Liz Talley - The Way to Texas

“Okay, then,” he said, putting out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Dawn placed her hand in his. It was dry, warm and enveloped her entire hand. A little frisson of electricity—the kind she was supposed to ignore—shot up her arm. She jerked her eyes to his. He felt it, too.

Then he did something totally unexpected. He pulled her to him. And she went. She could feel the hitch in her breathing, could feel his breath fan her cheek.

She tore her eyes from his and focused on the pulse at the base of his throat. Was it her imagination or was it beating erratically? Her breasts lightly brushed the front of his shirt, prickling immediately at the contact with his body.

She felt his fingers push strands of hair from her forehead. One of his massive arms curled around her, his hand sliding against her back, searing her with the heat of his touch.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She knew it was stupid to let him. Knew it was not what she should want, but she also knew if he didn’t press his lips to hers and claim the heat of her mouth, she’d go insane.

She chanced looking up at him.

Her passion was mirrored in his eyes.

He lowered his head and pulled her tighter against him.

She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. A sigh of acceptance. A sigh of need.

His lips hovered above hers, teasingly.

Then something wet hit her ankles.

Dawn squealed as the wetness wriggled. She stepped back and heard a yelp.

“You stepped on him!” Hunter Todd shouted. “You hurted his paw.”

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.”

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.”