by Liz Talley
Dawn looked down to see Herman limping around, holding up his front paw. He did indeed look like a drowned rat. And the worried six-year-old didn’t look much better. He, too, was dripping on the tiled floor.
Tyson sighed. “Hunter Todd, I think you have about the best timing of any kid I’ve ever known.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DAWN DIPPED HER SPOON into the bowl of Golden Nut Ohs. The planner she’d found under some of Jack’s papers sat in front of her, open to the list she’d scribbled in the back. Her secret list that made it into every planner each new year. A list of the things she wanted to undertake by the time she was forty.
Her accomplishments to date were dismal.
She’d never learned sign language. She didn’t have two children. She’d never seen the Grand Canyon. Or run a marathon. Or visited the Louvre.
She’d also never had sex on a beach. Why the hell had she put that on there anyway? Gritty sand in hard-to-reach places, sunburn on tender places and seaweed in her hair? Couldn’t be good, could it?
Tyson’s image popped into her mind. Tyson bare-chested on the beach, sand clinging to his sun-kissed shoulders. Mmm.
How in the name of all that was holy was she going to see that man every day and not get tangled up in him? Even knowing that a man as capable and self-reliant as Tyson could seriously undermine her need to control her life and her sense of responsibility for everyone, didn’t stop this wanting. Sorting out where she was going probably wouldn’t happen if she got involved with him—she’d be too busy trying to run his life to pay attention to her own.
So okay. She could do it. She could stay away, slide around corners when she saw him coming, and throw up some mental barbed-wire barriers when she absolutely had to talk to him. But something inside, some little know-it-all voice, said it wasn’t happening.
She was toast.
“Want some toast?”
“Huh?” Her chin slid from where it rested on her palm. She jerked upright and looked at her brother, who’d obviously used ninja skills and snuck up on her. Stealth dwelt in the arsenal of a younger brother.
“I said—” he yawned “—do you want some toast? I’m making some.”
“No. I’m still working on this cereal.” She tossed the spoon into the half-eaten mush.
Jack padded around the kitchen in his boxers and snug T-shirt, slamming drawers and banging cabinet doors.
“Are you trying to wake the baby?” Dawn drawled.
“’Cause you’re doing a good job of trying to wake the dead.”
“You’re cranky,” he said. “Have another cup of coffee.”
“I’m not cranky,” she groused, knowing she was. She’d been crabby all of yesterday as she’d cleaned out the second-floor rooms at Tucker House. Mostly because she really needed to go over the résumé she’d been prepping to send out to the design firms in Houston. Because that was her future. Oak Stand was temporary. She had to keep one eye on what came next even while she gave this job her all. And that meant today she’d have to help Bubba cart the boxes to the third-story storage. Then she’d have to see the man who’d almost, but not quite, kissed her.
“So what’s with you? Is the baby keeping you up? I know our room is downstairs, but the kid has a pair of lungs like her aunt.”
She ignored the barb. Her coffee was cold. But she didn’t move a muscle to warm it. She ran her finger round and round the rim of the cup. “No, I’m just tired. Got a lot on my mind, I suppose.”
“I know things have been tough lately. Hell, there’s been so much change in all of our lives that sometimes it’s hard to keep up,” he said.
Dawned nodded. Two years ago, Jack had been an eligible Las Vegas nightclub owner and she’d been a small-business owner with a teenager in the house. Neither she nor Jack had ever heard of Oak Stand, Texas. And never in a million years had either of them thought Jack would be standing at the kitchen sink, washing bottle nipples, letting his exhausted wife sleep in, or that Dawn would be trying to start her life over again.
“Yeah, it’s been…different than what I’d imagined for myself.”
Jack pulled out a chair and sat. His blue eyes glanced at her planner then met hers. She saw pity pooling in their depths. She hated pity. He scratched his head, leaving his hair sticking straight up. Dawn might have smiled if she had it in her. “So give yourself some time. You don’t have to make any decisions about Houston, or a job or anything else.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Heck,” he muttered, “I’m so not good with this brother-sister stuff. I don’t know what to say. Your life ain’t been peachy and mine’s about as good as I could ever imagine. How do I make you feel better about Larry and Houston and that married son of a bitch who duped you when I’m so happy?”
She patted his hand. “You don’t. You just love me. And I know you do. You’re trying your best to take care of me, but I can take care of myself.”
She rose and carried her bowl to the farmhouse sink, rinsed it out and loaded it into the dishwasher. Even as she’d said the words, they rang hollow in her ears. Did she believe them? Thus far, very few people would say she’d made good choices. That much was obvious. Every decision she’d ever made seemed wrong. From going all the way with Larry, to trying to start a new business, to accepting the first lunch date with Murray. All a total waste of her time. All wrong.
Except for Andrew.
Her son was the only thing she’d done right. She’d taken that downy-haired baby and raised him into a tall, strong man—well, nearly a man. At nineteen, he was handsome, smart and, outside of trying to arrange dates for her and Larry, had a practical nature. She missed him and wished he’d come to Oak Stand for a visit.
She could feel Jack studying her, so she turned and gave him a brave smile. “I’m off to work. The contractor’s coming today to start demoing the space upstairs. And I’m going to look at another rental so I can get out of your hair.”
“Do you think we want you out of our hair? Who’s going to change all those dirty diapers?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. Every daddy does.”
Except Larry.
He’d taken one look at Andrew’s dirty diaper and vowed he’d never change one.
It was the one promise he’d managed to keep.
“Bubba will be there by nine. He’s running out to the barn to check on Dynamo, but he said it wouldn’t take him—how’d he put it?—two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Dawn smiled. Bubbaisms ran rampant on the ranch. The ranch. Jeez. She still couldn’t believe her city-slick brother got up every morning, pulled on faded Levi’s, and headed out to a barn. The urbane Jack Darby actually loved raising wild broncs for rodeos. When she looked at him now, she saw his life was peachy. The thought lifted her spirits. Gave her hope for herself.
“Okay then,” Dawn said, delivering a salute. “Hand me my day planner and I’ll be off.”
Jack frowned at the planner sitting on the table. “Why don’t you use a PDA like everyone else on the planet?”
“Because I like to use a pen and paper. No need to charge a battery.”
“Dinosaur.”
“Shut up,” she said, holding out an expectant hand.
“This works just fine. Keeps me straight.”
He handed the leather-bound agenda to her with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “It’s a crutch. You can’t schedule everything in life. Some things won’t tolerate being put into a column and highlighted pink.”
“Whatever,” she said, spinning around and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ve yet to meet the problem that can’t be better handled with proper scheduling. Or at least a list of emergency numbers.”
TYSON WATCHED DAWN WALK around the side of Tucker House, digging in her handbag for what he assumed to be the keys. His watch read 7:40 a.m. He’d been here for ten minutes. Dawn was late, but he’d forgive her because she looked too lovely to berate.
She’d braided her hair, though pieces
had already escaped to frame her face. Her light blue shirt was open to a swirly looking yellow-and-blue undershirt. She wore denim trousers that flared just slightly above her trim ankles. He knew they were called crop pants. His ex-wife had worn them. Brown loafers graced her feet. She looked poised and fresh, just right for the first cool October morning, if one could call fifty degrees cool. He knew it would be in the midseventies by lunchtime.
“Sorry I’m late,” she called as she mounted the steps, keys in hand. “I’m rarely late, but Jack’s damn dog dragged a mutilated, half-rotten squirrel onto the porch and dropped it on my foot.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It dropped a dead squirrel on your foot?”
She shivered. “Not just a dead squirrel, a decomposing squirrel. I have no words for how disgusting it was. I had to shower again.”
Tyson dashed away the thought of her standing beneath the showerhead, water sluicing down her delicious body. He shrugged. “No problem. Sorry your morning hasn’t been…easy.”
Dawn shook her head, an ironic smile curving her bottom lip. “It’s par for the course for me, Hart.”
Tyson started at the sound of his last name on her lips. Hart? So she was distancing herself. After Saturday afternoon’s near lip-lock in the kitchen, he expected as much. But he was surprised at the flicker of disappointment in his gut. He’d wanted her to want him. To want to further their brief encounter.
But at the same time, he knew it was better this way. He needed to focus on his job and on creating a better life for his daughter. He’d agreed to visit Laurel in Dallas last weekend because she absolutely had to see the new Taylor Swift movie, but she’d be in Oak Stand this weekend. He wanted to take her to the Dairy Barn and to the small pond on Gramps’s property. Maybe they could crank up the four-wheeler and take a spin. She’d finally see in Oak Stand what he saw—a chance for a new beginning with a very different way of life.
“Well, no one can help when such unforeseeable circumstances occur, like a rotten squirrel on your foot.” He chuckled, following her into the dim house.
“Yep. God likes to teach me lessons. ’Cause that totally wasn’t scheduled in my planner.”
He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he didn’t ask. He’d learned long ago that when a woman was agitated, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. With or without a dead squirrel.
“So, I’m going to head upstairs and start making some marks on which walls are going to have to go. I hired a couple of local guys to help me, but they won’t be here until this afternoon.”
She’d already headed toward the rear of the house, but called to him as she ducked into her office. “I’m gonna pop some cinnamon rolls in the oven. We won’t have clients until 8:00 a.m. Bubba will be here shortly to move the boxes to the attic. I labeled them clearly with the area in which they should be stored. I’ll help when Margo gets here.”
He decided to forego the stairs and followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have any ground rules about noise? Because it’s going to get noisy at times. Nothing I can do about that.”
Dawn smiled. “I’ll have them turn their hearing aids down.”
He grinned. “Seriously.”
She shrugged before pulling open the refrigerator and taking out a tube of ready-to-bake pastries. “I don’t foresee a problem. They know there will be ongoing construction for the next few months. We’ll just do our best, but I would like to see something in place to prevent dust downstairs. Some of our clients have fragile health and I can’t imagine construction dust would be good for them.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “We’ll put plastic at the entrance to the stairs and I’ll place a fan in one of the windows to draw some of the dust particles outside.”
Dawn pulled out a pan and began unwinding the paper from the cinnamon rolls. Silence fell between them.
“Look, Dawn, about Saturday,” he began.
She waved a hand at him, but didn’t meet his eyes.
“Look, no big deal. It was a weird moment. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”
He wasn’t sure they could. He’d learned long ago it was best to not ignore potential problems. Meeting head-on was the only smart solution.
“But it did happen. We can’t pretend there isn’t something between us,” he said, glancing out the window to where leaves floated to the ground on the breeze. Gold, red and orange danced across the yard, scudding against the yellowed grass.
She slid the pan into the oven and stood, straightening her spine like a soldier. Her brown eyes met his. They were guarded. “I can’t afford to—” she paused “—dabble with a man. I’ve made too many mistakes down that road lately. So I want to forget about Saturday. It’s easier for me that way.”
“Okay,” he said, catching a glimpse into her life. His own path had been much the same. Full of wrong turns and rocks in his shoe. “I agree with you. I don’t have room to screw up, either. I’ll sign divorce papers next month, and I need a fresh start with my daughter.”
He saw the questions lurking in the depths of her chocolate eyes. “You have a daughter?”
“Yeah, her name’s Laurel. She’s nearly fourteen. The divorce has been hard on her. Coming here to Oak Stand, a place where I spent my happiest times, is a new chapter for us. I hope.”
“I’m taking a break myself. And I’m looking for a new direction.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, as though showing her own vulnerability was wrong. He could see the mental shake of her head.
“Well, so we agree to ignore any, um, weird feelings? Keep everything business?”
He nodded. “But, let’s not call it business. Let’s agree to be friendly.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“With no physical contact. Friendship only. I could use another friend in this town. I didn’t actually grow up here. Spent mostly summers and an occasional year with my grandfather.”
She smiled. “I’m not local, either. And I could use another friend in this town, too. So sounds like we have a deal. But we won’t muck it up by shaking on it this time.”
Yeah. No touching. And just when his fingers wanted to curl around her upper arms and spin her toward him so they could finish what they’d started two days ago.
But it was over before it began.
“Now we’ve got that settled, I’ll get started.” He spun around and nearly bowled over a woman entering the kitchen. She carried several grocery bags and was so small her head would pass under his arm with ease.
“Lordy, where’d you get this hunk, D?” A gold crown winked at him as she grinned and took him in from the top of his ball cap to the bottom of his work boots.
“I didn’t get him. Nellie did.”
“Darn, that girl’s got good taste,” the woman said setting the bags upon the counter and dusting her hands.
“I thought she had her hands full with that good-lookin’ husband of hers. What’s she need another one for? But I’ll take this one. He looks a mighty fine specimen of manhood.” She cackled and winked at him.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Tyson Hart, the contractor.”
She stuck out a weathered hand. “I’m Margo. I help D run this center. And I may look old, but I got a young girl’s heart. And her moves, too.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Tyson said, taking the proffered hand and giving it a shake. She looked so regal with her coffee-colored skin and reggae-style braids, he started to bow over her hand. Or lift it to his lips as a courtly gesture.
“Right answer, baby,” she said, pulling her hand from his. She started unloading the bags on the counter. She didn’t necessarily dismiss him, but she moved on. “D, I’ve had about all I can stand of that too-big-for-her-britches witch down at the vegetable stand. Her mean ass is running a fruit stand and putting on airs with me. Not to mention her pumpkins are priced too high for anybody to afford this Halloween.”
Tyson left Dawn and Margo talking about someone named Ruby Pierson and her overpriced gourds and headed
to the second story.
Remodeling a structure the age of Tucker House was daunting, but he felt better knowing he and Dawn had cleared the air about the sexual attraction sitting between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.
They would be friends. Having a female friend would be a good thing. She could give him advice on what Laurel might want for Christmas. She could tell him whether his new gray sweater matched the pants he’d bought for church on Sunday. She could advise him on what would get chocolate ice cream out of a white T-shirt. Having a female friend would work out fine.
He’d ignore the urge to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Or to brush against her when she slid past him into a room. He’d stop picturing her naked in the shower. And stop wondering what kind of sweet noises she’d make during sex. He absolutely would not touch her. Her skin was kitten-soft and made him want to stroke her. Make her purr.
Scratch that. He thumped up the stairs. His thoughts were already betraying him.
As he reached the top step, his cell phone rang.
“Hart.”
“Where in the jehosephat did you put the remote control? I can’t find the damn thing anywhere.” The voice was rusty and annoyed.
Tyson sighed. He loved his grandfather, he really did. But the irascible older man was getting harder and harder to keep patience with. Tyson didn’t want to admit it, but he suspected the man who’d taken him in when he was ten showed the early stages of Alzheimer’s. “I put it on the top of the TV, Gramps. Do you see it?”
“Oh.”
“You sure you don’t want to come with me to Tucker House while I’m working?”
“Hell, no,” his grandfather said, “Do I fart dust? That place is for old folks. I ain’t old.”
“I didn’t say you were, but it might be fun to renew old friendships. Play bridge. Check out the ladies.”
Tyson walked through the second floor, picturing the changes he would make as he talked to his grandfather. He had a lot of work in front of him to get the space ready before Christmas. He knew he could be finished by mid-January at the very latest.
