One True Heart (11 page)

Drew slowed the van. “Not long after I got here, I met an interesting man, Tyler Wright, the local funeral director. He's spent years collecting maps and was tickled to have some help in logging the history of this area. He brought me to this homestead house once. Said most of the McAllens have never come out here. The square of land is too small for any ranch operation these days. He claimed most of them don't even know who owns the original square of land now.”

Millanie couldn't stop staring at the house with wild rosebushes still growing on one side and a walk that looked like it was built from river rocks. When Drew didn't say anything for a long time, she put the pieces together. “Why'd you bring me out here?”

He turned in the seat to face her, gently bumping his knee against her good leg. “I looked it up last night. There was only one name listed as owner on the tax rolls.” He hesitated. “I don't know who has been paying the taxes on this place, but they're paid up. The one owner was Patrick F. McAllen III, your father. I found his obituary online. I'm guessing if you inherited from him, this is your land, Millanie.”

The memories of those horrible days after her father's death came rolling back. Her mother had died in a crash six months before. She and her brother were called home from college when her father told them he had cancer. He'd said he'd taken care of everything for them. Philip got the stocks. She got the land. She'd thought he meant the few acres surrounding the house in Dallas. She'd sold it to pay for college, never dreaming there had been more.

Drew brushed tears off her cheek. “You didn't know about this place?”

She shook her head. All her years in the army she'd never known where to list as home. Not Dallas, no family there; not Harmony, it was too far in her past. Now she knew. This land had been waiting for her to come back.

“This is your home, Millie.” Drew said the very thing she was thinking. “Your roots are here.”

When she looked up to thank him, she saw the sadness in his eyes and knew Drew had no roots to go back to. He was a wanderer and maybe always would be. Maybe that was why he didn't own anything, not even a car.

He leaned in and kissed a tear away, and then his lips covered hers in a gentle mating.

“Thank you,” she whispered when he pulled far enough away to look at her.

“You're welcome,” he answered, then kissed her again. A quick, happy kiss before he suggested they go inside and have a look around.

It was impossible to walk the stone walk on crutches, so she maneuvered through the grass to the steps. The bottom one was broken, but by leaning on him she made it to the porch. Slowly, with Drew testing every board, they reached the front door, now weathered but still standing.

Drew found the key above the door frame and they walked into the dusty old house occupied by birds, spiders, and tumbleweeds that blew in from the open back door. While Drew fought to close the door, Millanie stood perfectly still, letting the house surround her, welcome her. Generations of McAllens had grown up here. Of all the places she'd traveled and lived over the years, she'd never felt a pull so strong to one place. It was almost as if the house were whispering
Welcome
.

They took less than five minutes to explore the downstairs. Half the space was taken up by one room with a door leading off to the kitchen and another to what might have been a bedroom or study. A very basic bathroom had been built onto the side of the house, probably when they put in indoor plumbing. The big room had wide windows on three sides and a huge fireplace in the center of the house.

“This place was well built,” Drew pointed out. “Looks like the roof is still good. Not a water spot on the ceiling.” He tried the faucet on the old steel sink. “Put in new plumbing and a few windows, this place might be livable.”

She flipped a switch. Nothing happened. “And new electrical.”

“Of course. I didn't even see lines running from the road to the house. I'm guessing it hasn't been lived in for fifty years or more. There's a cabin across the road that your cousin Alex said was probably built about the same time. The sheriff said she thinks it must have belonged to your great-great-granddad's brother.”

“How is that possible that they're both still standing?” She could almost see the ghosts of McAllens running up the narrow stairs or laughing as they talked around the huge fireplace.

She circled, studying the house. It was protected on two sides by the bluff, and the tree line would cut wind from the west.

“Your ancestor must have given this some thought. He wanted this house to be around for a long time.”

“For me,” she whispered. “Maybe he wanted it to last until I came along and needed a place to call home.”

“Maybe,” Drew agreed. “You're starting to sound like my sister. Don't suggest this place is haunted or she'll be running out here.” He took a few steps toward Millanie. “By the way, why'd you tell her you have ‘the gift' also? You'll only encourage her.”

Millanie smiled. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don't need palms to read you. You're a very easy man to read, Professor.”

He stood close, widened his stance to balance both their weight, and leaned in. “So, Millie, read my mind.” His hand slid around her waist and tugged her full against him.

She raised her arms and rested them on his shoulders as he kissed her tenderly.

When he moved to her neck, she whispered against his ear. “You're a man who enjoys learning, likes order, and I think somewhere you must have taken time to learn exactly how women like to be kissed.”

He mumbled something against her throat as she continued, “Only, it's been a long while since you've touched a woman. There's a hunger in you that your logical mind can't
push down and, apparently, I seem to be the object of that hunger.”

He returned to her mouth, stopping all conversation for a while. His hands moved along her back, holding her as he caressed her. When he reached into the V of her collar and pulled her tunic off her shoulder, she was surprised by his boldness. He lowered his head and began tasting her skin from her throat to her bare shoulders.

For a moment she couldn't catch her breath. It had never been like this for her. There was a need in this man that went far deeper than just attraction, and she wasn't sure he understood it any more than she did. This nice man with his logical mind and kind ways was opening up a world she'd never stepped into. Passion.

S
ATURDAY

Everyone still called the place where Noah and Reagan lived the Truman Farm, even though no one named Truman lived there anymore. Reagan managed a very successful apple orchard that shipped apples all over a three-state area. Noah got up and went to work every morning on his ranch farther down Lone Oak Road. It seemed right that they were together; everyone in town talked about them as a couple and had as long as Beau could remember.

As Beau Yates pulled his rented car behind the barn, he laughed to himself. Noah and Reagan were the most married couple in the county and they were doing it again tonight. Since he was still in town, he agreed to play a set with the band Noah had hired.

Beau asked the not-so-newlyweds to keep his part in the party secret, but he doubted that was possible. He'd been in town three days and no one had bothered him. He always visited his father at night, then played his guitar and wrote
music between the midnight visit and the four o'clock one. After that, he went home and slept until noon. Beau didn't worry about being interrupted at the inn; he had Martha Q on guard.

Only every night he sat out on the porch and wished a red Mustang convertible would drive by. The girl he'd called Trouble was out there somewhere and she knew where to find him. But she never came. Maybe she hadn't spent as many nights thinking of him as he had of her.

The sun was spreading out on the horizon when Beau swung up on the Truman Orchard's porch. “Evening, Noah,” he said.

Noah sat near the steps, his long legs blocking his son from breaking free.

Utah shifted from slat to slat trying to find the way to escape, but the porch railing held him prisoner. Chubby little bare feet danced as he moved along as if eventually he'd find a hole big enough to slip through.

Noah motioned to a chair. “How's your dad?”

Beau shook his head. “I don't know if he's totally out of it or just doesn't want to talk to me, but every night I'm visiting a snoring man. I keep saying I'll give it one more day, then I'm heading back to Nashville.”

Noah shook his head. “Relationships with dads are hard. When I was growing up, half the time I thought my dad was mad at me and the other half he wasn't around. Turns out he only had me to get a grandson. Now, when my folks come over they walk right past me to Utah. I've become the invisible man. My father, who I always thought was a relatively intelligent man, talks baby talk to Utah and the kid talks right back in the same language.”

Beau laughed. Everyone knew Noah's father had watched over him every time he rode bulls, even in high school. One night, when Noah had been hurt, his father had climbed over the fence and pulled his son out from under a thousand pounds of hide and horns.

Beau watched the one-year-old keep moving back and
forth for a while before he asked, “You know that young vice president at the bank? I think her name's Ashley Powers.”

“Sure. She came in to straighten a few things out. I hear she's a real hard boss. Half the folks in the bank are worried they'll lose their jobs. Someone said she's not here to make friends.”

Beau didn't like what he heard. He wanted the wild girl in the ponytail, not the banker. Maybe he'd be wise to just keep her in his dreams.

Still, as the night wore on, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd. He knew most of the people on sight, though few he called friends. They were just people he'd seen in school, or church, or Buffalo's Bar. Funny thing, he could never remember which place.

His best friend, Border Biggs, was fishing off the Galveston coast. He'd made enough money playing backup for Beau that he'd bought a boat, put the rest of the money in savings, and said he planned to live off the interest.

The wedding was all party, with Noah hesitating as if he might not say “I do” again and Reagan tossing her flowers to the eighty-year-old priest who married them. The wedding cake was a carousel of pies, all made by Reagan, with the sheriff serving.

After the wedding ceremony, Beau played one set, then packed up his guitar and headed to his car. He'd learned never to stay too long at any party, even a wedding. As the wannabe singers drank, they always felt the need to tell Beau how they could have been bigger than he'd ever be. Somewhere the conversation ended with them telling him he'd been lucky. From then on there was nothing left for him to do but walk away. So tonight he'd do just that before the conversation even started.

In the shadows behind the barn, he walked across uneven ground, wishing he'd thought to bring a flashlight. He was almost to his rented car when he saw a red Mustang parked under the barn light. There was no mistaking the classic or the blond girl with a ponytail.

He felt like he was stepping back in time.

Beau dropped his guitar in her backseat and moved to the driver's side. “Move over, Trouble, I'm driving.” He fought to keep from stuttering. He'd done enough of that in his teens when around girls.

She smiled up at him and shifted to the passenger seat. In the shadows she looked the same as he remembered. They might both be well into their twenties, but tonight they'd be teenagers again.

They drove for a while, letting their hair blow in the wind. He remembered the back roads where they could go ninety and never see a patrol. Finally, they stopped in the middle of the road. The moon was billboard bright and a wisp of rain lingered in the air. “What does the
L
stand for?” he asked as he shifted to face her. Somehow
Ashley
didn't fit her.

“Lark,” she answered.

“You're rich, Trouble. I guess I always figured that but I never thought that your daddy might own the bank.”

“So are you,” she shot back as if he'd just insulted her. “I've kept up with you. Three million in royalties last year.”

Beau shook his head. “There's an old saying I heard somewhere that says
once poor, never rich
. I got money, but I'll never think rich. You were driving this car when we first met. I checked it out once. A car like this is worth about fifty thousand and I'm guessing you've got others in the garage just like it.”

“What if I do? It doesn't mean anything. They're just cars.”

Beau had no idea how to explain it to her. She wouldn't understand. Even now, when he could buy a restaurant, he couldn't go into one and order the most expensive thing on the menu. He never wasted money. It wasn't in his nature.

“Hell,” he said aloud. “This is not what I want to talk about.”

“Me either. I'm not even sure why I came tonight. At the bank I felt like you were thinking the same thing I was and I wanted to run backward, if only for one time, to that place
in my life when everything was perfect for a few nights, a few moments.”

He brushed her ponytail. “I'd like that.” He pulled her close and kissed her. When he broke the kiss, he whispered, “You know, Trouble, half the songs I write are about you.”

“I know. When I listen to your songs I swear sometimes I feel you're singing just to me.”

The banker and the famous singer disappeared for a while, and they were just two kids again. Seventeen and racing the wind.