The Way to Texas. Liz Talley

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.”

      TYSON WATCHED DAWN 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.