Texas Roads (A Miller's Creek Novel)

by Bryant, Cathy

  Only Lauren had come close with her country girl charm. He’d been convinced they’d marry some day, but that was before the accident, before his carelessness caused her death.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple frozen in his throat. He didn’t deserve to find anyone else. And being single was much better than ending up like his parents, unhappily married to the wrong person. An Atlanta debutante with a Texas cow-poke made about as much sense as a pig in a tutu.

  With a premeditated push, he dismissed his thoughts and began to whistle. God would have to plop a woman down in his lap if He meant for him to be married. Until then, he planned on running fast and hard in the opposite direction.

  His cell phone rang out its tinny song and he flicked it open to view the number, a slow grin spreading across his face. He punched the talk button. “What do you want now?”

  “Where in tarnation are you?” Wanda Cates, the city secretary, sounded panicky. “Did you forget the meeting?”

  “Take it easy. I have the situation under control. The meeting’s not ’til ten. I have plenty of time.”

  “Well, for your information, Mr. Big-Wig’s already roaming the streets, poking his nose in every nook and cranny.”

  His stomach rolled. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  He clicked the phone shut and gripped the steering wheel. So much for having the situation under control. What was it Mama Beth always said? Something about pride before a fall. Well, this fall could affect the whole town. He gunned the motor and sped down the hill toward City Hall, praying Ernie wasn’t nearby. Just wouldn’t look right for the mayor to get a speeding ticket.

  Steve found Brighton in downtown Miller’s Creek, prowling the streets in his expensive black suit. He grimaced and glanced down at his own khakis and polo shirt. Casual wear to a man like Brighton. He steered the truck into a parking space, braked hard, and jumped out to greet his guest. “Mr. Brighton?”

  “Yes?” The man spoke in a cultured voice and shook Steve’s hand as if it were a smelly fish.

  “Steve Miller. Sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you, sir, but I wasn’t expecting you ’til later.”

  The man elevated his nose. And sniffed.

  Great. Just what he needed. Another city person looking down their nose at him and his town.

  “It’s part of my job to investigate potential investments for my clients, Mr. Miller.”

  Steve swallowed his smile, his mouth desert-dry. “Yes sir, of course. Can I show you around?”

  “Actually, I think I’ve seen all there is to see.” Brighton clipped his words with extra precision and clicked his ballpoint pen. He deposited the pen in the inside pocket of his jacket then pushed his wire-frame glasses up his nose with a well-manicured finger. “Quite honestly, I don’t think my clients will be interested. You’re aware of the amount of money it will take to renovate this town?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve researched all the possibilities over the past several months. That’s why I’d appreciate it if you’d let me show you around. Then we can go back to my office for the proposals.”

  A cynical twist curled one corner of Brighton’s mouth, and he followed with a half-hearted nod. The man’s sour expression left no doubt as to what he thought of Miller’s Creek.

  Steve unfurled the fingers which had bunched into fists. What was it with city people and their uppity ways? An image of Dani’s sulky face moved to the front of his memory. He pushed the picture away and began his spiel. “Miller’s Creek dates back to the early 1800’s. Rumor has it Sam Houston himself traveled through here on a regular basis.” He rattled off the speech he’d practiced for weeks. “The town grew by leaps and bounds when the train came through, but in the 1980’s the train company canceled the route, and the population dropped. It’s getting harder and harder for people to make a living.” Steve purposely stopped in front of Granny’s Kitchen, where the smell of the café’s home-cooked breakfast still lingered.

  Brighton’s eyes snapped with impatience. “That’s the story of thousands of small towns across the country, Mr. Miller. Why would my clients want to invest their money here?”

  He squelched the flare of temper that roared inside him and struggled to keep the irritation out of his voice. “The plan is to restore the downtown area and bring in more retail. A few restaurants, antique stores, dress shops. Miller’s Creek would make a great tourist attraction, sort of a nostalgic getaway.” The disinterest on Brighton’s face made his heart sink. This wasn’t working the way he’d figured. “The people of Miller’s Creek are the salt of the earth, Mr. Brighton. Hard-working folks who want to stay here and raise their families. We offer fresh air, home-grown crops, and a hometown feeling, something I think city folks are hungry for.”

  The man’s eyes steeled and he crossed his arms across his chest. “Us city folks, as you call us, lead very busy lives where we live.” His voice dripped indignation. “We have plenty of recreation and culture around us, and we rarely have time to make a visit to a dying back roads town.”

  Steve clenched his mouth into a smile he didn’t feel. Brighton was giving him a city-sized headache. “Sorry if I offended you, sir. That wasn’t my intention. We just need someone who’s willing to help us get on our feet. Can’t afford to increase taxes, these people are barely hanging on as it is.”

  “Then how will they repay the investors?” Brighton’s over-plucked eyebrows appeared over the rim of his glasses. He shook his head. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for this town. I sympathize with your predicament. But I cannot find one thing that I think would interest my clients.”

  “All I’m asking is for you to give it more consideration. I have proposals in my office. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass them on to your clients.”

  Brighton’s face reddened and his lips clamped into a thin line, but he followed him to City Hall, his black businessman shoes clopping angrily against the sidewalk. He snatched the proposals from his hand with an impatient snort, then pivoted and scurried from the building without a word.

  The slamming door sent Steve’s heart hurtling to his stomach, where it landed with a fizz.

  Wanda peered at him over the reading glasses perched at the end of her long nose. “I think Mr. Big Wig has too much starch in his shorts. If you ask me, he’s not the kind of person we want to do business with anyway.”

  Steve drilled a black look her way, wanting to comment that he hadn’t asked her. Instead he reined in his temper and released his disappointment in a sigh. “Based on how things just went, I don’t much think we’ll have to worry about it.”

  This would be the perfect time to implement Plan B. If he had one.

  ~~o~~

  CHAPTER SIX

  Getting Acquainted

  Dani forced open her eyelids and squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the windows. What time was it? She propped herself up on one elbow and labored to open her eyes wide enough to see the clock. 9:54! Her heart skipped a beat, and she bolted upright. That clock had to be wrong. She never slept late. Even on weekends. Come to think of it, she hadn’t slept that well in months.

  She listened. No traffic sounds. No impatient motorists with car horns blaring. In the tree outside her window, a mockingbird chirped out a song as if there were no tomorrow. Dani snuggled back into the cushioned comfort of her bed and let out a sigh of satisfaction. This she could get used to.

  In the soft light of morning she viewed her surroundings. The sun painted the lacy curtains the color of peaches and spread the pattern onto the walls in dapples of light and lace. This room oozed comfort.

  Home.

  Dani shook herself. This was simply a charming country home in a charming country town. Anyone would feel this way. Outside, in the distance, a rooster crowed. The sound hauled her to a sitting position and plastered a smile across her face. A rooster! A sound she never heard in Dallas. She made a mental note to tell her students.

  Dangling her feet over the edge of the bed, she allowed
the weight of her legs to carry her to the floor. After a quick stretch, she donned her robe and slippers, peeked out the door, and listened. Good. No male voices in the house.

  With Steve’s image imprinted on her brain, guilt crept in like a tiger and gnawed at her. Would he forgive her surly behavior from yesterday? Surely he understood it wasn’t personal. Just another one of her award-winning days. Maybe she’d have the opportunity to apologize later. An image of his moody expression at last night’s dinner leapt to the front of her mind. On second thought, she’d rather run through hot coals. Barefoot.

  She descended the stairs and drifted through the house that smelled like fresh-baked sugar cookies. Such a pleasant way to start the day. “Mama Beth?”

  “I’m out here.” Her aunt’s voice sounded from beyond the screen door.

  Dani moved to join Aunt Beth on the front porch. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to sleep so late.”

  “Don’t apologize. You obviously needed the rest.” A kind smile and look of concern rested on the older woman’s face.

  “Yes, but I didn’t come to sleep. I came to spend time with you.”

  “Want some breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. Too close to lunch.” She soaked in her surroundings—the porch swing, rose arbors, and picket fence. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time.”

  Her aunt’s eyes danced. “Would you like the grand tour?”

  Dani glanced down at her robe and slippers. “Yes, but should I dress first?”

  “Nah.” She swished a hand through the air. “Not like anyone will see you on my little country road.”

  “The neighbors—”

  “The Thackers have already left for the morning. Trust me, you’re fine.”

  They ambled down the wooden steps to the cobblestone pathway, and Dani sized up the house. Two-stories, with a tin roof and lacy gingerbread trim. Typical country farmhouse, German influence, most likely built in the late 1800’s. Her father would be proud. His training stuck with her, even after all these years. The butter-colored paint with white and black accents made the house an easy sell in a good market. Tall windows stared back, wide-eyed and honest. And the porch issued an invitation to sit and linger, which was exactly what she longed to do. Linger. For the rest of her life.

  Sparrows chattered from nearby trees as she followed Mama Beth to the flower beds beside the fence. Colorful blooms stood out in contrast against the white pickets, and a spring breeze started a dance among the flowers, wafting a sweet scent into the morning air. Dani closed her eyes and breathed it in, the familiar ache for home gripping her heart. “Your garden is lovely.”

  “Thanks. Steve built the fence.”

  Her curiosity spiked. “Do his parents still live here?”

  “Yes, the Miller family operates the area’s biggest ranch.”

  A sudden realization slammed into her. “Miller’s Creek is named . . .”

  “. . . after an ancestor who founded the town,” finished her aunt.

  A queasy feeling plunked inside. The look on Steve’s face when she offered him the money… She moved a hand to her abdomen and forced herself back to the conversation. “But he sees you like a mother?”

  Mama Beth chuckled and smiled. “Honey, the whole town sees me that way.”

  No surprise. Her aunt defined motherhood. Dani sidled up next to her and engulfed her in a hug. “You’d make a wonderful mom. I’m surprised you never married and had a family of your own.”

  The smile on her aunt’s face disappeared behind a curtain of darkness, and she bent low to tug at a weed. “Good gracious, these flower beds need work.”

  Dani administered a cognitive kick to her backside. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? Her gaze meandered beyond the fence and across the road, where rolling pasture beckoned and promised peace. She drank it in like a thirsty child. What was happening to her? Was it possible to be seduced by a place?

  “Aren’t the wild flowers pretty?” Aunt Beth stood at her side. “Now it’s the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush. The buttercups and evening primrose will be next, followed by the wild foxglove and field daisies.”

  She could only nod, afraid of breaking the spell that had woven itself around her.

  “So, you want to see Miller’s Creek today?” Mama Beth’s voice sounded hopeful.

  “I’d love to.” She stooped to sniff the fragrant flowers at her feet. “Quite honestly, I didn’t know places like this still existed.”

  “Places like what?”

  Like home. “You know, the quaint little country village, like something from a fairy tale.”

  Her aunt snickered and moved toward the porch. “It’s interesting to see Miller’s Creek through your eyes. Folks around here think the town is dying.”

  “Dying?”

  “Let’s just say the town’s not what it used to be. Steve’s determined to bring it back. He’s meeting with an investor today.”

  Her interest skyrocketed. “Why?”

  Mama Beth followed her up the porch steps. “To get money to renovate downtown Miller’s Creek.”

  “Isn’t that a job for the city officials?”

  “Well, yes. Steve’s the mayor.”

  A fist of surprise punched her in the gut, and she plopped down in the rocking chair. Ranch owner and mayor. Just wonderful. In less than a day’s time she’d already alienated the most important person in town.

  ~~o~~

  Steve scratched his head then let his hand drop to the old wooden desk. All morning long he’d racked his brain for another solution to the problem Miller’s Creek faced, but nothing measured up to his original plan of finding outside investors. Maybe the answer would come when he wasn’t trying so hard to find it.

  His focus turned to Dani. Why couldn’t he get the city woman out of his mind? Just about the time he had thoughts of her neatly tucked away, she elbowed her way back in. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. Mama Beth mentioned she’d been through rough times, but it just didn’t add up. Anyone who dressed like she did couldn’t have it too rough. And that rock on her finger could sustain a third world country.

  Steve’s conscience niggled at him. He shouldn’t have been so testy last night, but Mama Beth was gullible and loving, an easy target. She’d worked hard and lived simply to save her nest egg, and he wasn’t about to sit back while some long-lost niece took advantage of her kindness.

  He hefted a sigh and scooted his chair close to the desk. He’d just returned to work when Wanda poked her head around the door. “You coming out for lunch, or are you going to sit here and sulk?” Her nasal voice sliced the air.

  Steve mustered a smile and continued to jot a reminder on a sticky note. “Want to grab a bite at Granny’s?”

  “Sorry, can’t. Got a beauty shop appointment with Jolene.”

  A shiver raced down his backbone. Jolene Briscoe, the town hairstylist and busybody, married at least four times, now had her sights aimed at him. No thanks. If he needed a trim, he’d drive to Morganville. Besides, what kind of man wanted his hair cut at a place called Country Cutz and Curlz?

  Wanda gave him the once-over through narrowed eyes. “If you ask me, you could use a trim yourself. Want me to make you an appointment?”

  “No.” Definitely not. He rose to his feet and shuffled the papers on his desk. Time for his escape. His lunch buddies might be able to help him come up with a plan for Miller’s Creek. “I’m going to meet the old geezers for lunch at Granny’s. After that I’ll be at the ranch.”

  The sun on his face refreshed him and made him eager to get to the ranch to spend the rest of the day outside. There was always plenty to do this time of year between plowing, planting, and the calves and colts. Steve whistled as he made the short walk to Granny’s Kitchen, operated by elderly identical twin sisters. Opal and Pearl Atwood were now affectionately known as the Grannies since no one in town could tell them apart. He entered the door to the tantalizing smell of southern-fried cooking, his mouth waterin
g, and scanned the crowded room.

  Lots of buzz already going on. As the town’s only sit-down restaurant, Granny’s ranked right behind Country Cutz & Curlz as the best place for gossip. If you didn’t count B & B Hardware, that is. He waved, shook hands, and said his “hellos,” as he made his way to the usual table at the back.

  “Well, look who’s here.” Coot Sanders’ voice blasted like a braying donkey in a tin barn. “The mayor finally arrived so we can ask him about that suit he was walking around town with this morning.”

  Steve sent him a dark frown. “For your information, I invited Mr. Brighton here to help us find investors.” He pulled out a chair and eased onto the seat. “In case you hadn’t noticed, things around here are starting to dry up and fall apart.” Grabbing one of the fresh tortilla chips from a basket already on the table, he plunged it in the salsa and hoisted it to his mouth, the fresh taste of roasted tomatoes, peppers, and cilantro exploding on his tongue.

  “Investors?” Otis Thacker scowled. “We don’t need city people getting their sticky fingers all over our town.”

  Leave it to Otis to be the first naysayer. “Then what’re we going to do?” He leaned back for one of the Grannies to pour his coffee, its aroma wafting to his nose.

  “Don’t know, but we need to solve it from the inside.” Otis growled out the words in typical fashion.

  J. C., who seldom offered an opinion about anything, spoke up. “Otis is right. The last thing we need is a group of outsiders telling us what to do.”

  The buzz in the restaurant increased suddenly, and Steve glanced toward the door to see Mama Beth and her niece enter. All decked out in her citified finery, Dani chatted with several people at the front. He gave his head a shake. Someone needed to give that woman lessons on how to dress in Miller’s Creek.