On Lone Star Trail (2 page)

Switching on her emergency flashers, Gillian backed up slowly until she was next to the bike, then shifted the car into park. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it began, but the damage was done. The bike had crashed, and the rider . . . She grabbed her cell phone, frowning at the absence of bars. Kate had joked about the spotty cell service, but this was no joking matter. The rider could be seriously injured, just as she had been that day.

Forcing the painful thoughts aside, Gillian climbed out of the car and approached the guardrail. Deliberately averting her gaze to avoid looking at the bike, she stared at the rider.

“Are you all right?” Gillian called to the man who was lying motionless on the ground.
Please, Lord, let him be all
right.
Though she'd spent more than her share of time in hospitals, she knew nothing about CPR and almost as little about first aid.

She started to climb over the guardrail, but as she did, the motorcyclist stood.
Thank you
, she said silently. The man appeared to be checking various body parts as he shook first one arm, then another before repeating the process with his legs. It was only when he extended his left hand a second time and winced as he clenched the fist that Gillian felt herself grow weak.

“Just bruises,” he announced. His voice was brusque, almost as if he was unaccustomed to talking aloud. Or perhaps it was the effort of pretending he wasn't injured. Gillian was certain that, even if his only injuries were bruises, they were painful ones.

As he took the helmet off, she saw that his dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and that he sported a beard sorely in need of trimming. If she'd had to describe him in one word, it would be scruffy. And then she saw his eyes. Almost as dark brown as his hair, they were so filled with sorrow that Gillian felt tears well in hers. Something had hurt this man deeply, and her instincts told her it was not having crashed his bike.

“Are you sure?” she asked, surprised that her voice sounded so calm. Inside she was anything but calm. Just the sight of a red motorcycle was enough to send her into a panic, and one with a crumpled front fender brought back memories that still had the power to paralyze her.

“I was going to call 911, but there's no cell service.” She held up her phone.

The man shook his head as he bent to inspect his bike. “There's nothing the EMTs can do. They can't fix this.” He pointed to the front wheel. The fender had been bent so severely that it had cut the tire. Gillian glanced at the bike. Even if he'd somehow been able to straighten the fender, there was no way to repair the tire.

“It's not going anywhere,” he said, confirming her thought.

Though the sun was once again warming the air, Gillian shivered. She'd come to Texas to relax, to try to forget about motorcycles and the damage they could do, and here she was, only feet from another motorcycle crash.

Instinct urged her to flee, and yet while she wanted nothing to do with motorcycles or the men who rode them, she could not. She couldn't let him stand here waiting for a truck to rescue him. What if his injuries were more serious than he believed and he collapsed? He might still be in shock and unaware of how badly he'd been hurt. Gillian knew that was possible, because the full scope of pain hadn't hit her until she'd been in the ambulance, being rushed to the ER.

“Where were you headed? I'd be glad to take you to the next town.” Glad was an exaggeration, but Gillian knew she couldn't abandon this man.

As he straightened, she revised her first impression. He was taller than she'd thought, probably six feet, and though it was hard to tell through the leather, he appeared well muscled.

The man nodded in what seemed like a grudging response to her offer. “The next town's where I was headed. Dupree. The place that advertises itself as the Heart of the Hills.”

A frisson of something—apprehension, excitement, Gillian wasn't sure which—made its way down her spine. It was probably a coincidence that he had the same destination. “That's where I'm going too. A friend of mine owns the resort there. Is that where you're heading?”

It wasn't Gillian's imagination that he stiffened. “I just wanted an afternoon snack. Now it's looking like I'm going to need some repairs. Expensive repairs,” he muttered so softly she almost missed the words.

As another car drove by, Gillian was tempted to flag it down and ask the driver to take care of the man who seemed as prickly as the cactus that lined the highway. Instead, she forced herself
to smile as she said, “I don't know about repairs, but Kate can provide that snack and a nice warm, dry cabin.”

“I'm afraid not.”

The way he was balking made Gillian suspect money was an issue. What he didn't know was that it wouldn't be an issue at Rainbow's End. Kate and her husband had a sliding rate scale, and on numerous occasions that scale slid all the way to zero.

“You're wet, you're hurt, and your bike is in even worse shape. Let's get you to Rainbow's End and sort the rest of it out there.”

“Are you always so bossy?” The man took a step toward her, his halting gait proof that he'd done more than bruise himself. Gillian wouldn't be surprised if he'd pulled a ligament or suffered one of those deep tissue bruises that some people claimed were worse than broken bones.

“I'm usually much worse,” she said. “Besides, it doesn't look as if you've got a lot of alternatives.”

“Good point.” He stared at his bike for a moment, indecision etched on his face, then limped toward it. After unlatching one of the saddlebags, he pulled out a backpack and tossed it onto the backseat of Gillian's car, then opened the driver's door for her.

“Thanks, Miss . . .” As he extended his hand for a shake, he let his voice trail off, clearly expecting Gillian to offer her name.

“Hodge,” she said. “Gillian Hodge. And you're . . .”

The man's shake was firm, and if he noticed that she winced ever so slightly at the contact, he said nothing. “I'm TJ Benjamin, and as you can see, I'm having a very bad day.”

“It could have been worse,” she said bluntly. “You could have hurt an innocent bystander.”

S
he was unlike any woman he'd ever met. The women he knew—Deb included—would say something more after the zinger she'd hurled at him. Instead, Gillian Hodge simply started the engine and pulled onto the road. She didn't seem troubled by the silence, but she was definitely troubled by something. There was no mistaking the way her lips tensed when she looked in the rearview mirror.

TJ was doing his own share of tensing each time he glanced at the side mirror, but he had a good reason. That was his bike, his sole form of transportation, his home on wheels, he'd left chained to the guardrail.

When the car crested a hill and the bike was no longer visible, TJ forced himself to relax. It was unlikely anyone would try to steal it, but the simple fact was, there was nothing he could do if someone with a pair of bolt cutters, a truck with ramps, and a larcenous frame of mind came along. He needed to think about something else, like the woman in the driver's seat.

As she exhaled, almost as if in relief, he glanced at her. For the first time since she'd pulled back onto the highway, her fingers no longer had a death grip on the steering wheel. It might be
coincidence, but TJ couldn't help wondering whether there was a connection between her tension and his motorcycle.

As he thought back, he realized that her reaction to it had been unusual. Though he would have expected dismay or sympathy, there'd been fear in Gillian's eyes when she'd looked at the mangled bike, and when he'd been chaining it to the guardrail, she'd kept her eyes fixed on the horizon.

And then there was her comment about hurting innocent bystanders. TJ had been tempted to ask her what she meant, but the anguish in her expression had stopped him. It was probably cowardly, but the truth was, he didn't want to know. There had been a time when he would have tried to comfort someone in her situation, but he was out of that business now. Firsthand experience had taught TJ how empty words of comfort could be.

“Have you been to Dupree before?” It was odd, being the one to break the silence, but it had begun to feel oppressive, at least to him. There was something wrong with sitting so quietly in a car with Gillian Hodge, especially when the combination of the silence and Gillian herself sent TJ's thoughts in dangerous directions.

He studied the woman who'd rescued him. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, but she was strikingly attractive with that auburn hair and those brilliant green eyes. Her features were classic, a fact that the severe hairdo highlighted. Though long, wavy hair seemed to be the hairstyle many women liked, Gillian's was pulled back into a formal bun that reminded him of the ice-skaters he'd seen on TV.

He judged her to be at least eight inches shorter than his six feet, and though that made her a bit shorter than average, she didn't seem to feel the need to wear those ridiculously high heels. Instead she was clad in jeans, ankle-height boots with sensible heels, and a tailored shirt. The outfit looked ordinary, but something told TJ it had cost more than he imagined. Deb
had warned him that sometimes the simplest clothes—a little black dress, for example—were outrageously expensive.

Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, Gillian nodded. “I was here once before. I came for my best friend's wedding last September.”

“The friend who owns the resort?”

Another nod, this time accompanied by a smile that made TJ revise his opinion. When she smiled, Gillian Hodge
was
the most beautiful woman he'd met.

“Kate and her husband are the least likely people to open a resort,” Gillian said, visibly relaxing as she spoke of her friend. “Kate used to be an advertising executive, and her husband owned a big software company in Silicon Valley. Now they're innkeepers.” Gillian chuckled, as if amused by the idea.

TJ had to admit that those were not the backgrounds he would have expected for innkeepers. Some of his fellow teachers had talked about opening B&Bs when they retired, claiming that years of dealing with unruly students was the perfect preparation for handling demanding guests. TJ wondered how people more accustomed to structured meetings and PowerPoint presentations were dealing with the unpredictable behavior of tourists. He wouldn't ask, because he really didn't care. What he cared about was the woman driving him to Dupree.

“What about you?”

Gillian appeared startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“What do you do for a living?”

It was the wrong question. Though he'd thought it innocuous enough, the way her fingers once again clutched the steering wheel told TJ he'd hit a sensitive nerve. Her lips flattened, and for a second he wondered if she'd refuse to answer. But then she shrugged. “I'm temporarily unemployed.”

And obviously unhappy about it. He wouldn't pry into the circumstances, because if he did, he might find himself feeling
he should offer advice, something he had no intention of doing. Instead, TJ said, “Me too.”

He suspected that was one of the few things he had in common with Gillian. She had East Coast big city stamped all over her, but even though he'd lived in a suburb of Houston, TJ had never considered himself a city man. Give him wide open spaces any day. Wide open spaces and his bike, not an air-conditioned sedan that allowed you to see but not hear, feel, and even taste the countryside. TJ grinned, wondering how Miss Big City would have dealt with bugs on her teeth. Not well, he suspected.

They lapsed into silence, but this time it felt more comfortable, perhaps because they'd both begun to relax. Before he had to search for another topic of conversation, Gillian made a left turn at the sign that welcomed them to Dupree, the Heart of the Hills. A gas station sat a few yards behind the sign. Perfect.

“You can let me off here,” TJ said. “They're bound to have a tow truck.” He had no way of knowing whether anyone there could repair motorcycles, but he wanted to believe that chances were good, since the damage was simply metal and rubber. Engine repairs were trickier.

Gillian shook her head and showed no sign of slowing. “The deal was to take you to Rainbow's End. That's where we're going.”

Whatever her job had been, one thing was clear: the woman was used to being in charge. TJ settled back in the seat, resigning himself to seeing her friend's resort. There was no way he would stay there, but the place would have a phone. And, if he was lucky, Dupree would have a motorcycle shop.

As he glanced at the street sign, TJ blinked. “Lone Star Trail?”

Gillian laughed, the sound so sweet it made him smile. “It sounds silly, doesn't it? Kate told me it used to be called Main Street, but a hundred years ago, someone decided to go for something more Texan.” She turned, giving TJ a conspiratorial smile. “There's more. We have to climb Ranger Hill to get
to the resort. Believe it or not, Rainbow's End is located on Bluebonnet Lake, and there's even a place called Firefly Valley.”

She probably didn't realize it, but that was the longest speech TJ had heard her give. It seemed Gillian preferred talking about inanimate objects rather than people. He wondered why.

Since he didn't have to concentrate on driving, TJ looked around as they drove through what appeared to be an ordinary small town's downtown area. A few empty stores were nestled among the collection of establishments typical for a town of less than six hundred: a theater, bank, grocery store, two churches, and a few other small businesses. Dupree was what TJ had always called a blink town. “Don't blink, or you'll miss it,” he used to tell Deb when they'd approach other similarly sized towns.

He wasn't blinking now, and he wasn't blinking when Gillian told him they'd reached the summit of Ranger Hill. With the sun still high in the western sky, he saw the sparkle of a small lake and the metal roofs of cabins at what must be the resort. As his gaze turned to the left, TJ felt his heart begin to thud. RVs. A field filled with RVs.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, willing his pulse to return to normal. He wouldn't stay here. He couldn't. This was not the place for him.

TJ forced his eyes open but kept his gaze focused on the resort, as if by ignoring them, he could make the RVs disappear. He hadn't been inside an RV campground in almost two years, and he wasn't going to start now. Just being this close was making the sweat break out on his forehead.

Seemingly unaware of his distress, Gillian gestured toward the wrought-iron gate as she turned onto a multicolored gravel driveway. “I like the sign. Don't you?”

TJ stared. Though the gate itself was ordinary, the sign was not. As might be expected, the sign featured a rainbow, but instead of the fabled pot of gold, this rainbow ended in what appeared to be Noah's ark.

Two years ago, TJ would have smiled in delight that instead of animals peering from the windows, the ark bore a heart with a cross in its center and that the sign proclaimed this to be Rainbow's End, the Heart and Soul of the Hill Country. Today he could barely repress his shudder. An obviously Christian resort with RVs parked across the road was the last place he wanted to be.

“It's . . .” He struggled for a word, finally settling on
unique
.

“That it is,” Gillian said as she drove a short distance along the road and parked in front of a Tyrolean-style building with a discreet sign identifying it as the office. “C'mon. I'll introduce you to Kate and Greg.”

Though he was tempted to walk away, TJ knew that would accomplish nothing. As uncomfortable as he felt, he needed to get his bike repaired and find a place to sleep tonight.

“Ms. Hodge!” The teenager behind the desk of the nicely appointed office jumped up from her seat. “It's so cool that you're here.” The grin on her face and the light in her eyes did a good job of conveying more excitement than TJ had ever seen on a desk clerk's face. Gillian's friend must have told the staff to make her feel welcome. Apparently unfazed by the bubbling enthusiasm, Gillian simply smiled.

“Kate's on a conference call now,” the girl said as she gestured toward the back of the building. “She said to tell you to make yourself at home in her apartment. You know where that is, don't you?”

Gillian nodded as she settled her bag on her shoulder. “I need to see Greg first.” She gave TJ a quick smile before she turned back to the teenager. “This gentleman needs a room for a few days.”

As if on cue, a brown-haired man about TJ's height entered the office. So this was the California software mogul. Other than his undeniable air of command, he looked like many of the men TJ had met along his travels, but Gillian was right. TJ wouldn't have pegged him for an innkeeper.

“Did I hear my name?” Greg hugged Gillian, then held her at arm's length to study her. “Welcome back,” he said with a warm smile before he glanced at TJ. “Who's your friend?”

Tired of being treated as if he couldn't speak, TJ nodded brusquely. “TJ Benjamin,” he said, extending his hand for the obligatory shake. “Gillian was kind enough to give me a ride after my motorcycle had an unfortunate encounter with a guardrail. I'm looking for a place to camp while it's being fixed.”

“You're in good hands, TJ,” Gillian said, giving him a small wave as she headed toward the back of the building, clearly eager to see her friend.

“Where's your bike?” Greg asked.

When TJ explained, Greg nodded. “I have the best mechanic in Dupree on staff here. If Eric St. George can't fix your bike, no one can. C'mon.” Greg headed outside. “When we bought the truck for Rainbow's End, Eric insisted on getting ramps. Now I know why.”

Greg led the way to a small parking lot hidden from the office by tall shrubs. Though the white pickup he approached had the Rainbow's End logo on the sides, it was the van next to it that caught TJ's attention. The van had been transformed from an ordinary white vehicle into what appeared to be a motorized ark, with the Rainbow's End logo covering not only the sides but also the front and back, making it a rolling advertisement for the resort.

“This was Eric's idea too,” Greg said. “I don't know what Kate and I did before he joined us. As you can see, the man's got great ideas, and he's a wiz at anything mechanical. God knew what he was doing when he sent Eric back here.”

God. Of course. A man who owned a Christian resort would believe that God was the giver of all good things. He probably had Jeremiah 29:11 and Romans 8:28 tattooed on his chest. TJ did not.

When they reached the accident site, Greg whistled. “You
were right about close encounters. That was one of the worst.” He frowned as he looked at the crumpled front wheel, and TJ winced. The damage was worse than he remembered. Fortunately, sheet metal and rubber could be replaced . . . for a price.

Greg patted the handlebars. “Nice bike.”

“It was.” And it would be again, if this Eric person was as good as Greg claimed.