The Last Good Man in Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  She couldn't decide whether she wanted to run screaming from the room or beg them to let her move in.

  She felt Rory's hand on her knee and glanced his way.

  Hiding a smile, he leaned close. "Still wish I'd let you stay at the trailer?"

  She let out a nervous breath. "Ask me that again later. The jury's still out."

  Chuckling, he draped an arm along her chair's back and gave her neck a squeeze then he turned his attention to Ace, who was in a heated debate with Ry over whether or not children should be allowed to legally divorce themselves from their parents. Though Rory seemed totally absorbed in the conversation he gently massaged the taut muscles in her neck. The gesture seemed so unconscious, so natural, Macy doubted he was even aware of his hand's movement. But she was. So much so, it took her a moment to realize that the conversation at the table had stopped and everyone was looking at her expectantly.

  She darted a panicked glance at Rory.

  "Ace asked if you'd had any luck finding your father," he said.

  Her face heating in embarrassment, she offered Ace a weak smile. "Sorry. My mind must've wandered for a minute. And, no, I haven't found him yet."

  "Any leads?" he asked.

  "Nothing that's paid off. Dixie gave me the name of a woman my mother ran around with. Sheila Tompkins. I met with her, but she had nothing to offer other than a tin of old photos. It seems that no one was aware that my mother was pregnant when she left Tanner's Crossing."

  Frowning, Ace glanced at Ry. "What about medical records? If Macy's mother's pregnancy was confirmed by a local doctor, wouldn't there be some kind of record of that?"

  "I'd imagine so," Ry replied.

  "But even if the medical records exist," Elizabeth interjected, "their contents are confidential and can't be shared without the written consent of the patient."

  "And since Macy's mother is deceased," Ry surmised, "finding out what is inside those records would be impossible."

  Ace lifted a brow and looked down his nose at Elizabeth and Ry. "It wouldn't be if we could find us a doctor who was willing to bend a few rules."

  When Elizabeth and Ry remained stoically silent, Ace huffed a breath. "You two are disgustingly honest. What we need in this family is a crooked lawyer."

  Woodrow lifted a brow. "Is there any other kind?"

  * * *

  Macy sat at the narrow kitchen table, the photos spread before her. The discussion with Rory's family about her family had prompted her to draw the photos out again. She held a pencil poised over a legal pad, having divided the page into two columns. Names filled half of the left column. The right was reserved for an X, once Macy eliminated the man as a possibility.

  "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to find all these men?" Rory asked in frustration. "There must be fifty names on the list already and we haven't even gone through half the pictures."

  "Do you have a better idea?"

  Exhausted, he dropped his forehead to rest on the arms he'd folded on the table. "No," he mumbled. "But there's got to be a better way."

  "When you come up with one, let me know. Until you do, I'm working on this list."

  Moaning pitifully, he lifted his head. "Please," he begged. "No more tonight. I've looked at these pictures so long, all the faces are beginning to look the same."

  Though she hated to quit, when there were more pictures to examine and men to identify, Macy heard the exhaustion in Rory's voice and laid down her pencil. Rising, she offered him her hand. "Come on, Romeo. Let's go to bed."

  He dropped his hand into hers and let her tug him to his feet.

  Chuckling, she steered him toward the bunk. "Why are you more tired than I am? You're working on the same amount of sleep that I got last night."

  He lolled his head and gave her a pained look. "Obviously you've forgotten the game of touch football I played with my brothers after dinner and the hours I spent crawling around on the floor like a horse, with my niece perched on my back."

  "Poor baby," she murmured sympathetically as she unfastened his jeans. "And to think your team lost, too."

  "We wouldn't have if Woodrow had any kind of arm. The passes he threw to me were a good ten feet over my head."

  Trying not to laugh, she dragged his jeans down his legs, then held them open while he stepped out of them. "Maybe you should've played quarterback and let Woodrow be the receiver."

  "It wouldn't have done any good. He's got hands like hams. Couldn't hold on to a ball if it was superglued to his palms."

  Rising, she caught the hem of his T-shirt and peeled it up and over his head. "He can't help it that he's big. Inside or out?" she asked as she draped his clothes over a hook on the wall.

  "Inside," he said, and crawled onto the narrow bunk, claiming the space closest to the wall. Collapsing onto his back, he dropped an arm over his eyes with a sigh.

  Smiling, Macy slid beneath the sheet and snuggled up against him. "'Night, Rory."

  He rolled to his side and hooked an arm over her waist, tugged her up close. "'Night," he murmured sleepily as he wove his legs through hers.

  His next breath was a soft snore.

  Macy stared at his face in the darkness and slowly reached to comb a tendril of hair from his forehead, emotion filling her throat. How had this happened? she wondered. She'd known him only a few short weeks, yet there was a casualness between them, an ease, that took most couples months to develop, if not years. The way he sought her feet with his beneath the covers … the way he held her hugged up against his chest, as if they'd been sleeping together for years, instead of mere days.

  She smiled and smoothed a finger across his brow, knowing it was Rory who made things so easy. She'd never experienced this kind of naturalness with a man before. Had never known to even expect it. Her past relationships with men had been anything but memorable. Bumped noses during a kiss. Not knowing where to put your hands or whether you really wanted to put them anywhere at all. Faking an orgasm just to put an end to the misery. Suffering through the dreaded morning-after awkwardness and wondering why you'd ever agreed to stay the night in the first place.

  With Rory, it was different. Everything with him was easy. Natural. Enjoyable. Breathtaking. They just seemed to fit. Which in itself was a concern.

  She was already aware that she was falling in love with him, which she knew was a mistake but seemed to have no control over. He'd never voiced his feelings for her, never mentioned anything about the future. He seemed perfectly content to continue as they were, seeped in an affair that they both obviously enjoyed. Not so long ago, Macy wouldn't have had a problem with that. Her mother and stepfather's marriage hadn't exactly been an advertisement for wedded bliss. They had fought and quarreled, seeming to find their only pleasure in making the other unhappy. As a result, she had never sought marriage and was content to live her life alone.

  But that was before she'd met Rory, before she'd experienced the warmth of his comfort, the security she'd found in having him there when she needed him most, the joy she'd discovered in exploring his body and having him explore hers. And that was before she'd met his family. Experienced the warmth and fun that came with being a part of such a large, extended group. Before she'd known what it was like to hold a child in her arms, feel a baby's tiny fingers wrapped around hers, seen the innocence, the trust in an infant's eyes, as they looked into hers.

  Before, her yearnings had been nothing but fantasies, dreams she'd created in her mind, not a reality she ever saw for herself. But now she knew that it was possible to love and feel love in return. That squabbling and fussing weren't part of a family's normal routine, a way of life that constantly threatened the foundation of the home and the lives of those who lived within it.

  And now she wanted a husband and family.

  Pensive, she drew a finger along Rory's cheek, wondering if he wanted those things, too, and if he did, would he want them with her. He'd once suggested that she stay in Tanner's Crossing, set up her business here. But
that wasn't a proposal. Maybe he'd only suggested it as a convenient way to have her close by.

  But what would happen if he should grow tired of her? How would she ever be able to live in the same town and see him with other women when she loved him so much?

  Groaning, she turned her face into her pillow. You're being ridiculous, she told herself. You're worrying about things that you have no business even thinking about. Her relationship with Rory was new. They were only just beginning to get to know each other. Only time would tell whether or not his feelings for her were the same as hers for him.

  A phone rang, its shrill sound piercing the quiet. Already awake, the sound merely startled Macy. But Rory sat bolt upright, bumping his head on the low ceiling over the bunk.

  "Damn," he swore, rubbing his head, then crawling over her to search for his cell phone in the tangle of clothes on the floor. Finding it, he sank back on the edge of the bed and drew the phone to his ear. "Tanner," he said wearily.

  Scooting back to give him room, Macy curled herself around him, resting her head on his back.

  "What!" he cried.

  Startled by the alarm she heard in his voice, Macy reached to turn on the wall lamp at the head of the bed.

  Rory listened a moment, frowning. "No, no," he said. "You were right to call me." He stood and dragged a hand over his hair. "Call a roofing contractor and get him over there, as quick as you can. Offer to pay him double if you have to. Then get a salvage crew in and have them start pumping out the water." He turned his wrist and checked the time. "I should be able to make it there by daylight, if not before. I'll take care of the rest when I do."

  He disconnected the call and started gathering his clothes.

  "What happened?" Macy asked.

  "Roof collapsed on my store in Houston. Rained six inches or more within the space of a couple of hours. Roof couldn't take the weight and broke through. Water's standing knee-deep in the store."

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed as he started down the short hall, tugging on his jeans. "Is there anything I can do?"

  He stopped and whipped on his shirt, then turned and dropped a kiss on her mouth. "No, but thanks for offering."

  He stooped to tug on his boots, then grabbed his hat and reached for the door. "I'll give you a call. Let you know what's happenin'." He opened the door, then glanced back. "I don't want you out at the house while I'm gone."

  "Rory—"

  He pressed a finger against her lips. "Don't argue," he ordered. "Once I get back and make sure the men understand that you're the boss, then you can get back to work. Until then, I want you stayin' clear of the place. Understand?"

  Though it galled her to be told what to do, Macy held her tongue, figuring he had enough to worry about without having to worry about her, too. "I understand," she assured him, then added, "Be careful."

  He dropped another kiss on her mouth. "I will."

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Eight

  « ^ »

  Since she wasn't allowed to do any work out at Rory's house, Macy had way too much time on her hands. Cleaning up the trailer took a nanosecond and without a TV to watch she quickly grew bored. Thinking she could pass some time by checking on the plants at Rory's store, she climbed into her Jeep and headed for town.

  The parking lot was crowded—a good sign that his grand opening was a success—so she pulled her vehicle into a space near the back. Unwrapping a hose from the holder at the side of the building, she turned on the water and began her circuit, checking the plants for signs of disease and distress as she watered.

  She'd just stepped around to the front when she noticed a man standing beneath one of the mountain laurels she'd planted between Rory's store and the one next door. He was tall, standing at least six feet or more and wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt. He wore a cap on his head that shadowed his face, and he appeared to have what looked like a knife in his hand.

  Fearing he intended to carve his initials in the tree, without a thought for her own safety, Macy dropped the hose and ran. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

  He whipped his head around, then quickly closed the blade and slipped the knife into his pocket.

  He gestured to the tree's narrow trunk. "Bores," he said. "Noticed 'em when I drove up."

  Sure that the man was lying, Macy squatted down to examine the trunk herself. It took her only a moment to find the tiny tunnels that indicated infestation. "I'll be darned," she murmured, then stood wiping her hands across the seat of her overalls. "I didn't notice anything wrong with the tree when I planted it."

  "Doubt you would, seeing as the infestation just started."

  "Yeah, but I pride myself on planting only healthy plants and my ability to detect one that isn't." She angled her head around to peer at him. "You've got a good eye. Better than mine, and that's saying something."

  He ducked his head and looked away. "I've had more years."

  She bit back a smile. The man talked in spurts, rather than sentences, but she found his manner of speech charming.

  "Bet you bought them trees at the Plant Store," he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. "How did you know that I did?"

  "'Cause Arnold don't care about the reputation of his suppliers. Cheap is all that concerns him."

  "Arnold," she repeated, frowning as she recognized the name of Rory's absentee landscaper. "If I'd known he was the one who owned the nursery, you can bet I'd never have darkened the door of his business."

  "Hard not to, if you're wantin' to buy plants around here. His is the only place in town."

  Intrigued by the odd man, she moved closer. "You seem to know an awful lot about plants."

  Scraping the toe of his boot across the grass, he shrugged. "I've been known to dabble a bit. Got me a couple of greenhouses."

  Greenhouses, Macy thought. Oh, how she missed hers. She stooped to pull a weed that had pushed up from between two squares of the freshly laid grass. "I had a nursery business in Dallas, but I sold it several months back. I've been giving some thought to opening one here."

  "There's a need for a good one."

  She glanced up to say something, but the words died in her throat when she found him staring at her chest. Pursing her lips, she clapped a hand over the exposed skin above her tank top.

  His gaze shot to hers, then he looked away, his face turning a bright red. "Didn't mean no impropriety. Was admirin' your necklace, was all."

  She eyed him a moment, trying to decide if he was lying or not, then decided his embarrassment was real. Catching the locket between her fingers, she rose. "It was my mother's."

  He nodded, but kept his gaze averted. "Looked to be an old one." He gestured toward the diseased tree. "You'll want to tend to that soon, 'fore it spreads."

  She turned her gaze to the tree and frowned. "I hate to use chemicals, but then I'd hate to lose more of the trees."

  "I've had some success with an organic mixture I concocted. I could bring you some, if you like."

  She cocked her head curiously, thinking she may have just found a way to while away some of her time. "Do you live around here?"

  "Not far."

  "Why don't I follow you home and pick it up myself? It would give me an opportunity to see your greenhouses. If it wouldn't be an imposition," she added quickly.

  His Adam's apple bobbed once, then he nodded and turned away. He lifted a hand, indicating a truck parked along the curb of the street. "Just keep your eye on Old Blue there."

  * * *

  Her request to see the man's greenhouses was impulsive, but not one Macy regretted making as she followed "Old Blue," as the man had referred to his truck, down a deeply rutted road. She supposed some would think her crazy to be following a complete stranger out into the boondocks, without knowing so much as his name. But Macy wasn't afraid. If anything, she was relieved to have something to do with her time. And spending time in a greenhouse was a much-missed pleasure.<
br />
  She slowed when the truck ahead of her did, then turned onto the narrow lane behind it. Ahead she saw a small white-framed house. Surrounded by flowers and climbing vines of every description, it gleamed in the sunshine like the centerpiece of a colorful bouquet.

  Charmed by the cottage-style garden, Macy parked her Jeep behind Old Blue and climbed down. "What a wonderful garden," she said as she crossed to peer over the low fence. "Yarrow, columbine, lavender, plumbago," she said, naming a few of the plants, then glanced back over her shoulder. "You've got quite a green thumb."

  He gave his head a jerk. "Greenhouses are back here."

  Macy hurried after him. After seeing the garden surrounding his house, she was anxious to see what kind of wonders his greenhouses held.

  Two long buildings stood a hundred feet or more behind the house, their hinged windows open to the afternoon breeze. She followed the man through the doorway of the first greenhouse and stopped, her eyes rounding, as she looked around. Hanging baskets filled with every variety of blooming plant and fern imaginable hung from long iron pipes attached to the high ceiling. Beneath them, long wooden tables stretched along each side of the building and through its middle, leaving narrow walkways between. Macy walked down the nearest aisle, amazed by the number of plants crowded onto each. Vegetables. Herbs. Ferns. Vines. Each at different stages of development, they grew from a wide assortment of containers. Egg cartons. Sawed-off milk jugs. The standard plastic tray.

  She turned. "This is amazing," she said, then laughed and clapped her hands to her cheeks. "No, it's mind-boggling. How do you manage to take care of all of these plants by yourself?"

  He lifted a shoulder. "Just do." He pointed at a line of tubing that ran from one end of the building to the other with branches off to the sides. "Worked up a watering system. Makes tending 'em easy."

  Fascinated, Macy followed the line of tubing, noting that each branch had smaller shoots of tubing feeding off it, whose ends were sunk into the dirt of each container. She had seen more elaborate systems, but it was obvious that this one was well designed. "You made this yourself?" she asked.