by Amanda Cabot
“What about you?” Gillian asked TJ. “Are you an optimist, cockeyed or otherwise?”
“Me?” He shook his head. “Why would a man who crashed his only form of transportation be optimistic?”
There it was again, the cynicism that clung to TJ like mud to Gillian’s best suede shoes. She wouldn’t pry, she reminded herself. TJ’s expression left no doubt that he would not welcome meddling any more than she would welcome matchmaking. Besides, they’d be in Dupree in a minute. That was not enough time to start a serious discussion, and so Gillian said only, “Kate tells me Eric’s the best. He’ll have you back on the road in no time.”
A grunt and a deliberate turn of his head toward the window were TJ’s response. Gillian took the hint and remained silent until they passed the “Welcome to Dupree” sign.
“Where should I drop you?” she asked.
TJ shrugged. “Anywhere. And don’t worry about driving me back. I can walk.”
“It’s three miles,” she said, shuddering at the thought. It was one thing to walk that far on a treadmill, something quite different to climb Ranger Hill under the Texas sun. Even though it was only early April, what Gillian would have classified as summer had already come to Texas.
“Spoken like a city dweller,” TJ said, a bit of scorn coloring his words. “It’s not all that far.”
Refusing to concede the point, Gillian glanced at her watch. “I’ll pick you up at the Sit ‘n’ Sip in two hours. You can’t miss it.”
“If I’m not there, don’t wait.”
Gillian was still shaking her head at the man’s stubborn streak when she pulled into Sally’s driveway.
The small ranch-style home bore no resemblance to the two-story colonial where Sally had spent most of her life and where Kate and Gillian had shared countless secrets, but Gillian knew the same welcome was waiting inside.
“Come in, child.” The woman who’d been as close to a grandmother as Gillian had ever known wrapped her in an embrace that smelled of talcum powder, strawberry shampoo, and dark-roast coffee. While so much of Gillian’s life had changed, those scents had remained constant, a reminder of Sally’s love.
“Where’s Roy?” Gillian asked when Sally released her. Though she’d met Sally’s second husband only briefly at Kate’s wedding, Gillian had formed an instant liking for the man who’d put the sparkle back in Sally’s eyes, and she wondered whether he was responsible for Sally’s new wardrobe. Growing up, Gillian had never seen Sally in anything other than skirts and dresses, but today she looked like a native Texan in jeans, a chambray shirt, and hand-tooled boots.
“Roy’s playing golf with some friends.” Sally laughed. “He told me we needed girls’ time—not that I’m a girl anymore.”
Wrinkles lined Sally’s face; her tightly curled hair had been silver for decades; and her chin had lost its firm line years ago. While she wasn’t a girl by anyone’s definition, despite—or perhaps because of—the generations that separated them, she was one of Gillian’s dearest friends.
“Come in,” Sally repeated, ushering Gillian into the cool interior of the home she now shared with Roy. “Here’s my new home sweet home.”
To Gillian’s surprise, it bore no resemblance to Sally’s house in Buffalo. Instead of a formal floor plan with separate living and dining rooms and antique furniture, this one boasted a great room, and the only piece of furniture she recognized was the old upright piano.
“I couldn’t leave that behind,” Sally said, seeing the direction of Gillian’s gaze. “I keep telling myself that one of these years I’ll learn to play. Right now, though, let me get you some sweet tea.”
They paused briefly in the kitchen while Sally loaded a tray with a pitcher, glasses, and a plate of fancy pastries before nodding at the French door. “It’s too nice to stay inside.” She led the way to a covered porch and settled onto a padded chaise longue. “Tell me about yourself,” she said when she’d handed Gillian a glass of tea.
Gillian shook her head. “I’d rather talk about you. You look fabulous.” If she hadn’t known Sally had recently celebrated her seventy-fourth birthday, Gillian would have thought her no more than sixty-five. “Marriage is obviously agreeing with you.”
A sweet smile crossed Sally’s face. “God has been good to me,” she agreed. “He gave me second chances at life and love. A year ago I had no idea what he had in store for Kate and me, but look at us now. We’re both married and waiting for my first great-grandchild’s arrival.”
She gave the pastries a longing look, then cut one in two and placed the smaller piece on her plate. “After the scare with my heart, the doctor said I need to watch my diet.” Sally wrinkled her nose. “You know doctors—they’re so cautious. Speaking of which . . .” She reached over and picked up Gillian’s right hand, inspecting it as if she could see beneath the skin to the once shattered bones and torn tendons. “They did a remarkable job.”
“Yes, they did. I can do almost everything I did before.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed as she traced the scars. “But you can’t play.”
“Not at the professional level. Some days I can barely manage scales, but others are better. Those days I feel like a first-year student.” Gillian shrugged, as if her failure to regain full use of her fingers was insignificant. “One thing’s for sure: the days of concert stages are over.”
“Fortunately, the future is limitless.”
Gillian laughed and reached for the other half of the pastry. “I told TJ you were a cockeyed optimist, and you’ve proven me right.”
She popped a bite of pastry into her mouth and savored the combination of pineapple and almonds on top of a flaky butter crust at the same time that she regretted mentioning TJ. Sally might not be a matchmaker, but as an incurable romantic, she was always interested in a good love story. That meant Gillian would be subjected to a series of questions about him.
“TJ. So there’s a man in your life now.”
It was time for Gillian to nip the speculation in the bud. “I hate to disappoint you, Sally, but TJ’s a guest at Rainbow’s End. He’ll be gone in a couple days.” And Gillian would be gone soon afterwards. A month from now, this trip and TJ Benjamin would be nothing more than memories.
Though Sally was obviously disappointed by the absence of wedding bells in Gillian’s immediate future, she nodded as if she understood. “You’re planning to stay until the baby’s born, aren’t you?”
Kate had asked the same question, insisting she and Greg were looking forward to having her as a long-term guest. Gillian gave Sally a regretful smile as she repeated what she’d told Kate. “I’m only going to be here for a week.” The physical therapist had said Gillian shouldn’t go any longer between sessions. Of course, the same therapist had told her she had achieved as much healing as she ever would, making her wonder why she would rush back for more therapy or even consider finding a therapist here if she decided to stay longer.
“Roy and I have two spare bedrooms,” Sally said, ignoring Gillian’s statement the same way she’d ignored protests in the past. “We talked about it last night, and we both agreed we’d love to have you stay with us. And don’t try telling me that we’re on our honeymoon. We’re not teenagers. Besides, we’ve been married for close to a year.”
Though Sally looked like the quintessential sweet little old lady, she did a good imitation of a steamroller when she wanted to convince someone.
“Thank you, but . . .”
Before Gillian could complete the sentence, Sally raised an eyebrow. “But what? Is there a special someone waiting for you up North?”
As Gillian shook her head, TJ’s image flashed through her brain. How silly! She wasn’t interested in him, at least not that way. If she were looking for a man—which she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be an unemployed motorcycle-riding teacher. The only reason TJ had even crossed her mind was that he was so diffe
rent from the men she’d met at Juilliard and on concert tours.
None of those men had piqued her interest the way TJ did, and that was surprising. Those men were the kind of men she was expected to marry. TJ was not. It was true that he was no less educated, but he was definitely less polished than the perfectly dressed, perfectly coiffed men who’d been part of Gillian’s life since she’d graduated. She couldn’t picture him in a concert hall or a five-star restaurant, and she definitely couldn’t imagine him being comfortable in the back of a stretch limo, yet somehow those differences made him intriguing. There were depths to TJ that she’d never seen in the men she’d dated. Perhaps that was the reason those dates had never been more than casual.
“I’m not planning to get married any time soon,” she said, suddenly unsure whether she was convincing herself or Sally.
“I wasn’t either, but look what happened to me.” Sally refilled Gillian’s glass. “I really think you should stay here, at least for a couple months. And don’t roll your eyes at the idea of Dupree. It may be a lot smaller than New York and Chicago, but the town is changing. We’ve got Drew Carroll’s web company coming in, and Marisa St. George—pardon me, Marisa Kendall—has opened a bookstore. The seniors are even planning to start a book club once we figure out where to meet.”
Gillian wasn’t certain why Sally thought those changes would affect her. Admittedly, Gillian relished a well-stocked bookstore, but that wasn’t a reason to spend months in Dupree.
“Think about it, Gillian.”
And, though it was the last thing she’d planned to do, Gillian nodded. “I will.”
7
The town was more appealing than he’d expected. The business area, if you could call it that, was larger than he’d realized. There were more empty buildings than he’d like to see in a town this size, but Pecan Street boasted a number of small stores including what appeared to be a first-rate bootery and the shop that was the likely source of the quilts he’d seen at Rainbow’s End.
One of the letter-named streets even had a decent barber, who’d managed to salvage TJ’s hair after the crude hacking he’d given it. The fact that the man had made no comment other than that curly hair was a challenge earned him a healthy tip.
With his hair no longer sticking out in odd ways, TJ continued his tour of the town, discovering that Dupree was bookended with construction. An apartment complex was going up on the south side, while a sign on the north end showed an artist’s rendition of the office building and cluster of duplex houses that were currently little more than cement foundations. Even when both were finished, Dupree would not be a boomtown. Still, it had more charm than TJ had expected.
He looked at the display on his camera, surprised that he’d taken more than a hundred pictures. It wasn’t as if he planned to remember his time in Dupree. As soon as Eric finished repairing his bike, TJ would be gone. And yet, something about the town intrigued him. Though he couldn’t pinpoint the reason, he felt comfortable here.
Retracing his steps on Lone Star Trail toward the center of town, TJ studied the businesses lining the oddly named main street. Several of the buildings were empty. Others needed a good coat of paint. Still others needed their bricks repointed. But somehow this time the flaws didn’t bother him the way they had the first time he’d noticed them. Instead, his mind began to whirl with ideas about how to renew the town. Odd. He’d never felt that way about a place, not even the suburb where he and Deb had spent their entire married life.
Glancing at his watch, TJ realized he had half an hour before he was supposed to meet Gillian. He might as well go into the Sit ‘n’ Sip and see what the town’s premier—translation: only—eating establishment offered.
“Howdy, stranger. What can I get you?” The brown-haired, brown-eyed man gave him an appraising look as he handed TJ a laminated menu.
“Just a cup of coffee.” Breakfast had been more substantial than TJ was accustomed to, making him suspect he’d be able to survive on the two meals a day that Rainbow’s End provided. That would help him stretch his remaining cash until he decided what to do next.
“There you go,” the man said as he slid a large mug in front of TJ, “and now that you have a cup of the finest java in Dupree, you’re no longer a stranger.” He extended his hand for a shake. “I’m Russ Walker, and this is my place.”
“TJ Benjamin.” As he returned the introduction, TJ took a sip of coffee, wincing when the overly strong and bitter brew slid down his throat. Hastily, he added cream and sugar to the beverage.
“You staying out at Rainbow’s End or just passing through?” Russ Walker asked. It was more than casual conversation, TJ knew. This was quintessential small-town America at work. Residents looked after each other, and that included determining whether strangers were potential threats.
“I’ll be at Rainbow’s End for a couple days,” TJ said as he explained what had brought him to the self-proclaimed Heart of the Hills.
The barely veiled suspicion in the man’s eyes disappeared, replaced by sympathy. “It’s a doggone shame about your bike, but Eric St. George is a good man. He’ll do you right.”
TJ nodded and took another sip of coffee. With the addition of what seemed like half a jar of sugar and a cup of cream, it was tolerable. “That’s what everyone says.” He could only hope the praise wasn’t misplaced. “You said his name was St. George. Any relation to the St. George apartment building that’s under construction?”
Russ Walker leaned on the counter, his smile announcing his delight at being the one to convey news. “You could say so. Fact is, the building was named for him, his wife, and his daughter. They all work at Rainbow’s End now. Carmen’s the cook, Marisa does the books, and from what I’ve heard, Eric does just about everything else.”
“It’s an unusual place.” Though he had no intention of remaining once his bike was repaired, TJ had to admit that the combination of the beautiful location, excellent food, and comfortable bed was appealing. If it hadn’t been for those RVs across the road, TJ might have said it was close to perfect.
Russ picked up the coffeepot and refilled TJ’s mug. “I heard Gillian Hodge is out there. Did you happen to meet her?”
Though he was surprised that Russ knew Gillian’s name, TJ suspected her connection to Kate and Greg might be the reason she was not a total stranger in town. Guessing that the Sit ‘n’ Sip’s proprietor sought more news for the local grapevine, TJ nodded. “You could say that. She’s the one who rescued me when I crashed my bike.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Is she as pretty as her pictures?”
Pictures? “I can’t say. I never saw any pictures, but she’s easy on the eyes.” A pretty face, curves in all the right places, and hair that reminded him of a sunset. Yes, indeed, Gillian Hodge was easy on the eyes.
Russ nodded, as if he’d read TJ’s thoughts. “I figured she would be. It sure is a pity what happened to her.”
“I’m afraid you lost me there.” But if TJ’s suppositions about Russ’s fondness for gossip were correct, he’d soon learn whatever had happened to Gillian.
Straightening his shoulders, Russ drew himself to his full height and puffed out his chest, clearly relishing his role of being in the know. “I’m surprised no one told you.” He paused for effect. “She used to be a concert pianist. A pretty good one, from all accounts. Won some kind of fancy award.”
A concert pianist. TJ’s breath came out in a whoosh as the words registered. No wonder he’d found her so unapproachable when she’d stopped her car to rescue him. His first impression had been correct. They came from very different worlds. Gillian was probably used to caviar and chateaubriand, limos and luxury, where he was a barbecue and beans kind of guy.
TJ shook himself mentally. There was no reason Gillian’s career should have shocked him. It wasn’t as if they were more than casual acquaintances. He turned his attention back to Russ, wh
ose expression had grown more sober.
“The way I hear it, she had one of those sky’s-the-limit careers. Then she was in some kind of accident—hurt her hand pretty bad.” Russ’s mouth curved into a frown. “Rumor is she’ll never play again.”
8
Gillian pulled into one of the angled parking spots in front of the Sit ‘n’ Sip, wondering whether there was any point in going inside. TJ didn’t strike her as the kind of man to wait patiently for a woman who was a quarter of an hour late. The time with Sally had passed quickly, and Gillian had been startled to realize she’d been gone longer than she’d planned. She had half expected to see TJ heading back to Rainbow’s End or possibly standing on the curb, tapping his foot in annoyance. Instead, there was no sign of him. Unwilling to possibly abandon him, she climbed out of the car.
As she entered the small diner, she blinked to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness, and as she did, a man called out,“Welcome to Dupree, Miss Hodge. I hope you’ll sit a spell.”
Gillian blinked again, this time at the novelty of being addressed as “Miss Hodge.” It was true that reporters occasionally called her that, but this man was no reporter. His white apron and position behind the counter left no doubt that he worked here.
Before Gillian could respond, the man said, “I was just telling your friend here about your accident. Is it true you won’t be playing again?”
He might not be a reporter, but he sounded like the ones who’d been waiting for her the day she’d been released from the hospital after the last round of surgery. Feeling as if she’d been ambushed, Gillian nodded. “That’s what the doctors say.”
She turned to TJ, who’d drained his cup and laid a couple bills on the counter. “Are you ready?” It might be rude, but Gillian had no intention of discussing either her medical history or her career with a complete stranger. Though Texans had a reputation for friendliness, there was a fine line between friendliness and prying. This man had stepped over the line.
