A Texas-Made Family. Roz Denny Fox

      The paper fluttered in Rebecca’s hand as she tried to absorb the information. She sat for a moment before stuffing the statement back in its envelope. Then she took a deep breath in an effort to calm her temper. Why no deposits, when Lisa had started babysitting for Darcy and was earning more than in previous months?

      Rebecca called the kids and started fixing supper. Once they were all seated at the table, she let them fill their plates before she pulled the statement out of her pocket. Rebecca laid it in front of Lisa, who blanched.

      “Mom, I have a year and a half before I need to pay college tuition.”

      “True, but each year the costs go up. What disturbs me, Lisa, is that we had a deal. Why didn’t you follow through?”

      “I had school expenses,” Lisa mumbled. “Stuff my friends can get without a hassle. I haven’t asked you for money. Why do I have to explain what I’m buying?”

      “What things do you need, Lisa? This is the first I’ve heard of any of this. I don’t want you kids to go without. I want you to fit in.”

      Lisa got up, leaving her supper untouched on the table. “I’m so sick of money being such an issue. Our garbage disposal is still broken, Mother. Ryan would’ve fixed it at no charge.” Without waiting for a response, she stormed off toward her bedroom.

      Ryan again. Rebecca swirled her peas and carrots through her steamed rice. She’d lost her appetite, too.

      Jordan ate everything on his plate, but kept his head down until he reached for seconds and then noticed his mom’s listlessness. “Lisa bought an athletic booster card for baseball season so she could get a discount on the game tickets. And the girls I see her hang with have loads more cash to throw around.”

      “Who are these girls? Do I know them or are they new friends she’s met with Ryan?”

      Jordan shrugged. He finished his meal, then he, too, disappeared. By the time Rebecca tidied up and left for her job at the Tumbleweed, both kids were in their rooms, and she was once again convinced that she had to meet Grant Lane.

      THE NEXT MORNING Rebecca gave herself two hours to meet Ryan’s father and enlist his help in breaking up their kids. She hadn’t handled yesterday’s conversation very well. He’d sounded as if he favored Ryan and Lisa being a couple. It was up to her to convince him otherwise.

      Rebecca tried to anticipate how their discussion might go if he continued to oppose her. Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Grant Lane probably thought his son was a great catch.

      And rightly so, she admitted grudgingly. Rebecca couldn’t blame Lisa for thinking that Ryan was hot. His eyes were a clear, arresting blue, framed by lashes most girls would kill for. Add his cool car to all that, and any girl would be impressed.

      Again, Rebecca turned her thoughts to the father. What kind of man bought his teenage son a convertible? Grant must have bought it, because Ryan clearly didn’t work. It would help if he did.

      Some men had skewed values. Jack, for example. The only reason Rebecca was willing to meet with a strange man was to ensure that Lisa was better equipped to deal with the Jack Geroux types than she’d been. That was why she’d canceled two clients who hadn’t been able to come in later. Rebecca could see money flying out the window, and she’d have to juggle her bills again. Did single dads have as much difficulty making ends meet?

      For the first time Rebecca wondered what had happened to Ryan’s mother. Most likely she’d died, since the kids lived with their dad. Rebecca caught herself momentarily feeling sorry for the children. For Grant Lane, too. Single parenting was hard, regardless of the circumstances.

      Lost in her thoughts, Rebecca almost missed the entry to the Lanes’ housing development. Reading off street names, she found the one she was looking for, and made a right turn onto a tree-lined avenue. The homes were spacious, and their landscaping immaculate. Rebecca’s house would fit twice into any one of these Spanish-style mansions. But somehow, after seeing Ryan Lane’s convertible, the affluent neighborhood didn’t surprise her. No doubt the boy had been born into money, and had a future loaded with potential.

      She hoped Lisa wasn’t dazzled by all the material things beyond her reach. Frowning, Rebecca braked in front of a driveway that led up to a sprawling house. Multiple arches, red-tile roof, a pristine lawn. The number matched the address Grant Lane had given her.

      She wished she’d suggested they just meet at the café he’d mentioned. Her hands felt damp and slippery on the steering wheel. Wouldn’t it be awkward going up to knock on a strange man’s door—especially here, where she was so out of her element? Grant had a nice, melodic voice, she reminded herself. Rebecca hoped he had a personality to match it.

      Even as she debated turning around, the decision was taken out of her hands.

      The front door opened and every thought sailed right out of her head. The elder Lane came halfway down his brick walkway to pick up his paper. To say he was good-looking was too tame.

      Rebecca’s heart thudded. As she tried to settle it, he came up to her car and gestured for her to roll down her window.

      “Are you Rebecca Geroux, or just lost in the neighborhood?”

      His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and Rebecca managed to say, “I’m Rebecca.”

      “Good. Let me throw my paper in the house. My car’s in the garage. I’ll back out and you can follow me.”

      Rebecca had noticed the dark blue SUV in the driveway when she drove up. Now she wondered if that was also his, or if Grant Lane was seeing someone. Although if he was, it didn’t matter to her.

      Watching him jog back to the house, Rebecca admitted she’d been expecting someone older. He couldn’t have more than a few years on her. Surely a man his age must still work.

      She waited, and finally the garage door lifted. Rebecca wrenched on the ignition, giving silent thanks when the Nissan purred to life. She’d just released the parking brake when a red sports car shot out past the SUV. Grant punched a remote control hanging on his sun visor and the door lowered.

      Rebecca admired the Porsche Boxter convertible as it sped off down the road. She gave herself a shake. Here she sat drooling like an idiot, and he’d turned the corner at the end of the block. She barely managed to get under way and keep him in sight. He navigated the suburban streets with confidence.

      Rebecca thought she’d lost him after he pulled into an area of strip malls. She caught him at a light and saw that he was signaling a turn into a parking space in front of a brightly lit café she would otherwise have missed.

      She pulled in farther down the street, but couldn’t help noticing that Grant was already out of his car. Reaching back in, he hung his sunglasses over the visor.

      Boy, he was trusting, leaving his top down and his expensive shades in plain sight. She’d installed motion detectors around her house, and attached a Club to her steering wheel every night to discourage car theft. But that was the difference between her neighborhood and Grant Lane’s.

      He waited for her beside the café door. As she walked toward Grant, Rebecca cataloged more things about him. His hair was shorter than his son’s and not as dark—more of a honey shade, thick and sun-streaked. But it wasn’t as short as the military types she saw around town. And there were a lot of those, as San Antonio was home to many military families. The slightly mussed style suited him. He wore khaki pants and a navy-blue T-shirt that showed off toned muscles. He looked…darn good. Suntanned. Carefree.

      Rebecca glanced at her reflection in the café window to see if she appeared as harried as she felt. Satisfied that she looked okay, she reminded herself that she couldn’t stay long. Her first client was booked for eleven-thirty.

      Smiling again, Grant opened the restaurant door wider, allowing Rebecca to pass. It was a nice touch and she gave him points for being a gentleman.

      “Thank you,” she murmured.