A Texan Returns

“I know where we’re going without satellite assistance,” he told her. After all, he’d lived here for eighteen years. Although some new businesses had opened recently, most of the structures were the same, he noticed as they drove east on Main Street, just a couple of blocks from downtown.

Wyatt could have stayed with his parents, but since Cassie and Louisa were here also, he’d opted for the renovated Sweet Dreams Motel. The place looked much better now than he’d remembered from his youth, he thought as he pulled into the newly asphalted lot.

His parents had always referred to the place as “that rattrap” and made disparaging remarks about the people who stayed there. Transients and riffraff, they’d said. To Wyatt, the folks had looked more like hourly workers and poor visitors. Once, he’d ridden his bicycle over to see who was really there. He’d accidentally seen the former chief of police come out of one of the rooms, followed by a woman who wasn’t his wife.

That had started Wyatt’s brushes with the law. The old chief of police had never forgotten the nosy kid from the wealthiest family in town. The new chief, Montoya, seemed like an upstanding guy who wanted no part of the limelight. Smart man.

Wyatt parked between crisply painted white lines, then they went into the office. Before long they had their room keys and headed down the walkway that led to the ten or so doorways.

“So, your room looks comfortable,” Wyatt commented as he deposited Louisa’s suitcase in her room. She’d told him that each room was different. The one she’d chosen was sort of Hollywood glam, with old black-and-white movie-star photos and movie posters from the 1950s. The bedspread was silvery satin, the kind that you could imagine slipping off of at the worst possible time. A shiny aluminum Christmas tree sparkled with pink lights and black ornaments.

“My room is Old West,” Cassie said, poking her head in the doorway. “It is soooo Texas.”

Wyatt smiled. Neither of his employees had ever visited Texas before, so he doubted they knew much about what was authentic and what had been manufactured by Hollywood. He left Louisa’s suitcase on her floor and walked next door to Cassie’s room. Sure enough, there was knotty pine paneling, chunky wood furniture and an artificial pine Christmas tree with handcrafted ornaments. A vintage-looking red-and-black blanket covered the double bed.

“Were you a cowboy growing up?” Cassie asked, looking at a Remington reproduction print of cowboys racing after a stampede.

“No, not really, but I can ride a horse.” Although his parents owned a ranch, Wyatt didn’t know much about cattle. Most of his life, there had been more oil than cattle production on the acres. Plus, his parents had always said he was destined for bigger things than running a ranch.

He’d never thought that there was anything wrong with running a ranch, although the idea of doing only that day after day made him itchy. He needed new challenges. He’d always been drawn to technology more than nature.

“I’d love to ride a horse while we’re here,” Cassie said. “I rode a pony when I was a child.”

“That’s all? You’ve never gone riding since then?”

“No.” She grimaced again, and he couldn’t tell if there was a good story or a bad one behind the single-word answer. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around her, since she reported to Brian Peters, his jack-of-all-trades assistant. Brian was back in California, running interference between the new foundation director and Wyatt’s continuing business interests. Cassie had seemed a good fit for the short trip to Texas because he needed someone to handle things that Brian usually tackled.

“We’ll go out to the ranch. Or if my parents don’t have horses you can ride, we’ll visit someone who does. I know lots of people who still live around here.”

“The horses won’t be dangerous, will they?” Louisa asked, entering Cassie’s room. “Getting hurt while we’re here wouldn’t be good press.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Cassie said.

“No, it will be fine. Nice. I haven’t ridden lately, either.”

“You’re a fun boss,” Cassie said.

Louisa nudged her. “Come on, let’s get unpacked. I have a press release to prepare for the Web site and the local newspaper.”

Wyatt left the women and walked a few more steps down the covered walkway to his room on the end. This was the honeymoon suite, the manager had told Cassie when she’d reserved the rooms. It was the largest suite and featured a whirlpool tub and walk-in shower. He unlocked the door and stepped onto thick gray carpet. A king-size bed with a pink-and-gray retro-print satin bedspread dominated the room. Two chairs in what he thought were Danish Modern style sat beneath the corner windows. On the table between the chairs there was a fluffy white Christmas tree with clear lights and glittery stars.

He rolled his suitcase to a stop near the bed, then placed his laptop case on the table. There was also a built-in unit that hid the television, a small refrigerator and microwave.

“For those late-night honeymoon snacks,” he muttered on his way to the bathroom. Not that he knew from personal experience. He’d never been married or even come close. He’d been very careful to avoid that trap.

The bathroom was spacious and modern, tiled in pink and gray, as if it were really from the 1950s. The place would be fine for him. After all, he wouldn’t be in town that long. Just long enough to decorate the community center, participate in a few local activities and see old friends whom, as Toni had pointed out, he’d neglected in the past fifteen years.

Hell, he’d been busy. He’d had a company to build, a product to develop, a fortune to amass.

Besides, they all had lives here. Families and friends and futures in Brody’s Crossing. He’d run from Texas as fast and as far as he could. He’d spent the past fifteen years hugging the West Coast, literally. His house overlooked the Pacific and he ran on the beach now, as far west as possible without crossing the ocean.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice pulled him from the bathroom and into the main room. He must have forgotten to close the door.

A statuesque pregnant blonde stood next to Cal Crawford. He’d gone to school with Cal’s younger brother, Troy. Cal held a little boy, so he supposed the rancher was a family man now.

“Hey, Wyatt,” Cal said. “Good to see you.”

“Mr. McCall,” the blonde said, holding out her hand, “I’m Christie Crawford, the owner of the motel. I just wanted to say hello and welcome you back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Crawford,” Wyatt said, slipping back into “Texas mode” easier than he’d thought possible.

“Christie, please.”

Wyatt smiled and nodded. “Christie, then.” He reached forward and shook Cal’s free hand. “Good to see you, Cal. Where’s that brother of yours?”

Cal snorted. “New Hampshire. Married to a Yankee vegetarian organic farmer.”

Wyatt laughed at Cal’s description of his sister-in-law and his obvious scorn at the idea of Troy living in the north. “And who is this?”

“This is Peter,” Cal told him. “He’s fifteen months.”

The baby smiled, showing several teeth, and struggled to get down. “He’s a handful,” Christie said.

“I suppose so.” Wyatt knew nothing about babies, except that they eventually grew into children who needed computers and software and digital television. They wanted games, text messaging and media uploads. He was all for that, but as for the little ones still in diapers…he’d leave them to their parents. “So, you’re a dad,” he said unnecessarily to Cal.

Cal smiled—something Wyatt didn’t remember him doing much when they were younger. “Married and everything, with another one on the way.”

“Congratulations. Still on the Rocking C?”

“Of course. We’re building a new house, so it’s kind of torn up right now.”

Wyatt nodded. He stayed away from construction whenever possible. Why be uncomfortable and inconvenienced like that? He’d bought his house empty, but completely finished after the former owner had gone belly-up in the import business.

“I’ll let you get unpacked,” Christie said. “Is there anything else you need? We have a conference room next to the office, and we keep coffee, drinks and snacks by the front desk.”

“I’m just fine, thanks. I can run by Casale’s Grocery if we need anything.” And possibly see Mrs. Casale, who probably didn’t want to see him. If only she knew what he and Toni had been doing all those nights when they’d told her they were studying. Exploring human anatomy was more like it.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” Cal’s wife said, and Wyatt promised he would as he shut the door after the happy couple.

What he needed was for this week to be over with, so he could put Brody’s Crossing behind him…again. Louisa would get her PR photos, the magazines would have their stories and he’d get back to his real life. The one without a certain blonde who could play havoc with his peace of mind.

He’d return to his house, where his housekeeper, Mrs. Nakimoto, had no doubt contracted with a decorator or two to produce stunning Christmas trees for several rooms in his white-on-white house.

Not one of them would have vintage or handmade ornaments, like this motel fifty miles from anywhere. But they’d look good, at least to some decorator’s critical eye.

He unclipped his cell phone from his waistband and fell back on the bed. Were there any decent channels on the TV? He wouldn’t be too surprised to see old reruns of I Love Lucy or Lassie in this family-oriented community, although since he was in the honeymoon suite, perhaps they had something racier.

With Toni nearby he didn’t need sexy movies to heat his blood. She’d starred in quite a few of his dreams over the years, even though he’d tried to get her out of his head. Now that he was back, he decided, reclining on a satin comforter, he’d have to work extra hard to stay angry at his former girlfriend.