Homeward Bound

Royce would have to call Martha later and thank her for twisting her brother’s undershorts in a knot this morning. “Kenny will be over next week to help with chores.” Kenny, the eldest Wilkinson boy, helped Luke around the ranch in exchange for hay for his rodeo horse.

“Just what I need. A snot-nosed brat followin’ me ’round.” Luke called for Bandit, then shuffled toward the house.

Grinning, Royce drove off. His foreman did a lot of complaining about the smart-mouthed teen, but Luke appreciated the kid’s company. It was a win-win situation. The boy was good company for Luke, and Luke was good company for Kenny, who needed a swift kick in the butt from time to time—something Luke had perfected on Royce over the years.

At the end of the ranch drive, Royce took the county road south. Tall pines bordered the asphalt, some as high as one hundred and twenty feet. Most of the trees were second-generation. The area had been gutted by the lumber industry at the turn of the twentieth century. The once-dense pine forests were now broken up with large sections of ranch land. Sprinkled in among the yellow pines were clusters of southern red oak, sweetgum and water oak. This part of East Texas received enough rainfall to be classified as an upper wetland area, which meant that spring put on a pretty impressive display. His favorite tree was the flowering dogwood, with its abundant white blooms.

The area boasted a great fishing lake. During the summer months, campers took advantage of the wilderness that surrounded Nowhere and Lake Wright several miles to the northeast. The town’s small business owners relied heavily on summer tourism to keep afloat. That was one of Royce’s goals as mayor—to find a way to bring more tourists to the area.

Pressing the gas pedal until the speedometer hovered near seventy, he switched his thoughts to the feed store. Over the years, the local ranchers had begun purchasing the bulk of their supplies from big discount chains along the interstate. But in emergencies, or to save time, they shopped at Henderson Feed for smaller items. For the past two days the business had remained closed. Royce needed to find someone to work in the store until the building sold.

Fifteen minutes later, he swung the truck into a parking spot outside the dilapidated redbrick building. Frank Telmon waited by the door, briefcase in hand, jowls sagging two inches lower than usual. The Realtor must have bad news.

“Frank.” Royce greeted him as he climbed the steps and unlocked the door with the key he’d confiscated from the store register yesterday. He’d had to enter the stockroom through a broken window to get inside. He’d ransacked the place, searching for bookkeeping records or any paperwork that would show what kind of financial shape the business was in. All he’d found were old tax documents, a few bank statements and the store ledger with the names and numbers of suppliers and bookies. He’d handed the ledger over to Telmon before heading down to the university.

Telmon, who doubled as an accountant, followed Royce inside. “I’m afraid I have unpleasant news.”

“Figured as much.” Royce walked to the back of the store, then leaned against the checkout counter next to the outdated cash register.

“Henderson wasn’t much of a businessman.” Frank set his briefcase on the counter. “I went over the papers you dropped off at the office.” He removed a file folder from inside.

“And…”

Shaking his head, Frank pursed his lips so hard the corners of his mouth disappeared into his cheeks. “I don’t understand how he stayed in business as long as he did.”

“Give me the bare facts.” Royce should have figured selling the store wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped.

“The business is two years in arrears on taxes. The building needs a major overhaul, and inventory is basically nonexistent. Nothing short of a miracle and a hell of a lot of cash will put this business back in the black.”

Great. Just great. He’d hoped there would be enough money left over from the sale of the store for Heather to live on until she found a job and an apartment after graduation. “What do you suggest putting the place on the market for?”

A harsh bark fired from Telmon’s mouth, the sound smacking off the rotting brick walls like a rifle shot. “Sell? You won’t be able to give the place away.”

As Royce glanced around, he was hard put to disagree. Swirls of yellowish brown water stains covered the ceiling—a leaky roof. A musty, damp smell saturated the air inside the building—mold. The plank floor groaned, creaked and popped—wood rot. The mortar in the brick walls had all but crumbled away, leaving holes big enough to shove a fist into. Oh, hell. The building needed a wrecking ball, not a For Sale sign. “Heather doesn’t want anything to do with the feed store. The place will have to go on the market as is.”

Nodding, Telmon returned the file to his briefcase. “First smart decision the girl’s made in a long time.”

Royce bristled at the insult to Heather. He himself could talk about her that way, but he sure didn’t approve of others criticizing her. Heather was smarter than most people realized. Although she’d skipped a lot of classes and had driven her teachers nuts with her rebellious behavior, she’d scored higher on her college entrance exams—Scholastic Aptitude Test—than two-thirds of her high school graduating class.

The Realtor shut his briefcase. “If you’re sure she has no plans to make repairs before listing the place, then I’ll write up a contract and get back to you in a couple of days.”

Royce offered his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure.” Walking toward the front door, Telmon shook his head, his loose jowls reminding Royce of a bulldog.

As soon as the door closed behind the man, Royce flipped open his cell phone. He’d give Heather the bare facts, then let Telmon answer any questions she had. His finger froze over the keypad.

Once Heather graduated and sold the store, she’d no longer be his concern. And maybe, just maybe he’d finally be able to put the memories of their passionate kisses behind him for good. He waited to feel a sense of relief—it didn’t come. Annoyed, he smacked the counter with an open palm.

No, his sanity wouldn’t stand a chance if Heather decided to move back home. He should thank his lucky stars she wanted nothing to do with Nowhere.

Or him.

Chapter Three

“Drat!” Heather sputtered into the warm shower spray, as she listened to her cell phone in the bedroom play the theme song from Gilligan’s Island. Lathering her hair, she sang along to the music. Already thirty minutes late to a pregraduation party for two of her friends, she didn’t have time to chat. Since she’d be starting her new job at the law library tomorrow, she wouldn’t be able to watch her friends graduate at the Saturday-morning ceremony. Tonight’s party would be her last chance to say goodbye and wish her friends well.

Abruptly, Gilligan shut up.

A moment later, the phone went off again. Okay, already! Worried that her supervisor might be calling with a change in Heather’s work schedule, she ignored the shampoo in her hair and turned off the water. She grabbed the towel from the hook on the door and made a mad dash into the bedroom. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

The sound of Royce McKinnon’s low, rusty voice shot a bolt of heat through Heather’s body, causing the phone to slip from her slick hands, smack the desk, then land on the floor with a thunk. The towel followed. Naked, shampoo bubbles streaming down her back and front, she gaped at the phone, which lay next to her big toe.

As if in a trance, she lifted her gaze to the mirror on the wall in front of her, and gasped at the bright red color rolling like great ocean waves down her body. She looked as if she’d been dunked in a life-size jar of maraschino-cherry juice. The garbled sound of a human voice pulled her out of her stupor. Good grief! He couldn’t see her naked body. She scooped the phone off the floor. “Hello?”

“Is everything all right, Heather?”

“Yes. Just a minute.” Annoyed by her adolescent reaction, she set the cell on her desk, then swiped the beach-size towel off the floor and wrapped the terry cloth around herself. Twice.

She drew in a deep, calming breath and put the phone up to her ear. “Sorry. I’m here.”

“Did I call at a bad time?”

More than likely, he assumed he’d interrupted an in-between-class quickie with one of the porch boys—her roommates. “You caught me in the shower.”

Dead silence. Then he cleared his throat. “I’ll call later.”

“No, no. I’m covered now.” She swallowed a groan at the stupid remark. Time to turn the conversation in a different direction. “The funeral…did everything get—”

“I took care of things.”

Although she assumed he would follow through on his promise to arrange her father’s burial, she’d been hoping for at least a brief phone call explaining the details. Evidently, he hadn’t thought she deserved even that. Not that she could blame him, after she’d shoved the responsibility onto his shoulders. “Thank you for handling the arrangements.” She tensed, waiting for some kind of smart remark about accountability, commitment…whatever. Only a faint huff filtered through the connection. Odd, she could have sworn the huff sounded tired.

Like a swift kick in the butt, guilt caught her by surprise. Of course Royce was worn-out. He arranged not only her father’s funeral, but more than likely he handled everything else that had come up as a result of the trailer fire. He had every reason to be short with her—

“I’m calling about the store,” he said.

A twinge of disappointment pinched her. Stupidly, she’d hoped he’d contacted her because he wanted to find out how she’d been coping with her father’s death. Agitated, she shoved a hand into her soapy hair, then glared at the sticky residue coating her fingers. “What about the store?”

“An offer came in.”

“There’s a buyer already?”

“Yeah. Surprised the heck out of me, too. The owner of a chain of ranch-supply stores in eastern Arkansas called F & F Supply is interested in buying the business. He doesn’t seem concerned about the condition of the building and money isn’t an object.”

“If he’s rich, why doesn’t he build a new store?”