Blame It On Texas Read online

  And there were none that could cause his heart to settle in his throat every time he looked at her. Dustin guided his date through the crowd at the bar and managed to find a small table in the back corner. Friday night in Beauville was almost as big a party night as Saturday night in Beauville.

  “You wore that outfit on purpose, right? To torture me?” He pulled out a wooden chair for her and caught a whiff of her perfume as she sat down.

  “Of course.”

  “That’s what I thought. Why?” He took the chair closest to her and angled himself so that no one could approach them easily. Kate had the nerve to smile at him.

  “To get your undivided attention.”

  “You have it.” His gaze dropped to the snaps on her blouse. “Those aren’t going to come undone while you’re dancing, right?”

  “I hope not.”

  Dustin wasn’t so sure she wore a bra underneath that red shirt. He frowned. “Don’t dance with anyone but me.”

  “I never intended to.”

  He looked around, glared at a couple of young cowboys and turned back to Kate. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “You can’t get out of it now,” she said. “I asked you to go dancing and you said yes.”

  He would have said yes to anything she asked. He’d watched her paint the barn, he’d taken her along in his truck when he’d gone to town, he’d been careful never to be alone with her, but a man could only take so much torture before he broke down and agreed to dance. Agreed to take the woman he loved into his arms and hold her while the band played something slow. “Buckle bumping” music, Bobby Calhoun had called it.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” Dustin warned, wondering how long they would have to stay at the Last Chance before he could take her home to bed. Danny was staying with Gert, so the bunkhouse would be empty. If they didn’t turn on any lights neither Gert nor Danny would have to know they were there.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Kate didn’t look at all concerned. She also didn’t look as if she had thought much beyond simply going dancing with him, though she’d admitted to wearing that outfit to make him crazy.

  “I’ll go get us a drink,” he said, torn between staying at the table to keep predatory cowboys away from her and getting some distance so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by hauling her out of the bar and into his truck within the next ten minutes. “What do you want?”

  “Beer is fine.” She tapped her fingers in time to the band’s rendition of Clint Black’s latest hit and looked out at the dance floor.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, hesitating before he left the table. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. Once again she smiled, and Dustin knew he couldn’t possibly let her go back to New York without a fight.

  “I mean it,” he said, this time he held her gaze until she realized he wasn’t talking about leaving the table. The smile disappeared from her face. “Don’t go, Katie.”

  “My job—”

  “Could be running a ranch,” he finished for her. With me, he wanted to add. He placed his palms flat on the table and leaned toward her. He wanted her to be able to hear despite the music. “Do you love it? Your job, I mean?”

  She hedged. “Am I supposed to?”

  “If you choose New York instead of Texas, yes.” He waited a moment for her to answer. Then, figuring he’d given her something to think about, he turned and headed toward the bar.

  Tonight he would tell her the truth. He would ask her to stay, to give him a chance to prove to her that she belonged here in Texas, that she belonged here with him. But would she want the boy? Would she want to trade New York glamour for Texas dust?

  Dustin bought a couple of beers, greeted some friends, avoided flirting smiles of one of the Wynette twins—he never could tell those girls apart—and headed back to Kate. Would she marry him if he asked her?

  He almost dropped one of the beer bottles. Marriage hadn’t been in his plans, but loving Kate for the rest of his life looked like a sure thing. Now that he’d lost his heart, he was in too deep to turn back, whether Kate agreed to a wedding or not.

  KATE WANTED TO DANCE. Right now she didn’t want to think about returning to New York. She hadn’t wanted to answer the harried phone calls from her boss and the e-mails from the producer about changes to the mystery baby story line. She’d grown tired of mystery baby story lines, demanding producers and a sponsor who wanted high ratings and no excuses. For now Kate wanted to paint the barn and listen to Gran’s stories and mend fence and be worshipped by a little boy and made love to by the only man she’d ever been in love with. She didn’t want to think about the future and she didn’t want to think about Loves of Our Lives or who would be fired after the November ratings sweeps.

  Uncharacteristic, true, but then wasn’t a woman entitled to a vacation? Especially when a handsome cowboy took her in his arms and two-stepped across the scarred wooden dance floor?

  “Nice,” she murmured. Dustin’s neck smelled wonderful, like spice and leather. He held her tighter, which raised her temperature a few degrees. Dancing was wonderful, but going home should be even better.

  “How much longer?” he asked, his hands firmly holding her waist as they rocked to “The Dance.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until we’re alone.” The music ended, but Dustin didn’t release her. They weren’t the only ones still embracing on the dance floor; it was close to midnight, so more than a handful of couples had romance on their minds.

  “How long does it take to get back to the Lazy K?”

  “Too long,” he muttered, “but I’ll drive as fast as I can.”

  “Good idea,” she said, as he released her and, grabbing her hand, tugged her toward the door.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and Kate hurried to keep up. She liked a man who knew what he wanted. As long as he didn’t ask her to stay in Texas again, it would be a wonderful evening.

  MARTHA DIDN’T EXPECT him to spend the night. Actually, she thought, carefully slipping out of her double bed so she wouldn’t wake her date, she hadn’t thought much beyond the lovemaking.

  It had been fine and dandy, just not as exciting as she’d hoped. And went on a little too long, too, if the truth be told. She wasn’t one to complain. She’d just thought it would be a bit more romantic. Like the movies.

  But she wasn’t the virginal bride on her honeymoon and Carl wasn’t a dashing husband. He was a good friend and a fun companion, and that was the most anyone could expect at sixty-four.

  Martha took a shower with the bathroom door locked. It made her a little nervous having Carl in the house at seven in the morning. And his car was still parked out front. She’d wanted some excitement, she reminded herself as she donned a full-length bathrobe and tiptoed into her bedroom for something to wear. But she hadn’t intended to be a source of neighborhood gossip. Next time—if there was a next time—she’d make sure he parked his car in the garage while she parked hers in the driveway. Or maybe they’d just use her car, which would be easier. Or go to his apartment—which, come to think of it, she didn’t want to do at all. She didn’t think she wanted to wake up in a strange bed, in a strange room. She needed her bathroom, her makeup, her magnifying mirror.

  “Martha?”

  She froze, her clothing clutched to her chest. “Yes?”

  “Good morning.” Carl fumbled with the covers and sat up. He smiled at her and patted her side of the bed. “Come back to bed, sweetie?”

  “I just took a shower,” she said, knowing darn well what was in store if she got back in that bed. She’d rather have a good cup of coffee. “I have to dry my hair and—”

  “Later. There’s something here that can’t wait.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet it can,” she insisted. “Hold that thought and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She locked herself in the bathroom again in order to dress, blow-dry her hair into waves and put on her makeup. With any luck she could get downst
airs and put the coffee on before Carl became any more amorous. Really, she wasn’t sure men were worth all this trouble.

  “Martha?”

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised, once she was out of the bathroom again. “I’ll put the coffee on and get the paper.”

  “We can read it in bed together,” he said, looking pleased. Martha smiled at him. She supposed the man got lonely, too. And it was nice to have company at breakfast. She wasn’t about to take her clothes off and climb into bed in broad daylight, though.

  A woman had to set some ground rules.

  DUSTIN WOULD HAVE liked to spend the night with her. Would have preferred to wake up and find Kate asleep in his bed instead of the boy.

  Danny was spread out on his back, his bony arms and legs sprawled in all directions. He needed a haircut and there was chocolate on his chin. He and Grandma Gert must have eaten cookies all evening. Well, that was okay. At least he hoped it was. He’d heard that grandparents liked to do things like that, and Gert was the closest thing to a grandmother the boy would ever have.

  Dustin slid out of bed, the bed that had a few hours earlier held him and Kate. They’d never made love in a bed before, so he was lucky he hadn’t had a heart attack from sheer happiness. By the time it was over he’d lost the power to speak, so discussing Danny’s parentage hadn’t been a topic of conversation, though he knew he had to tell her the truth soon. He’d only been capable of a couple of soft groans as he’d tucked Kate’s naked body against his and covered them with a sheet.

  They’d had time for a short nap before heading over to Gert’s and pretending they’d just closed down the Last Chance. He’d gathered up Danny, asleep on Gert’s couch, and left Gert working on her book and Kate looking a little dazed. He knew how she felt.

  Dustin threw on his work clothes and headed out to do chores. Later on he’d clean up and see if Kate was free for breakfast. It was long past time for some serious conversation.

  It was long past time to tell her he loved her.

  “MOTHER, I CAN’T BELIEVE you did this!”

  Gert finished fixing the coffeemaker and turned it on before giving her daughter her attention. It was a little early in the morning for one of Martha’s indignations. “Good morning to you, too, Martha. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”

  “I’m not here about coffee,” she said, placing a copy of the Beauville paper on the kitchen table. It was folded so that Gert could see a photo of herself as a young girl on the front page. “I’m here about this.”

  “I was a looker, wasn’t I,” Gert murmured. “Did this come out this morning?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Martha, what are you so worked up about?” Gert adjusted her glasses and studied the article. The young man had done a good job, except he’d described her as “wrinkled.” She wasn’t sure he needed to use that word. She preferred “mature.” She’d have to inform him of that next time, when the book came out or when she sold the movie rights. She’d heard about movie deals on that television show,Entertainment Tonight. What she needed was one of those theatrical agents. Kate would know.

  Martha took the paper out of her hands and read, “‘Gert’s family owned several ranches in this area during the eighteen hundreds, including land north of town where the Good Night Villas are under construction, which was originally the ranch of cattleman Horace Stewart, Mrs. Knepper’s great-grandfather.”’

  “That’s not exactly something to get worked up over,” Gert declared. “Horace Stewart was a fine man. Told stories about the winter of the Big Drift, back in 1865, that would curl your toes.”

  Kate, in a T-shirt and shorts, entered the room and yawned. “What’s going on? I could hear you upstairs.”

  “Your mother is in a snit about something,” Gert said.

  “Hi, Mom.” She padded over and kissed them both, then headed toward the coffeepot.

  “I just turned it on,” Gert said. “You’ll have to give it a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Gert turned her attention back to her daughter, whose hair looked mussed. It wasn’t like Martha to have mussed hair. “What did you do to your hair this morning?”

  “Never mind my hair,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. She started reading again, “‘Mrs. Knepper tells tales of cattle rustling, wagon trains, range wars and family feuds. I hope when she finishes writing her story, she’ll tell us if the missing shipment of gold is really buried on her great-grandfather’s ranch, as outlaw Dead-Eye Dan claimed it was before the noose finished his life of crime forever.”’

  Gert grinned. “That’ll make ’em all go out and buy copies of the book, won’t it?”

  “You never mentioned missing gold, Gran.” Kate handed her a cup of coffee, so Gert sat down and dumped some cream and sugar in it. She didn’t know why Martha was making a big deal out of this.

  “My grandfather used to tell that story, not that anyone believed him, but I thought it would make good reading—Martha, whatever is the matter with you?” Her daughter had gone pale and sank into a chair. “Better put your head down between your legs.”

  “Mother?”

  “I’ll be all right,” she said, her voice a little muffled in her cotton skirt. “Give me a minute.”

  “Too much excitement,” Gert declared. “I don’t think dating that Jackson man is a good idea.”

  “—not his fault,” Martha muttered.

  Gert winked at Kate. “Are you having one of them menopausal fits again?”

  “That was over ten years ago.” Martha raised her head and looked like she was going to cry, so Gert quit teasing and drank some coffee instead while Kate handed her mother a cold washcloth.

  “Thank you,” Martha sniffed. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “Both of us or just Gran?”

  “Both of you, I suppose,” Martha said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re sleeping with that cowboy and your grandmother is destroying my life.”

  “You’re sleeping with him?” Gert turned to Kate. “Well, thank goodness. I thought you’d never come to your senses. I’ll have to call my lawyer Monday.”

  “Why?”

  “Yes,” Martha asked. “Why?”

  Gert decided that neither one of them needed to know the details. “Never mind that,” she said. “How could I possibly be destroying your life, Mattie?”

  “Everyone’s going to start hunting for gold at the drive-in now.”

  “Oh, Carl won’t mind. He’ll figure it’s good publicity,” Gert said. She saw Dustin approach the screen door and waved him inside.

  “Of course,” Kate agreed, patting her mother’s shoulder. “And he has security guards there, remember? I’m sure he won’t be angry about it.”

  Her gray-haired daughter, the perfect child who had never done a thing wrong in her entire life, took a deep breath and said, “There’s a dead body at the drive-in and I don’t want anyone to find it.”

  Gert choked on her coffee. “Carl’s dead?”

  “Have you called the sheriff—what’s his name, Gran?”

  “Sheridan,” Dustin said, entering the kitchen. “Jess Sheridan.”

  “How did it happen?” Kate asked. “Did the poor man have a heart attack or something?”

  Martha took a deep breath. “Carl is very much alive, thank you. We were having breakfast together—” She paused, blushed and then continued. “We were having breakfast together when I read the article about your grandmother. After I threw up, I got in the car and came out here.”

  “Martha.” Gert had never seen her daughter so upset. “Who’s dead at the drive-in?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” She put her head down on the kitchen table and started to cry.

  Gert leaned close to her. “You can’t or you won’t?”

  Martha only cried harder. Kate turned to Dustin and offered him coffee, but he declined.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt a family discussi
on,” he said.

  “We could use some advice.” Gert pointed to an empty chair. “Sit down. As soon as she stops crying we’re going to need a man’s opinion.” And maybe someone good with a shovel. And if Dustin was sleeping with her granddaughter and going to become a member of the family, he might as well know all the family secrets sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DUSTIN FIGURED HE wasn’t going to get the chance to talk to Kate this morning. Her mother was still crying, her grandmother continued to demand answers and got none, while Kate handed her mother tissues and drank coffee as if her sanity depended on it.

  Dustin decided to pour himself a cup and wished he hadn’t picked this time to see if Kate was awake and ready for serious conversation. He didn’t figure Martha for a murderer, couldn’t figure out why she’d know about a body in the drive-in and certainly didn’t want to contemplate the reason why the woman had been having breakfast so early on a Saturday morning with Carl Jackson.

  Clearly there was a lot going on here that he didn’t understand, so Dustin gestured to Kate the next time she glanced his way.

  “We’ll be right back,” he told Gert, and took Kate’s hand.

  “Don’t go far,” the old lady replied. “She’ll have to stop crying soon and then we’ll get some answers.”

  “Right.” He hauled Kate outside and around the corner of the house, in the shade of the overhang. First he kissed her, and was glad to note that she kissed him back.

  “Good morning,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “I missed you.”

  “I know.” Her smile faded. “I wanted to wake up with you and instead—do you think my mother is having a nervous breakdown?”

  “Does she cry like that a lot?”

  “Never. Not since Daddy died.” She lowered her voice, though Dustin was certain neither Gert nor Martha could hear. “But this talk about a dead body really seems strange. If she knew there was someone dead there, why would she want to buy one of the villas and move in?”

  “Maybe she just discovered it.”

  “My mother? Discovering dead bodies?” Kate shook her head. “Bargains, yes. Bodies, no.”