Falling For The Sheriff. Tanya Michaels

she’d woken from nightmares as a girl or been rattled by a Texas thunderstorm.

      “Missed you, too, Katie. So much.” Gram patted her on the back, then pulled away to reach for Luke. “And you! I can’t believe how tall you’re getting. Strong enough to help with farm chores, I reckon. But don’t worry,” she added with a smile, “I promise to make sure you’re well-compensated with your favorite desserts.”

      “Anything but candy bars,” he mumbled.

      Kate suppressed a groan at the reminder of their inauspicious entry to town. “We should start bringing in bags,” she told her son. “The car’s not going to unpack itself.”

      Gram followed them. “I expected to see you hauling a trailer of stuff.”

      “We brought most of our personal items, but the furniture’s in storage back in Houston.” She didn’t add that she hadn’t wanted to move it all twice in case this relocation didn’t work out.

      Gram insisted on helping, and Kate gave her the lightest things she could find in the backseat. Kate faltered at the box of Luke’s art supplies. It had been sheer optimism on her part to bring them; he’d told her she could leave them in storage—or throw them away.

      There’d been a time when he’d never been without a sketch pad of some kind. A few months before Damon was killed, Luke had started working on a comic book series about a superhero on another planet. The interstellar crime-fighter didn’t have a family and he’d possessed larger than life mystical powers, but the physical resemblance between Luke’s fictional champion and his dad had been unmistakable.

      His earlier statement echoed in her mind. My father is gone. But he hadn’t only lost Damon. In the last two years, he seemed to have also lost his inspiration and his direction. Although there was no need to get the heavy box inside before dinner, she vowed to put the supplies in his room later. Maybe, with time and patience, he’d find his direction again.

      Shifting a large satchel against her hip, she pulled a rolling suitcase from the trunk. “Am I in my usual room, Gram?” Even during her trips to the farm as an adult, Kate had stayed in the bedroom where she had so many happy childhood memories.

      Her grandmother nodded. “Of course. And for Luke, I cleared out the room where Jim used to work on his model planes. It’s not huge, but it’s the least girly space in the house.”

      “I’m sure it will be fine,” Kate said gently, hating the thought of Gram boxing up all of her late husband’s beloved planes alone. She wished her father was more reliable, that he lived close enough to regularly visit his widowed mother. Not that geography was any guarantee he’d pull his head out of his textbooks long enough to remember his family. The cliché “absent-minded professor” aptly described James Sullivan Jr. The last time he’d had dinner with Kate and Luke, he’d seemed sincerely shocked that his grandson wasn’t still nine years old.

      Patch met them at the front door with baritone yowls and a tail wagging wildly enough to generate a windstorm. It took a few minutes to get past the excited shepherd and into the living room. Kate took in the familiar surroundings, recalling her grandfather’s good-natured complaints about the pink curtains and throw pillows on the sofa. Gram had told him that, if it made him feel better, the color was technically “country rose.” He’d also pretended to be annoyed by her collection of carousel-horse figurines, but he’d built her the gorgeous display cabinet that housed them.

      The room had barely changed in the last decade. Even the warm, inviting scent was the same. Gram’s house always smelled like a combination of the lemony cleaner she used on the hardwood floors and pecan pie.

      Luke raised his head, sniffing appreciatively, but it wasn’t floor cleaner and nostalgia that captured his interest. “Food!”

      Gram laughed. “I have beef stew in the slow-cooker and made a batch of corn bread muffins.”

      He immediately dropped the large duffel bags, as if preparing to bolt for the kitchen.

      “We’re not just leaving our stuff all over Gram’s house,” Kate chided, familiar with his habits. Their home in Houston had often been an obstacle course of discarded tennis shoes, an unzipped backpack with class binders spilling out of it and dirty glasses that should have been carried to the sink. “Once you’ve got the bags in your room and washed your hands, we’ll see about dinner.” He must have been genuinely hungry because, rather than flashing one of his mutinous scowls, he dashed down the hallway.

      “It’s gratifying to cook for someone other than just myself,” Gram said, a trace of sadness beneath her smile.

      Kate’s heart squeezed, but she kept her tone light. “As much food as Luke puts away, you may get tired of it pretty quickly. I insist you let me help with meals. And everything else—cleaning, gardening, whatever needs to be done. I know how seriously you take hospitality, but Luke and I are roommates, not guests who have to be waited on hand and foot.”

      Gram’s eyes twinkled. “Well...now that you mention it, I suppose I could use your help with a welcome party I’m hosting. Tomorrow.”

      “You planned a party tomorrow?” So much for settling in slowly. Kate had hoped to sleep late, then spend the day unpacking.

      “Party is probably too grandiose a term. It’s just a neighborhood cookout. I invited some friends, like the Rosses, who live down the road. You remember they used to let you ride their horses? And I figured you’d want to see Crystal Tucker. Wait—she’s Crystal Walsh now, isn’t she?” Gram shook her head. “Seems like just yesterday the two of you were sharing cotton candy at the Watermelon Festival, a couple of kids with pigtails and sticky hands. Now you’re all grown up with kids of your own!”

      Kate and Crystal had bonded quickly after meeting at the community pool and renewed their friendship every summer. An only child, Kate had loved having a playmate in town. Crystal, the middle kid between two sisters, relished the comparative peace and quiet at the Denby farm. The last time they’d seen each other was Jim Denby’s funeral, but Crystal, heavily pregnant with twin boys, hadn’t been able to stay long. It would be nice to catch up with her. Kate tried to recall the age of Crystal’s oldest son, hoping the boy could be a potential friend for Luke. He needed a wholesome peer group—the sooner, the better.

      With that goal in mind, she gave her grandmother a grateful smile. “I hate for you to go to trouble on our account, but I’m really glad you’re throwing the welcome party. I’m sure it will be exactly what we need.”

      * * *

      KATEWASGLADher son had the good sense not to show up at the dinner table wearing earbuds—a mandate she’d had to repeat at least once a week back in Houston—but he wasn’t the most effusive dinner companion. He wolfed down two servings of stew while barely looking up from his plate, then asked to be excused.

      She sighed, wishing he showed more curiosity about their new surroundings and learning about Cupid’s Bow. Let him go. It had been a long day, and no doubt tomorrow would bring fresh battles. “You’re excused, but make sure you rinse your dishes.”

      He did as asked, then paused in the doorway that led to the hall. “Dinner was awesome,” he mumbled in Gram’s general direction, the words all strung together. Then he disappeared around the corner.

      Kate shook her head. “Well, that was a start, I guess. We’ll work on eye contact later.”

      Gram smiled. “He’s had a tough time of it. You both have.”

      “I know.” Lord, did she know. “But that doesn’t give him a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card. Losing his dad can’t become a habitual excuse for bad choices.” She ran a hand through her hair, recalling the incident at the gas station. She’d meant get-out-of-jail in a figurative sense, but if her son didn’t get off his current path...

      “Katie?” Gram’s tone was thick with concern.

      Glancing toward the empty doorway, Kate lowered her voice. “We had