Home To Texas

Tara Hastings parked and got out. A little kid, thin and blond, hopped out on the other side. Except for his blond hair, he resembled his mother.

The kid acted shy at facing a stranger. He put his thumb into his mouth as if the act could somehow protect him. Grady had a gut instinct that the kid was deeply unhappy. He felt a surge of sympathy for him.

“Del, take your thumb out of your mouth.” Tara said it almost mechanically, as if she’d said it hundreds of times. Del pulled his thumb away. By his furtive glances at his mother, he seemed already planning on how he could slip it back.

Tara struggled to get paint cans out of the truck. Grady went to her side and took the heavy cans from her hands. His hard hand brushed her cool, smaller one. She didn’t blink or react in any way.

“Thank you.” Her voice was clipped.

“This your boy?” He nodded toward the child, who stared at him with wary eyes.

“Yes. Mr. McKinney, this is Del. Del, this is Mr. McKinney, the man I told you about. I hired him to help us.” She kept the same brisk tone. Hoisting an armful of hardware-store bags, she made her way up the back stairs and fumbled to get her key into the lock.

Grady took the key from her so smoothly that she didn’t have time to protest. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and swung it open for her. “I’ve had your water off,” he said. “To fix that spigot. It was leaking. I’ll turn it back on.”

“Thank you,” she said in that maddening cool way. “It seems like a sin to waste water in country like this.” She set her sacks on the counter and unpacked them with snappy efficiency.

The dog danced around them, and this time he didn’t bristle or bark at Grady. He sniffed at Grady’s boots, the legs of his jeans, then looked up at him, bright-eyed and wagging his tail.

“Hi, boy,” Grady said, and stooped to pet him. The dog fairly wriggled in delight. Grady scratched, petted and stroked him, but at the same time stole a look around the interior. The boy, Del, silently slipped into the living room and switched on the television. A video was already on the player, and the screen blazed into color with a ticking crocodile chasing Captain Hook.

Del sank down in a worn beanbag chair, gazing transfixed at the screen. He popped his thumb back into his mouth and sucked it solemnly. Grady rose, and Lono went to join the boy in the living room.

Grady put his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as he looked at the neglected living room. The woman and the kid were really camping in this house. No frills, no luxuries and the necessities were a hodgepodge of secondhand stuff.

Again she surprised him. Someone like her, living like this? It made no sense. She should be staying at a suite in a hotel, sending her pricey Austin decorator out to manage this mess.

She hadn’t dressed up or put on makeup to go to town. What you see is what you get, her bare face and plain clothes seemed to say. But she couldn’t disguise her natural grace.

“What do you want me to do first?” he asked, looking her up and down, trying to figure her out.

She gave him a perfunctory glance. Her eyes had long, sooty lashes, barely tinged with auburn. They seemed to look through him as if he were barely there. She started sorting the equipment on the counter.

“You said you could paint? I need my son’s room painted. That robin’s-egg-blue. With cream trim. It’s the first one down the hall. On the east side. There are tarps in the garage.”

He studied her profile. With her gaze downcast, her face seemed surprisingly delicate, almost vulnerable. His curiosity was growing.

“Those garage doors. I could cover up that spray paint first.”

“No. First, my son’s room. It’s most important.”

“All these walls look like they need cleaning,” he said. “It smells like mold. It leaked in here, right?”

She didn’t answer him directly. “I cleaned Del’s walls this morning. His room has the least damage. You’ll find a ladder in the garage, too.”

“If there’s much patching, it’s going to be a two-day job,” he cautioned. “The patching compound needs to dry—”

“I got the fast-drying kind. Paint, too,” she said. “I’ll show you the room, then let you get about your business.”

“You’ll be here if I have questions?” he said. What he really wondered was if she’d be around while he did her bidding.

“Yes. I’ve got plenty to do.” She turned from the counter, but didn’t look at him. She tilted her pretty chin up and kept her voice icy. “There’s your equipment. Excuse me now. I want to get to work on the living room. So I’ll need water. I need it now.”

He raised an eyebrow at her tone. But she’d clamped her mouth into a grim line and was ignoring him. She grabbed a bucket and a stiff brush from under the sink. He cast an appreciative glance at her derriere, knowing she’d be offended if she saw him do it. That only sharpened his appreciation. Then he went out to turn on the water.

When he came back in carrying the tarps, he caught a glimpse of her in the living room. She sat with the kid before the TV, her arms around him, her cheek pressed to his. The boy was clearly close to tears. Her face was earnest and unhappy as she tried to comfort him.

“I know how hard Scotty laughed at the crocodile last time,” she said, rubbing his back. “I know you wish Scotty could be here. But he can’t, sweetie. He’s in California.”

The intensity of her concern caught and held Grady. She was no longer the aloof creature he’d first met. She radiated love and a kind of desperation to protect the child from whatever troubled him.

She held him tighter. “I know you’re lonesome. But you’ll make friends here. You’ll get to like it, you’ll see. No, sweetie, don’t put your thumb in your mouth.”

Then she saw Grady, and her face paled, her expression going defensively blank. She looked away, but hugged the child more warmly. “Let’s just sit here and watch the end together,” she murmured and kissed his forehead. “You and me, babe.”

The boy said nothing, but he didn’t look as sad as before. Grady went into the back bedroom, revising his opinion of Tara Hastings. Coolness and control were not her true nature.

No, she was fighting fears, not only hers, but those of her child. He sensed something had gone badly wrong in their lives, and she was bound and determined to put it right again—especially for the boy. More for the boy than for herself. He sensed a kind of gallantry in her.

She clearly loved the kid; he had seen that in that brief scene in the living room. And she would protect him with her life. She was scared of something, but she was resolute, and she had valor.

A complex set of emotions stirred deep inside Grady. He didn’t know what they were or what shape they were taking. He only knew they were foreign, and he had no name for them.

CHAPTER FOUR

TARA YEARNED TO GO BACKWARD in time and start the morning over. She wished she hadn’t acted so high-handed with Grady.

True, he was a flirt, but she’d dealt with flirts before. True, he was handsome and masculine as hell. But the world was full of handsome, sexy men, especially where she’d come from in California.

Why was this one different? He’d stricken her breathless, heated her blood and shaken her thoughts. Then, because her response shamed her, she’d taken it out on him.

She had forbidden herself to have sexual urges. Some of her reasons were complex, but one was simple. In California, Burleigh Hastings had had her watched. When he learned she was here, he’d do the same. She would walk the straight and narrow path.

Grady had the air of someone who’d departed from that path long ago. He probably had a series of flings that stretched from Texas to Tasmania.

But whatever his faults, he was a demon worker. From time to time, she stole glimpses of him as she passed Del’s room.

Like a magician, Grady had spirited Del’s furniture and toys into the spare bedroom. With uncanny speed, he’d unscrewed switch plates and hardware, detached the light fixture. He taped what needed to be taped, patched what needed to be patched and covered the floor with the tarps. He did it all without wasted motion.

Tara had made it clear she wanted him to stay out of her way, and he did, almost supernaturally well. At noon, when she fixed Del lunch, Grady went out on the makeshift back porch and ate out of a paper bag, alone.

When he came in, he asked her if he could give the cookie in his lunch to Del.

Del looked at Tara, then Grady, then the cookie. Tara doubted he would take it; strangers made him bashful. But the cookie was beautiful, large and chocolate, with darker chocolate frosting, and Grady offered it with such simple generosity, that Tara found herself urging, “Go ahead, sweetie,” and Del accepted.

He bit into it, and his eyes widened. “This is good,” he said. After he finished it, he slipped off to follow Grady. This amazed Tara. She moved softly to the bedroom door and peeked inside.

Del, chocolate crumbs on his chin, was looking up at Grady with scheming interest. “Can you bring me more cookies like that?”