The Last Good Man in Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  But it was early yet. Rory knew from experience that by nine o'clock the place would be hopping, packed tight with cowboys and soldiers, looking for a good time. With that in mind, he guided Macy toward the bar, where a bartender lazily polished a glass.

  "Excuse me," he said to the bartender. "Is Dixie around?"

  The man shouted over his shoulder, "Hey, Dix! There's a guy here wantin' to see you."

  "Tell him I gave at the office!"

  The voice came from behind a door marked Office and was gruff enough to have Macy frowning up at Rory.

  "That's what you call sweet?" she asked wryly.

  Chuckling, he hooked an arm around her waist and headed for the office door. "Don't worry. Dixie's all bark and no bite." He rapped his knuckles against the door. "Hey, Dixie!" he called. "It's me. Rory Tanner."

  The door swung wide and a middle-aged woman with fire-engine-red hair appeared in the opening. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a breasts-hugging T-shirt with Boss Lady emblazoned across its front, she looked more than capable of handling whatever trouble came her way.

  Yanking a cigarette from her mouth, she squared off with Rory, as if ready to fight. "Well, you took your dead-easy time gettin' over here. Been home nearly a month and this is the first time I lay eyes on you."

  "Now, Dixie," he soothed. "I'd've come sooner, but I've been busy getting the new store ready to open."

  She reached up and smacked him upside the head. "Since when is work more important than family?" she snapped. Biting back a smile, she opened her arms. "Come here, you great big hunk of man, and give me a hug."

  Macy watched in amazement as, laughing, Rory scooped Dixie up into his arms and twirled her around.

  "Put me down, before you make me burn you with my cigarette," she fussed.

  Once on her feet again, she snatched her T-shirt back into place and jerked her chin toward Macy. "Who's the chick?"

  "No need to be jealous," Rory teased. "You know my heart belongs to you."

  Dixie waved a dismissive hand, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke hanging in the air between them. "Honey, I've spent too many years working in bars to fall for a line of bull like that. So?" she said, and turned, giving Macy a slow look up and down. "You got a name?"

  Intimidated but refusing to show it, Macy stuck out a hand. "Macy Keller."

  "Keller," Dixie repeated, and eyed Macy curiously as she shook her hand. "That name sure rings a bell. Are you from around here?"

  Hope surged through Macy. "No, ma'am. But my mother was. That's why I'm here. I was hoping you might've known her."

  Dixie eyed her a moment longer, then sighed. "Better step on inside," she said, gesturing for the two to follow her into her office. "Somethin' tells me we're goin' to want some privacy for this conversation."

  Macy and Rory sat down on the tattered sofa opposite Dixie's desk, while Dixie took the chair behind it.

  "My mother's name was Dana Jean Keller," Macy began, anxious to get to the point of their visit. "Do you remember her?"

  "Darla Jean?" Dixie chuckled. "Lord, yes, I remember her. Pretty girl with champagne taste and a beer pocketbook."

  "That would be my mother, all right," Macy said dryly.

  Dixie shook a cigarette from a pack, slipped it between her lips, touched a lighter to its end, then reared back in her chair, inhaling deeply. "That Darla Jean was a feisty one. I doubt a weekend passed that she wasn't over here in Killeen at one bar or another. Drew men like flies and didn't mind passing out the honey." She glanced over at Macy, as if fearing she'd offended her.

  Though embarrassed by her mother's less-than-sterling reputation, Macy waved a hand, urging her to go on. "No, please. That's why I'm here. I want to know everything you remember about her."

  "Why?" Dixie asked bluntly. "The past is the past. Why not let it rest?"

  Macy curled her hands into fists against her knees. "Because I'm part of that past. When my mother left Tanner's Crossing twenty-nine years ago, she was pregnant with me." She glanced over at Rory, silently asking his permission to tell it all. At his nod, she turned back to Dixie. "My mother told me that Buck Tanner was my father. I believed he was until a little over two months ago, when she confessed that she'd lied. Not only to me, but to Buck, too. She somehow managed to convince him that the baby she carried was his, thinking he'd marry her. Instead, he bought her off. Gave her money to move away, with the promise that she'd never return to Tanner's Crossing."

  Dixie drew on her cigarette thoughtfully, then slowly blew out a stream of smoke. "So now you're wantin' to find out who your real daddy is."

  Emotion clotted in Macy's throat. "Yes," she admitted. "And I'm hoping that you can help me."

  Dixie stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray already overflowing with butts, then looked Macy square in the eye. "Honey," she said, "as much as I'd like to help you, I can't. Like I said, your mama drew men like flies. If I was to take a guess which one of 'em fathered you, I might as well hand you the telephone book."

  Her heart sinking, Macy dropped her gaze. "I understand." She inhaled a deep breath, then stood and forced a smile. "Thank you for your time, Dixie. I appreciate your willingness to talk to me."

  Rory picked up his hat and stood, too. "Yeah, Dix. Thanks."

  They'd nearly reached the door when Dixie called out, "Wait a minute."

  They both turned to peer at her.

  "Your mama had a girlfriend she ran with," she said. "Sheila Tompkins, I think was her name. Haven't seen hide nor hair of Sheila since she and Darla Jean quit coming around here, but if anybody would know Darla Jean's secrets, it would be Sheila. Those two gals were thicker than thieves."

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  The return trip to Tanner's Crossing was a quiet one. Macy didn't seem in the mood to talk and Rory wasn't about to press her into conversation, fearing she'd burst into tears if he did. She was wound up tighter than a seven-day clock and had been since they'd left the Longhorn. When the spring broke—and there was no doubt in his mind that it would—tears were going to be shed, and he didn't intend to be around to mop up the mess.

  He supposed he could understand why she was upset, though. Dixie wasn't one to mince words, and what she'd had to say about Darla Jean Keller hadn't exactly been flattering. A telephone book, he thought, with a woeful shake of his head, remembering Dixie's way of letting Macy know that her mother had slept with a lot of men. He knew it must have been hard for Macy to sit and listen to her mother's reputation discussed so graphically. Even more so to have to hear it in Rory's presence.

  But Rory knew what it was like to be ashamed of a parent's actions. It was a miracle he and his brothers could hold their heads up, what with all the shenanigans their old man had pulled. But that was the past, and Rory—as Dixie had suggested Macy do—was satisfied to let it rest.

  Macy didn't seem so inclined.

  But he supposed he could understand that, too. If he'd spent the better part of his life thinking one man was his father, then learned it wasn't true, he might be as hell-bent as she was to find out who had sired him.

  But knowing why Macy was upset and understanding her reasons for being so didn't make the long, silent drive home any more pleasant.

  By the time they pulled into the parking lot of Tanner's Cowboy Outfitters, it was just past ten and the square was quiet as a tomb, not a person or vehicle in sight, which wasn't uncommon in Tanner's Crossing, where the streets were all but rolled up at ten.

  Rory shut off the ignition and switched off the headlights, throwing the parking lot into darkness. He waited six heartbeats—he knew because he counted every one of 'em—to see who would break the silence. Macy was the first to crack.

  "Do you know her?"

  He knew without asking who she was talking about. Sheila Tompkins, the woman Dixie had said was her mother's best friend. He shook his head. "No. I'm not familiar with the name."

  "Tompkins is probably her maiden name. She would go by her
husband's, if she'd married."

  "Yeah," he agreed. "I imagine she would." He hesitated a moment, unsure how far she wanted to pursue this, and less sure if he wanted to be involved if she did. "I could ask around," he offered. "See if anybody recognizes the name."

  "I'd appreciate that."

  She opened her door, but Rory reached across the console and caught her arm, stopping her, before she could climb down. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean … well, you could be setting yourself up for some major pain by digging up the past."

  She glanced back over her shoulder. "If you were in my place, would you quit now?"

  Thanks to the interior light he was now able to see her face, and what he saw was enough to make a grown man cry. Her face was pale and taut with emotion, her eyes bright with unshed tears. With a sigh, he released her arm and sank back against the seat. "No, I don't suppose I would."

  He watched as she climbed down, fumbling with her keys to unlock her door. He reached for his own keys to start his truck but froze when he heard a choking sound. The dam had finally broken. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. He considered for a moment driving off and leaving her to cry it out alone, but his fingers refused to turn the key.

  With a muttered curse, he shouldered open his door and dropped to the ground. Rounding the hood of his truck, he caught her by the elbow and spun her around.

  "Come here," he said gruffly, and hauled her up against his chest.

  He could tell that she didn't want his comfort. Her body remained as stiff as a poker within the scope of his arms, her hands balled into tight fists against his chest. Yet she didn't try to pull away, which surprised him. She just cried. Great heaving sobs that shook her shoulders and reverberated through his chest, chipping at a heart steeled against compassion. Within seconds his shirt was soaked by her tears, their dampness burning like acid against his skin. Helpless to know what else to do, he cupped a hand behind her neck and drew her head beneath his chin.

  She wasn't any bigger than a minute, he thought as he stroked a hand down her back, trying his best to soothe her. He could feel every vertebra, every rib that lay beneath her skin. But he wasn't fool enough to mistake her slenderness as a sign of weakness. She was tough, both in body and spirit. He'd seen her heft five-gallon pots of shrubs and tote 'em around, as if they were filled with nothing but air. And she'd stood up to a roomful of Tanner men, who, when joined, created an intimidating show of force he'd seen more than one man back down from.

  As he stroked his hand down her back again, he thought he sensed a relaxing of her body. Once alerted to the change, he became aware of the slow unfurling of her fingers, the splay of her hands, as she opened them over his chest. Her hands, like the rest of her, were slim, delicately formed, yet strong. He wondered what they would feel like on his bare flesh.

  A shudder moved through her and he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

  Her head bumped his chin in a nod.

  He loosened his hold on her to tug a handkerchief from his back pocket, and pressed it into her hand. She stepped from his embrace, holding the wadded handkerchief beneath her nose.

  "Do you think you can make it home okay?" he asked.

  She nodded but kept her head down, as if embarrassed to look at him.

  "I can follow you, if you want," he offered. "Or I could drive you. Your Jeep would be safe here overnight."

  She shook her head. "I'm okay." She turned and opened her door, then stopped, her back to him. She drew in a deep, shuddery breath, murmured "Thanks," then quickly climbed into her Jeep and closed the door between them.

  Rory stood in the parking lot, watching as she drove away, immobilized by that one word. Thanks. Though the word was all but wrung from her, the sincerity in it touched something deep inside him.

  He watched until her taillights disappeared from sight, wanting to go after her, thinking she shouldn't be alone. Not when she was feeling so blue.

  With a shake of his head, he turned for his truck. Don't let your emotions get involved, he told himself. She was a job his brothers had stuck him with, nothing more. Once she found her father, she'd leave town and his business with her would be over.

  Frowning, he stopped at the side of his truck and rubbed at a dull ache in his chest. Indigestion? he asked himself. He considered a moment, then blew out a breath and climbed inside. Had to be. He sure as hell didn't feel anything for Macy Keller.

  * * *

  Macy lay in the narrow bed in her trailer, her eyes swollen from crying, her throat raw from trying to hold more tears back. To say she was disappointed would be the understatement of the year. She'd had such high hopes that Dixie would be able to name her father.

  The woman was certainly a character, she thought, forcing her mind from her disappointment. That beehive of flaming red hair, the skin-tight T-shirt and jeans, the ever-present cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. And she certainly didn't attempt to whitewash the truth. At first, she'd intimidated Macy. But it didn't take Macy long to realize that what Rory had said was true. Dixie was all bark and no bite.

  And she obviously adored Rory.

  Macy frowned, remembering the way Rory had scooped Dixie up and swung her around, laughing. Granted, Rory was a flirt. She'd seen evidence enough of that to know it was true. But his affection for Dixie was unquestionably sincere, which made her wonder at the "friend of the family" connection he'd mentioned.

  At the reminder of Rory, she inched farther down on the bed and pulled the sheet to her chin, remembering his kindness to her. He'd surprised her when he'd offered her his comfort. She hated the fact that she'd broken down in front of him. Crying revealed weakness and Macy refused to let anyone know her vulnerabilities. Some people, she knew, used any sign of weakness to take advantage of a person, to steam-roll them in order to get their way. Macy's mother had done that and Macy refused to allow anyone to hurt her again. Her mother had hurt her enough.

  But Rory hadn't seemed to consider her tears as a sign of weakness. He'd seemed only concerned. She shivered, remembering the feel of his arms around her, the sense of security she'd experienced in his embrace, the comfort he'd offered when she'd so desperately needed it. It was silly, she knew, but when he was holding her, she felt as if her fantasy cowboy had ridden onto the scene to rescue her from her misery.

  She flopped over onto her side and punched her pillow up beneath her head. And that's ridiculous, she told herself. That was the kind of thinking that got a woman into trouble. Instead of using her own wits to take care of herself, she depended on a man to do the job. That's what Macy's mother had done when she'd married Macy's stepfather. In doing so, she'd shackled herself to a tight-fisted man, more stubborn and selfish than she was and had spent the remainder of her life punishing everyone else for her mistake. Most especially Macy.

  Macy flattened her lips in grim determination. She wasn't going to fall into that trap, she told herself. To start depending on Rory Tanner would be a huge mistake. She did things alone, lived alone.

  It was the only way she knew to survive.

  * * *

  Since Ry and Kayla's marriage, Sunday dinner at the Bar-T had become a family tradition, one that Rory looked forward to and rarely missed. But on this particular Sunday, he was running late, thanks to a sleepless night, worrying about one Miss Macy Keller. The woman had enough problems to keep a convent of nuns on their knees for a year.

  By the time he strode into the dining room of his family home, his brothers and their wives were already seated. He made a quick sweep around the table, giving his sisters-in-law all a kiss before dropping down into the chair next to his niece's high chair.

  "Hey, sugar," he said, and leaned to rub his nose against the baby's. "How's my favorite girl?"

  "Don't fall for that line," Ace warned his daughter. "He tells all the ladies they're his favorite."

  Chuckling, Rory dragged his napkin over his lap. "Can I h
elp it if I like women?"

  "A trait you inherited from the old man," Ace muttered under his breath.

  "I heard that," Rory said indignantly.

  Ace shrugged. "If the shoe fits…"

  Seated on Rory's left, Ry shoved a bowl of mashed potatoes into Rory's hands. "Eat," he ordered. "You two can fight it out later."

  Scowling, Rory scooped potatoes onto his plate.

  "How's the house going?" Ry asked, in an obvious attempt to forestall a war.

  Rory lifted a shoulder and passed the bowl on. "It's coming along. I whipped by before coming up to the house and saw that they'd delivered the drywall. Looks like they plan to start hanging it the first of this week."

  "I heard that Macy Keller did the landscaping at your store," Woodrow said. "How'd you swing that?"

  Rory scraped some black-eyed peas onto his plate. "The landscaper I hired to do the job skipped town, so Macy offered to do it."

  "Offered?" Ace repeated, lifting a brow.

  Rory stabbed a piece of meat from a platter and slapped it onto his plate, not yet ready to forgive Ace for the crack he'd made about him inheriting their father's womanizing gene. "Not that it's any of your business," he informed Ace tersely, "but we made a trade."

  Woodrow snorted a laugh. "And I'll bet I can guess what Miss Keller got in the trade."

  Rory smirked. "If your guess involves the letters S-E-X, you're dead wrong."

  Woodrow lifted a brow. "Really? I thought that's how you charmed women into doing things for you."

  "I don't have to charm women into doing anything. They do things for me because they want to."

  Woodrow hid a smile behind his glass of tea. "And what they want is to get in your pants."

  Rory opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "Is it my fault women find me irresistible?" He picked up his fork. "And just to set the record straight," he said, aiming the tines at Ace. "Macy was the one who set the terms of the trade, not me."

  "So what does she get out of the deal?" Ace asked.

  Proud of the way he'd managed to kill two birds with one stone, Rory scooped up a forkful of potatoes. "I agreed to help her find her father. Figured it was a good way to keep an eye on her."