An Honorable Texan. Victoria Chancellor

downy hair. Light brown, like his father’s. But he had blue-green eyes, like hers.

      “We’re going to open a motel, aren’t we?” she asked as he held on and wobbled, trying to stay upright on the carpet. The idea of running her own business still astounded her, and yet felt so right.

      She’d bought the Sweet Dreams Motel in Brody’s Crossing just yesterday, paying with a cashier’s check from her bank in Fort Worth. The place was a run-down mess, with broken windows, horrid bathrooms and a parking lot so patched it looked like a crazy quilt. The stucco and concrete block walls were cracked in places, and the roof had to be replaced before the next big rain. During the walk-through with the Realtor, they’d disturbed a surly opossum and a family of mice living in the maintenance shed. Birds had flown out of gaps in the siding over the office.

      Other than that, it was perfect.

      “It will be great,” she told Peter, and she believed it. Because despite the neglected motel’s problems, it had one thing going for it: retro appeal. The old sign alone had made her want to own the darn thing. A crescent moon and sleeping baby, the name and vacancy sign all outlined in—currently inoperable—neon lights. The style was pure late fifties/early sixties, with a low roof and colored, painted doors and metal railings with geometric shapes. The motel had never been remodeled before it closed in the 1980s, so it was still authentic.

      Christie wasn’t a remodeler or a decorator, but she knew what she liked. And she absolutely loved the decrepit Sweet Dreams Motel.

      She’d already hired a contractor. Brody’s Crossing mayor Toni Casale was the best, Christie had been told by several people, and she’d hit it off with the other woman, who was near her age and also a blonde. As a matter of fact, they’d shared a laugh at the fact that two blondes were doing what no men had attempted—opening the old motel, which, according to Toni, was sorely needed in a town with no rooms to rent.

      She glanced at the clock. “Aren’t you getting tired?” she asked Peter, who had grown bored with standing and had crawled over to his favorite toy, a plastic piano that played the most irritating electronic tunes when he hit the big, primary-color keys. To answer her question, he grinned and began pounding.

      Christie hoped they didn’t have any close neighbors tonight who objected to her baby’s piano music.

      She was going to call Cal at the ranch later and arrange a meeting. There was no sense in putting off the news any longer. Perhaps they could have lunch in a public place, like that steakhouse she’d gone to with Toni. Or the cute little café in town, although that would be much more public and people might be able to hear their conversation.

      That was her big fear—that Cal would find out about Peter from someone else. That’s why she’d been very careful to mention she was a widow, and not to act too interested in Cal when she’d talked to others. She’d developed a friendly relationship with Troy’s fiancée, Raven, although she’d never told the other woman about Peter. They’d only talked on the phone. She’d tried to be very careful and respectful of Cal’s privacy, just as she would have wanted had she been in the same situation.

      Not that she’d ever expected to be a single parent. Or to have her own biological child.

      Peter quit banging on the piano and rubbed his eyes.

      “Time for your bottle? Ba-ba?” she asked, pushing up from the chair and scooping him off the floor. With Peter on her hip, she went to the little kitchen area of the motel room. As soon as he saw the bottle of powdered formula, he waved his arms and started saying, “Ba-ba-ba.” That was his word for bottle. He also said, “Ma-ma-ma,” but Christie wasn’t sure if that was a true mama word or just sounds.

      Maybe someday soon he’d learn to say “da-da.”

      She fed Peter, changed his diaper, then sang to him a little until his eyes closed. Within minutes he was sound asleep in his portable crib.

      And Christie had no more excuses to keep her from calling Cal.

      AFTER A QUESTIONABLE DINNER of some family favorites and some new-age greenery, all Cal wanted to do was retreat to his bedroom, lie on his familiar mattress and watch a little sports. Mavericks, Rangers, Stars—whatever was in season was fine with him. He probably wouldn’t have gone to Dewey’s even without the planned dinner and company. He’d spent thirty-five years nearly alone, and the past eighteen months surrounded by troops twenty-four hours a day. He just needed some time to himself.

      Tonight, several of his neighbors—along with the guy leasing the pasture for his free-range chickens, a nuisance if Cal ever heard one, and Brian Wilkerson, the man who leased the pasture and the new barn for organic dairy cows—had come to share coffee and dessert. Brian came to the ranch twice daily to feed and milk the cows. The only animals the Rocking C owned were the few Herefords Troy had saved from the original herd, a handful of laying hens, horses and a pasture of overgrown, scraggly bison. The ranch hardly looked the same as when they’d raised nothing but regular beef cattle.

      Besides Troy’s fiancée, Cal had met another new town resident, his lawyer’s bride, Scarlett. She was cute in a quirky kind of way, but definitely not his style. She wouldn’t make a good ranch wife. James seemed crazy about her, though.

      He nudged off his boots, kicked them in the direction of the closet and settled back on the bed. His bedspread was one of those thin cotton ones with ridged lines, brown just like the trim on the house used to be. He’d missed that damned bedspread. At least Troy and Raven hadn’t thrown it out, even though it was a little threadbare in spots.

      He’d barely gotten into the bottom of the first inning of the Rangers game when Raven knocked on the door. “You have a call,” she said through the closed door.

      He swung his legs off the bed and opened the door. “I hope this isn’t a solicitation. I don’t want a credit card or a cell phone.”

      “No, it’s not one of those. I think you might want to take this call.”

      “Yeah?” He took the phone from Troy’s fiancée, who looked as though she knew something he didn’t. “Thanks.”

      “No problem,” she said, and shut the door.

      He settled back on his bed. “Hello,” he said, wondering who would call him his first night back. Probably one of his friends from the feed store who hadn’t come for coffee.

      He thought perhaps the caller had hung up, but then a woman’s voice said, “Cal?”

      “Uh, Christie?”

      “Yes! I’m so glad you remembered.”

      “How could I forget?” How, indeed. She’d been every man’s dream of a great weekend. Tall, blond, built, fun, smart and sexy. Very sexy. They’d met at the Barnes & Noble in Fort Worth’s Sundance Square on the Friday afternoon before his unit was scheduled to deploy. They’d both carried the same recently released biography and had ordered coffee at the attached café. He’d told her the truth—that he was a rancher who was in the reserves, called up for active duty and set to leave the next week. As far as he knew, she’d told him the truth—she was a widow who lived in Fort Worth and worked in marketing.

      They’d spent one fantastic weekend together. He’d never expected to hear from her again, not that he minded she’d called him tonight.

      Unless she was some kind of weird stalker…

      “What’s up, Christie?”

      “I’d like to see you, Cal. Maybe tomorrow for lunch?”

      “In Fort Worth? I just got home and—”

      “No, I’m nearby, in Graham. I could meet you at Dewey’s, or, if you’d rather, we could meet in Graham. There are several restaurants here.”

      “Yeah, I know, but…I don’t want to be rude, but what are you doing here?” She seemed to know her way around already.

      “I…I just need to see