Finding His Lone Star Love. Amy Woods

his thoughts. “Because you still haven’t given me a good answer to my question. What exactly is it that you’re doing here, Mr. Haynes?”

      Sam leaned back, putting a foot or two of distance between himself and the doc. He could feel his heart rate returning to something resembling normal as he took a few more deep breaths.

      “Look, Dr. Blake, I just need some information, that’s all. I’m here on business, and I really need to talk with someone who knows the place inside and out. Since, as you said, that person is Ms. Monroe, I’d just like to have a moment with her. I will explain everything, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

      The doctor leaned back, looking slightly satisfied with Sam’s answer. He offered Sam a small smile, and damned if Sam didn’t feel as if the man was about to reach under his desk and pull out a present from a great red sack. This guy really needed to consider a job playing the man in the big red suit, if he hadn’t already.

      “All right, Mr. Haynes, I’ll take you to her. And I apologize if I’m being a little overly cautious.” Dr. Blake folded his hands on the desk and a look of sincere concern brushed over his features. “It’s just that, well, Lucy’s special. She’s indispensable here, and she’s had a hard go of things. It’s important to me that I look out for her, is all. I’m probably saying too much. I just needed to know you didn’t have anything shady up your suit sleeve there.”

      The doctor pointed a finger in Sam’s direction and Sam looked down at his expensive Italian suit. He supposed he was a tad overdressed. People seemed to go a little more on the casual side out here in the country. He’d have to keep that in mind and maybe stop for some different clothes if he ended up sticking around. He reminded himself not to get ahead of the game. There was still a considerable chance that the girl would want nothing to do with him.

      And of course, now he’d have to get past Lucy first, provided she knew anything about his daughter. The PI had said that someone resembling an older version of the child in the picture Jennifer had provided had been seen more than once at the observatory. In hindsight, it wasn’t much to go on, and arguably not near enough to warrant the steps he’d already taken. Then again, you didn’t have to be an astronomer to figure out that his situation was fraught with difficulty at all ends. There wouldn’t come a better time to face whatever his future as a father might hold.

      Best to just jump in and then learn how to swim.

      It was all he could do, and he could only hope that following his instincts would prove the right course of action.

      “Nothing at all up my sleeve, Dr. Blake,” Sam said, cautiously calculating his next words as he revised his original plan. “You see, I’m in the restaurant business, and I’m interested in the observatory’s café for market research purposes, is all. Nothing more.”

      Sam feigned a glance at his watch for an excuse to look away from the doctor’s eyes to avoid choking on his own lie. He wasn’t in the habit of stretching the truth, not even to strangers, and it made him a little sick in his stomach to start things out this way, regardless of whether the doctor would have anything to do with him after that moment.

      So he needed the people of Peach Leaf on his side, and he’d need all the support he could get if he ran into any problems. If his child did have any interest in a relationship with her dad, Sam was fully prepared to rearrange his life to meet her needs—flexibility was a luxury his career afforded, and he would use it if necessary. He wouldn’t do anything to upset the girl’s world, but he would do anything in his power to be as much a part of her life as she’d allow. If she wanted him around, Sam would do what he could to make it happen, and in a small town, that would almost certainly involve getting acquainted with the locals.

      “Well, then, if that’s all,” Dr. Blake said, rolling back his desk chair and lifting his considerable bulk to make his way around to the front, “let me show you to Lucy’s office.”

      The doctor held out an arm and Sam walked ahead and opened the door, holding it for Dr. Blake. As they walked, he couldn’t help humoring himself, to quell the anxiety that had taken up permanent residence inside him the past few days. “Have you ever thought about dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmastime? I would venture I’m not the first to tell you that you have the perfect beard for it. Kids would love you,” Sam suggested, grinning, doing his best to lighten the tension.

      Dr. Blake stopped midstep and turned to stare wide-eyed at Sam, as if he’d never heard anything more ridiculous in his life.

      “Now, why on earth would I do that, Mr. Haynes?”

      Sam choked on his words and tried to keep the surprise from his expression. A very uncomfortable few seconds passed before a huge grin stretched across the doctor’s face, and a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped.

      “I’m just messing with you, kid. Of course I’ve considered it. In fact, the observatory puts up a giant Christmas tree out on the café’s porch each year, and we do a big ceremony of lighting the thing. I dress up like the big guy from the North Pole and we make a thing of it. It’s a lot of fun. You see,” Dr. Blake said, his voice more serious, “this is more than just a place for science research and learning. It’s a big part of the community. That’s why it’s so important that we keep it alive. Tell you what—after you meet with Ms. Monroe, why don’t you come back by my office and I’ll set you up with one of the interns? You should check the place out while you’re here. And of course,” he said, nudging Sam with an elbow, “the museum always welcomes donations.”

      Dr. Blake smiled wide at Sam, who was fairly certain the old man winked. Sam had never believed in Santa even as a child, and he hadn’t had many pleasant holiday seasons growing up. With a single mom who’d had to work so much, there hadn’t always been much time for celebration. But if he’d ever put his cards on a miracle, he supposed now was the time. He could use all the help he could get.

      * * *

      After searching for Ms. Monroe all over the museum, Dr. Blake suggested they try the observatory’s café.

      “Here we are,” the man said, as they rounded a hallway corner and Sam saw a sign for the Lonestar Café. “It’s the only other place she could be, though between you and me, I can’t imagine what she’d be doing in the kitchen, unless she’s having a snack. She’s in charge of the staff and in all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never once seen that woman take a break during the business week. Besides, anyone who knows her can tell you that Lucy Monroe sure as shoot does not belong near a kitchen.”

      The doctor chuckled and Sam felt as if he’d missed out on some sort of inside joke. Being in the small Texas town, even for a short while, would take some getting used to. Not that people weren’t friendly where he came from—it’s just that the pace was different. He was used to the city and the constant bustle of people moving from one thing to the next, but here, the director of a significant institution seemed to have all the time and patience in the world to chat with Sam and show him around. He would have to be careful in this environment, where people were more likely to notice him, and Lord knows he must stick out like a sore thumb.

      Sam and Dr. Blake walked through a small, but comfortable, dining area with beautifully handcrafted wooden tables and chairs, and Sam wished he had a moment to stop and admire the work; he had a fondness for carpentry and had taken a few classes. He had developed some skill and he’d made a few pieces here and there, mostly for friends, but he’d never had the luxury of taking on a real project. Maybe he would finally be able to carve out some time to do so.

      As they got closer to the back of the café, a terrible scent bit at Sam’s nose. As a trained chef, there was one thing he loathed the smell of more than anything in his kitchen, and that was the exact odor permeating the air as he inhaled. A thin cloud of smoke lent a gray haze to the area, and Sam and Dr. Blake had to force their way through a crowd, some of whom were peering through the kitchen door. They all probably had the same question. What in the hell was burning? Sam sniffed the air again and had the answer in an instant: butter and flour. Someone on the other side of that door was ruining pastry. Maybe he’d be of use here in more ways that