The Cowboy's Texas Twins

by Tanya Michaels

  Okay, two dozen.

  He briefly met Hadley’s gaze and returned her smile but kept walking so that he didn’t interrupt her work.

  She joined them a few minutes later. “It’s great to see you all again!” She kneeled down to hug both boys. “Which one was your favorite dinosaur book?”

  While she and the boys discussed iguanodons and orkoraptors, other kids began to show up—not just trickling in, but en masse.

  Hadley straightened. “Almost time for the puppet show! Molly’s coming in to do a story. Sometimes, she brings Trouble, too.”

  “Puppets?” Tyler was dubious.

  “You’ll like Molly. She’s very cool.” Just as Hadley was making this promise, a young woman with pink-and-blue hair walked in, accompanied by a German shepherd on a leash.

  “You can bring dogs into the library?” Sam gasped.

  “Only certain dogs,” Hadley said. “Trouble belongs to the mayor—Molly’s sister—and is extremely well trained. You want to go pet her?”

  Both boys happily scampered off, and Grayson couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left him. “Finally—peace. How long is this puppet show? And would it be wrong to catch a nap in my truck?”

  She laughed, the sound soothing his frayed nerves. “Tough day?”

  “Yeah. But it’s not all the boys’ fault. I didn’t sleep much last night. And my morning went awry. I went to see Stanley Pembroke, only to discover that he passed away a few months ago.” Why was he telling her this? Granted, she was a great listener, but did he really want to admit he’d once smashed a mailbox and it had taken him over a decade to apologize?

  “Oh, no.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Were you two close?”

  “Barely knew him. He... There was a thing, back in the day, with my dad.” Pausing, he tried to collect his thoughts. “Violet’s helping me find some clarity about my past, and maybe I just wanted to tell Stanley I understood why he made the decision he did.”

  “He was such a sweet man. The Pembroke house is down the street from my parents. I hate that Martha’s all alone now. Both of her kids are grown and have moved out of state. I—” She stared over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “Oh! We’re supposed to be starting. Excuse me a second.”

  She made her way to the corner of the room, where a puppet booth was set up, and called for everyone’s attention. Most of the moms sat on the floor with their toddlers and preschoolers. One or two hovered on the edges of the room, like Grayson. Hadley introduced Molly, thanked her for coming and told the audience to enjoy the tale of the cursed prince and the daring princess who rescued him.

  Then Hadley made her way back to Grayson, stopping periodically to murmur soft hellos to some of the other parents and hug little kids. “There’s a town meeting tomorrow night,” she whispered.

  So I hear.

  “I won’t be there,” she said, “but—”

  “What? Well, I’m not going then. If my favorite person in town isn’t coming, what’s the point?”

  “Favorite, huh?”

  “I got that part-time job with Jarrett Ross. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. He needs a little help before his wedding, you need a little extra cash. I’m glad it worked out.”

  “So what were you saying about the town meeting?”

  “You mentioned clarity about your past. If you’re interested in revisiting your past, it seems like attending the reunion would be a logical step. But I know you’re not interested,” she said, staving off his objections. “Going to the meeting would be a less formal way of reconnecting with some former classmates and other folks who knew you when. It should be a well-attended town hall. Mayor Johnston has been drumming up enthusiasm for a number of improvements and programs. Plus, Friday is when they’ll vote on the theme for this summer’s Watermelon Festival.”

  “Wouldn’t the theme, by default, be...watermelon?”

  She grinned as if he’d told a joke. He really did not get this town’s love of meetings and festivals. But he was developing a fondness for the town library. Even the puppet show was good. Molly was reaching her target audience—the kids—without talking down to them, and the adults were laughing in all the right places, too. Sam and Tyler were leaning forward, paying rapt attention, and he wondered if Molly ever did any babysitting.

  At the show’s conclusion, Hadley disappeared into the crowd, thanking families for coming and helping children find books. He didn’t get a chance to talk to her again until it was his turn in line at the circulation desk.

  “Why won’t you be at the big Watermelon-Festival meeting?” he asked as he handed her his library card. “Don’t like watermelons? Or festivals?”

  “For your information, I’m a big fan of both. But I’m not a morning person. We have a shipment of books coming in and volunteers who will show up Saturday to help the process them. I’d rather stay late Friday to prep everything than have to get up at the crack of dawn Saturday.”

  “Reasonable.” He could get up early if he had to, but he didn’t enjoy waking up. Unless there was a beautiful woman pressed against him. It felt wrong to think about that with Hadley’s dark eyes locked on his—wrong, but damn alluring. Clearing his throat, he looked away, his gaze landing on a coin bank shaped like a rocket ship. “Astro-Ashley Assistance Fund?”

  “Ashley’s an incredibly bright sixth grader. Her science-fair project is on display back there.” She pointed toward a shelving unit. “It’s her dream to go to Space Camp, but her parents are having a tough time affording it. So I figured, why not raise a little money on their behalf? Like you said, community is extended family. Shouldn’t family be there for each other?”

  He reached for his wallet and put a five-dollar bill in the bank.

  “Besides—” Hadley leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial “—I’ve done things I’m not proud of before. Maybe giving others a boost helps balance the karmic scales.”

  He stared at the bank, mulling over her words. His scales needed a lot of balancing. Maybe making amends wasn’t a matter of figuring out what to say to people a decade after the fact; maybe it was more about finding a way to quietly lend a hand here in the present.

  Before, he’d done anonymous acts of destruction out of anger at this town. Perhaps the time had come for some anonymous acts of kindness.

  Chapter Seven

  Hadley was a quarter of the way home Friday night when she realized she should have grabbed something for dinner while she was still in the heart of town. She was officially too tired to cook. Heck, she might even be too tired to eat.

  Nah, who was she kidding? She could always dredge up the energy to eat.

  As she mentally catalogued the ingredients in her kitchen for the easiest meal option—did cookie-dough frozen yogurt count as a meal?—her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hadley, dear? It’s Mom.”

  Hadley grinned inwardly. Her mother always started conversations the same way, as if her daughter wouldn’t recognize the voice of the woman who’d birthed and raised her. “What’s up? I thought you were at the town meeting.”

  “We are. That’s the problem. Quilting club ran late, and I didn’t get a chance to go home before the meeting. I asked your father if he remembered to feed Bear and let him outside, but you know how he is.”

  “Dad or Bear?”

  Her mother sighed. “Are you home already?”

  “Nope. Just left the library a little while ago.”

  “Would it be a terrible inconvenience for you to stop by our house?”

  Actually, it was on the way. “Can I raid the fridge for leftovers while I’m there?”

  “Of course. I made a lasagna yesterday and pot roast the night before.”

  Hadley’s mouth watered. “Then Bear will have company for dinner.”

  A few minutes later, she
pulled in to her parents’ subdivision. Bear met her at the door, slobbering affectionately. It was his usual hello. She fed the hound and microwaved some lasagna. Afterward, the two of them sat companionably on the couch and watched a sitcom.

  She scratched him behind his ear. “The sad part is, you’re one of the better dates I’ve had this year.” Unless she counted lunch with Grayson, which seemed unwise. He’d made a point of telling her he wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

  But it was hard to remember that with the way he’d grinned at her at the library yesterday. He’d called her one of his favorite people.

  Big deal. Bear is one of my favorite people—and he’s not even a person.

  As she let Bear out back one last time, she contemplated some of the other single men in Cupid’s Bow. Now that her mom was doing so much better, Hadley could spare time and energy to date. Wasn’t Jace Trent, the sheriff’s appealing younger brother, still single? And there was that one Breelan cousin who didn’t seem to get in as much trouble as the rest of his family. Yet, as she tried to picture the men in her mind, her brain kept fixing on the image of Grayson’s dimples.

  Annoyed with her own lack of discipline, she stomped out of her parents’ house, locking the door behind her. She had to duck beneath a tree branch that hung over the driveway and straightened just in time to see a truck pass by on the street. Looks like Grayson’s pickup.

  Oh, for pity’s sake. An overactive imagination was one thing, but hallucinating the guy’s truck bordered on obsession.

  Except, it really did look like his truck. She stared after it, startled when the driver cut off the headlights, inching slowly toward the cul-de-sac. Why would someone do that? Granted, she was prone to flights of fancy, but purposely driving with no headlights in the dark seemed suspicious. She crept forward on the sidewalk to keep the vehicle in her line of sight; she also kept her cell phone clutched in her hand, prepared to dial 911 if necessary. She was inquisitive, not reckless.

  The truck parked in front of the Pembroke house, and when the driver opened the door, the interior light came on. She squinted, disbelieving. That was Grayson! She almost shouted hello, but she’d need to be closer for him to hear her and if she interrupted, she might not get answers. Why was he sneaking around Martha Pembroke’s house in the dead of night?

  It’s not even eight thirty. Okay, fine, not quite the dead of night. But this was still weird.

  Her imagination began assembling a list of people who might have reason to skulk in the shadows. Superhero billionaires keeping the town safe from crime. Mafia hitmen.

  Before she could think of a third, Grayson carried something up to Mrs. Pembroke’s front porch. Okay, so he was delivering something for her. Nothing sinister about that. But he stayed there for a few minutes, moving in the dark. Hadley couldn’t tell from this distance what the heck he was doing. Then he hopped down the steps into the yard, and she saw a thin beam of light from his phone as he kneeled down. Was he looking for something he’d dropped?

  He stayed in the same place for a few minutes, then stood, walking another few feet before repeating the process. It occurred to her that if any of the neighbors saw a strange man with a flashlight, someone might call Sheriff Trent. But most of the neighbors were at the town meeting. Really, if you had criminal intent, this was the perfect time to case a joint in Cupid’s Bow. But unless Grayson was stealing dandelions from the yard, she didn’t think he was doing anything illegal.

  She sidled closer, wishing she had Bear with her. Then she could pretend it was a coincidence to bump in to him while she was walking the dog and ask what he was doing. Would he tell her? Grayson had moments of pained silence, usually involving his late friend or guardianship of the boys, and she knew it wasn’t always easy for him to open up. But whatever he was up to in Martha’s yard wasn’t—

  Shoot! He’d darted back toward his truck. Was she visible in the streetlight? She flattened herself against the tree and watched him slowly pull away from the curb, headlights still not on. Now that she had a full stomach and an intriguing mystery, her earlier fatigue was forgotten. She scurried back to her car. She wanted to follow him, see if he made any more bizarre stops while the citizens of Cupid’s Bow were away from their homes.

  I have so many questions. The sensible thing to do would probably be to call him later and ask. But when had “sensible” been any match for her curiosity?

  * * *

  GRAYSON UNLOCKED THE side door into Violet’s kitchen, awash in conflicting emotions. Doing a couple of good deeds for others was a nice feeling, but changing a lightbulb, hanging a bird feeder and pulling some weeds hardly made up for two years of vandalism and spite. At least there was one thing he wasn’t conflicted about: his need for a shower. His new boss had offered him overtime today, so Grayson had worked until almost seven, then quickly seized the opportunity to make a few stops while so many citizens were at the town meeting.

  He pulled off his shirt as he passed the laundry room, then pitched it directly into the washer. He was unlacing his work boots when headlights hit the front window. Violet and the boys shouldn’t be back for at least another hour; the twins had been excited about watching the movie. He frowned, thinking back to last night. Tyler had been sniffling and coughing. Since there’d been no fever and the area was currently under a high pollen alert, Grayson had assumed spring allergies. But what if he’d been wrong? What if one or both of the boys was really sick?

  He hurried back out the door he’d just come through, meeting the car in front of the house. But it wasn’t Violet’s.

  His eyes widened when Hadley Lanier climbed out of a compact car. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, no, I’m asking the...” Her gaze dropped from his face and trailed over his bare chest. She swallowed. “Could I, uh, get a glass of water?”

  “You drove to Aunt Vi’s because you were thirsty?”

  “I’m having an odd night. Not a bad one, so far, but definitely odd. Why were you at Martha’s?”

  “What?” He rocked back, stunned by the question. “How do you know about that?”

  “I saw you drive up to her house with no lights on—”

  “I was being inconspicuous.”

  “There’s a fine line between inconspicuous and shady. You know who else goes up to houses at night while trying not to draw attention to themselves? Thieves and other criminals.” She reached in her pocket. “You should know, I have Mace and can dial 911 with just the push of a button.”

  In the dark, he couldn’t read her expression well enough to tell if she was joking. “You don’t seriously think I was stealing from Martha Pembroke?” You’ve stolen before. It wasn’t as if he was such an upstanding guy. “I bought her some bird feeders and hung them on her front porch.” A stone birdbath equal to the one that had broken was currently outside his budget.

  Hadley stared at him, looking even more perplexed than before. “You snuck up to her house in order to hang a bird feeder.”

  “And pulled some weeds from her yard.” Mowing the lawn was out of the question in the dark. Plus, the noise would attract attention.

  “I thought you said you barely knew the Pembrokes.”

  “Which is true. What I did wasn’t about Martha, specifically. Before I went there, I changed a lightbulb on Pratt Street.” It had been dark when he’d driven to work that morning, and he’d noticed one that was out. “It’s more about helping. In general.”

  A dazzling smile broke across her face, and she took a step toward him. “You’re amazing. For all your complaints about this town, you wait until everyone’s busy then go—”

  “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t paint me as some budding folk hero,” he pleaded. “This isn’t impressive. This is just a belated guilty conscience. When we were in high school, I did a ton of things I’m ashamed of, things I should have been punished for but I wasn’t caught.” By t
he time he’d graduated, people were so used to him being on the periphery that they no longer paid him much attention.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said.

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I stole things from local stores because I was mad my dad lost his store. I spray-painted graffiti on the sidewalk in front of the church because I thought it was full of hypocrites who gossiped about each other. I stole the Durner High mascot and put it in the George family shed.” He’d left an anonymous tip with the high school’s front office on where the donkey could be found, hoping Reggie would take the blame. Plus, there’d been the obvious “ass” symbolism.

  “You?” She pressed a hand to her midsection. His eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough for him to see the color drained from her face. “You’re the reason I broke my arm and screwed up my shoulder?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “A bunch of us were hanging out at Reggie’s pool. Some of the graduating girls from the softball team wanted to paint a going-away sign for our coach. I went to the shed for supplies, and scared the donkey. He kicked. I tried to jump out of the way but lost my balance.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I never meant...” For anyone to get hurt? Would his eighteen-year-old self have been sorry if Reggie was the one harmed?

  “Turns out, you shouldn’t brace your arm in front of you if you’re falling. Especially on a cement floor, just makes the impact worse. The shelving unit that toppled over on me didn’t help, either.” Her voice cracked, and she sounded as if she was fighting tears. “I tore a ligament in my shoulder. After it healed, I tried to pitch again, but my shoulder tends to pop out of the socket easily now. Recurrent instability, the doctors said.”

  Grayson was nauseous. The idea of her in pain was like a toxin in his body that he needed to purge. “Hadley...” He didn’t consciously reach for her; his hands moved of their own volition. He wanted to hold her, whisper apologies against her dark hair and beg for a way to make it up to her.