The Way to Texas. Liz Talley

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      Tyson’s hand touched her cheek

      It was the slightest of touches. Dawn forgot how to breathe as his lips brushed against hers.

      She pressed her mouth to his, fully, sweetly and not so gently. He curled his large hand beneath her hair, angling her head so he might sample her lips fully.

      He tasted like warmth, crackling fire and butterscotch schnapps. She couldn’t stop tasting him.

      A dam broke inside her, flooding her body so that the woods faded around them. All that existed was this man, this incredible man who did incredible things.

      She’d never felt anything like it. Ever. And that was the most dangerous sensation of all.

      Dear Reader,

      I love second-chance stories—or in my heroine’s case, third chance. Something about weary, beaten people finding love when they least expect it restores my faith in romance all over again. I’ve always believed when people stop wanting love badly or planning for love, it’s sure to sneak up on them and grab them by the heart.

      Dawn and Tyson are like so many couples in the world today. They each emerge scarred from divorce, so their conflicts with falling in love come from family, bad experiences and self-doubt. And let’s be honest, is anything easy when teenagers are involved? But in the end love triumphs. Of course.

      I hope you enjoy a trip back to Oak Stand, Texas. It’s such a wonderful little town, and in this story I’ve got some octogenarians who will make you laugh. And, of course, you’ll see Nellie and Jack again.

      I would love to hear from my readers either by post at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171 or through my website, www.liztalleybooks.com.

      Happy reading!

      Liz Talley

      The Way to Texas

      Liz Talley

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      From devouring the Harlequin Superromance books on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance novel. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath her baby-food-stained clothes a dream stirred. Liz followed that dream and, after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

      Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a menagerie of animals. Liz loves strawberries, fishing and retail therapy, and is always game for a spa day. When not writing contemporary romances for Harlequin Superromance, she can be found working in the flower bed, doing laundry or driving carpool.

      This book is for my brothers, Matt and Blake.

       Two guys who believe in happy endings and always see the glass as half-full…just like Tyson.

      It’s also for my grandparents, whose warm humor trickled down into all of us and made hard times a bit softer.

      And I can’t forget my husband and boys—you are my world.

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      IT’S A KNOWN FACT THAT when a woman can’t find her day planner, all hell will break loose.

      But as Dawn Taggart stamped the last of her paper work, she gave herself a mental pat on the back. No day planner. No problem.

      Hell had been firmly contained.

      “Here you go, busy bee. Have some homemade pound cake,” her sister-in-law Nellie said, entering the small office off the kitchen. She placed a pretty filigree plate holding several pieces of cake on the desk.

      “Nell, you really need to rest before the baby gets here.” Dawn gave Nellie a firm look—the same look she’d given her very pregnant sister-in-law over the past several days. Of course, her stomach growled, ruining the reprimand.

      Nellie shrugged. “Can’t seem to rest. Guess I’m nesting.”

      “You think?” Dawn said, recalling the cranberry muffins Nellie had made earlier, not to mention all the polishing she’d done on the silver pieces displayed around the center.

      Nellie dropped into the chair next to the desk, groaning as she supported her distended belly from underneath. “I’m just worried about the center. I know you can handle everything. It’s been important to me, you know?”

      Dawn picked up a piece of the still-warm cake. It would go straight to her thighs but was worth it. “We’re going to be fine.”

      And they would. The huge Victorian Tucker House had belonged to Nellie’s family for generations. When Nellie had married Dawn’s brother, Jack, and moved out to the ranch, she’d converted the home into a much-needed senior center, designed to help families by caring for their elderly family members during the workday. The whole concept had been wildly successful.

      When Nellie had learned she was pregnant, she’d asked Dawn to serve as temporary director for Tucker House. The situation proved fortuitous because Dawn not only needed a job, she also needed a break from life in Houston. A life that had made her vulnerable—a feeling she hated beyond all others.

      “Ow!” Nellie said, rubbing her back.

      “You okay?”

      She shifted on the chair. “Yeah, just a backache I’ve been fighting all afternoon. It’s killing me.”

      She had probably overdone it today. Jack had dropped her off early this morning and she’d worked steadily around the center, only stopping to play one game of canasta with a few clients. Way too much activity this close to her due date.

      A thready voice interrupted from the open doorway. “Homer’s not here yet.”

      The last client of the day, Aggie Richards, stood there, her bent form casting a long shadow on the polished wood floor of the hallway. Late-afternoon sun somersaulted through the leaded glass window and fell onto her housedress in whimsical patterns.

      “Miss Aggie, I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Nellie said, rubbing her back again.

      “He had to go to Longview to get a part for that truck of his that’s always breakin’ down.” The elderly lady’s voice wavered as she fiddled with the buttons at her throat.

      “He’s running late,” Dawn said, rising from