The Way to Texas (5 page)

So, yeah, she'd take that jolt of caffeine even if it meant tossing and turning all night.

Jolts. There'd been plenty of them going around
upstairs, and she could not, would not, pay attention to them. Look where following her libido had gotten her with the last guy. She'd been instantly attracted to the guy who owned the café across from her design shop in Houston. Murray had been good-looking, suave and totally attentive. He'd also been very married—a little fact he'd failed to mention during their impromptu lunches and romantic weekends. For the first time in a long time, she'd been happy. She'd been in love. And it had been with another woman's husband. The thought still made her want to vomit.

So she wasn't listening to any crazy sexual static. Call her chicken. Or smart. Either way, Tyson Hart would be getting no play.

She glanced at the schedule mounted on the wall. Blue, green, orange and yellow highlighted sections all awaited her perusal. That's how she liked it. No danger. No surprises.

The object of her musings stepped into the kitchen and ran a hand through his hair. The action caused the band on his polo shirt to rise above the sculpted biceps of his arm. The salmon color made his eyes glow. Dawn felt her mouth go dry with desire.

Hell.

“Coffee?” she said, before clearing her throat. She'd sounded like a bullfrog.

“Absolutely,” he said, placing a rolled-up paper on the granite countertop. “I ran out to my truck and grabbed the plans I'd worked on. By the way, Hunter Todd had a customer. It looked like a rat, though he assured me it was a dog.”

“Herman,” Dawn quipped, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. “He's the Chihuahua that belongs to the Sandersons. We've bathed him once already.”

She poured him a cup and handed it to him.

“Just the way I like it,” he said, before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. “Very good.”

“So show me what you've got.” She smiled. Another sexually charged statement. Jeez. She was losing it. But Tyson chose to ignore this one, and instead unrolled the plans with the enthusiasm of a boy with his prized collection of baseball cards on display.

“Okay.” He set his coffee mug far away from the plans. “Here's the second floor. The rooms aren't labeled but you can see the library, nursery and so on.”

She nodded as if she didn't already know what the second floor looked like. As if she'd never walked the halls, slept in Nellie's old room the couple of times she didn't feel like driving out to her brother's ranch.

“These are the plans I've drawn up. First, here are the two rooms you'll keep. We'll divide those into four dormitory-like rooms for resting. Then we'll section off this area and create a bank of bookshelf-style units for storage. We'll install a sink, built-in fridge and a dumbwaiter that will lower to the kitchen on the first floor.”

She studied the plans as he ran a finger over the sections, explaining what each would be. Periodically, he would stop to discuss materials or ask for a suggestion. Occasionally, Dawn's interest waned and she watched the enthusiasm he had for the project. Architecture wasn't really her thing, but she could tell he had enjoyed designing the space and that he loved creating something exceptional out of something ordinary.

It was not too different than what she had done in her own redesign shop in Houston. She'd taken old pieces of furniture—things that no one wanted anymore—and created a new piece of furniture. She'd pick up an old
chair on the side of the road, repair it, strip it, give it a faux finish and recover it with vintage fabric and, voila, it became a work of art. She liked getting her hands dirty in design work, so she totally understood the pleasure Tyson took in revisioning the space.

“It's fabulous,” she said when he'd finished. “I can't believe you can actually do all of that within these four walls.”

“Well, part of it is using good design principles. We'll draw the eye upward to give a better sense of space. Using quality materials will offset the lack of square footage. Add some expansive colors, and it will feel airy.”

She laughed. “Did you just say
airy?
”

He shrugged. “Okay, so I watch a couple of design shows on HGTV.”

Dawn smiled, enjoying his small discomfiture. A picture of him with a notepad balanced on his lap while he took notes from a designer on TV popped into her mind. “I appreciate a man who does his research. So let's talk time frame. When can you start and how long till completion?”

“I can start Monday,” he said. “Two months if I can find the right guys to help me. We should be finished before Christmas.”

Dawn took a sip from her mug. “Then it's a deal.”

“You don't need to talk to Nellie?” he said, reaching for his own mug and taking a long swallow of coffee.

“No, not unless it involves the frequency of nursing or the best diaper-rash creams,” she said, rolling her eyes comically.

“Okay, then,” he said, putting out his hand. “It's a deal.”

Dawn placed her hand in his. It was dry, warm and
enveloped her entire hand. A little frisson of electricity—the kind she was supposed to ignore—shot up her arm. She jerked her eyes to his. He felt it, too.

Then he did something totally unexpected. He pulled her to him. And she went. She could feel the hitch in her breathing, could feel his breath fan her cheek.

She tore her eyes from his and focused on the pulse at the base of his throat. Was it her imagination or was it beating erratically? Her breasts lightly brushed the front of his shirt, prickling immediately at the contact with his body.

She felt his fingers push strands of hair from her forehead. One of his massive arms curled around her, his hand sliding against her back, searing her with the heat of his touch.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She knew it was stupid to let him. Knew it was not what she should want, but she also knew if he didn't press his lips to hers and claim the heat of her mouth, she'd go insane.

She chanced looking up at him.

Her passion was mirrored in his eyes.

He lowered his head and pulled her tighter against him.

She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. A sigh of acceptance. A sigh of need.

His lips hovered above hers, teasingly.

Then something wet hit her ankles.

Dawn squealed as the wetness wriggled. She stepped back and heard a yelp.

“You stepped on him!” Hunter Todd shouted. “You hurted his paw.”

Dawn looked down to see Herman limping around, holding up his front paw. He did indeed look like a
drowned rat. And the worried six-year-old didn't look much better. He, too, was dripping on the tiled floor.

Tyson sighed. “Hunter Todd, I think you have about the best timing of any kid I've ever known.”

D
AWN DIPPED HER SPOON
into the bowl of Golden Nut Ohs. The planner she'd found under some of Jack's papers sat in front of her, open to the list she'd scribbled in the back. Her secret list that made it into every planner each new year. A list of the things she wanted to undertake by the time she was forty.

Her accomplishments to date were dismal.

She'd never learned sign language. She didn't have two children. She'd never seen the Grand Canyon. Or run a marathon. Or visited the Louvre.

She'd also never had sex on a beach. Why the hell had she put that on there anyway? Gritty sand in hard-to-reach places, sunburn on tender places and seaweed in her hair? Couldn't be good, could it?

Tyson's image popped into her mind. Tyson bare-chested on the beach, sand clinging to his sun-kissed shoulders. Mmm.

How in the name of all that was holy was she going to see that man every day and not get tangled up in him? Even knowing that a man as capable and self-reliant as Tyson could seriously undermine her need to control her life and her sense of responsibility for everyone, didn't stop this wanting. Sorting out where she was going probably wouldn't happen if she got involved with him—she'd be too busy trying to run his life to pay attention to her own.

So okay. She could do it. She could stay away, slide around corners when she saw him coming, and throw up some mental barbed-wire barriers when she absolutely had to talk to him. But something inside, some little know-it-all voice, said it wasn't happening.

She was toast.

“Want some toast?”

“Huh?” Her chin slid from where it rested on her palm. She jerked upright and looked at her brother, who'd obviously used ninja skills and snuck up on her. Stealth dwelt in the arsenal of a younger brother.

“I said—” he yawned “—do you want some toast? I'm making some.”

“No. I'm still working on this cereal.” She tossed the spoon into the half-eaten mush.

Jack padded around the kitchen in his boxers and snug T-shirt, slamming drawers and banging cabinet doors.

“Are you trying to wake the baby?” Dawn drawled.

“'Cause you're doing a good job of trying to wake the dead.”

“You're cranky,” he said. “Have another cup of coffee.”

“I'm not cranky,” she groused, knowing she was. She'd been crabby all of yesterday as she'd cleaned out the second-floor rooms at Tucker House. Mostly because she really needed to go over the résumé she'd been prepping to send out to the design firms in Houston. Because that was her future. Oak Stand was temporary. She had to keep one eye on what came next even while she gave this job her all. And that meant today she'd have to help Bubba cart the boxes to the third-story storage. Then she'd have to see the man who'd almost, but not quite, kissed her.

“So what's with you? Is the baby keeping you up? I know our room is downstairs, but the kid has a pair of lungs like her aunt.”

She ignored the barb. Her coffee was cold. But she didn't move a muscle to warm it. She ran her finger round and round the rim of the cup. “No, I'm just tired. Got a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

“I know things have been tough lately. Hell, there's been so much change in all of our lives that sometimes it's hard to keep up,” he said.

Dawned nodded. Two years ago, Jack had been an eligible Las Vegas nightclub owner and she'd been a small-business owner with a teenager in the house. Neither she nor Jack had ever heard of Oak Stand, Texas. And never in a million years had either of them thought Jack would be standing at the kitchen sink, washing bottle nipples, letting his exhausted wife sleep in, or that Dawn would be trying to start her life over again.

“Yeah, it's been…different than what I'd imagined for myself.”

Jack pulled out a chair and sat. His blue eyes glanced at her planner then met hers. She saw pity pooling in their depths. She hated pity. He scratched his head, leaving his hair sticking straight up. Dawn might have smiled if she had it in her. “So give yourself some time. You don't have to make any decisions about Houston, or a job or anything else.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Heck,” he muttered, “I'm so not good with this brother-sister stuff. I don't know what to say. Your life ain't been peachy and mine's about as good as I could ever imagine. How do I make you feel better about Larry and Houston and that married son of a bitch who duped you when I'm so happy?”

She patted his hand. “You don't. You just love me. And I know you do. You're trying your best to take care of me, but I can take care of myself.”

She rose and carried her bowl to the farmhouse sink, rinsed it out and loaded it into the dishwasher. Even as she'd said the words, they rang hollow in her ears. Did she believe them? Thus far, very few people would say she'd made good choices. That much was obvious. Every decision she'd ever made seemed wrong. From going all the way with Larry, to trying to start a new business, to accepting the first lunch date with Murray. All a total waste of her time. All wrong.

Except for Andrew.

Her son was the only thing she'd done right. She'd taken that downy-haired baby and raised him into a tall, strong man—well, nearly a man. At nineteen, he was handsome, smart and, outside of trying to arrange dates for her and Larry, had a practical nature. She missed him and wished he'd come to Oak Stand for a visit.

She could feel Jack studying her, so she turned and gave him a brave smile. “I'm off to work. The contractor's coming today to start demoing the space upstairs. And I'm going to look at another rental so I can get out of your hair.”

“Do you think we want you out of our hair? Who's going to change all those dirty diapers?”

“Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. Every daddy does.”

Except Larry.

He'd taken one look at Andrew's dirty diaper and vowed he'd never change one.

It was the one promise he'd managed to keep.

“Bubba will be there by nine. He's running out to the
barn to check on Dynamo, but he said it wouldn't take him—how'd he put it?—two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

Dawn smiled. Bubbaisms ran rampant on the ranch. The ranch. Jeez. She still couldn't believe her city-slick brother got up every morning, pulled on faded Levi's, and headed out to a barn. The urbane Jack Darby actually loved raising wild broncs for rodeos. When she looked at him now, she saw his life was peachy. The thought lifted her spirits. Gave her hope for herself.

“Okay then,” Dawn said, delivering a salute. “Hand me my day planner and I'll be off.”

Jack frowned at the planner sitting on the table. “Why don't you use a PDA like everyone else on the planet?”

“Because I like to use a pen and paper. No need to charge a battery.”

“Dinosaur.”

“Shut up,” she said, holding out an expectant hand.

“This works just fine. Keeps me straight.”

He handed the leather-bound agenda to her with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “It's a crutch. You can't schedule everything in life. Some things won't tolerate being put into a column and highlighted pink.”

“Whatever,” she said, spinning around and heading out of the kitchen. “I've yet to meet the problem that can't be better handled with proper scheduling. Or at least a list of emergency numbers.”

 

T
YSON WATCHED
D
AWN WALK
around the side of Tucker House, digging in her handbag for what he assumed to be the keys. His watch read 7:40 a.m. He'd been here for ten minutes. Dawn was late, but he'd forgive her because she looked too lovely to berate.

She'd braided her hair, though pieces had already
escaped to frame her face. Her light blue shirt was open to a swirly looking yellow-and-blue undershirt. She wore denim trousers that flared just slightly above her trim ankles. He knew they were called crop pants. His ex-wife had worn them. Brown loafers graced her feet. She looked poised and fresh, just right for the first cool October morning, if one could call fifty degrees cool. He knew it would be in the midseventies by lunchtime.

“Sorry I'm late,” she called as she mounted the steps, keys in hand. “I'm rarely late, but Jack's damn dog dragged a mutilated, half-rotten squirrel onto the porch and dropped it on my foot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It dropped a dead squirrel on your foot?”

She shivered. “Not just a
dead
squirrel, a
decomposing
squirrel. I have no words for how disgusting it was. I had to shower again.”

Tyson dashed away the thought of her standing beneath the showerhead, water sluicing down her delicious body. He shrugged. “No problem. Sorry your morning hasn't been…easy.”

Dawn shook her head, an ironic smile curving her bottom lip. “It's par for the course for me, Hart.”

Tyson started at the sound of his last name on her lips. Hart? So she was distancing herself. After Saturday afternoon's near lip-lock in the kitchen, he expected as much. But he was surprised at the flicker of disappointment in his gut. He'd wanted her to want him. To want to further their brief encounter.

But at the same time, he knew it was better this way. He needed to focus on his job and on creating a better life for his daughter. He'd agreed to visit Laurel in Dallas last weekend because she absolutely had to see the new Taylor Swift movie, but she'd be in Oak Stand
this weekend. He wanted to take her to the Dairy Barn and to the small pond on Gramps's property. Maybe they could crank up the four-wheeler and take a spin. She'd finally see in Oak Stand what he saw—a chance for a new beginning with a very different way of life.

“Well, no one can help when such unforeseeable circumstances occur, like a rotten squirrel on your foot.” He chuckled, following her into the dim house.

“Yep. God likes to teach me lessons. 'Cause that totally wasn't scheduled in my planner.”

He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he didn't ask. He'd learned long ago that when a woman was agitated, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. With or without a dead squirrel.

“So, I'm going to head upstairs and start making some marks on which walls are going to have to go. I hired a couple of local guys to help me, but they won't be here until this afternoon.”

She'd already headed toward the rear of the house, but called to him as she ducked into her office. “I'm gonna pop some cinnamon rolls in the oven. We won't have clients until 8:00 a.m. Bubba will be here shortly to move the boxes to the attic. I labeled them clearly with the area in which they should be stored. I'll help when Margo gets here.”

He decided to forego the stairs and followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have any ground rules about noise? Because it's going to get noisy at times. Nothing I can do about that.”

Dawn smiled. “I'll have them turn their hearing aids down.”

He grinned. “Seriously.”

She shrugged before pulling open the refrigerator and taking out a tube of ready-to-bake pastries. “I don't
foresee a problem. They know there will be ongoing construction for the next few months. We'll just do our best, but I would like to see something in place to prevent dust downstairs. Some of our clients have fragile health and I can't imagine construction dust would be good for them.”

“I can handle that,” he said. “We'll put plastic at the entrance to the stairs and I'll place a fan in one of the windows to draw some of the dust particles outside.”

Dawn pulled out a pan and began unwinding the paper from the cinnamon rolls. Silence fell between them.

“Look, Dawn, about Saturday,” he began.

She waved a hand at him, but didn't meet his eyes.

“Look, no big deal. It was a weird moment. Let's just pretend it didn't happen.”

He wasn't sure they could. He'd learned long ago it was best to not ignore potential problems. Meeting head-on was the only smart solution.

“But it did happen. We can't pretend there isn't something between us,” he said, glancing out the window to where leaves floated to the ground on the breeze. Gold, red and orange danced across the yard, scudding against the yellowed grass.

She slid the pan into the oven and stood, straightening her spine like a soldier. Her brown eyes met his. They were guarded. “I can't afford to—” she paused “—dabble with a man. I've made too many mistakes down that road lately. So I want to forget about Saturday. It's easier for me that way.”

“Okay,” he said, catching a glimpse into her life. His own path had been much the same. Full of wrong turns and rocks in his shoe. “I agree with you. I don't have
room to screw up, either. I'll sign divorce papers next month, and I need a fresh start with my daughter.”

He saw the questions lurking in the depths of her chocolate eyes. “You have a daughter?”

“Yeah, her name's Laurel. She's nearly fourteen. The divorce has been hard on her. Coming here to Oak Stand, a place where I spent my happiest times, is a new chapter for us. I hope.”

“I'm taking a break myself. And I'm looking for a new direction.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, as though showing her own vulnerability was wrong. He could see the mental shake of her head.

“Well, so we agree to ignore any, um, weird feelings? Keep everything business?”

He nodded. “But, let's not call it business. Let's agree to be friendly.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“With no physical contact. Friendship only. I could use another friend in this town. I didn't actually grow up here. Spent mostly summers and an occasional year with my grandfather.”

She smiled. “I'm not local, either. And I could use another friend in this town, too. So sounds like we have a deal. But we won't muck it up by shaking on it this time.”

Yeah. No touching. And just when his fingers wanted to curl around her upper arms and spin her toward him so they could finish what they'd started two days ago.