Hadley the Cannon?”

“No.” The quick denial felt like a protective gesture, warding off the once beloved nickname. “I mean, no one calls me that.” Not since she was seventeen.

“But you are Hadley Lanier?” He studied her from top to bottom, the intensity in his gaze making her shiver. Like her, Grayson had brown eyes, but his were a few shades lighter, nearly the color of her dad’s favorite bourbon, ringed in a circle of darker brown that made his eyes unforgettable. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him sooner—or that she had yet to look away. Quit staring. Easier said than done.

Outside, she’d felt the prickle of storm-charged electricity against her skin, but that was nothing compared to the sizzle that went through her now. “I, uh... What was the question? Oh!” Her cheeks burned. “Yes. I’m Hadley.”

His hand clenched around a cereal box as he scowled at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Three (#u2a98dda7-a0e5-5734-bf2f-44144424c0c3)

Grayson hadn’t meant to blurt out the question so rudely. But the idea of Hadley Lanier in Cupid’s Bow was almost as ridiculous as his being here.

Her eyes narrowed, their coldness making him belatedly realize how much he’d been enjoying her earlier warm interest. “I’m grocery shopping, same as you. But without toppling displays and making small children cry.”

Less than twenty-four hours in town, and they’d already made a public scene. Yeah, he was really winning at this parenting business. “I didn’t mean what are you doing here in the store,” he said impatiently. “Why are you in Cupid’s Bow? Last I saw you, you were headed off to play college softball, with big plans to get your diploma and see the worl—”

“Plans change.”

Ain’t that the truth. He felt a spark of kinship with her, probably his first ever. During their school years, he’d spent a lot of time annoyed with her. Even before high school and her blind devotion to Reggie George, Grayson had hated the excited class reports she gave about other countries. Her vivid social-studies presentations about all the places she planned to see made him realize how big the world was, how many places his mom could be. While he was cooped up in a classroom, listening to some stupid report from a know-it-all girl, was his mother swimming in an ocean? Surveying Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower? Whether she’d been in Paris, France, or Paris, Texas, the result was the same—his own mom hadn’t loved him and all his classmates knew it.

“Hello, Hadley, dear.” At the other end of the aisle, a stooped elderly woman nudged her cart forward and stopped in front of the hot cereal. She eyed Grayson with open curiosity. “Would one of you be so kind as to reach the grits for me?”

“I’d be happy to, Miss Alma.” Hadley smiled, but the expression seemed forced—especially when she cut her eyes toward Grayson. “We were done here anyway.”

No, they weren’t. Curiosity about her life choices aside, he needed a chance to apologize for his rude bluntness. You’re a role model now, remember? He could just imagine Aunt Vi’s response if she heard how he’d spoken to Hadley. Probably something like “You want people to think I didn’t raise you with any manners?”

Stalling, he fussed with the cereal display, making sure the boxes were perfectly lined up while he waited until he could talk to Hadley alone again. He listened with half an ear to Alma’s chatter. “How’s your mama, dear?” and “Looks like some storm blowing in” and “Who’s the hottie?”

“Miss Alma!” Hadley sounded mortified, and Grayson registered he was the “hottie” in question.

Grinning inwardly, he darted a glance toward his former classmate. With her hair pulled back in a long, loose ponytail, he had a clear view of her face turning pink. He remembered that about her from high school, that she’d been prone to blushing. Her jackass boyfriend would pass her notes, their contents guessable by the color of Hadley’s cheeks. Oh, hell, what if the jackass boyfriend was why Hadley had settled in Cupid’s Bow? He could be the jackass husband by now.

When Hadley caught him looking at her, she planted her hands on her hips. “I suppose you’re referring to Grayson Cox, Violet’s nephew?” Hadley asked Alma. “I don’t see anything ‘hot’ about him.”

Alma snorted. “Then you should make an appointment with Dr. Shaffer to get your vision check—Oh! Violet’s nephew, you say?” She lowered her voice to a whisper.

Grayson’s stomach churned. He hated knowing he was the topic of discussion. Gossip had followed him throughout childhood—people talking about his mom’s disappearance, his father’s drinking, his aunt taking him in when she was so young. There were townsfolk who thought Violet and Jim McKay had been on the verge of getting engaged before Grayson disrupted her life; he’d always been too afraid to ask her if he was the reason she and Jim had ended things.

There was a break in the whispering, and Hadley cast him a quick look over her shoulder. Instead of her earlier irritation, now there was pity in her eyes. Screw it. He didn’t need to apologize that badly. Time to get out of here. He strode away from the reorganized cereal display, but Hadley caught up with him, nearly matching his stride. She was a tall woman. Though she’d been known on the softball field for her pitching, she could haul ass around the bases when necessary.

He kept his eyes straight ahead. “I take it you got an earful?” How much did Cupid’s Bow citizens already know about his moving back?

“Apparently, Alma heard from Dagmar, the florist, who overheard Violet tell the sheriff’s wife that you and your godsons... Grayson, I’m sorry about your friends.”

His breath caught, a painful knot in his lungs. He couldn’t talk about them. Logically, he knew Blaine and Miranda were never coming back—he’d had to remind the boys of that on several heart-wrenching occasions—but he still hated discussing it. As if talking about their death made them more dead somehow. He gurgled an inarticulate response to her condolences.

“I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you. Which is saying something,” she added, wry humor edging into her sympathy. “Because I have a very vivid imagination.”

He was surprised she’d made a joke about herself instead of dwelling on his situation. Some of the pressure in his chest eased, and he offered her a tentative smile.