McKettricks of Texas: Garrett. Linda Miller Lael

at his face and wiped away only part of the sauce.

      Garrett’s grin slipped a little, Julie thought, and a glance at Esperanza revealed the other woman’s quiet concern.

      “Is that right?” Garrett responded, very slowly. “Tate said that?”

      Calvin nodded, thrilled to be carrying tales. “He didn’t know I heard what he said,” the little boy explained, “but when Aunt Libby poked him with her elbow, he almost choked on his coffee.” A pause. “That was funny.”

      Garrett chuckled. “I suppose it was,” he agreed.

      “What’s ‘lynched’?” Calvin persisted, gazing up at Julie. “Aunt Libby wouldn’t tell me when I asked her. She said I’d have to ask you, Mom.”

      Thanks a lot, sis, Julie thought wryly. “Never mind,” she said. “We’re eating.”

      “Is it something yucky, then?”

      “Yes.”

      “Will it give me bad dreams?”

      “Maybe,” Julie said.

      Again, Garrett chuckled. “How old are you, buddy?” he asked, watching the child.

      “Almost five,” Calvin answered, proudly. “That’s how come they finally let me into kindergarten. Because I’m almost five.”

      Garrett gave a low, exclamatory whistle. “I’d have sworn you were fifty-two,” he said, “and short for your age.”

      Calvin laughed, delighted by the joke—and the masculine attention.

      Julie felt a pang, barely resisted an urge to ruffle her son’s hair in a fit of unrestrained affection. He would have been embarrassed, she thought, and the pang struck again, deeper this time.

      Eventually Calvin finished eating, and excused himself to feed Harry and then take him outside. Julie knew he’d ask about lynching again, but she hoped she could put him off until morning.

      Esperanza began clearing the table, and waved Julie away when she moved to help.

      Calvin and the dog came back inside.

      “Time for your bath, big guy,” Julie said.

      For once, Calvin didn’t argue. Maybe he wanted to look good in front of Garrett McKettrick; she couldn’t be sure.

      Once the boy and his dog had vanished into the guest suite, and Esperanza had served the coffee, started the dishwasher and gone as well, Julie was alone with Garrett.

      The realization was deliciously unsettling.

      She cleared her throat diplomatically, but when she opened her mouth, intending to make some kind of pitch concerning the foundation’s funding the new computers in full, not a sound came out.

      Garrett watched her, amusement flickering in his eyes. He could have thrown her a lifeline, tossed out some conversational tidbit to get things started, but he didn’t. He simply waited for her to make another attempt.

      That was when Calvin reappeared, tugging at Julie’s shirtsleeve and startling her half out of her skin. “Do I have to take a bath tonight? I had one last night and I hardly even got dirty today.”

      Garrett’s smile set Julie back on her figurative heels.

      Flustered, she turned to her son. “Yes, Calvin,” she said firmly, “you do have to take your bath.”

      “But Esperanza and I were going to watch TV,” Calvin protested, his usual sunny-sky nature clouding over. “Our favorite show is on, and somebody’s sure to get voted off and sent home.”

      Julie turned back to Garrett. “Excuse me,” she said, rising.

      Garrett merely nodded.

      She took Calvin to their bathroom, where Esperanza was filling the tub. The older woman smiled at Julie—she’d already gotten out the little boy’s pajamas, and they were neatly folded and waiting on the lid of the clothes hamper.

      Bless the woman, she went out of her way to be helpful.

      Julie felt yet another rush of gratitude.

      Harry sat on a hooked rug in the middle of the bathroom, panting and watching the proceedings.

      “I’ll make sure young Mr. Calvin is bathed and in his pajamas in time to watch our program,” Esperanza said. Then she made a shooing motion with the backs of her fingers. “You go back to the kitchen.”

      Was Esperanza playing matchmaker?

      Julie made a little snorting sound as she left the bathroom. Herself and Garrett McKettrick?

      Fat chance.

      The man was a politician, for cripes’ sake.

      Anyway, he had probably lit out for his part of the house by then, either because he’d already forgotten their encounter or because he’d guessed that she was about to ask for something—with all the pride-swallowing that would entail—and wanted to avoid her.

      Garrett was still at the table, though, drinking coffee and frowning at the newspaper spread out in front of him. He’d recently topped off his cup—the brew steamed at his right elbow—and when he looked up, Julie saw that he was wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

      For some reason, that struck her in a tender place.

      Seeing her, he stood.

      “I guess you must have heard about Senator Cox,” Garrett said, with a nod toward the paper, his voice deep and solemn and very quiet.

      Julie nodded. “I’m sorry,” she told Garrett, and then she felt foolish. “If that’s the appropriate sentiment, I mean,” she stumbled on. “Being sorry, that is.”

      She closed her eyes, sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

      When she looked at Garrett again, he smiled, took off his glasses and folded down the stems, tucked them into the pocket of his shirt.

      His eyes were the heart-bruising blue of a September sky.

      His expression, unreadable.

      “Did I read you wrong, or did you want to speak to me about something earlier, before the interruption?”

      Oh, but there was a slight edge to his tone—or was she imagining that?

      Totally confused, Julie raised her chin a notch. “Sit down,” she said. “Please.”

      “Not until you do,” Garrett said, grinning again.

      Julie smiled, plunked herself down on the bench and waited until Garrett was back in his chair.

      She was instantly nervous.

      Her heart thrummed away at twice its normal rate, and she knew it wasn’t just because she meant to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

      “The foundation—your family’s, I mean—has very generously promised to match any money the school district can raise to buy new computers and software for use in the library at Blue River High and—”

      A sudden blush surged up Julie’s neck and cut off her words. What was the matter with her? Why was she so self-conscious?

      This just wasn’t like her.

      “And?” Garrett finally prompted, putting his glasses back on.

      “We appreciate the gift,” Julie managed lamely.

      “You’re welcome,” Garrett said, puzzled now.

      Damn her pride.

      And for all she knew, Garrett wasn’t even directly involved with the McKettrick family’s foundation. Hadn’t she read once that his cousin, Meg McKettrick O’Ballivan, who lived in Arizona with her famous country-singer husband, handled such things? She would have to