The Way to Texas. Liz Talley

been the one he’d hoped.

      “Chasing girls, huh? Wouldn’t have pegged you for that type. And paste?” It was Dawn’s voice behind him. Damn, he’d hoped she wouldn’t hear the ladies’ comments. He didn’t want her to think he was unreliable or slimy. But why it mattered so much escaped him.

      “Never underestimate the power of paste,” he said, turning. “It was my secret weapon with the girls. Could hardly peel ’em off me they stuck so hard.”

      Dawn rolled her eyes then offered her hand. He took it, surprised to find it was wet. She withdrew her hand and wiped it on her shorts. “Sorry. Hunter Todd and I are running a dog wash.”

      She smiled and something bumped in his chest, not to mention a certain heat built south of the border. Her damp T-shirt clung to her rounded breasts. The shirt was big enough to slide off one shoulder and reveal a lacy bra strap. Her wavy dark hair was in a ponytail, though some tendrils escaped to stick to her cheeks. Her painted pink toes wiggled in the grass. He’d be tempted to say she looked like a teenager, but there was nothing gawky or innocent about Dawn.

      She was full-on woman.

      He tucked his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, hoping to detract from the stirrings of arousal at her alluring sexuality. Speaking of teenagers. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d been one.

      Damn. This was supposed to be business.

      “Dog washing, huh? Just what kind of operation are y’all running ’round here?” he asked, winking at the two elderly ladies eyeing Dawn and him with more than slight interest.

      “We’re raising money for some new games. We’re short on cash for Wii games, Monopoly and the like. Margo Mott, the assistant director, came up with the idea of a bake sale. And that evolved into a bake sale slash plant sale slash dog wash. Hunter Todd came up with the last one, and since I’ve been known to kill a perfectly good plant and burn cookies, I got the dog wash.”

      Hunter Todd raced in between them, dousing them with a squirt bottle. “Gotcha!”

      Dawn put two fingers between her lips and whistled.

      The boy skidded to a stop. “Cool. How’d you do that?”

      “Water stays on the other side of the house. Ester will tan your hide if you get her desserts wet.”

      Hunter Todd’s lower lip poked out.

      “But I’ll teach you how to whistle like that later,” Dawn said, giving him a wink.

      “Cool,” Hunter Todd said, zipping toward the tub of soapy water he’d left behind.

      “Impressive. Will you teach me, too?” Tyson asked.

      An emotion he couldn’t quite pin down flashed across her eyes before she grinned. “Sure. I’m quite talented with my mouth.”

      Tyson opened his mouth to deliver a zinger, but Ester beat him to it. “Don’t think I’d be giving those kinds of secrets away so easily, my dear.”

      Tyson couldn’t stop the laughter.

      Dawn’s brown eyes bulged before she choked out her own laughter. “Jeez, the sun is getting to me. Really, I’ve been around teenage boys long enough to know better.”

      “Been around teenage boys? Were you a teacher?”

      “Heavens, no. I have a nineteen-year-old son.”

      “You’re joking,” he said, stunned at her answer. It couldn’t be possible. She looked much too young. “But you don’t look much beyond…twenty-eight.”

      His words made her laugh harder and caused a faint blush to color her cheeks. “I wish. Just turned thirty-seven.”

      The two ladies shifting baked goods around on the table weren’t very good at hiding their interest in the conversation. He could have sworn Ester turned up her hearing aid.

      “Can you tear yourself away from the pups long enough to show me the second floor?” he said, stifling the urge to unstick a damp tendril of hair from where it clung to her cheek. His fingers even twitched at the thought of her silky skin beneath them. Silky skin that still looked dewy and fresh. Not like the mother of a nineteen-year-old.

      “Pups?” she snorted. “We’ve only bathed two dogs so far—a Chihuahua and a mutt so I won’t be missed. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

      She slid on a pair of flip-flops and called to Hunter Todd that she’d be right back. He frowned but perked up when she gave him a sign and sent him toward the sidewalk to drum up business. Then she led Tyson up the porch steps toward the huge beveled glass door.

      Tyson had liked the colossal Victorian the first time he’d seen it. He’d been ten and had been riding by on his bicycle en route to the Dairy Barn for a soft-serve ice cream cone. The house still held the same appeal with its wide porch, white columns and cheerful presence. Nellie’s forefathers may have built the huge house to impress, but they didn’t neglect its ability to charm with round inset windows, unique arches and a widow’s walk.

      He followed Dawn inside, where it was clean, bright and engaging. Rocking chairs with cheerful quilted cushions, old-fashioned couches with lacy looking things on the arms and polished oak floors made the house seem like a home rather than a senior adult care center.

      Dawn turned toward him before ascending the stairs. She opened her mouth but he beat her to the words.

      “I hope I didn’t embarrass you out there. I didn’t mean to pry.”

      Her eyes left his face. “You weren’t prying and it’s no secret. Andrew’s father looked really cute in his board shorts when he showed up at the local pool that summer. Dating a surfer gives a sixteen-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears gal all kinds of perks including a bun in the oven.”

      Her tone was sharp, and the brown eyes that met his carried a spark of embarrassment. Obviously, she didn’t like having to address her past.

      “Surfer dude, huh?” he said, trying for lightness. “In Texas?”

      She smiled. “Not quite. I’m from California—dairy country. And when that smooth talker came to town, he found a country girl like me easy pickings. Which is why I’m glad I had a son and not a daughter. Girls you got to worry about.”

      He started to tell her he’d not been granted that luxury. His daughter already wore lipstick and heeled sandals. Thirteen had nearly killed him, and he wasn’t looking forward to when she turned fourteen. Laurel’s recent leanings were exactly what had led him to Oak Stand and a new life away from the fast-paced city.

      But Dawn had started up the stairs, gesturing to the wall on which the grand staircase was fixed. “My first thought was to put in an elevator, but that’s expensive. What about one of those chairlifts? Think that would work?”

      Tyson nodded, glad she’d shifted the topic. This was a business meeting even if he was totally checking out the sweet curve of her behind as she trotted up the stairs. He also appreciated the fact she’d gotten a little scissor-happy on the shorn-off jeans because they rose a tad too high on the back of her thighs.

      He cleared his mind. “I think they’ve improved those chairlifts quite a bit. But you need to check the disabilities act. You may be required to have an elevator. I included one in the draft.”

      “Didn’t think about that and I should have. See? You’re paying off already,” she said, stepping into the second-floor hallway before turning around. “I got your estimate. I’m assuming Jack dropped off the original blueprints for the house? I have to check because I’m not sure his brain is functioning. Mae doesn’t like to sleep at night.”

      He looked up at her, silhouetted in the gloom of the hallway. She was just too damn pretty. “Yeah. I got ’em.”

      She nodded. “Good.”

      “Is that what they named the baby? Mae? ’Cause