Tammy and the Doctor

Tammy turned the knob, then entered the large bedroom where a long, lanky man lay on the bed, his face craggy, his head of thick white hair propped up on several pillows.

“I…uh…” She bit down on her bottom lip, then pressed on. “I hope I’m not bothering you, sir. But I was eager to meet you, and I thought I’d introduce myself.”

“You must be Tammy, William’s daughter.”

She admitted she was, then eased closer to the bed. “How did you know who I was? There are three of us girls here.”

He gave a little shrug. “I have my ways of keeping tabs on my boys and their families.”

So what exactly did he know about them? Or, more specifically, about her?

“Don’t just stand there, girl.” He pointed toward the chair near his bed. “Have a seat.”

“All right.”

After doing as he asked, she decided to take the bull by the horns by coming right out and quizzing him about the family rift.

Before she could get the words out, he said, “You’re a pretty little thing, Tammy.”

No one had ever called her pretty before. Sure, they mentioned her expressive eyes and praised the color. But pretty? No way.

“You look a lot like your grandma did,” he said. “Her hair was dark like yours. And her eyes were nearly the same shade of blue.”

“Do you have any photographs of her?” Tammy asked, curious about the woman and wondering if her look-alike had really been pretty. “If you do, I’d like to see them.”

“I don’t have as many as I would have liked, but I’ll make sure you get at least one or two to keep.” He gazed at Tammy for a moment, and a slow, wistful smile crossed his face, softening the wrinkles. “Ella Rose was a tomboy, too.”

“A cowgirl, you mean?”

“I suppose so. But that little woman could turn a man inside out with a single smile. And it didn’t matter if she was wearing denim or silk.”

Tammy might have been more impressed with the woman’s skill as a cowgirl if she hadn’t just met a man who’d been able to turn her inside out with a smile.

“Your grandma died when the twins were in kindergarten,” Tex added.

The twins? She’d known her father had a brother, but she hadn’t realized they’d shared the same birthday. Dang. Didn’t twins have some kind of weird, psychic connection, even when separated at birth?

If so, then the one William Travis and Sam Houston Byrd shared must be faulty.

Before she could comment or press Tex for more details, a couple of light knocks sounded at the door.

Her grandfather shifted in his bed, then grimaced. “Who is it?”

“Mike Sanchez.”

Doc? Tammy’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach with a thud, then thumped and pumped its way back up where it belonged.

“Come on in,” Tex said.

Thank goodness her grandfather issued the invitation because she couldn’t have squawked out a single word, let alone managed to get up and open the door herself.