A Long Tall Texan Summer: Tom Walker (7 page)

she was immediately

tugged upward.

“Stop that," Matt muttered.

"Did she throw a shoe at you, Mr. Tom?" Crissy asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes, she did," he replied curtly. "A high-heeled one, at that. She could have knocked my head off."

"That was the idea, all right," Elysia said sharply.

"Now, now." Matt stepped between them. "This isn't setting a good example for the shortest member of our little friendly group."

Tom and Elysia stopped glaring at each other and glanced at Crissy, who was watching them with growing worry.

Tom wiped the anger from his face and smiled nonchalantly. "It's just a slight disagreement, cupcake,"

he said. "Nothing to worry about. Isn't that right, Elysia?"

She cleared her throat "Of course."

"Then why did my mommy throw a shoe at you?" Crissy asked the tall man.

"Because he called me a—!"

"Ellie!" Matt interrupted.

Elysia clenched her teeth and forced a smile in Tom's general direction. "Never mind."

"Don't you like each other?" the child asked plaintively. "Mommy, you have to like Mr. Tom because he's my friend."

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Those green, green eyes would have melted stone, which Elysia wasn't. She went down on one knee. "I like Mr. Tom," she told the child. "I really do."

"And do you like my mommy?" the child asked the man.

He drew in a short breath. "Sure. I think she's just spiffy."

"Huh?"

He glanced at Elysia with cold green eyes. "Terrific. Super. A truly wonderful person."

"Thank goodness," Crissy said, smiling her relief. "Now you have to stop yelling at each other, okay?"

Tom and Elysia stared at each other. "Okay," they chorused gruffly.

"Let's have a cup of coffee," Matt said quickly. "Elysia, do you mind?"

"Not at all." It was something to do, to get her out of range of that...that man!

The men followed slowly back toward the house with Crissy in tow. By the time they arrived in the dining room, Elysia was calm and coolly friendly, even to her daughter's hated friend. But she was relieved when Tom left, just the same.

He became a regular visitor to the ranch after

that. Sometimes he came when Luke was there alone

with the child, but occasionally he showed up for Sunday dinner. Elysia tolerated him, but she couldn't forget the horrible things he'd said to her, his cold treatment of her. Even understanding his past didn't make him any more welcome in her home. She knew that he was just pretending to tolerate her company

so that he could spend time with his daughter.

She still wasn't sure if he might try to claim custody of Crissy, and it made her nervous. She saw the way

he looked at the child, with pride and tenderness. Crissy was equally fond of him. It was going to complicate Elysia's life, but she didn't know what to do. Tom had every right to see his child. But it cut right into Elysia's heart every time she saw him. The past might be over, but her feelings for him had never

wavered. They grew harder to contain as she saw that rare tenderness he displayed with Crissy. With

no one else was he as open, as vulnerable. To make matters worse, when Elysia came into a room, he seemed to freeze over.

She didn't know that it was jealousy motivating

him, that seeing her with Matt that evening

had

provoked all sorts of doubts about her feelings.

She was getting Sunday dinner when Tom came into the kitchen to ask for cups to go with the carafe of coffee.

“They're in that cupboard." With her hands busy making rolls, she had to nod with her head toward the cabinets.

"I'll get them."

She kneaded risen dough, trying not to notice

how nice he looked in slacks and a dark jacket with a

delicately red striped shirt and paisley tie. He wore his hair short and neat but she had fantasies about
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how he might look with his hair tousled or down around his shoulders like his Native American ancestors...

"Crissy wants to know if you'll let her come home with me to meet Moose," he said.

She froze. She knew she shouldn't be thinking

of making up excuses, but she was.

"I know you don't approve," he said quietly.

"But she's my child, too."

She glanced at him worriedly and then away again. "It isn't that I don't approve," she faltered.

He put the cups down and went to stand close behind her. "But you want her to like Matt, is that it?" he demanded.

She whirled. "Whatever made you ask that?"

He searched her wide eyes. "You're involved

with him, aren't you?" he demanded.

She grimaced. "No, I'm not," she said through her teeth. "But I wish I were. He's handsome and sexy and..."

"Experienced," he said for her, bitterly.

The tone of his voice slowed her down. She looked at him quietly, seeing emotional scars that probably were invisible to most people. They were vivid to her, perhaps because they shared the same sort of past.

"Experience doesn't make a man," she replied.

"There are many things much more important."

"Such as?"

"Tenderness," she said promptly. "The ability to carry on a conversation. Intelligence. A sense of humor."

He glared down at her. "I suppose Matt has all those qualities," he said.

"He's my friend," she told him. "Only my friend."

His green eyes narrowed. "And what am I?"

Her heart jumped. She didn't want to be pinned down with such a question. She turned her attention back to her dough.

"We were friends once," he continued, as if she'd spoken. "I valued your opinion. We got along well together."

"All that changed," she reminded him.

"Yes. I got drunk and made the mistake of my life," he said bitterly. "I've lived with it, but it hasn't been easy. Probably not for you, either," he added perceptively. "You were no more a rounder than I was."

She looked at him wide-eyed. "Excuse me, that's not what you said when that French Don Juan made
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some loud remarks about me on the street."

He grimaced. "I was jealous," he said flatly.

Her hands stilled in the dough as she stared at him. "You were what?"

He shrugged. "I hated his guts," he said shortly. "I couldn't imagine you with a man like that, but I wasn't

thinking clearly. You're very attractive," he added reluctantly. "I can't blame other men for wanting you, too."

His almost unnoticed slip fascinated her. She glanced at him hesitantly. "Do you... want me?" she asked daringly.

His heart jumped in his chest. His face hardened.

She backtracked. "Sorry. Unfortunate question—"

His mouth cut off the words. He'd moved so quickly that she didn't even see him coming.

He kissed her

a little clumsily, because it had been a long time. But after a minute, as she began to respond shyly, he started to get the hang of it again.

"Of course I want you," he growled against her mouth.

He pulled her close, ignoring her floury hands, and wrapped her up against him from head to toe. His lips

were hungry, ardent. It had been years, and she was as soft and sweet as he remembered her. He groaned under his breath and deepened the kiss.

She felt as if she'd died and gone to heaven. He wanted her. She wanted him, too. She pressed closer and whimpered.

Tom forgot that there were people in the other room. He lifted her clear of the floor and kissed her until his mouth hurt. He hadn't realized

how much he'd missed. Now, his lack of love came home with a violence that made him oblivious to everything else. In all the world, there was only one woman for him,

and he had her in his arms right now.

She felt him stiffen finally and her feet touched the floor. He was breathing roughly, but he didn't look as

if he felt the least bit guilty. He touched her face gently and brushed the hair back from her face.

"You don't look a day older than you did in New York," he said unsteadily. "You're as lovely as you were then."

She searched his face with eyes that were just as inquisitive as his. She wanted to believe him, she wanted to trust him. But they weren't married and he wanted his daughter. She hesitated.

He drew in a slow breath. "It's too soon, isn't it?" he asked. "All right. Suppose you go out with me, just the two of us, tomorrow night? I'll take you out to eat and we'll find somewhere to dance."

"In Jacobsville?"

"In Houston," he informed. "We'll need to leave about five. Can you close up early?"

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"I will," she said immediately.

He smiled, and his whole face changed. "Maybe they're right about second chances," he said. "I've missed you."

She knew those words came hard to him. She smiled back. It was like the sun coming out after a long storm.

But the shadows lingered, too. That night, after he went home, Tom had nightmares. His father's mocking, hateful words echoed over and over again in his ears. He wanted Elysia, but the barrier between his brain and his body still existed. Love was a weakness. Sex was a bigger one. His one taste of her had left him aching for months afterward. What would it be like, now, if he gave in to her? Could he really trust her not to want revenge for the emotional pain she'd suffered after his cold rejection, for leaving her alone to bear their child?

He was tormented by doubts and irrational fears. By morning, he was already regretting his impulsive invitation to Elysia for supper. If he could have found a single logical excuse for backing out, he would have. But as things went, he was forced to go.

When he went to pick her up, he found Elysia

wearing a very pretty black lacy dress with short sleeves and a black velvet jacket. She looked elegant and expensive. Considering her inherited wealth, and the amount of money she seemed to earn with her exclusive boutique, it was no wonder that she had the right

sort of clothes for any occasion. He remembered painfully well the simple black crepe sheath she'd worn

the night he'd seduced her in New York City. It had been a cheap dress, and looked it. The one she was wearing tonight was probably a designer model. With her blond hair in a neat chignon and her pretty feet

in simple black high heels, she was a knockout.

"You're staring," she said.

He chuckled. "I suppose I am. You look very nice."

"Thanks. So do you." He was wearing a dark suit, which emphasized his own dark complexion. He looked remote and elegant and very sexy. She lowered her eyes and spoke to his chin. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hearing her repeat aloud his own doubts startled him.

She glanced up into his eyes and saw the indecision there. "I thought you might be regretting it," she said

with a forced smile. "All of this was rather forced on you, wasn't it? You just wanted someone for a night,

and now you have a past and a child to show for it." She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. If I’d been more streetwise than I was—"

"Crissy is a treasure," he said, interrupting her. "I'll never regret her."

She brightened a little. "Honestly?"

He smiled. "Honestly." He glanced around. "Speaking of Crissy, where is she?"

"There's a carnival in town. Luke took her to eat cotton candy and go on the rides," she replied. "After he'd made sure they were safe, of course." She grinned. "He's very protective of her."

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"I noticed. I like Luke," he added.

"So do I. He was my guardian angel when our father was still alive." She searched his bitter eyes. "Oh, Tom, we didn't have much of a childhood, either of us, did we?"

His jaw tautened. "No. It wasn't my father's

fault, but that doesn't make the memories

any easier." He

reached out slowly and touched her soft hair. He grimaced as he moved a little closer, his smile almost apologetic.

"I'm not used to touching, or being touched. It's hard for me to talk about how I feel, much less show it."

"I understand."

His dark green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Yes, I think you do." He searched her face. "Could you live

with it, though, from day to day? You'd have no guarantee that I could ever be like a normal man."

"If by normal you mean ready, willing and able to sleep with every woman you date, then I'd just as soon

have you the way you are," she said flatly. "I'm not risking my life with a man who sees women as a party

favor."

He chuckled softly. "Funny, that's just how I feel about women who are rounders."

"See? We have plenty of things in common."

"We always did. You were the only thing that made New York City bearable, and I never even told you. Just seeing you at your desk every morning, smiling and cheerful, made my day." He sighed. "Not that I realized

it until you were gone, of course," he added ruefully.

"They say we never know what we're missing

until we don't have it anymore."

"So they do."

She frowned suddenly. "You asked if I could live with the way you are," she recalled.

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Maybe it was too soon to say anything.

But eventually,

I'd like it if we got married.

I hope you would, too."

She whistled silently. "There'd be a lot of adjustments to make," she said.

"Oh, yes, there would," he agreed. "Cris-sy's never known any father except your late husband. This house has been home for you both for a while. She's used to Uncle Luke being around constantly. I'm not an easy companion,

and I like my own way—I expect you do, too. We'd have to do a lot of compromising."

"I like paying my own way," she added.