Lonestar Homecoming (6 page)

“You know just what to do now?” His eyes held sharp interest.

She nodded. “I think so. For the living room, I'd—”

He held up his hand. “No, don't tell me. I'm just going to let you do it. I want to see what you come up with.”

“But what if you hate it?”

“Has anyone ever hated it?”

“No.”

“Then I won't either. It's in your hands.”

“That's scary.”

He grinned. “Rick knows a neighbor with a crew cab truck for sale. I'm going to go buy it this morning.”

“I'll jot down some ideas.”

“When I get back this afternoon, let's take the kids to town for ice cream. I'll drop you at the hardware store and you can get paint. There's a small furniture store right next door. Get what you need.”

She managed to maintain her composure, though inside she was dancing.The house was like a tomb. No color, no life. But that was about to change. “Budget?”

“I've got five thousand dollars saved.Will that do it?”

“I can stretch that to do the whole house.”

His eyes widened. “No kidding?”

She nodded and glanced around. “I can make curtains, and slipcovers for the sofa. Same with bedding for the kids' rooms. I can paint those old beds and dressers. Paint is cheap.”

“What about this lousy floor?”

She glanced around the kitchen. “This will take more money than anything else. A new floor and counter will cost, but I can tile it for much less than buying something prefab.”

He studied her face. “You changed the minute we started talking about this. Five minutes ago you were a frightened mouse. Now your color is up, and your eyes are sparkling.”

She laced her fingers together. “It's something I know.”

“Sounds like it.” He pulled out his phone. “I need to call your references now. Can you give me a couple?”

She nodded and dug out her cell phone, then jotted down two numbers on an old envelope. “This is the day-care director's number. And the next number is my last client's. Please don't tell them where I am, though. Just in case Cid—” She shut up at her own mention of Cid's name. Michael was smart enough to make a note of it.

She fixed herself some cereal while he stepped into the other room and made the calls. Her references would be stellar, at least. She was a good employee. She'd work her fingers off for her daughter. Laziness had never been Gracie's failing. Instead, she failed Hope by consistently making the wrong choices.

With ferocious energy, she scrubbed at the spots on the counter. Every time she thought they'd found a place to settle, something went wrong. This last episode with Cid was just the latest of many. Hope deserved better than this vagabond life, and Gracie clung to a desperate hope that this time things would change.

The spot refused to budge, and she attacked it with renewed force. Though this kitchen was grungy and old, it could be a home for her, for Hope. They could make fond memories here. In Gracie's mind's eye, she could see a white picket fence in the backyard, and Hope walking to the podium to accept her high-school diploma. Michael might have given them the key to a decent future.

Michael entered the kitchen again. “They love you. The day-care director couldn't stop singing your praises. So you're hired. The kids go back to school in a couple of weeks. I don't need to report to work until Monday, so I can help you here with the hard stuff.”

She put down the sponge and scouring powder. “I thought you didn't want to know what I was doing,” she said.

He studied her. “You're doing it again.The minute we start talking about the house, you change.Your eyes are sparkling again, and your voice is even louder.You must love it.”

“I do.” But more than that, when she worked with color, she could lose herself in it and forget all she'd done.

B
Y FOUR O'CLOCK THE NEXT DAY, THE HOUSE REEKED OF PAINT, AND
Michael's muscles ached.Work on Monday would be a reprieve.Who would have guessed painting could wear a guy out? The color Gracie picked out for the living room was a gray-green that calmed him. She'd painted his bedroom the same color. The girls' rooms were a pale lavender he liked as well, and Evan's room was a dark blue that matched his Dallas Cowboys memorabilia.

Michael watched Gracie from the doorway to Jordan's room. Kate would never have let the kids help paint, but Gracie put down plastic and showed the kids how to use a paintbrush. Jordan and Evan were working on the headboard of the bed, and not doing a bad job.

Gracie glanced up, and their gazes locked. A pink ponytail holder corralled her blond hair, though an escaped lock brushed her right cheek. “You like the color?” she asked.

“Yeah. But more important, Jordan does.”

“I
love
it, Daddy,” Jordan proclaimed. She wiped white paint on her jeans.

“I might have to buy her new clothes,” he said, grinning.

“It's worth it. Learning these things now will give her confidence.”

He couldn't argue with that. “I thought I might check out the attic and see if there's anything worth using up there.You want to join me?”

“Sure.” She wrapped her roller in a bread sack and laid it on the plastic. “Kids, keep working on the bed. I'll be back to help you touch it up in a few minutes.”

“Okay, Miss Gracie,” Evan said. “We're good painters, right?”

“You certainly are,” she agreed with a smile. She stepped past the three children to join Michael in the doorway. “Do you know how to get up there?”

“I found the stairway. It's at the other end of the hall.” He led her to a door. “Right here.” He'd left the light on, and the glow from the third floor illuminated the stairs. “I'll go first. Just in case the exterminator didn't get all the spiders.”

She shuddered. “Be my guest.”

“I want to keep Jordan out of here until I know for sure. She'll be catching them.”

The stairs were steeper and narrower than normal stairs. They rose quickly to the attic. His head poked into the space, and he glanced around before emerging into the room. “All clear. They've vacuumed and cleaned up here too. It's nice.” He reached down and helped her up the last few steps.

“That'll give you a workout,” she said, gasping as she joined him on the attic floor.

A jumble of boxes, tables, chairs, rolled-up rugs, lamps, and pictures was stacked in nearly every corner, though it was clear everything had been moved, cleaned, then put back. “Where do we start?” he asked, glancing at Gracie.

Her eyes seemed to drink in the jumble of junk. “Oh look!” She darted forward and hauled out a table.

The finish was cracked and stained. “That's good?” he asked, raising his brows. “Looks like trash to me.”

Her finger traced the outline of the piece. “You have to look at the lines. This is Arts and Crafts. It's simple with great lines and will fit beautifully into the design.” She dragged it over to the top of the stairs.

“If you say so. Maybe we should just buy new stuff.This all looks like junk to me.”

“Oh no, this is a treasure trove!” Her muffled voice came from under the eaves. She dragged out a rug, then struggled to unroll it.

“Here, let me help you.” He grabbed an end of the rug and yanked. An Oriental rug lay revealed in the dim light.

Gracie knelt and examined the underside. “It's a real Persian rug,” she gasped. “It has Iranian knots.” She ran her hand over the brilliant colors. “I don't think it's even been on the floor.” She glanced up at him. “We should ask the owners before we use this. It's probably worth some money.”

“They're on vacation another week. Allie told me Shannon said she'd seen everything in the attic, and we can use whatever we want. So this is good? I kind of like the colors.”

“It fits my plan perfectly.”

A cell phone rang. It wasn't his. He glanced at Gracie. She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen.The color drained from her face, and her smile went missing. “Aren't you going to answer that?”

She shook her head. “I don't recognize the number.” Animation disappeared from her voice like a switch had been thrown. No trace of her confidence remained.

“Are you afraid of something, Gracie?You want me to answer it?”

She wet her lips. “It's better to ignore it.” Her voice quavered.

“I believe in meeting a challenge head-on.”

“Sometimes avoidance is better.”

“That just lets the problem escalate. Nip it in the bud.”

The cell phone stopped. She began to roll the rug up. “This can't be nipped.”

“So why did you run from your wedding? You never said.” Her head was down, and he couldn't see her face. “Gracie? You can talk to me. I'd like to help if you're in any trouble.”

She rose and went to the other corner of the attic. “There are some lamps I'd like to use over here.”

He followed her, stopping her flight with his hand on her arm. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“I don't,” she said, her voice low. “I want it to go away.” She still hadn't looked up at him.

“Have you ever known a problem to just vanish on its own?” he asked.Was she shaking? When she clamped her lips together and turned away, he realized it would take more than a casual question to get her to open up.

G
RACIE RUSHED DOWN THE STEPS TO GET AWAY FROM
M
ICHAEL'S QUESTIONS
. She gasped when she saw the spill of paint on the wooden floor in Jordan's bedroom. “Let me grab a wet towel.”

“Don't move, Evan,” Michael ordered his son, who stood in the middle of the puddle. “Who did this?”

Gracie rushed down the steps and grabbed a roll of paper towels, then ran back upstairs. Michael was still questioning the children, and all three were in tears when she stepped into the bedroom. She knelt and began to mop up the liquid.

“If no one confesses, you'll all have to take the punishment,” Michael said in full military tribunal mode.

Gracie gritted her teeth and kept on mopping. Challenging him in front of the children would be the wrong thing to do. “Raise your foot, Evan,” she said quietly. When the child lifted his sneaker, she wiped it clean. “Go wash your hands now.” The boy shot a fear-filled glance at his father, then bolted for the door. “You girls get washed up too.We'll discuss this in a few minutes.”

As soon as the girls were out the door, Michael folded his arms over his chest. “They needed to admit who did it.”

Gracie sat back on her haunches. “It was clearly an
accident,
Michael. None of them did it on purpose. Punishment should be given for defiance, not for spilling something.” He blinked, and his mouth sagged. He said nothing, but she could see the wheels turning in his head.

“My dad sent me to my room whenever I spilled my milk,” he said, frowning.

“Children who are shamed for things they can't control grow up resentful and uncertain,” she said. “If you'd told them not to lift the can and they did it anyway, then spilled it, it would be a different story.”

“Maybe they did.”

She shook her head. “The can was in the same place. One of them accidentally kicked it over. It wasn't deliberate.”

“I don't really get it,” he said. “They should've been more careful.”

“They're children. Children make mistakes.Would you want to be punished for a mistake?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I think we should own up to it when we make a mistake and not try to hide it.”

“I see what you're saying. A good compromise would be to tell them no one will be punished, but you want to know what happened.”

His expression softened. “You're good for me, Gracie. And for them.You can tell I know more about soldiering than I do about raising kids.”

Warmth spread through her veins, and she couldn't look away from his gaze. Had she ever felt such an instant connection to a man? Even the colors of his voice made her think of safety. And family. She remembered her father's military bearing. He'd been in the service when he and her mother met and had never lost the posture. Maybe that was why she was so drawn to Michael.

Glancing around the room, she realized Jordan's bedroom was the exact shade of the room where Gracie grew up. And the gray-green of the living room matched her father's den at home.There was danger in trying to re-create a lost life, but staring into Michael's blue eyes, she wished she could.

5

A
CTIVITY BUZZED AROUND
M
ICHAEL
. P
RINTERS HUMMED, AND OTHER
library patrons talked in low voices. The kids were at story hour, but he'd promised them a canoe ride and picnic afterward. After two days of painting, he was ready for some R & R.

He only had a few minutes before Gracie returned and he collected the kids. She was out getting the food together. She'd been different toward him after their talk in the attic yesterday, and he meant to find out why. He tuned out the dim babble and launched a Web browser. He typed in “Gracie Lister wedding” and hit enter.The first link was to a newspaper in San Diego. Gracie's face smiled at Michael from the computer screen. He studied the face of the man next to her. The engagement announcement identified him as Cid Ortega. A Border Patrol agent. Michael raised his brows.

He pulled out his phone, then dropped it back into his pocket. It wasn't his place to find the guy's number and call him. Gracie had her reasons for running. A man might be a saint at his job and a devil to his family. Michael had seen it plenty of times. Her personal life was none of his business.

A movement beside him made him look up. “I've got our lunch ready.”

He quickly closed the browser and prayed she hadn't seen what he was looking up. “Ready to go?” When he leaped to his feet, he nearly knocked over his chair.