Linda Varner - Lone Star Bride

“Must be losing my touch,” Tony murmured with a shake of his head. He turned and walked slowly to the garage, which appeared to be closed. Spying a note taped to the door, he stepped closer to read it and learned that the shop would be closed today.

Suddenly faced with a free day, Tony set off toward town on foot, searching for a pay phone. He found one at a gas station two blocks away and called home. His mother answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Mom,” he said when she answered. “It’s your prodigal son.”

“Well, hello, prodigal son,” Margaret Mason answered, clearly pleased to hear his voice. “Where are you?”

“A little town called Pleasant Rest.”

“And are you having one?”

Tony laughed dutifully at her little joke. “Actually I’m here because my truck broke down yesterday. Hopefully the mechanic will get it repaired pretty soon and I’ll be home in a day or two, as planned.”

“You’d better. Aunt Irene is already making plans for a big Christmas dinner.”

Tony’s mouth watered at the thought. “I’ll be there if I have to take the bus.”

“I consider that a promise.”

“It is. Will you tell everyone hi?”

“Of course,” she answered.

“And if you get mail for me from any junior colleges, will you put it somewhere safe?” Safe being anyplace his nieces and nephews couldn’t get hold of it.

“Actually you got something from Amarillo Junior College last week. I wanted to steam it open but your dad wouldn’t let me, so I put it on top of the refrigerator.”

Tony chuckled. “It’s a job application. I’m thinking about teaching art again.”

“Why, Tony, that’s wonderful.” She sounded honestly pleased—no surprise. An art teacher herself, Margaret Mason had never really understood how he could give up his career, though she had graciously accepted his decision.

“Yeah, well, it won’t be at a high school and probably not in Amarillo, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I won’t,” she told him, no doubt a lie. In spite of any and all warnings, she would continue to hope he’d move back to their neck of the woods and build a house within spitting distance of theirs. And why shouldn’t she? All his sisters had done exactly that, thanks to a gift of land from their dad. Beyond one foolish lapse, Tony had resisted the bait.

“Well, I’d better go, I guess. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, son,” his mother responded, words that warmed him as much today as they had the first time he’d ever heard them.

At five-thirty that afternoon, Mariah waved goodbye to her last customer, a teenage boy in for his biweekly buzz cut, then heaved a sigh of relief. For a day that should have been easy—according to her appointment book, that is—this one had turned out mighty tough. Only part of the problem stemmed from walk-ins and the unseasonable heat, she decided, as she swept up and then locked up. The other stemmed from her tumultuous state of mind and a resulting stress.

Did Tony Mason get his truck repaired? she wondered as she walked to her car and got in. Was he safely on the road now, headed to Amarillo and out of her sight?

She sincerely hoped so. The man did a number on her sense of security, for sure, and as a result she snapped his head off every time he spoke, and otherwise played the role of big bad witch. Mariah, who worked with the public every day and knew how to be charming, especially regretted having been that way, since she could tell her rude behavior distressed Ruby and Opal.

But Tony hadn’t gone, she discovered a short time later, when she stepped on the front porch and saw him sitting there, under a spinning ceiling fan, sketching Ruby. Mariah now saw what the oleander bushes had hidden from the driveway—Ruby posing in a flared-back wicker chair, looking every bit the southern belle, while Tony sat several feet in front of her, working at an easel he must have brought over from his truck.

One peek at the sketch as Mariah waved and waltzed by, revealed him to be an artist of considerable talent. Dismayed instead of impressed—she desperately needed reasons to hate him—Mariah stepped into the kitchen to say hello to Opal, whom she found at the stove. The smell of a pork roast and baking cookies filled the air.

“Oatmeal raisin?” Mariah asked hopefully by way of greeting. That was her favorite cookie. Opal, looking a bit flushed from the heat of the oven and numerous pots and pans gave her a nod.

“They’re Tony’s favorite,” she answered, belatedly adding, “and since they’re yours, too, I’m making a double batch. I also have a roast in the oven. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” She nodded toward the table, which looked picture-perfect with a bold, checkered cloth that matched the ruffled curtains, pristine white plates and the best silver. There was even a red rose in a bud vase, serving as the centerpiece.

“Thanks,” Mariah murmured, heading on upstairs. Refusing to think about what she’d just seen, she quickly shed her clothes, which reeked of perm solution and hairspray. After donning a terry robe, she walked to the bathroom for a shower. She stayed in the stinging spray longer than usual in hopes it would pound the tension from her body. And when she finally dressed in jeans and an oversize Dallas Cowboys T-shirt, she did feel better, at least physically.

Mentally, however, she remained a wreck. On one hand it bothered her that Opal and Ruby so obviously adored Tony, since he could do them much harm if he wasn’t exactly what he claimed to be. But on the other hand, it bothered her even more that she’d put those dear ladies in the position of feeling guilty for liking him.

This was their house, after all. Tony, an invited guest, and quite possibly as nice a person as he claimed, had as much right to be there as Mariah, an invited boarder. Besides that, he provided a diversion—something they badly wanted, even though it was something she could live without.

Standing before the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair, Mariah vowed to be friendlier to Tony at dinner so Opal and Ruby could relax and enjoy him. It was time to shake off or at least ignore old prejudices. Time to take the man at face value and give him a chance to prove he didn’t deserve her scorn or fear.

It wasn’t his fault he sent her hormones into a frenzy. And it wasn’t as if she was in danger of getting involved with him, crazed hormones or not. So far he hadn’t done anything to threaten her heart or even her body. In fact, beyond a visual once-over, he didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in either, which suited her fine.

“From now on, I’m judging him only on what he does, not on what some other jerks did,” she promised her reflection, before exiting the bathroom and walking downstairs to the kitchen.

There she found Opal whipping potatoes with the electric mixer. Mariah got to work doing what else had to be done—filling glasses with ice for tea and setting the butter, salt and pepper on the table.

Since that table wasn’t very large, Mariah assumed they would do as always and serve their plates buffetstyle from the pots and pans on the stove. But Opal soon set her straight by handing her china bowls and pointing to the gravy and green beans.

So Tony had earned special guest status.

Mariah shook off her instant alarm and did as Opal wanted. She also set the roast pork planer on the table, too, only then noticing that one of the extra leaves had been inserted to enlarge the table capacity. Those leaves, large and heavy, weren’t easy to maneuver, and Mariah was surprised her landladies had gone to the trouble for a couple of meals.

Keeping her vow to reform, Mariah made no comment, however, but simply helped Opal in any way she could. Finally, everything was ready, and Opal called her sister and Tony in to dinner.