Lone Star Blessings. Bonnie K. Winn

arms. She jerked her head up, staring into a broad chest. The man stepped back so she could see his face.

      That obstinate sheriff! His height, the boots and hat—no doubt about it.

      “Don’t you ever watch where you’re going?” The brim of his Stetson shaded his eyes and she couldn’t tell by his voice if he was being sarcastic or teasing.

      “This is a hallway, not a racetrack.” Abandoning the search for her keys, she echoed his own words from that afternoon. “Lots of pedestrians, you know.”

      She thought she spotted a glimmer of amusement in his expression.

      “You didn’t get very far.”

      Kate drew her eyebrows together, uncomfortably aware that she still hadn’t put on any makeup and that she looked a mess. “Excuse me?”

      “Aren’t you just passing through?”

      “What makes you think that?”

      “Your car was pretty loaded. Most folks don’t spend more than a few days looking at the wildflowers.”

      “I’m not most folks.”

      “I sensed that when you let your cat out of his crate. Cats aren’t known for enjoying car rides.”

      So now he was an expert on cats. Kate realized she was grumpy. Tired and worried about her father, she was hard-pressed to be polite. More to the point, she hadn’t forgotten the stupid, unnecessary ticket. “Cats are allowed in cars here, aren’t they?”

      It was definitely amusement in his dark eyes. “We don’t lock up many drivers for taking their cats along.”

      Hysterical. “So, what do you lock people up for? Driving down Main Street?”

      “Actually, our cells are empty ninety-nine percent of the time.”

      She wasn’t amused. It wasn’t as though she’d intended to swerve all over the road. And he could have been more understanding about the circumstances. Since he was so tall, she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, but she did, hoping she conveyed her resentment.

      He waited another moment, but when she remained silent, he tipped the brim of his hat. “Got business to see about.”

      Clutching her purse, she nodded in return.

      He walked past her to the ER registration desk.

      Don’t look! Don’t look! And she almost didn’t. A foot from the exit, she peeked back. And he wasn’t even a mite less impressive.

      Tucker Grey pulled into the driveway of his house. His twelve-year-old daughter, Alyssa, had all the lights in the living room on. And as he parked in front of the detached garage that was set back from the house, he could see that she had the kitchen lights on as well. She did that when she was alone. Had ever since her mother died two years ago. He felt guilty that his daughter had to be on her own, but Alyssa now protested she was too old for a babysitter.

      He had insisted—until a few months ago, when the only sitter he could find was barely a year older than Alyssa. The lady next door offered, but she was swamped caring for both ailing parents and a new grandchild. Other neighbors had also offered, but Alyssa didn’t want to stay at anyone’s house—she felt she was always in the way. Still, Rosewood looked after their own; people in town kept an eye out for her, knowing she was a latchkey child and that the Greys didn’t have any other family in the area.

      Tucker’s sister, Karen, had moved away years ago, and she continued campaigning for them to join her family in Iowa. But he was a Texas man, down to the heels of his cowboy boots. Besides, Rosewood was good for his daughter. It was all she’d ever known, and he wasn’t about to make her go through any more changes.

      Still, it remained difficult for him to open the door and walk into the house, knowing Shelley wasn’t there…wouldn’t ever be there again. She had made their house a home. Now it was just a place where he slept and ate.

      Pushing open the back door, he took off his hat and hung it on a peg. An open bag of potato chips sat on the table along with some sort of dip. He hoped Alyssa had eaten something more substantial for dinner. The television blared in the living room, something else that had begun after Shelley’s death.

      Stomach down, legs kicking in a crisscross fashion, Alyssa sprawled out on the couch with her homework. He was lucky. She was a good kid, doing what she should without being told. Remembering his own preteen years, he probably would have ditched his homework if his mother hadn’t kept at him.

      Alyssa looked up, her dark, blunt-cut hair nearly obscuring her eyes. “Hey, Dad.”

      He picked up the remote and lowered the volume. “Tell me you ate something besides chips.”

      “Sure.” She turned a page in her math book. “I had pizza.”

      He thought of their stock of frozen food: dinners, microwavable pizzas, egg rolls. It had been a while since they’d had anything else. His hours had lengthened and he rarely got home in time to eat with his daughter. “Sorry I’m late. Accident on the highway.”

      She sat up, looking at him in genuine concern. “Did anybody get hurt?”

      She was so much like her mother. “Not seriously. Mostly scrapes, a broken arm. You have much more homework?”

      “I could work on my book report, but it’s not due for two weeks, and I want to watch my show.”

      He smiled. She didn’t ask for much. “Sure, Lissy.”

      She frowned. “Did you eat any dinner?”

      Tucker had to think. “I grabbed something around two.”

      “You have to eat three meals a day,” she lectured. “I told you I could make a casserole.”

      His throat tightened. “You’re already doing too much. I don’t want you cooking for me as well.” Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind one ear. “You’re supposed to be a kid. That only comes around once, and I don’t want you to miss it.”

      “Cooking won’t make me miss it. I used to help make stuff with Mommy.”

      Briefly closing his eyes, he tried to keep the pain from his face. “I know. Listen, I’m going to be better about getting home earlier.” For some reason, after Shelley’s death, he couldn’t get as much done in a regular workday. It was as though he carried a hundred-pound stone around his neck, weighing down his thoughts and actions.

      “It’s okay, Dad.” She shrugged. “You can’t just leave, like if you worked in a store or something.”

      No. But Shelley was no longer there to make sure Alyssa was properly being taken care of.

      She stacked her books and folders on the coffee table. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

      “I can do that.”

      She shook her head. “You’ll forget. I’m writing a new shopping list, with stuff that’s not frozen. We’re supposed to be eating vegetables, you know.”

      He always made sure they had frozen dinners with vegetables, but he guessed that wouldn’t be a convincing argument. “Even peas?”

      She made a face. “Vegetables we like.”

      “Ah. Then no broccoli for me.”

      “Deal.” Alyssa headed into the kitchen.

      He followed, feeling neglectful and guilty. “Lissy, you want to eat dinner at the café?”

      “Not really. I’m kinda full. And my show starts in a few minutes.”

      “Right.” He had to do better; his child couldn’t raise herself. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to pull it off.

      Chapter Two

      Kate’s