The Rancher's Texas Twins

by Allie Pleiter

  Avery caught his eye, and while her gaze wasn’t the only one with compassion for his plight, somehow that’s how Gabe felt. If it was up to him, Gabe wouldn’t mind if he never spoke to Theodore Linley again—and Avery understood that. Yet, for the sake of the boys ranch, he had to leave no stone unturned and find Linley. The thought of that fine ranch being sold to become a strip mall burned in his gut. Cyrus, you old buzzard, he thought bitterly. Why did you have to do this?

  “Is there any other business?” he asked, and the startled looks of the other league members told him his words had been sharper than was necessary.

  “I think we’re done,” Lana said, one eyebrow raised.

  “The only other business left is to find Linley,” Tanner added. The guy didn’t know the weight of his words. Don’t you think I know that? Gabe wanted to shout. Don’t you think that’s keeping me up nights?

  Chapter Nine

  The house was so quiet after all the league members left, it was as if the world had temporarily shut down. Avery poured two cups from the coffee Marlene had set out for the meeting and went to find Gabe on the porch. He’d ended the meeting abruptly and sharply—well, more sharply than the usual Gabriel Everett efficiency, that is—and she could see how the whole boys ranch situation weighed on him.

  Up until now, she’d only really thought about how the situation weighed on her. How so much was riding on her commitment to stay. Today showed her how much Gabe felt Cyrus’s absurd demands rested on his shoulders.

  He stood at the corner of the house’s wide front porch, with shoulders tightly set and spine angrily erect. Like a man holding up the whole world and tiring of the strain.

  She cleared her throat and offered the coffee when he turned. Dinah and Debbie were still out on their excursion to Lila’s with the Franks, and with a start she realized this was the first time she had ever been alone with Gabe. The realization took her pulse up an irrational notch. “You okay?” she said quietly, even though she already knew the answer.

  “I’ll get by.” His exhale said everything his answer did not.

  “The boys ranch is really important to you.”

  “Yeah...” The single word was soft, as if it pained him to admit his loyalty. “More...well, more than most people know.”

  Was he hesitating because he didn’t want to pressure her into complying, or was there something else behind the answer? Avery came around to rest against the porch rail and face him, so she could see his eyes. If you could see a memory in a gaze, it was clear Gabe had some kind of history with the boys ranch that stretched beyond Haven’s collective civic pride.

  “It seems like a good cause,” she offered. “You know, kids straightened out, lives changed...”

  “Mine,” he said, shifting his gaze to look right at her. The intensity of his regard almost made her swallow hard—the man had such a powerful presence.

  “Yours?”

  “I was at the ranch when I was eight. I wasn’t exactly a model kid, if you know what I mean. I was angry at my dad for dying, my mom was at her wit’s end trying to make ends meet, and my grandfather—that’d be our long lost Theodore—just up and disappeared when Mom was hanging on by a thread. I took it out on the world in every way I could think of. And believe me, I thought of a lot of ways.”

  She knew what that anger felt like. They had that in common. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? When we were visiting the ranch?”

  “And make you feel further indebted to the man putting you up in his home? A ‘force you to save the ranch that saved me’ campaign? I’d like to think I can be persuasive, maybe even persistent, but I don’t aim to be manipulative.” He took a sip of the coffee. “I think Cyrus has given us enough of a dose of that medicine, don’t you?”

  Did he realize that the fact he hadn’t used that information wielded twice as much power to convince her than if he had? For all of Cyrus’s backing her into a corner, Gabe had held back to give her as much choice as possible. “I meant what I said. I will stay and meet the requirement.” She’d told him that on their first visit to the ranch, but it surprised her how much she truly meant it right now. “And I will help Bea decorate the house—as much as I can while I’m here. You don’t have to convince me to help anymore.”

  But it wasn’t just about her help, was it? The final obstacle of Theodore Linley hung so heavily around his shoulders that Gabe looked beaten—something she’d deemed impossible in a man of his size and command. “You’ll find your grandfather.” It felt like hollow reassurance, but she wanted to say something.

  “I’ll have to. We’re running out of time. Only I don’t know what else I can do.”

  The end of one’s rope was familiar territory to Avery. “There’s always prayer. When I can’t think of what else to do, it’s the only thing left. I know it’s supposed to be our first step instead of a last resort, but I guess I’m still working on that.”

  Gabe set down the coffee cup on the porch rail and leaned heavily against it with both hands. Again, the vision of him being pressed down by demands struck her with such force. Oh, sure, he seemed to hold himself at a distance from people, but it was clear to her that this man cared a great deal. Maybe even too much. It’d kill him to fail the ranch, she thought to herself. And that’s just how he’d see it—that he failed the ranch. Not the dead man who set impossible demands or the lost grandfather who refused to be found, but him. And she knew, just as clearly, that no one would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

  Find Theodore. She felt the prayer seep up with a fervor she’d never have expected. You know where he is, Lord. Show him to these good people. I’ve decided to stay and do my part, but what good will that do if they fail on account of Theodore?

  And again, for what felt like the hundredth time, a stab of bitterness rose up in her chest against Cyrus. Why’d you do this, you mean old man? Why put these people—and me—through this?

  Gabe’s voice broke into her thoughts. “If this fails, it won’t be your fault, you know.” Avery couldn’t believe he was attempting to console her when he was in so much clear pain. “No one will blame you if we have to send boys elsewhere and live with a stupid strip mall instead of what we ought to have.”

  He didn’t say it, but it radiated out of him just the same: They’ll blame me.

  “It won’t be your fault, either.”

  Gabe didn’t respond, just shifted his weight against the porch rail. She put a hand on his shoulder, wanting somehow to make him see that this wasn’t all on him.

  The touch was a mistake. It startled both of them. They’d lived in the same house for almost two weeks, and the girls had flung themselves on him countless times, but they had never touched. In all honesty, she’d avoided coming close to him, subtly aware of the pull she’d started to feel, the humming connection that now seemed to fill the air between them.

  She heard him pull in a breath, felt the muscles work under her hand. She told herself to pull the hand away, but didn’t.

  “It won’t be your fault,” she repeated. “It’s both of our grandfathers’ faults.” Her use of the word our made the connection go from a hum to a roar. They understood each other. Each of them had a specific family connection to this whole nonsense that no one else in Haven shared.

  And that was a dangerous thing to admit at the moment. It was as if that glimmer of attraction that she’d been denying since she had met Gabe suddenly stood up and demanded to be recognized.

  Recognized, well, that couldn’t be helped at the moment. Acted on? That she could control. Avery tried to remove her hand casually, inconspicuously, but it failed to feel anything like that. She couldn’t look at Gabe, nor could he look at her, which meant that they both had felt that unwelcome zing that still coursed through her fingertips.

  Looking down at her hands—because that was certainly a bett
er place to look than at Gabe—she discovered she was running her thumb across the pads of her still-tingling fingers. She swallowed a large gulp of coffee and stuffed the offending hand in her skirt pocket.

  I’m raw, that’s all. Not in a good place to interact with the male species. Too many fresh scars. My heart is still screaming, “Man equals damage,” and until that’s no longer true, I’m a walking target.

  This was a fine insight, to be sure, but not terribly useful to get her out of the wildly uncomfortable silence that hung gaping between them. “Family,” she said in an awkward half laugh that fooled neither of them. “What are you gonna do, huh?”

  While Gabe seemed to be able to keep up a calm exterior much better than she could, she did notice one hand’s white-knuckle grip on the porch rail while he gulped the coffee with the same sense of “I’m hiding in this mug” she felt. At least the coffee gave them both something to do while she groped for a good exit line. The girls had always provided an easy out when things pulled a little too close between them, but they were in town.

  “I think I’ll take advantage of the quiet to start on some of those decorating ideas for the celebration and maybe a sketch or two for that parlor wall.” She’d surprised herself by saying yes not only to party decorations, but also to coming up with some decor themes for the new ranch house. It was her family’s property, after all. That first visit had dissolved such a startling load of bitterness that she actually found herself looking forward to going back. Who would have thought?

  “Need any help? I’ve probably got some of the ranch floor plans around here somewhere.”

  Help? Gabe Everett did not look like the kind of guy to lend a hand with decorations. His eyes flashed a desperate sort of regret—the same flash she’d seen right after he’d offered to put them up here at Five Rocks. It made sense; Gabe was usually so deliberate and careful with his words that she guessed his blurting out something he regretted rarely happened.

  Of course he didn’t really want to help. Which gave rise to the second, far more unsettling thought: he just didn’t want to be alone. This, from a man who struck her as solitary? He truly was rattled by all this. Couldn’t everyone in Haven see that? Or had the similarity of their situations just offered her a clearer view?

  He’d opened his home to her. Laid aside the peace and quiet of his home to help her. She couldn’t decline, even though every time she looked at him she felt some little piece of her unravel, some little strip of hard scar peel away to expose the raw nerve underneath.

  * * *

  Like an idiot, he’d asked if she needed any help.

  What on earth was wrong with him? Decorations were so far out of his wheelhouse he had no business asking that question. “Sorry,” he said, backpedaling as he saw the shock in her eyes. “That was stupid. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I clearly haven’t had enough coffee yet today.” Another dumb remark, considering it was four thirty in the afternoon.

  “Awake all night worried about today’s meeting?”

  He wished. “Nightmare, actually. I dreamed Cyrus’s strip mall was eating me alive.”

  “That threat does put a lot of pressure on you.”

  “No, literally, I dreamed the strip mall was eating me alive. Doors chomping at my boots, parking lot strip lines tangling around my heels, that sort of thing.”

  “Gruesome,” she replied. “The demands are bad enough, and no one wants to send any boys elsewhere, but to hang the threat of a strip mall instead of the boys ranch over everybody’s heads like that? Honestly, it’s just plain mean.” They both clung to the new subject like a lifeline pulling them out of the mire of her touching him.

  She’d touched him. The girls had climbed all over him until he felt like a piece of playground equipment some days, but the tenderness of Avery’s touch nearly knocked him over. He’d been strung so tight since last night’s nightmare. Debbie and Dinah’s sweet gesture of cookies had finally put a chink in that dark gray wall he felt around him today, and Avery had managed to waltz right through that crack and touch him just now. He wasn’t ready for it, he hadn’t put the wall back up far enough and she’d gotten inside.

  Who has he kidding? She’d been getting inside since that day on the porch. Her with those sweet, weary eyes and that all-too-rare smile and that stubborn independence.

  “Sure, you can help.” Her words had what he guessed was a professional confidence to them, but her eyes looked as if she was scrambling to come up with some way he could do the least damage.

  Save yourself. “You probably should get a committee of ladies to do that sort of thing, not me.”

  Oops. One dark eyebrow rose, as if he’d challenged her without meaning to. “No, I think we can make it work. I have male clients back in Tennessee. And this is a boys ranch after all, so its decorative scheme should be masculine. A man opposed to tiny pinkness is a good place to start.”

  “I can’t do anything like that. I don’t even like parties, and you can see my home is no showplace, despite Marlene’s endless efforts.”

  “All homes—and all events—can start on a basic decorative concept. A feel, if you will.”

  “Parties have feels? I know that I feel forced into a silly party Cyrus is shoving down my throat.”

  Avery laughed a little bit and then turned to start walking into the house. Her whole body had changed—spine straight, shoulders back, focused. Not as soft as she had been a moment before, but with a new, intriguing energy. “Well, that’s no concept to launch a party on,” she called over her shoulder. “Even one that’s been shoved down your throat. We’d do better starting with your house. Come on.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “Shouldn’t you be doing this with Marlene?”

  “It’s your house—it should reflect you. I’m sure Marlene would agree. All you have to do is show me two things. Get some more coffee and meet me in the kitchen.”

  Now I’ve gone and done it. I’m going to be some weird decorating experiment. As if he hadn’t already endured far too many new experiences since Avery’s arrival. Gabe emptied his mug and headed into the kitchen.

  She turned back up just as he was adding cream to his coffee, toting a notebook and the rectangular deck of colored cards bolted together at one end he’d seen her sorting through earlier. “Is this gonna hurt?” he asked.

  “You may have to think. Will that hurt?” There was just enough teasing in her voice to let Gabe consider this might be more interesting than awful. He wasn’t totally convinced which. He watched her refill her coffee mug, adding a generous amount of cream and sugar.

  “Is there a piece of furniture or lamp or something in this house that you hate?”

  He hadn’t expected that as the first question. “How about we just focus on the party for now?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. Come on, humor me.”

  I sat through a tea party—isn’t that enough humoring for one guy? Still, he was a bit curious why she’d asked that question. It didn’t take long to come up with a selection.

  “That chair in the back of the library. The one with all the fussy flowers on it.”

  Avery picked up her coffee. “I hadn’t noticed. Let’s go see.”

  Noticed? The thing stuck out like a neon sign to him, all prim and proper in the warm woodwork of his library.

  Avery studied it with her head cocked to one side. She took a long drink of coffee, then looked back at him and asked, “May I?”

  “It’s a chair. You’re supposed to sit in it.”

  She settled into the old chair, wincing at the squeaks and groans the piece gave under even her small weight. “You haven’t sat in this, I take it?”

  Gabe leaned up against the library shelves, watching her “work.”

  “Pretty sure I’d break it if I did. Not that I’d care.”

 
Avery ran one hand down the worn upholstered arm. The realization that it was the same hand that had touched his shoulder kindled a small glow below his breastbone. “But you haven’t thrown it out.”

  Now she was poking where he wasn’t sure he wanted her to go. “It belonged to my mother.”

  Her eyes lost their analytical glare, softening as she looked at him. “But you hate it.”

  Gabe reached for the right words to explain it. “She used to say it was the one nice thing she owned. That wasn’t a happy thought for her—I think it became a symbol for everything in her life that didn’t work out the way she planned. She did a lot of crying in that chair. I suppose I should love it or something, but I don’t.”

  “So you don’t exactly hate the chair, you just hate what it stands for.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to be analyzed like that. “I was thinking this was going to be more like ‘what’s your favorite color?’ than dissecting my sorry past. I don’t like it as a chair or a symbol, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Fair enough. No fuss, useful is better than decorative. I can work with that.” She stared at the chair one more time before squaring her shoulders and looking at him. “Okay, now show me something you love.”

  For some reason, this felt even more invasive than showing her something he didn’t like. He made a show of thinking about it, but the truth was he knew almost instantly what he would show her. Only he was pretty sure it wasn’t what she’d expect—and perhaps that was part of the allure of showing her.

  Nodding toward the back of the house, he led Avery to the mudroom off the back hallway, the entrance where he came in from the fields or the barns. Once there, he pointed to a small shelf with three wooden tool carriers—long, deep rectangular trays with handles that ran from one end to the other. If anything in the house qualified as prized possessions, it was these, despite their “lowly” place in the back mudroom.

  He was pleased to see his choice surprised her. She stared at the trio of toolboxes for a moment. “Makes sense,” she said, looking up at him after a moment. “Definitely functional. Nothing fussy about these. Tell me why you like them so much.”