On Lone Star Trail

by Amanda Cabot

  Settling back in the seat, Gillian enjoyed the sensation of being cocooned in fine leather. “I hadn’t considered that.” Pastor Bill’s sermon about God’s hand being visible in even the smallest of actions had resonated with her and had made her determined to view everything she did through that lens. If others in the congregation had had the same reaction, anything was possible.

  “But now tell me about your week.”

  “It was boring and exciting at the same time.” Mike tapped the controls on the steering column, switching radio stations until he found one with praise music.

  When he’d lowered the volume so they could converse, Gillian raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage that? I would have thought boring and exciting were mutually exclusive.”

  Mike shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. “The meetings were boring. We were working out the details of the campaign: where to hold fundraisers, where and when to make public appearances.” Mike turned to gaze at Gillian, his lips curving into a wry smile. “Boring.”

  “If the meetings were boring, what was exciting?”

  “The idea of making a difference. I can picture Blytheville five or ten years from now, and I like what I believe can happen. We’ll keep the town’s charm but move it firmly into the twenty-first century with gradual but sensible changes.”

  Though sunglasses hid his eyes, nothing could hide Mike’s enthusiasm. This was what he wanted to do, what he felt called to do. This was the kind of infectious enthusiasm Gillian had seen in TJ’s expression on a few occasions. He’d looked that way when he’d talked about the rodeo and his motorcycle but never when he spoke of teaching.

  She bit the inside of her cheek at the realization that while teaching had been the way TJ earned his living, it was not his passion. How sad. Gillian’s career might have ended too soon, but at least she had had a few years to do what she loved. She couldn’t help wishing TJ had been as fortunate.

  “You really want to win,” she said, turning her attention back to Mike. It wasn’t fair to him that her thoughts kept drifting toward TJ. She had resolved to make today Mike’s day, but so far she’d been unsuccessful in keeping that resolution.

  “I do. I think I’m the right mayor for Blytheville right now, but let’s talk about you. How did you spend your week?”

  “Painting, hanging pictures, arranging furniture, and going to a rodeo.”

  “Really? I never pictured you as a rodeo gal.”

  Gillian smiled, remembering the way the aromas of hot dogs, fries, and sunblock had assailed her when she’d entered the arena. “It was my first time, but I enjoyed it . . . all except for the time a steer was injured.”

  “They have some pretty good vets on the circuit.”

  “That’s what TJ said.” He’d told her not to watch if she didn’t want to, but she’d been fascinated by the speed with which the cowboys had brought in a sled, raised its sides, and carried the injured animal out of the arena.

  “TJ?” To Gillian’s surprise, Mike’s voice held a note of disapproval.

  She nodded. “You remember him, don’t you? He’s been helping me with the senior center, and he took me to the rodeo yesterday.”

  “I see.” This time there was no doubt. Mike didn’t approve. The tightening of his lips told Gillian that. A second later, his face was back to normal and he smiled as he said, “It might not be as exciting as a rodeo, but I have tickets for the symphony in Austin next Friday evening. I was hoping I could convince you to be my date.”

  His voice was warm and persuasive, that of the consummate politician. “There’s a new restaurant in Austin that’s supposed to be pretty good. I thought we could have dinner there, then go to the concert.”

  Though she was flattered to be invited, Gillian’s instincts told her to refuse. As much as she loved music, she wasn’t certain she was ready to watch others perform. It was one thing to listen to a recording, quite another to attend a live performance. In the past, Gillian had been the one on the stage. But the way Mike phrased the invitation made it clear this was important to him.

  “I’d love to.”

  “Wonderful.” The smile that accompanied his response told Gillian she had made the right decision.

  “We’re almost there,” Mike said twenty minutes later as he turned onto a gravel drive.

  The time had gone quickly, with them talking about everything from his campaign to Gillian’s senior center. Now they were on the outskirts of Blytheville, bumping along a road better suited for trucks than low-slung sports cars. With trees and shrubs lining the drive, it felt like the private road it was, and though they traveled no more than half a mile, Gillian had the sensation of entering a different country, one of cattle ranches and old money.

  As the road took a bend to the left, emerging into an open area, Gillian inhaled sharply. Mike’s parents’ home was not what she’d expected. Knowing the family was one of the wealthiest in the area and having heard others refer to their home as a mansion, she’d expected an elaborate building, perhaps constructed of native limestone. Instead, it appeared to be a log cabin.

  As the thought formed, Gillian dismissed it. Cabin was a misnomer for a building this large. Constructed of red-stained logs with one of the green metal roofs so common in this part of Texas, the house looked as if it had been there for generations. The majority of it was only one story high, although the A-line roof in the center suggested a second floor or at least a loft. Two Adirondack chairs and half a dozen simple wooden rockers lined the porch that appeared to wrap around the entire house.

  Far from being a mansion flaunting its owners’ wealth, this building seemed to whisper a welcome. Without setting foot inside, Gillian was convinced this house was truly a home, a place where family lived and loved.

  As the car rolled to a stop, a middle-aged couple emerged from the house, wearing smiles that underscored Gillian’s sense of welcome.

  “We’re so glad you could come,” Mrs. Tarkett said as she hugged Gillian. Unlike her husband and son, Mike’s mother was average height. A brunette with dark brown eyes, she seemed to have contributed little other than her patrician nose to Mike, who had his father’s lighter coloring and his strong jaw. When the older woman smiled again, Gillian revised her assessment. Mike had his mother’s smile.

  Though his greeting was more restrained than his wife’s, Mr. Tarkett echoed her sentiments, giving Gillian a soft pat on the shoulder before he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and kissed the nape of her neck.

  Gillian stared, startled by the obvious love Mike’s parents shared. She’d expected a Southern version of her brother and his wife, two people who respected each other and were comfortable in their marriage, not a couple who looked as much in love as newlyweds.

  “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Tarkett.”

  Mike’s mother shook her head. “None of this Mr. and Mrs. Tarkett stuff. We’re Stacy and Cal.”

  As soon as the introductions were complete, Cal Tarkett clapped Mike on the shoulder. “C’mon, son. The grill’s ready for those steaks. Let’s leave the women to their work.” In that moment, he sounded exactly like George and his old-fashioned ideas of gender-appropriate tasks.

  Wrinkling her nose as if she knew her husband was kidding, Stacy led the way into the house. “Cal’s all bluff,” she said, pausing only briefly as Gillian admired the soaring ceiling and the double-sided fireplace that separated the living room from the dining area. “The house suits us,” she said. And it did. Spacious without being overwhelming, the interior was as welcoming as its exterior.

  “How can I help you?” Gillian asked when they reached a kitchen that, while small, was equipped with restaurant-grade appliances.

  “You can help me by relaxing,” Stacy said. “You’re our guest.” She pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator and set it on the breakfast bar along with two glasses. “Sweet tea with a touc
h of lavender.”

  When Gillian had perched on the stool she indicated, Stacy filled the glasses and took a sip from hers. “I’m glad you were able to come today. Cal and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  The nervousness that had plagued Gillian dissipated under the force of Stacy’s smile. “I’m glad to be here. But please, let me do something to help you. It can’t be easy to cook for a crowd.”

  Stacy shrugged as she washed two tomatoes and began to dice them. “Four’s not a crowd.”

  “Four?” Gillian was confused. “Mike said the whole family was coming.”

  Looking up from the tomato she was chopping, Stacy shook her head. “Not today. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed on your first visit. Don’t get me wrong, Gillian. I love Cal’s family, but they can be a bit exuberant, if you know what I mean.”

  Exuberant was not a word Gillian would have applied to her own family. Her father, George and Lisa, even her nephew Gabriel were restrained.

  “They tend to steamroll people,” Stacy continued. “But I imagine most families are like that.”

  “Mine isn’t.” The words were out before Gillian knew what was happening.

  “Really? Tell me about them.”

  And so, though she had never before confided in a virtual stranger, Gillian found herself telling Mike’s mother about her father’s hands-off style of child rearing and how George had always seemed more avuncular than brotherly. When she finished, Stacy opened her arms and drew Gillian into them.

  “You poor dear. Now I see why Mike wanted to bring you here. You need a family. A real family.”

  30

  It seemed as if the entire town of Dupree had come for the grand opening. Gillian had deliberately scheduled it for seven in the morning so people could come before work or school, and since seniors were notoriously early risers, they’d be ready for a full day of activities once the ribbon was cut and the speeches delivered.

  “You should be the one doing this. It’s your center,” Linda said as Gillian handed her one of the two oversized pairs of scissors.

  “Nonsense.” Gillian gave the other pair to Sheila. “This would still be a vacant building if you two hadn’t given me the idea. Now let’s let the mayor do his thing. I can see everyone eyeing the coffee and muffins.”

  Two long tables laden with food and morning beverages were arranged between the ceremonial ribbon and the storefront, and the aromas were filling the air, making Gillian as hungry as the rest of the crowd.

  To her delight, the mayor’s speech was mercifully short. After thanking Gillian and TJ for helping what he referred to as the town’s old-timers, he turned to Sheila and Linda, urging them to wield their shears. Seconds later, Dupree’s senior center was officially open.

  Though some people entered the building to admire all that had been done, most remained outside, enjoying the food Russ Walker and his staff had prepared. Gillian didn’t blame them. Food was always a big attraction.

  “I’d call this a resounding success,” TJ said as he stood inside the doorway, snapping pictures of people inspecting the photographs on the walls, shuffling cards at one of the bridge tables, and chatting with each other.

  Two women were even seated on the bench to what used to be Sally’s piano, leafing through the sheet music, though neither had opened the fallboard, perhaps because they didn’t relish an audience.

  Though Gillian had been surprised when Sally had insisted on donating the piano to the center, she couldn’t argue with the logic. “It’s just collecting dust in my house,” Sally explained. “At least there, someone will use it.”

  Gillian hadn’t disagreed with Sally, and she didn’t disagree with TJ’s assessment of the center’s success.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she told him.

  TJ shook his head as he framed another shot. “Sure you could have. It might have taken longer, but you’d have gotten it done.” He looked up, his brown eyes serious. “Haven’t you figured out yet that you can do anything you set your mind to?”

  That was so far from the truth that Gillian wanted to laugh. She couldn’t even figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

  The thought of spending more time with Mike, perhaps exploring a permanent relationship, was appealing, especially after yesterday. Though she’d expected to feel welcome at the Tarketts’ ranch, Gillian hadn’t expected to feel as if she were part of the family, but that was exactly what had happened. She’d shared more than two meals and an afternoon with them. She’d shared part of their life.

  Both Stacy and Cal had entertained her with amusing stories of Mike’s childhood, and when the discussion had turned to his mayoral campaign, they’d asked her opinion about several key platform planks, acting as if she were a member of the inner circle. Gillian couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so stimulated yet relaxed at the same time. If this was what being part of a family meant, the only thing she could say was that she liked it. She liked it a lot.

  But no matter how much she had enjoyed her time at the ranch and no matter how often she’d found herself wishing Cal and Stacy were her parents, Gillian knew it was too soon to be thinking about marriage. When she married—if she married—she had to be certain she was making the right decision. There could be no doubts, no lingering thoughts of another man.

  That was something she had no intention of sharing with TJ, and so she said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, even if it’s exaggerated. I’m just thankful we’ve gotten this far with the center.”

  TJ followed Gillian into the kitchen, where she’d stashed a couple dozen muffins and a plate of doughnuts for midmorning snacks. “What’s next?”

  Gillian opened the refrigerator to check the supply of orange and cranberry juice. That was something she could do. Predicting the future was far more difficult. “I don’t know.”

  And that bothered her. The center was done and would be functioning on its own within the week. Sheila and Linda had volunteered to be co-managers; the first set of instructors had been hired; Russ Walker had his standing order for food. Though she knew she’d be welcome any time she walked through the door, Gillian also knew she wasn’t necessary. It was time to find something else to do. The question was, what?

  “It’s good to see the town so excited.” Pastor Bill snagged TJ’s arm as he headed for school. “You and Gillian did a great job on this.”

  It wasn’t only the town that was excited. So was TJ, though his excitement had little to do with the senior center and everything to do with the woman who’d created it. It had been more than thirty-six hours since they’d left the rodeo grounds, but the memory of Gillian pressing her lips to his cheek had not faded. He could still recall the rush of pleasure that had flooded through him, the way his nerve endings had tingled. All because of a kiss that had lasted no more than a second.

  It had been a special day, and as he’d told her, Gillian was a special woman. But he wasn’t going to tell Pastor Bill that any more than he would take credit he didn’t deserve. “It was Gillian’s idea. All I did was some grunt work.”

  Pastor Bill released his grip on TJ’s arm as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t call those pictures grunt work. They’re outstanding. You’re a truly talented man.”

  Uncomfortable with the praise, TJ looked at his boot tips. “The camera does most of the work.”

  “Maybe for focusing and setting the exposure, but it takes an artistic eye to frame the shot. Don’t shortchange yourself, TJ. God has given you many talents. And I’m not just talking about photography.”

  The minister looked directly at TJ, his brown eyes serious. “If you ever feel the calling, you’re welcome in my pulpit any Sunday. I know the congregation would welcome the RV Reverend.”

  Feeling the blood drain from his face, TJ stared at the man who’d delivered the bombshell. “How did you fi
nd out?” The day Deb had died had been the day the RV Reverend had retired.

  Pastor Bill kept his eyes fixed on TJ, willing him not to break the contact. “Someone blogged about you a couple years ago. What he said impressed me so much that I bookmarked the post. When you first came to town, I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.” He laid his hand on TJ’s shoulder, perhaps to keep him from bolting.

  “I was cleaning up my bookmarks a week or so ago, saw your picture, and the pieces fell into place.”

  TJ said nothing, unsure what to do now that his past had come to haunt him.

  “You don’t need to make any decisions today,” Pastor Bill continued. “You’re always welcome in our church family, either as part of the congregation or as a minister. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  31

  Will you show us around?”

  Gillian turned, her eyes widening at the sight of Stacy and Cal in the doorway.

  “Mike wanted to come,” Stacy continued, “but there was a problem at one of our oil fields in West Texas, so he had to fly out there. Cal told me to wait a day or two until the excitement died down, but I couldn’t. I know how important this is to you, and I just had to be here.”

  Gillian smiled—who wouldn’t smile at Stacy’s obvious enthusiasm?—and returned the hug the older woman offered. “It was awfully nice of you to come, especially since the grand tour will take less than a minute.”

  She ushered Cal and Stacy into the room. “Here it is—Dupree’s senior center.” The two men she’d met at the bootery the day she’d arranged to rent the building were playing chess in one corner, their silent contemplation of the board in direct contrast to the animated discussion taking place at the table next to them. Gillian had watched the four women who were allegedly playing bridge and had decided that the ratio of conversation to card playing was three to one.

  “With the exception of the piano and those chairs,” she said, pointing to a grouping of four upholstered club chairs, “everything folds. That way we can move stuff to the edges and have room for dancing, exercise classes, and anything else we dream up.”