The Way to Texas (11 page)

“N
OW PICK UP THE RAFFIA
and tie it in a loose bow around the stalk. Like this,” Dawn said, demonstrating the technique on her bundle of wheat shafts. Then she watched as eight pairs of blue-veined, care-worn hands mimicked her actions. Tuesday was craft day at Tucker House.

“I told Essie that I'd be bringing the centerpiece and not the fruit salad this year. And do you know what she said?” Ida Franz asked.

The group of elderly ladies all replied with a chorus of “What?”

“She said we don't need no centerpiece. The men were gonna eat Thanksgiving dinner in front of the TV anyhow.”

“Shameful,” one of the ladies tsked as she pulled out her lopsided bow and retied the raffia.

Ida shrugged. “Well, that's what Earl gets for marrying a woman from Shelbyville. No culture whatsoever.”

Linda Taylor piped up. “My grandson's girlfriend is from over by Shelbyville. He said her momma gave him lemonade in a jelly jar.”

“They do no such thing,” Elsie Greer piped up.

“I've known plenty people from Shelbyville. It's a nice town.”

Most of the women nodded. Dawn tried not to laugh, but couldn't help herself. She loved when she was able to
hold a craft class. The conversations that went on kept her tickled for the rest of the week.

Holding such classes and events was important to Dawn. It kept Tucker House feeling more like a community center than an adult day care where clients were sent out to molder under the eye of an indifferent nurse. The ladies and gentlemen who came to Tucker House still had much to give, so she and Nellie had worked up a schedule that kept them plugged into their community.

While the ladies worked on Thanksgiving Day centerpieces, the owner of Carter's Auto Service Center was holding a discussion on winterizing automobiles for the gentlemen on the back screened-in porch. Dawn wasn't quite sure it was the best of topics being half of the men no longer were allowed to drive and East Texas wasn't exactly blizzard central, but it didn't seem to matter. As she'd passed through the kitchen earlier, she'd heard a vehement debate on the merits of using a certain type of air filter.

As she finished wiring the bright oversize sunflowers into the display, Margo appeared at the door. “D, you've got a call.”

“Bring me the phone. I've still got to attach the acorns we painted.”

Margo shook her head and mouthed “Larry the Snake.”

Dawn sighed and pushed herself from the table with a promise to return to show the ladies how to secure the acorns to the project.

She took the phone from Margo and stepped out to the porch. The cool November wind caused the windchimes to clang together, but otherwise, all was quiet outside. “Good morning, Larry. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, darlin'. How's my favorite girl?” Larry's voice was as smooth as ice on a hockey rink.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Fine, but busy.”

“Glad to hear it, baby,” he continued, obviously not taking the hint she didn't have time to waste. Of course, he did everything on his own schedule. Whatever Larry wanted regardless of cost to anyone else. Being married to him for fourteen years had been like raising another kid.

“I don't have time to chat, Larry. I'm in the middle of something.”

He sighed, a heavy put-upon sound, before muttering, “Well, then I guess I'd better get to the point, sugar pants.”

“Larry,” she warned. She'd talked to him once before about using pet names. The man never listened.

“Fine. I wanted to check on your plans for Thanksgiving next week. I'm not going to L.A., so I thought I'd spend a few days in Oak Knoll with you and Drew. Drew said you'd love to have me.”

Dawn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. The idea of Larry at the dinner table regaling everyone with dazzling stock-market deals and dropping the names of movie stars he'd played golf with made her stomach lurch. She wouldn't be able to choke down any of Nellie's famous chicken and dressing. “The name of the town is Oak Stand, and I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're eating with Nellie and Jack. I don't feel comfortable inviting you without asking them.”

“Hell, doll, ask them. I miss hanging with my boy Jack anyway,” Larry said.

I bet,
Dawn thought. Larry always had a get-rich-quick scheme in the works. And he always needed capital. Jack was the favored target.

“Look, Andrew will be in Houston for part of the week. He's doing strength and conditioning for baseball. You can see him there and not worry about coming here,” Dawn said as Tyson emerged from the rear of the house, carrying a stack of lumber. An old plaid shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and tight worn Levi's molded to his thighs. He looked as delicious as apple pie with a side of vanilla ice cream. How did the man do it?

“Dawn?” Larry's voice prodded her from her mini-daydream about the man she had sworn last night she'd stay away from. The same vow she'd made almost four times before. Of course, she wasn't very good at listening to herself. At least not where Tyson was concerned.

“Hmm?” she murmured, still checking out Tyson as he winked at her. He disappeared around the side of the house, giving her a nice view of how well his jeans fit his backside.

“I asked if you'd just check with Jack. I don't want to spend the day by myself,” he said. Guilt picked at her conscience. She thought about Andrew and his almost incessant desire to be near his father. She could feel herself wavering.

“Larry, it won't work. Talk to Andrew and find a different solution. I'm sorry.” She couldn't tolerate Larry hanging around. He treated her like a personal assistant.
Dawn, do you know how to get this stain out of cashmere? Take a look at my bank statement and see where I made the error. Would you mind paying for dinner? I'll get it next go around.
Yep, the last thing she needed was Larry and his load of hot air.

“Fine. Whatever,” he groused.

Tyson appeared again, pulling his work gloves off
and doffing his work-stained ball cap. He was heading her way.

“I wanted to talk to you about Andrew's tuition, but I can't now. I've gotta go,” she said into the phone, pressing the end button before Larry could say anything more.

“Hey,” Tyson said, balancing his work boot on one of the steps.

“Hey,” she said, tugging down her cranberry-colored sweater and refusing to push her hair behind her ear.

“I'm glad you came to supper last night,” he said, his gaze warmed her as he swept her from head to toe.

“Really?” she said, wetting her lips. He made her so warm she wanted to thank the breeze for cooling her cheeks.

“Yeah, really.” Posed the way he was proved how great he looked in his work clothes.

“It gave me a lot to think about,” she said, scuffing the tip of her boot around the freshly painted porch planks.

“Good.” She thought he would say more, but he didn't.

“I'm not a coward. I simply don't want to complicate my life.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Who does?”

“So maybe I'm willing to take a chance,” she said. Which was absolutely not what she meant to say. In fact, it was the opposite. So why had those words come out of her mouth? Had Larry driven her to it?

But she knew Larry wasn't the cause of her impulsiveness. For some reason she trusted Tyson.

So she'd waved the white flag. Obviously, Tyson had no problem with the easy surrender. His sensual lips curved into a smile. He looked confident, as though
whatever battle plans he'd drawn up after his retreat last night were already effective. Maybe his plan of attack involved those jeans he wore. They were good ammunition for a thirtysomething gal who hadn't had sex in a while.

“Great. I had some thoughts for this weekend. I wanted to spend time with you before Laurel gets here on Sunday. She's definitely coming for Thanksgiving.”

“I'm glad to hear she's making it.”

He nodded. “Finally. She ran out of excuses, and I ran out of patience. So, are you up for a little trip?”

“Trip?” she echoed as visions of tangled hotel sheets cropped up in her mind. How would Tyson look wrapped in those sheets, all sleepy-eyed and scruffy from an exhausting night of passion?

“Nothing big. Maybe a couple days in Jefferson. I need to look for a few things and there are lots of antiques shops. You game?”

Jefferson, Texas, was a historic little town known for cozy bed-and-breakfasts and an abundance of antiques shops. She'd been dying to visit ever since she'd moved to Oak Stand. Antiquing had once been part of her livelihood and she missed poking through dusty stores. Plus she'd heard the cornbread sandwiches at one of the little cafés were to die for. And she'd love to visit the bookstore that was also a hair salon. But a weekend jaunt with Tyson would be…scary? Moving faster and faster in the direction of serious relationship? Still, all she could do was nod. “Sure. I've been wanting to check out Jefferson. I hear it's nice.”

“Good. Oh, and Nellie called and invited me, Gramps and Laurel to Thanksgiving dinner next week.”

Dawn gave an inward sigh of relief, happy that she'd stood her ground with Larry. The thought of Larry and
Tyson sitting next to one another over turkey and cranberry sauce nearly gave her hives.

“Good.” She swallowed. Hard. “That's great. I'll get to meet Laurel. And Nellie is a terrific cook.”

He grinned. “I know. She liked to cook even as a kid. She always snuck into the kitchen at camp and whipped up brownies. The cooks loved her at Pine Forest. I can only imagine what she'll do to a Thanksgiving feast.” Dawn had almost forgotten he had met Nellie at summer camp. They'd formed a bond over Nellie's inability to pass her archery skill test.

“Well, I guess I'll see you around. Got to get back to Centerpieces 101.”

Two steps later, his lips were on hers. Hard, possessive, Tyson left no doubt that their weekend trip wasn't just an outing. It was a real date.

“Later,” he said, disappearing around the side of the house again, whistling a James Taylor song.

“Mm…hmm. Just what I thought,” Margo's voice came from behind her.

Dawn whirled around and handed the phone to her assistant. “Shut up, Margo.”

Margo's bark of laughter followed her into the house, but Dawn didn't have time to worry about what her friend thought. In the course of ten minutes, she'd totally done an about-face. No longer was she putting the brakes on her relationship with Tyson. Instead she was lumping coal on the fires of a train speeding out of control. She could only hope the tracks didn't fall out from under her.

 

W
HEN
D
AWN CLIMBED INTO
Tyson's truck on Friday afternoon, her first words were about Andrew.

“My son has lost his marbles,” she said, handing him
her overnight bag and settling her purse at her feet. “He told me I am acting like a teenager.”

Tyson didn't want to talk about anything to do with belligerent kids, or grandfathers who refused to eat right or ex-spouses who wouldn't behave. He wanted to escape reality if only for two days. But he shrugged and went with the conversation. “That's a good thing, isn't it?”

She smiled. “Depends. My irresponsible teen years led to an unplanned pregnancy.”

“I think you've learned that lesson. So why is he so opposed to you doing something for yourself?” Tyson pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of Jefferson.

“He's spoiled and wants me to do what I've always done. Cater to him.”

“Can't say I've had much experience with mothers. My own bounced back and forth between a psycho June Cleaver and a hanger-swinging Joan Crawford. I was never her first priority.”

Dawn made a face. “Rather the opposite for Andrew. He's got a bug up his ass, that's for sure. But he's a big boy and has to learn that I'm a big girl and can take care of myself.”

It was the last she said on the subject of Andrew, but he knew her son's displeasure bothered her. The rest of the drive was slightly tense and uncomfortably polite.

A quintessential small town, Jefferson was as busy as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest when they reached it. All Friday afternoons in fall were traffic-filled—had something to do with high school football games. Pity the people—like them—looking for a place to park.

Tyson drove down the street in front of the Jefferson Historical Museum several times before finally spying
a sports car pulling out of a tight spot in front of an old general store. He might make the truck fit.

“There's a place over there.” Dawn pointed toward a much larger spot in a lot off the Excelsior Hotel a street over.

“That'll work,” he said, putting his foot to the pedal and careening across oncoming traffic. He had one shot to take the parking spot.

Dawn yelped and grabbed the handle above the door.

They slid into the space just as a convertible full of young girls pulled into the lot, music blaring, totally off-kilter with the whole stepping back in time thing Jefferson had going on.

“Whew,” he said. “Thought we'd never find a place.”

The woman next to him smiled, seemingly much more light-hearted now they'd reached their destination.

“Here, let me take your bag,” Tyson said, opening her door and extending his hand.

“I've got it. It's really light. I figured I wouldn't need too much.” The brightness of the afternoon sun couldn't hide the red that stained her cheeks. “I didn't mean it that way. It's a short trip.”

Disappointment lodged in his gut. He'd booked two rooms, but hoped there would be need for only one. Still, he didn't want to push her too hard. A weekend away didn't necessarily mean a marathon between the sheets.

But a man could hope.

Pulling her to him and draping his arm around her shoulders, he started for the hotel sitting prominently on the brick-paved street. The white building laced with
black ironwork didn't look as grand as its name. Rather, it looked homey.