Slow Talkin' Texan. Mary Baxter Lynn

would have been a disaster.

      Ellen perused the coffee shop, which was at the end of a building housing several antique shops, each unique in what it sold. Coffee, Anyone? carried that uniqueness a step further in that it had a small private courtyard attached, giving her customers the feeling of drinking and dining in an atmosphere rivaling that of an open-air French café.

      She had made the most of that unusual outdoor setting by decorating it to the hilt with small tables and flowering potted plants. A wonderful fountain in the middle provided an extra touch.

      The inside was no slouch, either. The shelves featured a wide range of prepackaged gourmet foods, gift items from stationery to small wedding presents, and custom gift baskets.

      Of course, the drawing card was the coffee. Virtually every popular gourmet brand, with frozen cappuccino the most sought after, was served. In addition, finger sandwiches, salads and delectable desserts were on the menu.

      In just six months, this second Coffee, Anyone? was as successful as the larger one she’d left behind in Tyler. A friend, who was also a savvy businesswoman, was the manager there now.

      But her success in Nacogdoches hadn’t been without its price. Ellen was bone-weary from working day and night to get to this stage. There had been bumps along the way, bumps that still hadn’t been smoothed out. The equipment was one of her biggest concerns. She’d had trouble with some of the machines since day one, mainly because they were used models. Soon she hoped to replace them with new ones.

      She’d been fortunate with her help, which was a big hurdle to overcome. In the beginning, Meg had pitched in and helped sort through boxes. Before opening, she’d hired a college girl who so far had been good and dependable. But for the most part, the business was her baby, and she loved every minute of nurturing it.

      Thinking of it as “her baby” changed Ellen’s expression from a smile to a forlorn one, her mind suddenly switching to the love she’d seen mirrored in Porter’s eyes when he’d taken his son from her arms.

      More than likely she would never experience that kind of love. Still, she told herself, that was out of choice, not necessity.

      “So stop the pity party,” she muttered aloud. Besides, pity parties weren’t much fun alone.

      Deciding she needed a cup of iced coffee to buck up her spirits and combat the climbing June heat, Ellen made an iced cappuccino in a paper cup so she could take it home with her.

      Thirty minutes later, she was in her rented patio home, out of the shower and still sipping the iced coffee. While her mind remained a bit unsettled, at least she no longer smelled.

      The memory of the incident in the nursery suddenly brought on a smile, a smile that soon faded into sadness as a bout of intense loneliness struck her.

      Before she could beat up on herself for wandering down that forbidden path, the phone rang. It was Meg.

      “Didn’t I just leave you?” Ellen asked, a teasing note in her voice.

      “That you did,” Meg responded.

      “So, what’s up?”

      “Want to come to dinner? Before I left for church, I put a roast and all the fixings in the Crock-Pot. I should’ve asked sooner, but I forgot.”

      “Sounds tempting, but I’m not really hungry.”

      “Okay.” Meg paused. “By the way, thought any more about Porter?”

      “No, dammit, I haven’t. There’s nothing to think about.”

      “Hey, don’t jump on me. I was just hoping.”

      “Well, hope in another direction. Like I told you, it ain’t gonna happen.”

      “You’re making a big mistake.”

      “Well, it’s not the first one, and it sure as hell won’t be the last one, either.”

      “You’re impossible.”

      “You’re hard-headed.”

      “I guess that makes us sorta even.”

      “So I’ll talk to you later, Meggy dear.”

      With that, Ellen placed the receiver back on the hook, though she continued to stare at it. One thing about Meg, she knew which buttons to push. If she could get her hands on her sister, she would strangle her, and cheerfully, too.

      Porter Wyman.

      She didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to think about any man, not in a personal way. Generic thoughts about him and his baby were harmless. But dwelling on the man himself was not a good idea.

      Still, Ellen’s mind wouldn’t let go, even though she straightened the house with a vigor she should have reserved for the shop. Come morning, she had a storeroom full of “pretties” to unpack and enter on the computer.

      What was there about the rancher turned businessman that had snagged her attention in the first place? Admittedly, he was good-looking in a rugged sort of way, with his dark hair, chocolate eyes and athletic build. But since her divorce, she’d run across several men who fit that mold. She hadn’t given any of them the time of day, much less anything else. She wasn’t going to give Porter anything, either.

      Attractive or not, a slow-grinning man who had an infant to raise wasn’t for her. She doubted he ever would be, though she was quick not to classify herself as a cold-hearted career woman.

      For now, she was into treating herself well. That was what the shop was all about It was something she had created, something she’d accomplished on her own. Before, during the Samuel years, everything had been done according to his wishes.

      He had been a control freak as well as a perfectionist A perfectionist herself, she had thought she and Samuel would be a match made in heaven. She found out quickly just how wrong she’d been. Their union had turned into a match made in hell.

      Maybe she would marry again, and maybe she would even have a child, just not anytime soon. The scars left from her two-year marriage were too raw.

      Since she didn’t believe in wallowing in self-pity and crying over what might have been, she had picked up the broken pieces of her life and gone on. She was free to go about her life without fear of Samuel’s unwanted presence.

      That was the main reason she didn’t want to get involved with another man, especially someone like Porter Wyman. Besides, she didn’t have a clue how to care for a child. No doubt he’d gotten that message today.

      Thrusting aside the image of Porter’s lazy grin and gait as he came toward her, Ellen leapt off the couch, grabbed her purse and headed to the door.

      The ringing phone stopped her, but only momentarily. “Not this time, Meg,” she said, walking out the door. She was going back to the office to work.

      She’d had her fill of her sister and that cowboy for one day.

      

      “Like that, huh?”

      Matthew’s laughter rang out as Porter tossed him once again into the air.

      “That’s all, son. Daddy has to go to work.”

      “Anything special you want me to do today?”

      Porter gave his son a smack on the cheek before turning to face his housekeeper and nanny, Bonnie Temple. She was an attractive, dark-haired woman with expressive green eyes.

      Although she was forty-five years old, ten years his senior, she didn’t look it. Her build was slight and her hair was minus any gray, or any that he could see, anyway. But then, what did he know about hair color? His ex, Wanda, had changed hers with the seasons.

      When Wanda had left him, he’d hired Bonnie immediately; she had come highly recommended. He hadn’t been sorry one day. She was great with Matthew, having reared three children of her own. Because she was a widow,