On Lone Star Trail (7 page)

H
e ought to be glad, TJ told himself as he squirted shaving cream onto his fingertips. It was Sunday, his second day with no responsibilities. Greg had given him a reprieve from spending weekend evenings in Firefly Valley, claiming that most parents were home then and would spend time with their kids. That left TJ free to do whatever he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted to do today was to get on his motorcycle and clear his head with a fast and furious ride somewhere, anywhere, but that was impossible. Though Eric kept trying, he'd been unable to locate a crankshaft. It seemed there were disadvantages to owning a highly customized bike.

Like it or not, TJ was stuck at Rainbow's End. He picked up his razor and began to shave. The truth was, it wasn't a bad place. The food was excellent, and the company was good. He shook his head slightly. More than good, if he were being honest. Gillian Hodge was intriguing, perhaps because she was so different from Deb.

He wielded the razor carefully, not wanting to nick his skin just because his thoughts had turned turbulent. Deb had been loveable, lively, and occasionally mischievous, but until the final
months when cancer wracked her body, she had not been sad. Even then, her sorrow had been for TJ and the fact that she was leaving him alone.

Though Gillian tried to hide it, there was a sadness deep inside her. It would be easy to blame it on the loss of her career. TJ didn't doubt that that weighed heavily on her, but his instincts, honed by years of counseling people in RV campgrounds from Acadia to Zion, told him something else was involved. If he had to guess, he would say it was her family.

Though she hadn't mentioned it again, he had to believe that never having known her mother would have left a void inside her. TJ had grieved when his parents had died, and he was still grieving the loss of Deb, but he had the memories of years with them. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like growing up without a mother.

Since he'd never heard Gillian mention siblings, he assumed she was an only child like him. That must have made her childhood lonely. TJ had hated that friends went home when playtime ended, but he'd had his parents—especially his mother—to help fill the empty hours.

Family. It was so important, and yet as TJ knew from experience, it was often difficult to talk about a family when it was less than perfect. Look at him. Though there had been opportunities, TJ had never once said “my wife.” Instead, he'd let everyone believe he was a single man. That wasn't totally dishonest—he
was
single again—but it was splitting hairs on the honesty issue. The old TJ wouldn't have done that, but the old TJ was gone.

Fifteen minutes later, his hair almost dry after his shower, he entered the dining room. Though he'd expected it to be close to empty, as it normally was at this time, three tables were already filled. He glanced at his assigned table, smiling when Gillian waved at him.

She looked prettier than ever this morning, dressed in some kind of soft green blouse that highlighted her eyes, her hair left
loose to fall in waves below her shoulders. Though she hadn't pulled her hair into the tight bun since the first day, she normally wore it in a ponytail or secured in one of those big clips. This was the first time TJ had seen it down. It suited her, or so he thought, but what did he know about women's hair?

His step a little lighter than it had been a minute earlier, TJ made his way through the buffet line in record time.

“I hoped you'd come,” Gillian said as he pulled out the only empty chair at the table, one that just so happened to be next to her. “That's why I saved you this seat.”

“Thanks.” TJ laid the plate piled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sausage on the table. “Why's everyone here so early?” The other mornings, he and Gillian had been the only ones at this table. Although there was only one seating for supper, breakfast was less structured. The food was set out buffet style, with guests free to come anytime between 7:00 and 8:30.

Gillian waited until TJ picked up his fork before she replied. “Kate says it happens every Sunday and that there are two reasons. Some people are checking out and want to get an early start. Others are going to church.”

“Which one are you?” Gillian had said she was only going to be here a week or two. If she were staying for a full week, she'd leave tomorrow, but TJ knew that some people preferred to travel on the weekend.

“The latter.” She spread jam on a piece of toast as she added, “I guess I didn't tell you that I've decided to stay until Kate's baby is born.”

The sausage he'd been chewing suddenly seemed even more delicious than it had a few seconds earlier. Perhaps it was foolish to care, but TJ couldn't ignore the relief coursing through him at the knowledge that Gillian wasn't leaving today. Waiting for the bike repairs would be decidedly easier with her here. And when the bike was ready, he'd convince the woman with hair the color of a desert sunrise to go for a ride.

He wouldn't tell her that now. Instead, he said, “I imagine Kate's happy about that.”

Gillian nodded. “I am too. I hadn't expected it, but I'm enjoying the slower pace.”

TJ could only guess what her life had been like before the accident, but he suspected there'd been little time for relaxation. “Do you miss performing?”

He could kick himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course she did. Even though teaching had not been his life calling, there were times when he missed the routine, the challenges, and—yes—the kids. He'd chosen to walk away from his job. Gillian had had no choice. Only an insensitive clod would remind her of all that she'd lost.

To TJ's surprise, Gillian did not appear angered by his question. She reached for the coffeepot and refilled her cup, then turned to look directly at him. “I'd be lying if I said no. Music has been the most important part of my life for just about my whole life. There were times when I felt as if it was consuming all my energy, but I didn't mind, because I loved what I was doing.” Her hand tightened on the cup. “I always knew there would be a time when it would end, but I hadn't expected it to be so soon.”

Taking a sip of coffee to hide the tightening of his lips, TJ realized that he could have said the same thing, substituting “Deb” for “music.” Perhaps he'd been wrong about Gillian. At first he'd thought they had little in common because they'd come from such different worlds, but deep inside they had the same pain, the same emptiness. “I probably shouldn't ask, but can you play at all?” When he'd talked to Gillian about teaching, TJ had assumed that she could. Though narrow scars crisscrossed her right hand, she appeared to have no trouble using it. But perhaps her being left-handed kept him from recognizing the extent of the damage. Since it was her non-dominant hand that had been injured, TJ hadn't had many opportunities to watch her using it.

“I can play,” she admitted. “Just not well enough for a concert. My fingers don't have the same level of flexibility they did before. I can't stretch as far.”

She held up both hands, extending the fingers as far as she could. Even TJ could see the difference between the two hands. And though he was no musician, he knew that the right hand was critical for a pianist. What a shame. What a terrible shame. Though he wanted to ask what had caused the accident, something in Gillian's expression stopped him. He'd already probed too deeply. What he needed to do was lighten the mood.

“I can't say that I was ever a fan of classical music, but I enjoyed your Carnegie Hall album.”

Those green eyes that reminded him of spring grass widened. “You listened to it?”

TJ nodded. “I was in the gift shop yesterday.” Pure boredom had led him there. “That's what they were playing. I'm no expert, but I can tell you that the music touched me in ways I hadn't expected.” To his surprise, he'd found his heart pounding with anxiety, then soaring with joy as he listened to Gillian's rendition of what the clerk told him was a Beethoven concerto.

TJ had seen Gillian smile, but never before had he seen such a radiant smile. It appeared he'd done something right. Finally.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You have no idea how much that means to me. When I performed, it was always with the hope of touching someone's heart. I'm so glad that I did.”

For the remainder of the meal, they spoke of trivial things, but it didn't matter. TJ knew they'd crossed a boundary, and though he'd feared his original question had reminded Gillian of her pain and loss, he now knew that his reaction to her playing had confirmed that she'd accomplished her dream.

Gillian's response left him feeling like a knight in shining armor who'd defeated the dragon and saved the princess. He wasn't a knight. Or if he was, his armor was tarnished, but still it was a heady sensation.

When she'd drained her coffee cup, Gillian glanced at her watch. “It's almost time to leave for church. Would you like a ride?”

The euphoria that had surrounded him popped like a soap bubble. “No thanks,” TJ said more curtly than he'd intended. “That's not the place for me.”

I
t had been more than twenty-four hours, and Gillian was still pondering TJ's reaction to her invitation to church. She had thought that, as the child of missionaries, he was a regular churchgoer, but it appeared she was wrong. Though she had wanted to tell him that God welcomed everyone into his house, TJ's frown had been so forbidding that she had said nothing. She didn't want to chide the man, but he was wrong. So very wrong.

And so were her father and her brother George. They viewed church attendance as a social obligation, part of being a pillar of the community. It had been Sally who'd shown Gillian the difference between sitting in church for an hour each Sunday and living a Christian life. That was one of the reasons Gillian was here rather than on a cruise with her father.

Biting back a sigh, she pulled out the laptop Kate had lent her and began to compose an email. The absence of cell service at Rainbow's End meant that vacationers here were free of electronic tethers, but there were times like this when Gillian was grateful for technology. Though she doubted she'd get more than a cursory response, since Dad was noted for the brevity of
his written comments, she wanted him to know that she planned to remain at Rainbow's End until Kate's baby arrived.

So far, though he'd sent pictures of each port of call, there'd been no commentary other than the brief captions explaining the sights. Classic Dad. He was taking what many would consider the trip of a lifetime, a cruise around the world, and all he'd shared were photos of places he'd visited. No pictures of people, no indication of whether or not he was enjoying the cruise itself, the other passengers, or the sights he'd seen. But that was Dad, unwilling or maybe unable to express his feelings.

As she clicked “send,” Gillian felt a sense of relief. She'd done her duty, and thanks to Kate, it had not been difficult. Though the other cabins had neither phones nor internet access, since Isaiah had been designed for staff, Kate and Greg had decided it should have the same connections as the office and their apartment.

Gillian rose and peered out the window. With Kate and Greg shopping in San Antonio and a light drizzle discouraging outdoor pastimes, she had spent the morning in her cabin. But now that the rain had stopped and cabin fever had set in, there was no reason not to go to the main lodge. TJ might be there, and if all else failed, she could chat with Carmen. The woman who provided such delicious meals had told Gillian she was always welcome in the kitchen.

Gillian was approaching the front entrance when a man blocked her way.

“Gillian Hodge!” The man doffed his Stetson in greeting. “If I'd known you were here, I would have come sooner.”

He was a stranger. But what a handsome stranger. With classic features, sandy blond hair, china-blue eyes, and a height of an inch or two over six feet, he could have been a movie star, although Hollywood might have asked him to beef up a bit. The stranger was thinner than current fashion demanded. Dressed in what she had come to call the Texas uniform of jeans, a western
shirt, boots, and hat, he looked like the quintessential cowboy, and yet he moved with such assurance that Gillian could picture him in a business suit or a tuxedo. It was no wonder Kate was worried. This man exuded charisma, and charisma combined with a healthy bankroll was extremely powerful.

“You must be Mike Tarkett.”

“Guilty as charged, but how did you know?” Mike grinned and extended his hand for a quick shake. “I recognized you from the local paper's coverage of the grand reopening, but I doubt you subscribe to the
Blytheville Times
to know who I am.”

His grip was firm, and if he held her hand a bit longer than courtesy demanded, Gillian wasn't complaining. There was something comforting, something almost familiar, about him. “No
Blytheville Times
,” she agreed, “but I do subscribe to girlfriend gossip. Kate Vange told me you were arriving today. It didn't require Sherlock Holmes's skills to deduce that you were Mike Tarkett, since the other new guests are couples.”

Mike wrinkled his nose. “I was afraid of that. I told Mom I'd be a fifth wheel here.” He paused for a second before adding, “She's the one who insisted I spend a week doing what she calls recharging my batteries.”

If he was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Kate had no reason to worry that the Tarkett family wanted to either buy or compete with Rainbow's End, but that was a big if. “This is a great place for battery recharging.”

Mike wrinkled his nose again, making her wonder if that was a characteristic gesture. “It would be more fun with a companion. I don't want to sound presumptuous, especially since we've just met, but if you don't have any other plans for the afternoon, I wondered if you'd show me around the place. Maybe we can even play tennis. My mother said the court is supposed to be a good one.”

He was being presumptuous, but Gillian didn't care. Spending time with Mike Tarkett might help her discover whether he and
his family had any ulterior motives for his week at Rainbow's End. “It probably is a good court, but I can't play.”

Though his hat shaded his eyes, Gillian detected a note of regret in Mike's voice as he said, “I should have realized you'd have something else planned.”

“It's not that. I meant ‘can't' literally. I've never played tennis.”

“Oh.” He paused, evidently digesting the idea. Based on what Kate had said, Mike was part of the country club set, where women were expected to be accomplished tennis players. Had Gillian not been a pianist, Dad would have insisted she learn to play, but music classes, her practice schedule, and the fear of falling and injuring her hands had kept her off the court.

Today was the first time Gillian wished she'd taken tennis lessons. A match or two might be a good way to pass the time. And a match with Mike would be fun. His smile was so warm and welcoming that Gillian suspected he wouldn't mind if her skill level was far below Wimbledon.

“Maybe we could do something else,” he suggested.

Gillian looked at the now dry ground. Something else—anything else—sounded like a good idea. “My feet are in good working condition,” she told him. “Once you've checked in, we can wander around the resort if you'd like.”

Which was how she found herself strolling along the edge of Bluebonnet Lake with Mike Tarkett. Gillian had walked this way half a dozen times before, and each time she'd discovered something new. Today instead of natural beauty, she was discovering that Mike was unlike the other men she'd met.

On the surface, he resembled her manager and some of the other performers, but there were differences. Though he had the same careful grooming and obviously expensive haircut, Mike was more handsome than the other men. He was at least as confident as the others, but on Mike that confidence seemed natural, not tinged with arrogance. Best of all, there was no initial awkwardness between them. Instead, Gillian felt as if
she'd known Mike for ages. It was an unexpectedly comfortable feeling.

“This place is even more beautiful than I'd heard,” he said as they walked by the lakefront cottages. As far as Gillian could tell, there were no undertones to his statement, no hidden agendas. Mike appeared to be looking for nothing more than a vacation.

“It's obviously your first time here.”

“Yeah.” He paused and stared across the small lake. The light breeze had died down, leaving the water almost as smooth as glass. It was no wonder Kate and Greg stocked rowboats rather than catamarans.

Mike tipped his head to one side, reminding Gillian of a robin listening for a worm. She wouldn't tell him that, of course, for what man wanted to be compared to a worm-eating bird?

“I've lived in the Hill Country my whole life and must have driven by Dupree thousands of times, but I never bothered to turn off the highway.” Mike shifted his weight and looked down at Gillian. “It was only after the reopening got so much press coverage that it hit my mother's radar screen.” He chuckled. “Mom's going to gloat when I tell her she was right: this is the perfect place.”

Gillian's antennae began to quiver, and she reconsidered her assessment of Mike's motives. Maybe he was looking for something more than a break in his routine. “Perfect for what?”

“For relaxing. What did you think I meant?”

There was nothing to be lost by being honest. “I wasn't sure. There's been speculation that your family might be expanding its horizons.”

“It's true. We're talking about it.” Mike gave her a self-deprecating smile. “To be more accurate, my parents are talking. I'm listening.”

“Were they talking about a hotel or a resort?”

Surely the confusion Gillian saw in Mike's eyes wasn't counterfeit. “What do you . . . oh, I see.” He chuckled. “The Vanges
thought I was scoping out the competition. You can reassure them that we have no intention of entering the hospitality industry, at least not for the foreseeable future. It's politics that interests my father.”

Picking up a small stone, Mike attempted to skip it across the water, frowning when it sank after only the second skip. “He wants me to run for mayor of Blytheville and use that as a stepping stone to state office. I think he has illusions—or delusions—of Washington.” Mike's tone left no doubt about his opinion of those aspirations.

“You mean the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue?”

Mike nodded. “No one ever claimed my father had small dreams.”

That confirmed what Kate had said. Cal Tarkett was a shrewd and determined businessman who wanted the Tarkett name to be as familiar as Rockefeller and Carnegie were a century earlier.

Gillian looked at Mike, admiring the openness of his expression. Another man might have tried to hide his discomfort, but he did not. “You sound as if you're not sure those are your dreams.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who's had her share of parental pressure.”

Mike looked intrigued, or perhaps he was simply relieved that the conversation had shifted away from him. “Did they push you into music?”

“No, that was my dream. It's only been since the accident that my dad has started to pressure me into what he calls a ‘suitable lifestyle.'”

“And that would be . . . ?”

Gillian paused. As comfortable as she felt with Mike—and that was strange, because she'd never felt so comfortable so quickly—they were venturing into highly personal territory. But she'd been the one to open the subject. She owed Mike an honest answer.

“The usual,” she said as casually as she could. “I'm supposed
to marry someone suitable, produce grandchildren—preferably girls since my brother has already given him a grandson—and live in a McMansion.”

Mike's chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. “If you change ‘live in a McMansion' to ‘live in the White House,' that's my parents' dream.” He grabbed both of Gillian's hands and smiled at her. “So, what do you think? Should we elope to Vegas and make everyone happy?”