Authors: Kristine Rolofson
Blame It On Texas
Blame it on Beauville?
This small Texas town has sure seen its share of romances! Elizabeth and Jake fell in love in
Blame It on Cowboys
(Temptation #802).
Then Jess fell in lust with Lorna in
Blame It on Babies
(Temptation #819).
What’s going to happen now that Kate has come home to Beauville—and has to face her high school sweetheart? Rumors are flying fast and furious. And the whole town is watching for what unfolds next….
The tale continues in…
KRISTINE ROLOFSON
The author of nearly thirty bestselling books for Harlequin, Kristine lives in Rhode Island. Married and the mother of six, she began writing when two of her children were only in diapers. She also worked as a secretary, seamstress and waitress, but her passions have always been writing and travel. Known for her Western heroes, sense of humor and strong female characters, this talented author gathers readers wherever she goes.
Kristine enjoyed creating the fictional town of Beauville and the host of characters who play out their lives there. Look for her next outstanding miniseries in Temptation beginning August 2001. Montana Matchmakers is about a small town in Big Sky Country that holds a matchmaking festival each year. Enjoy!
Books by Kristine Rolofson
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
653—THE BRIDE RODE WEST
692—THE WRONG MAN IN WYOMING
*Boots and Booties
712—THE RIGHT MAN IN MONTANA
*Boots & Booties
765—BILLY AND THE KID
802—BLAME IT ON COWBOYS
*Boots and Beauties
819—BLAME IT ON BABIES
*Boots & Beauties
HARLEQUIN PROMO
MY VALENTINE
A TOUCH OF TEXAS
TYLER BRIDES
KRISTINE ROLOFSON
BLAME IT ON TEXAS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
“B
IG NEWS
,” M
ARTHA
announced into the phone. She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and her chin and hoped her daughter appreciated the effort. Kate never seemed to be overly interested in the goings-on in her hometown now that she lived in New York City, but Martha continued to keep her up with the news. Since the girl had spent more than a few hours at the drive-in with her friends when they were all growing up in Beauville, Martha knew Kate might find this worth listening to.
“Good news or bad news?” her daughter asked, sounding cautious.
“I’ve got the paper ready right here,” Martha said. “I’ll read it to you.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
Martha ignored the request. She was better at reading than telling and maybe this way Kate wouldn’t ask questions her mother couldn’t answer. “The former site of the Good Night Drive-In
will soon become a senior citizens’ residence,” Martha McIntosh read aloud.
“What? The drive-in’s
gone?
”
“It sure is.” And good riddance, too, Martha added silently. She’d watched the digging with more trepidation than most, but now that the concrete was poured she’d decided this was for the best. Her daughter’s complete attention caught at last, Martha repeated the article’s first sentence and added a few more details. The article was on the front page of the
Beauville Times,
but tucked down at the bottom, on the left, beneath the weather predictions and beside an article about the town council passing the school board’s budget. “There’s a nice drawing here, too. It’s going to be real nice. They started construction this week and they’re moving right along.”
“That’s so sad,” Kate said.
“That old place was an eyesore, honey. And we could use something nice to look at, like the Good Night Villas. I thought Gran might move into town and into one of the apartments.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Martha echoed, running out of patience. You’d think a twenty-seven-year-old woman would understand that an elderly woman shouldn’t live twenty miles outside of town. “She’s almost ninety, Kate. She needs taking care of.”
“Does she want to move?”
“She’s thinking about it,” Martha hedged. If Gert Knepper had wanted to move off the Lazy K, she would have packed up her things and driven her truck to town. It didn’t matter that she’d lost her driver’s license twelve years ago or that she could have all the help she needed by picking up the telephone and asking for it, Gert did things on her own. When she decided to move, she’d appear on the doorstep with her suitcase.
“Right,” Kate laughed. “I can’t picture her anywhere but on the ranch.”
“These apartments or condos or whatever they’re called are going to be very nice. Carl said—”
“I guess I can’t picture retirement ‘villas’ in Beauville.”
Martha thought they sounded lovely, with everything new and clean and on one level. Carl Jackson was building them, on land he’d inherited from his father. Old Man Jackson had owned most everything in town once upon a time. He’d roll over in his freshly dug grave if he knew his son had become a land developer. “I’m thinking of buying one.”
“Why?”
“Because I might be ready for a change.” She could picture Kate frowning into her coffee cup. She’d heard the beep of the microwave a few seconds
before. Kate was a caffeine addict, and these Sunday morning phone calls were usually punctuated by the sounds of Kate grinding beans, pouring coffee or reheating cups of the stuff. Always on the move, that one. Couldn’t even sit still long enough to talk to her mother without reaching for some stimulation. Martha worried about her, wondered what she did for fun, wondered why she liked the city and her big important television job. Wondered if she’d find a nice man and have babies and bring them home to Texas on holidays so Martha could fuss and cuddle.
“That would be a pretty big change,” she said. “What does Gran think of all of this? How is she feeling?”
“You’ll see for yourself at the party. You’re still coming, aren’t you? They’re not going to make you work on your vacation again?”
“No,” Kate said, but there was some hesitation in her voice that made Martha nervous. She knew all too well how Kate’s fancy New York City boss expected her to be on call. “Are you sure Gran’s okay?”
“That old gal is as stubborn as ever,” Martha said, wondering how on earth Gert could live out on the ranch much longer. Sometimes Martha had nightmares about her mother falling down the stairs or tripping over a cat. Gert looked tough, but at that age she had to be fragile. She should be
pampered, should sell the ranch that no one in the family wanted to live on but Gert and use the money to take care of herself. “I tell her all the time she could live like a queen here in town if she’d just sell out.”
“I’m not sure that’s what she wants.”
“The Foresters left and went back to New Mexico.”
“She told me. She said she put an ad in the paper to get more help. Did she find someone?”
“She did, but I have my doubts.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember the Jones family? You went to school with some of the boys, didn’t you?” Martha didn’t wait for an answer. Of course Kate remembered the Jones boys. Everyone knew that family and the trouble they’d gotten into. One of the boys was in prison. “They were a wild group of kids.”
“What about them?”
“She hired one of them to help her out. He and his son moved in last week.”
“Which one?”
“What?” Martha tore her gaze away from the front window. She could have sworn she saw Carl’s white Cadillac pass by the house. She wondered if he would stop in and say hello, maybe take her for a drive the way he had last Sunday after church.
“Which one?” Kate sounded as if she was gritting her teeth.
“Not the oldest, but the other one. Dustin.”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just a spill.”
“Run cold water over it. Are you burned?”
“Not really. It mostly went on my robe.” She laughed softly. “You’d think I’d learn not to do ten things at once.”
“You and your grandmother are so much alike, always busy,” Martha said. She watched as Carl put his Cadillac in reverse and guided it into a parking spot in front of her house. “I’d better get going,” she added. “I’ve lots to do today.”
“But Mother,” her daughter said, “we haven’t talked about Gran’s birthday party.”
“Later,” Martha told her. “I’ll call you later.” With that, she hung up. He’d promised to take her to see the latest developments on the condos. He’d also promised frozen margaritas and more than a little flirtation.
Martha loved being retired.
“Y
OU COULD HAVE
warned me,” Kate said, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She pushed aside the
New York Times,
all eighty pounds of it, in order to have more room on the table. “Mom started talking about the Good Night Drive-In and
all I could think of was what we were doing there with our boyfriends when we should have been watching the movies.”
Emily’s Texas drawl was still as strong as ever, even through the phone. “I meant to,” she said. “I was gonna mail you the newspaper, but I was afraid you’d think you were growing old and get all depressed and lose your fancy job and become one of those New York City bag ladies.”
“Very funny. Don’t you think it’s depressing?”
“Honey, depressing is being pregnant for the fourth time in nine years. Sex at the drive-in with Dusty Jones was a hundred years ago.”
