The Way to Texas

by Liz Talley

  “Hey,” she called softly from the doorway.

  His head snapped up and for a moment she saw fear in his eyes.

  “Oh, good,” he said, before standing. She could see the relief radiating off him. “It’s you.”

  She gave a little shrug. “Thought you might need a friend.”

  He sank onto the faux-leather chair. “Thanks.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but his shoulders relaxed a bit, as if having someone else there had lessened his burden.

  She slid into one of the bright orange cushioned chairs and patted his arm. “Know anything yet?”

  “Not really. I guess they’re still running tests. I don’t know.” He rubbed one hand over his face and sighed.

  “These damned places take so long to do anything.”

  She rubbed his arm. “When did it happen?”

  His hand covered hers and he squeezed. He shifted their joined hands to his thigh. Hers fit nicely in his. She liked the way his calloused fingers stroked the skin between her thumb and fingers, the way his large hand contrasted against her smaller one.

  “We were watching the Saints game. I’d fixed some cheese sticks—his favorite—and the second quarter had just started. He told me Drew Brees threw off his back foot on the last play then he stopped talking, gasped and went still. I couldn’t get out of the chair fast enough.”

  “Oh, Tyson, that’s so scary.”

  “Yeah, but he seemed okay. He started complaining about how the marinara sauce must have given him horrible indigestion. But I didn’t think so. I had this gut feeling like something was wrong. So I carted his stubborn ass to the truck. He fought me the whole way. But when we were outside Longview, he started sweating profusely then passed out.”

  She squeezed his hand.

  “Scared the sh—mess out of me. I got here and they said it was probably a heart attack.” He swiped his arm over his forehead and leaned back, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “Hell.”

  Dawn knew she couldn’t make his obvious distress disappear. She really didn’t know what to do other than sit there with him. So she did.

  For twenty minutes they waited, neither one making any sort of conversation. She stared at a Western landscape hanging crookedly on the utilitarian wall and the scuffs on the tiled floor caused by the chairs being moved around. Finally a plump nurse in green scrubs whose name tag read Delilah Newhouse, RN, popped her head into the room. Tyson’s grip on her hand tightened.

  “Mr. Hart?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice calm though Dawn felt a tremble in his hand.

  “Your grandfather’s stable. Dr. Quimby wants to talk with you.”

  Tyson closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “Good. Thank you.”

  “You can come back and see him now.”

  Tyson stood, but didn’t drop Dawn’s hand.

  The nurse gave him a quick smile. “Your wife can come, too.”

  Dawn opened her mouth to say she wasn’t his wife, then realized it didn’t really matter. What did Delilah care?

  As she rose, Tyson’s cell phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket with an apologetic look at the nurse. “It’s my daughter.”

  “You’ll probably need to call her back. Dr. Quimby gets off in ten minutes and you need to speak with him.” Delilah didn’t give him a chance to answer. She merely held the door so he could pass.

  The phone kept repeating a most annoying ringtone. Tyson looked at it then looked at Dawn. “Will you talk to Laurel and tell her about Gramps?”

  “Me?” Dawn said. “Laurel doesn’t know me.”

  He shoved the phone at her. “Doesn’t matter. Talk to her then meet me in ICU.”

  He disappeared through the door, leaving her with the possibility of offending a thirteen-year-old who was likely afraid for her great-grandfather.

  Dawn flipped open the phone. “Tyson Hart’s phone.”

  Jeez. She sounded stupid. Why didn’t she just say hello?

  “Um, who’s this?” a breathy voice asked.

  “Hi. Laurel?”

  “No, this is Karen Hart, Laurel’s mother. Who is this?”

  Oh, crap. The almost ex-wife.

  “Oh, hi. Um…my name is Dawn Taggart. I’m the director of the adult care center Tyson’s renovating,” Dawn said, wanting to slap herself for sounding so silly. What did that matter? She was acting like some crazy teenager who wanted to justify being with Tyson during an emergency.

  “Okay,” Karen said. “And you’re answering Tyson’s phone because…?”

  Dislike bristled inside Dawn. “Because he’s with the doctor now.”

  “Oh,” the voice said. “Well, Laurel’s been worried about Gramps. I have, too, of course. How is he?”

  “I don’t know. Tyson said the doctor thought he had a heart attack, but the nurse—”

  “Never mind. Have Tyson call us when he is through talking to the doctor.”

  “Certainly,” Dawn said.

  Karen didn’t bother to say goodbye. Tyson’s ex didn’t sound like a pleasant person. Didn’t sound like she was worthy of a guy like Tyson. Of course, Dawn’s dislike for the woman could be a result of the jolt of jealousy that ripped through her. He had loved Karen, made a baby with her, shared his dreams with her. And that made Karen so not her friend.

  Dawn shook her stirrings of jealousy away. She had no claim whatsoever on Tyson. They were friends. But as a friend, she was free to dislike Tyson’s former wife.

  She pocketed Tyson’s phone and headed toward the ICU unit. Delilah waved her into one of the small rooms surrounding the nurse’s bay where Tyson stood alone, looking at his grandfather. Grady had tubes, drips and blipping monitors attached, yet he slept peacefully.

  “Hey,” she whispered, hesitating outside the room door.

  Tyson let out a deep breath and motioned for her to come closer. “They’ve given him a sedative.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  Tyson rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Definitely a heart attack, but they think he’s out of the woods. They’re going to keep him here tonight and do some tests tomorrow so they can tell how much damage was done to his ticker.”

  She touched his shoulder. “That’s good. Your wife wants you to call her.”

  “Who?” he asked. “Oh, you mean Karen. Funny, I don’t think of her as my wife. Haven’t for a long time.”

  Something warm flooded Dawn’s body at those words. She’d never liked that she lusted after someone who was still technically married, even if it was in name only and would be undone in a matter of days.

  Tyson smiled at her. Then like in the waiting room, his hand covered hers. But this time he wasn’t content to merely hold her hand. He pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for coming.”

  Dawn curled her arms around him and rested her cheek against his chest. His worn T-shirt was soft against her face and he smelled like warm male with the faint scent of fried cheese. He turned his head and rested it against hers.

  They stood that way for a few minutes—Tyson pressed to her, seeming to draw comfort in her presence.

  And it felt right. For once, she felt no guilt for being in his arms.

  A monitor bleeped and he drew back as a nurse hurried in and pressed a few buttons. She smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. He’s stable. These machines go off all night.”

  Tyson tried to look convinced, but failed.

  The nurse patted him. “Go home. If there’s any change, we’ll call you. Nothing you can do now but get some rest.”

  She bustled out, not waiting for a response.

  “Man, the nurses are bossy around here,” Tyson said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “They have to be to put up with patients. People in pain are not the easiest to deal with,” she said, missing the comfort of his arms about her. Of course, she didn’t need comfort, but it had felt good.

  “I guess. You think I should leave him?” Tyson asked, walking her toward th
e swinging doors that would take them back to the ICU waiting room.

  “That’s your call. The waiting room doesn’t look comfy, and they have given him a sedative.”

  Tyson pressed his lips together. He looked determined. “I’ve slept in worse. I’ll stay. I wouldn’t sleep at home anyway.”

  Dawn nodded. She could admire his selflessness, something she’d rarely seen in the men in her life. Tyson was different. Deep down she knew that, and it scared her. Because he stirred hope deep inside her. Hope that her attraction to him would result in something good this time. Hope that she could find something like what Jack and Nellie had, something to build on, to nurture, to grow.

  And hope felt awfully dangerous. Because it made her believe in falling in love.

  Love had never been her friend.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NEARLY THREE WEEKS LATER, Tyson opened the truck door and glared at his grandfather. “Come on, move your butt. I’ve got a job to do, Gramps.”

  Grady didn’t budge from the passenger seat. “I didn’t agree to this. This place is for old folks and I ain’t one of ’em.”

  “It’s either this or the home health nurse around the clock. And, I swear, I’ll find the biggest, ugliest one they have,” Tyson said, aggravated enough to bend the door frame with his grip. He’d had about enough of Grady’s antics. Over the past two weeks, he had to check the old man’s mouth every night to make sure he didn’t tongue his medications. And he didn’t want to think about the whole diet change deal. He’d learned to duck fairly quickly when he delivered whole-wheat pasta or an egg-white omelet. Grady seemed to think his heart attack was “just a little episode” and didn’t merit any change in his sedate lifestyle. He regressed into a toddler. Laurel was never as difficult.

  So he’d done the only thing he could do. Once his grandfather had been cleared to venture out, Tyson had enrolled him in Tucker House’s program.

  “I don’t give a damn! I ain’t going to Tucker House!”

  Except Grady didn’t yell “Tucker House.” He used the naughty word that rhymed with Tucker.

  “Grady Hart, watch your mouth. Don’t make me bring out the spoon and vinegar on the first day,” said a voice obviously trying to choke down laughter. Luckily, Dawn had a sense of humor.

  Tyson spun to find her and Elvera Griffin coming down the drive. Dawn wore a dark blue sweater that wrapped around her lush breasts in a way that made Tyson’s mouth water. A skirt the color of wet concrete swished around black heeled boots. For a moment an image of Dawn in a black lace bra, garters and those heeled boots flashed in his mind.

  Sweet mother of all that was wicked. She’d look spectacular.

  “Don’t tempt her, Grady. She can be meaner than a snake.” Elvera gave Dawn a little wink. At least, Tyson thought it was a wink. Could have been the glare on Elvera’s overly large, hot pink glasses.

  Grady still hadn’t moved from the truck. He stared at Elvera who wore a pair of overalls with bright green flowers all over them. “You that gal I took to Fred Jones’s barn dance back in ’46? Vera Trisk from Iron Bridge?”

  Elvera put a withered hand over a mouth painted to match her glasses and giggled. “Why, Grady Hart, you know it is. You’re supposed to say I haven’t changed a bit.”

  Grady’s blue eyes lowered a bit. Mostly in the general vicinity of Elvera’s generous chest. “Well, you ain’t changed where it matters.”

  Dawn’s mouth dropped open, Tyson snorted and Elvera giggled before moving toward Grady. She extended one hand and grasped his grandfather’s sleeve. “You old scoundrel, come on and let me show you what I’m doing in the garden out back. I might need your opinion on where to place the bird feeders.”

  Grady hefted himself from the truck with a grunt. With a slight swagger, he took Elvera’s arm and led her up the drive.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Tyson said, grinning at Dawn. “I guess all it took was a pair of green eyes batting in his direction.”

  “Not sure it was the pair of eyes, though.” Dawn laughed, taking a bag from him. The sound was plain musical and did funny things to his heart. Along with a region much lower than the one that thumped against his ribs.

  They walked up the drive, silent in the beauty of a spectacular autumn morning. The sun peeked from behind clouds illuminating the first truly crisp morning they’d had thus far. It made a man feel as though he could do anything and Tyson embraced the thought that all things were possible.

  Dawn shifted the bag from one hand to the other, causing a piece of dark hair to escape from her hair clip. He wanted to touch her, so he reached out and pushed the errant tress behind her ear. She stopped.

  He took two more steps and turned back toward her, smiling because he felt like it. A beautiful morning, a beautiful woman and a day not having to convince his grandfather he’d have to start riding the exercise bike.

  “What are we doing?” she asked, setting the bag at her feet and crossing her arms. A tiny furrow gathered between her pretty brown eyes. She frowned way too much for his taste.

  He knew what she was asking, but didn’t really want to go there this morning. “We’re going inside so I can catch up on my work.”

  She shook her head and the piece of hair dislodged again from behind her ear. He sighed, put down his sander and carpenter’s box, and shoved both hands in his pockets.

  “You mean, between us.”

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, he looked at her, at this woman who’d made him feel for the first time in a long time. But she looked so serious and slightly grumpy that he couldn’t remember why she made him feel like whistling show tunes. She just did.

  She unfolded her arms, turning her palms upward. “We agreed to be friends, but this doesn’t feel like friendship. I guess I’m being honest because I don’t know where to go. How to handle you touching me like that.”

  “Does it bother you? My touching you?”

  She bit her lip. “No, and that’s the problem. I like it and I want you to touch me…and kiss me…and…” Her sigh ended the thought.

  She looked pained. And that seemed so wrong. She acted as though where they were heading was a bad place. “So what’s wrong with feeling that way? I like you. You like me. At least, I think you do.”

  A sudden wind swept through the oak trees, throwing dappled sunlight across Dawn’s face. Her skirt flapped against her boots. She reminded him of Mother Earth, of all things feminine and mysterious. A goddess among her elements.

  “You are still married,” she said.

  “But if Gramps hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t be.” Tyson had been scheduled in with his lawyer to finalize the divorce the week Gramps had had his heart attack. Admittedly formalizing the end of the marriage—a marriage that had been over for a good while—had taken a backseat for Tyson while he focused on his grandfather. “I’m signing the papers in five days. I’ll be free. So that’s not a reason to put on the brakes.”

  “You don’t get it, Tyson,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I promised myself I wouldn’t get tangled in a relationship. The last one I had was…disastrous. People got hurt. It was bad. So I can’t risk that same result right now. Living in Oak Stand is temporary. Fleeting. I can’t—no, I won’t—base a relationship on my wanting to strip you naked and mount you.”

  He couldn’t stop the grin. Or the rush of desire that flooded him. But he knew this conversation was important. He pressed his mouth into a grim line. “So what you’re saying is you’re unwilling to take a chance.”

  Her eyes widened. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean the timing is off for this. And in fairness to everyone outside of you and me, I can’t get involved with you until that changes.”

  He did smile at that. “So you think you can schedule love or attraction or whatever this is? Put it in that little planner you’re always toting around?”

  “Love?” Her voice rose three octaves. She glanced at the wide porch surrounding Tucker House. Tyson fol
lowed her gaze to see Margo disappear with the swish of her broom skirt. Nosy woman.

  “I didn’t mean love as in what’s going on between us, so simmer down. I’m talking about opportunity for growth. You’re refusing to give what we have between us a chance because it’s not convenient for you.”

  Dawn took a deep breath. It made her chest rise, pulling his attention to her generous curves. Yet again. Hell. He couldn’t seem to help himself from wanting to unwrap her from that flapping skirt like she was a present meant for him alone. He wanted her the way he’d never wanted a woman. Or at least one he could remember.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she said, rolling her eyes and jerking a thumb toward the house. “Don’t think they can’t see the way we look at each other.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said, shrugging. If she thought he’d stop looking at her, she was crazy. She was a feast for the eyes. Hell, even the old men couldn’t seem to stop checking out her butt every time she trotted past the table where they played dominoes.

  Her shoulders slumped. “I’m too old for this.”

  “First of all, you aren’t old. You’re beautiful. And let’s not spend so much time putting up guidelines for our relationship. This is how I see it. You are an attractive, single woman. I am, well, a single guy.”

  “You know you’re attractive,” she said, a slight smile finally appearing on her face.

  “Whatever. We are two people with no commitments, embarking on a friendship that may lead to something more. Right?” He needed her to agree with him. Especially if he wanted to kiss her again. Which he did. “I guess.”

  “Stop being afraid. Surviving Iraq and this divorce have taught me life is too short to spend it cowering in the shadows. Everyone’s afraid of getting hurt. That’s human, but you can’t quit living just because you brush shoulders with heartache,” he said, reaching out and cupping her face. “Take a chance. And stop guarding your heart.”

  “Any other don’ts?” she muttered, leaning into his hand.

  “No, but I got a whole list of do’s.” He chucked her on the chin. “We won’t cover all of them right away. We’ll start with numbers one and two tonight.”