Temporarily Texan

“The entire world does not revolve around Texas!”

“I know that, but lots of folks down here don’t feel that way, so you might want to rein in your Yankee sentiments and eccentricities.”

“I am true to myself, Mr. Crawford, and that’s not something that I can change.”

“Well, good for you. I hope you aren’t planning on a long stay or forming a lot of close relationships with Texans.”

“I came here to do a job, not to make lots of friends.” She paused, then lifted her chin. “Although, I must admit, I’m very good at making new friends. I have them all over.”

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Ever been to Texas before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, there you go.” He took off across the yard.

“What do you mean by that?” She almost had to jog to keep up. White and red chickens scattered in their wake.

“Stick around. You’ll see.”

By the time she reached the back door of the house, he was holding it open for her.

“I think it’s time for me to leave.”

“Come on inside and we’ll talk about it.”

She stepped into the kitchen. “It’s obvious we don’t get along. Besides, it’s going to be dark soon. I need to go into town and find a place to stay tonight.”

“Um, it’s not that easy.”

“What do you mean?” Was he forbidding her from leaving? Was he threatening her? She knew he didn’t like her, but really…

“There’s not much in Brody’s Crossing.”

“You mean there are no hotels, no bed-and-breakfasts?”

“Not a one. There used to be a motel on the road toward Jacksboro, but it closed a long time ago. Of course, there are a few motels in Graham, if you want to drive over there. It’s at least fifteen miles.”

“Well, that’s…unfortunate.” She sighed and resisted the urge to slump. She’d come so far today she couldn’t face driving to the next town. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“To the best of my knowledge, there’s not even a room to rent in Brody’s Crossing.”

“Maybe there’s something you don’t know about.”

He shrugged. “You can stay here,” Troy said with a definite lack of enthusiasm.

“Really, I don’t think you mean that, and besides, it’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious you don’t want me here. I’m not your ranching expert and I’m not a friend. You don’t approve of anything I do, of who I am, so I think it would be best if we parted ways.”

“I was just joking about the tofu.”

“And my vegetarian lifestyle? And my clothes? And my friends with the frivolous little hobbies?”

“Okay, maybe I was a little hard on you, which I shouldn’t be. I…I kind of know what it’s like to be treated disrespectfully.” He shrugged again. “Let’s just say that I was joking.”

“You were not, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my intelligence as well as every other part of me.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally.”

“If I may paraphrase an old western movie, this house ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

He laughed. “That’s pretty good.”

“Thank you. Now, I’d better collect my tote bag and cooler and get on the road. Again.”

“That was a Willie Nelson song.”

“What was?” she asked as she walked down the hall to the depressing guest bedroom.

“‘On the Road Again.’ Do you know it?”

“No, not really. We don’t listen to much Willie Nelson on our artsy little vegetarian farms.”

She grabbed the heavy tote bag from the brown bedspread, and when she turned, Troy Crawford was blocking the door, his forearms resting on the door lintel.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you. Sometimes I joke around when I’m really pis—um, I mean upset. I wasn’t lashing out at you as much as at the situation.”

“I’m just as upset about this mess, but I’m not attacking your choices.”

He sighed and looked down at the floor. “Well, you did say you didn’t mind if the ranch failed, but that’s no excuse, I guess. I’m really sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

“Gladly. If you’ll allow me to walk out that door.”

“You’re free to go, but I’m telling you, there’s no place to go. Look, if it would make you feel better, you can have the house to yourself. I’ll stay in the barn.”

She sighed. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to put you out. There must be somewhere to stay. Perhaps I could use your phone to call?”

“You’re free to use the phone as much as you want.”

She carried her bag to the door and looked up into Troy Crawford’s face. “Thank you.”

He lowered his arms, stepped back and reached for the jute handle. “You’re welcome.”

Instead of arguing about who would carry the bag, she handed it over and followed him to the study.

“Just answer one question for me,” he said, pausing at the door and turning back to look at her.