The Way to Texas (4 page)

No, Tyson Hart wasn't her type at all.

There would be no problem with having him working above her every day, lifting boards with his big, strong arms and taking off his shirt when it got too hot.

She swallowed hard at the thought of Tyson's bared chest.

Stop it, Dawn. Stop picturing the man as a man. He's a contractor. Period.

The contractor in question swung open the door of the coffeehouse and allowed her to pass. She ignored the loose grace of his walk. She ignored the way the truck smelled like him. She ignored the way his arm brushed her shoulder when he threw it over the seat to look behind him as he reversed out of the parking lot.

She sighed in self-congratulation and crossed her legs. Her sandal kicked something underneath the bench seat. She leaned down and saw a first-aid kit lying at her feet.

Bingo.

T
WO THINGS STRUCK
T
YSON
as he walked up the drive toward Tucker House the following Saturday. Elderly people had more energy than he thought. And Dawn Taggart looked extremely hot.

The front lawn was covered with several tables sporting old-fashioned checked tablecloths. He wasn't certain what was going on, but he spotted several plants clustered on tables and assorted blue-haired ladies in aprons scurrying around. Of course, the highlight was the peek of Dawn he'd caught before she disappeared around the corner. Dawn, wearing cutoff jean shorts, a white T-shirt and soap bubbles in her dark hair.

She was barefoot and laughing.

It jolted him unlike any sight in a long time.

“Hey, come on over here and buy some shortbread cookies. I made 'em myself,” a frail bird-like woman called to him. Her blue-veined hand beckoned and the smile on her face had him changing directions and veering toward a table showcasing cakes and cookies.

“I ain't seen you around here before,” she said, patting her silver bouffant and tossing a look over one shoulder to her friend, who tittered like a wren. Both sets of eyes sparkled beneath the bifocals they wore.

The friend, who wore a striped apron that read “I'm not aging, I'm increasing in value” nodded her head. “I haven't seen you, either.”

“Well, now, ladies, I don't mind being the stranger who sweeps into Oak Stand and buys up all these cookies,” he said, giving them his best charming grin.

“Why, Grace, he's a sweet-talker, just right for me and you, honey,” the silver-headed lady said, setting out several jars of jam.

Grace agreed. “In that case, may I suggest the poppy-seed muffins and the sour cream pound cake? And don't forget Florence Roberts's mayhaw jelly. You just can't buy that off the grocery shelf.”

He stuck out his hand. “Sold. And I'm Tyson Hart. My grandfather—”

“Grady Hart's grandson. Well, I'll be darned, Grace. You remember this boy from Sunday school? He's the one who ate the paste and Dr. Grabel had to give him that ipecac.”

Grace clapped her hands together. “Of course, Ester. He chased girls all over Oak Stand when he came to town each summer. My granddaughter, Becca, was one of 'em.”

Ester peered up at him. “You still a rascal, Tyson?”

He cleared his throat, but was saved from answering by a kid shouting behind him. Which was good because he didn't want to recall a past that involved consuming paste. Or chasing Becca. Obviously, the impression he'd left on the small town hadn't been the one he'd hoped.

“Chasing girls, huh? Wouldn't have pegged you for that type. And paste?” It was Dawn's voice behind him. Damn, he'd hoped she wouldn't hear the ladies' comments. He didn't want her to think he was unreliable or slimy. But why it mattered so much escaped him.

“Never underestimate the power of paste,” he said, turning. “It was my secret weapon with the girls. Could hardly peel 'em off me they stuck so hard.”

Dawn rolled her eyes then offered her hand. He took it, surprised to find it was wet. She withdrew her hand and wiped it on her shorts. “Sorry. Hunter Todd and I are running a dog wash.”

She smiled and something bumped in his chest, not to mention a certain heat built south of the border. Her damp T-shirt clung to her rounded breasts. The shirt was big enough to slide off one shoulder and reveal a lacy bra strap. Her wavy dark hair was in a ponytail, though some tendrils escaped to stick to her cheeks. Her painted pink toes wiggled in the grass. He'd be tempted to say she looked like a teenager, but there was nothing gawky or innocent about Dawn.

She was full-on woman.

He tucked his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, hoping to detract from the stirrings of arousal at her alluring sexuality. Speaking of teenagers. He hadn't felt this way since he'd been one.

Damn. This was supposed to be business.

“Dog washing, huh? Just what kind of operation are y'all running 'round here?” he asked, winking at the two elderly ladies eyeing Dawn and him with more than slight interest.

“We're raising money for some new games. We're short on cash for Wii games, Monopoly and the like. Margo Mott, the assistant director, came up with the idea of a bake sale. And that evolved into a bake sale slash plant sale slash dog wash. Hunter Todd came up with the last one, and since I've been known to kill a perfectly good plant and burn cookies, I got the dog wash.”

Hunter Todd raced in between them, dousing them with a squirt bottle. “Gotcha!”

Dawn put two fingers between her lips and whistled.

The boy skidded to a stop. “Cool. How'd you do that?”

“Water stays on the other side of the house. Ester will tan your hide if you get her desserts wet.”

Hunter Todd's lower lip poked out.

“But I'll teach you how to whistle like that later,” Dawn said, giving him a wink.

“Cool,” Hunter Todd said, zipping toward the tub of soapy water he'd left behind.

“Impressive. Will you teach me, too?” Tyson asked.

An emotion he couldn't quite pin down flashed across her eyes before she grinned. “Sure. I'm quite talented with my mouth.”

Tyson opened his mouth to deliver a zinger, but Ester beat him to it. “Don't think I'd be giving those kinds of secrets away so easily, my dear.”

Tyson couldn't stop the laughter.

Dawn's brown eyes bulged before she choked out her own laughter. “Jeez, the sun is getting to me. Really, I've been around teenage boys long enough to know better.”

“Been around teenage boys? Were you a teacher?”

“Heavens, no. I have a nineteen-year-old son.”

“You're joking,” he said, stunned at her answer. It couldn't be possible. She looked much too young. “But you don't look much beyond…twenty-eight.”

His words made her laugh harder and caused a faint blush to color her cheeks. “I wish. Just turned thirty-seven.”

The two ladies shifting baked goods around on the table weren't very good at hiding their interest in the conversation. He could have sworn Ester turned up her hearing aid.

“Can you tear yourself away from the pups long
enough to show me the second floor?” he said, stifling the urge to unstick a damp tendril of hair from where it clung to her cheek. His fingers even twitched at the thought of her silky skin beneath them. Silky skin that still looked dewy and fresh. Not like the mother of a nineteen-year-old.

“Pups?” she snorted. “We've only bathed two dogs so far—a Chihuahua and a mutt so I won't be missed. Come on. I'll show you around.”

She slid on a pair of flip-flops and called to Hunter Todd that she'd be right back. He frowned but perked up when she gave him a sign and sent him toward the sidewalk to drum up business. Then she led Tyson up the porch steps toward the huge beveled glass door.

Tyson had liked the colossal Victorian the first time he'd seen it. He'd been ten and had been riding by on his bicycle en route to the Dairy Barn for a soft-serve ice cream cone. The house still held the same appeal with its wide porch, white columns and cheerful presence. Nellie's forefathers may have built the huge house to impress, but they didn't neglect its ability to charm with round inset windows, unique arches and a widow's walk.

He followed Dawn inside, where it was clean, bright and engaging. Rocking chairs with cheerful quilted cushions, old-fashioned couches with lacy looking things on the arms and polished oak floors made the house seem like a home rather than a senior adult care center.

Dawn turned toward him before ascending the stairs. She opened her mouth but he beat her to the words.

“I hope I didn't embarrass you out there. I didn't mean to pry.”

Her eyes left his face. “You weren't prying and it's no
secret. Andrew's father looked really cute in his board shorts when he showed up at the local pool that summer. Dating a surfer gives a sixteen-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears gal all kinds of perks including a bun in the oven.”

Her tone was sharp, and the brown eyes that met his carried a spark of embarrassment. Obviously, she didn't like having to address her past.

“Surfer dude, huh?” he said, trying for lightness. “In Texas?”

She smiled. “Not quite. I'm from California—dairy country. And when that smooth talker came to town, he found a country girl like me easy pickings. Which is why I'm glad I had a son and not a daughter. Girls you got to worry about.”

He started to tell her he'd not been granted that luxury. His daughter already wore lipstick and heeled sandals. Thirteen had nearly killed him, and he wasn't looking forward to when she turned fourteen. Laurel's recent leanings were exactly what had led him to Oak Stand and a new life away from the fast-paced city.

But Dawn had started up the stairs, gesturing to the wall on which the grand staircase was fixed. “My first thought was to put in an elevator, but that's expensive. What about one of those chairlifts? Think that would work?”

Tyson nodded, glad she'd shifted the topic. This was a business meeting even if he was totally checking out the sweet curve of her behind as she trotted up the stairs. He also appreciated the fact she'd gotten a little scissor-happy on the shorn-off jeans because they rose a tad too high on the back of her thighs.

He cleared his mind. “I think they've improved those chairlifts quite a bit. But you need to check the
disabilities act. You may be required to have an elevator. I included one in the draft.”

“Didn't think about that and I should have. See? You're paying off already,” she said, stepping into the second-floor hallway before turning around. “I got your estimate. I'm assuming Jack dropped off the original blueprints for the house? I have to check because I'm not sure his brain is functioning. Mae doesn't like to sleep at night.”

He looked up at her, silhouetted in the gloom of the hallway. She was just too damn pretty. “Yeah. I got 'em.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“Is that what they named the baby? Mae? 'Cause it's October.”

Dawn's chuckle bounced off the walls. “Not exactly. They had a boy's name ready to go because the ultra-sound technician thought it was a boy. Tucker James Darby. Now it's Dorothy Mae Darby. After Nellie's late grandmother.”

“I like it. It fits this town.”

Dawn snorted. “It should. Nellie's grandmother ran Oak Stand. Her great granddaughter doesn't fall far from the tree. Mae's ruling the roost already.”

Dawn began opening the doors on either side of the hallway and calling out the names of each. One was clogged with old books, one a nursery, one obviously Nellie's old bedroom, if the posters of George Strait were any indication.

“So which ones are you thinking about keeping intact?” he called out, stepping inside the last room off the hallway. It was quaintly furnished with a colorful patchwork quilt covering an old-fashioned iron bed. Dawn followed him inside but he didn't realize she
was behind him until he turned around and bumped into her.

She stepped back, but he caught her slight intake of breath. His body tightened at the feel of her breasts brushing his arm.

“Sorry,” he said, grasping her arms and setting her aright. Her golden skin felt soft under his work-roughened hands. “Didn't realize you were right behind me.”

Silence met his apology and the air crackled with tension. They'd both felt the jolt of attraction, but neither would acknowledge it.

“I thought this room and the one next door would work for when our clients need some privacy.”

He stepped past her and ducked his head in the adjacent room. “I don't think so. It would be better to use the nursery and this room, since they are closer to the stairs. Let me look around at the structure a bit, and I'll meet you downstairs to show you what I've drawn up.”

A furrow creased between her eyebrows. “But that doesn't make sense. These are bedrooms. With beds in them.”

Tyson shook his head. “I'll show you what I've drawn up and then we can argue the finer points. Okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, I'll head downstairs and get that cup of coffee I still owe you.”

The blip of sexual tension between them still pulsated in the quietness of the room, but Tyson let her slip out the door without doing anything about it. And his body so wanted him to do something about it. But his mind said no. He had to remind himself yet again why he was in Oak Stand and why acting on such an impulse was not a good idea.

Hell, he hadn't even signed the divorce papers yet.

And that was a good enough reason to ignore the stirrings Dawn caused inside him.

He listened as the slapping of her flip-flops faded away, then he got busy inspecting the soundness of the structure and cementing his ideas for the remodel. He was certain what he'd drawn up would be perfect.

 

D
AWN RINSED AND FILLED
the carafe with filtered water. Afternoon coffee was always a good idea even if she didn't need the caffeine. She hadn't been sleeping well, which probably had to do with Andrew's latest attempt to get her and Larry back together.

It all stemmed from an incident several months ago before she'd left Houston. Her ex-husband suffered a burst pipe in the small patio home he leased. Andrew had talked her into letting his father sleep in their extra bedroom. Big mistake. Larry had been on his best behavior, making his famous banana-macadamia waffles and picking up his wet towels. She'd even laughed at his jokes as he flipped the chicken on the grill. But the coziness had given Andrew license to envision his parents together once again.

He'd also complained over the past few months about split holidays and trying to spend time with both of his parents separately. Like every other nineteen-year-old on the planet, he wanted what was easiest for him. Too bad if his convenience didn't work for anyone else. And reconciling with Larry definitely did not work for Dawn. She had to figure out a way to make that point to Andrew wihout alienating him.