A Long Tall Texan Summer: Tom Walker (4 page)

Their stiff courtesy with each other didn't go unnoticed. People remembered that Elysia had worked for Tom in New York before she'd come home to marry Fred Nash. They began to wonder about these two people because

of their obvious hostility toward each other.

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The gossip was unavoidable.

Tom found himself seated next to Elysia at the monthly meeting of businessmen. It was a lunch affair, served in the private dining room of the largest local restaurant. Tom, in a dark suit, and Elysia, in a neat

gray pantsuit, her hair in a chignon, was secretary of the group. She couldn't avoid him at this function, or

the gossip would have been even worse.

But it was obvious to the most unobservant of guests that they barely tolerated each other. When Elysia passed around the neat copies she'd made of the financial report, she made sure that her hand didn't touch Tom's. When she passed the cream and sugar holders to him, again, she kept her fingers from making contact.

Tom was keenly aware of her bitter avoidance

of him. He understood it, but that didn't make it any

easier. He was astonished that such a mercenary woman still had feelings to hurt.

After the meeting, she went straight to her car.

Tom followed right behind her, keenly aware of eyes following his progress to his own somber Lincoln, which was parked beside her Mercedes convertible.

Elysia fumbled with her keys and dropped them in her haste to get away before he came to his car. She muttered curses, hating the door because it wouldn't cooperate.

"Don't worry," he murmured coolly from across the top of her car, "whatever I seem to have probably isn't contagious a car length away."

She glared at him, flushed. "That works both ways, Mr. Walker!"

"Listen, if you want to sleep your way up in the fashion world, it's none of my business,"

he said with icy

venom.

She bit back a curse as the president of the chamber of commerce passed them with a curious glance.

"Nice meeting, Mr. James," she said through her teeth with a smile.

"Yes, it was. Nice to have you aboard, too, Mr. Walker," he said, pausing to shake Tom's hand. "You be good to him, Mrs. Nash, we need new blood in the community!" he added with a wave of his hand as

he went along to his own car.

"Oh, how I'd love to show him some of yours," Elysia said fervently, glaring at Tom.

"You need to work on that attitude problem,"

he replied somberly. "You seem to have lost your knack for diplomacy."

"Only with you," she shot right back. "I get along fine with everyone else."

"Especially French buyers, hmmm?"

"Damn you!"

His eyebrows arched as she pulled off a high heel shoe and threw it at him.

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"Wouldn't you know I’d miss?" she demanded

of the parking lot. "Give me back my shoe."

"Come over here and get it," he challenged.

"You're not my type," she purred. "You can't speak French!"

His eyes went cold. He threw the shoe onto the top of her car, got into his own, backed out and drove away without even looking in her direction.

"I love you, too, you sweet man!" she called after him.

"Can I print that?" the local newspaper editor

whispered in her ear.

She shrieked. "John, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He grinned wickedly. "Can't you see the headlines? Boutique Owner Shouts Love For Financial Advisor

At Top Of Lungs..."

"Do you need a shoe?" she asked, holding it over her head in a threatening manner.

He cleared his throat. "Not my size. Thanks, anyway."

He beat a hasty retreat. She glared after him. This was getting totally out of hand.

Tom was kept busy for the rest of the week, and Elysia took a back seat in his mind as he dealt with one financial crisis after another. By Saturday, he was ready for some rest and recreation.

He decided that

fishing might be a nice way to relax, and a local man had a stocked private pond where he rented poles and bait for a small all-day fee.

He put on jeans and went on his way. Fortunately

the fish were biting, since he did love a nice fried

bass. It brought back memories of his youth in South Dakota, when he and Kate had gone fishing with Jacob Cade on the older man's sprawling ranch.

His boots were worn, but serviceable, like the old beige Stetson he'd had for years. Dressed like that, he looked every inch a cowboy.

Kate had always wondered why her only brother had chosen city life.

She'd never realized

that the very anonymity of a big city was kind to his ego. In a small town, his alone-ness would have been so much more noticeable.

In fact, it worried him here. He hadn't considered

how curious small-town people were about strangers,

or how gossip, though kind, ran rampant. It was rather like being part of a huge family, having everyone

know all about you. The comforting thing about it was that, also like family, people tended to accept each

other regardless of human frailty.

For instance, everyone knew that old Harry was an alcoholic, and that Jeff had been in prison for killing

his wife's lover. They also knew that a local spinster bought copies of a notorious magazine that contained vivid photos

of nude men, and that a certain social worker lived with a man to whom she wasn't married. These were open secrets, however, and not one person ridiculed these people or treated them as untouchables. They were family.

Tom began to understand that even the talk about Elysia wasn't vicious or brutal.

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In fact, as Tom spent more time around local

people, and heard more gossip about her, he learned that

Elysia's marriage had been looked upon more as a charitable act on her part, despite her husband's wealth.

"Took care of him like a nurse, she did," old man Gallagher had said, nodding with approval as he filled

Tom's order at the office supply store the week before, when talk had turned to Elysia's similar taste in stationery for her boutique. “Never shirked, not even at the end when he was bedridden and needed around-the-clock nursing. She had a nurse, but she stayed, too." He smiled. "She may have inherited a lot of money, that's true, but most people feel like she earned it with the care she took of old Fred.

Never

doubted that she was fond of him. And that kid doted on him." He sighed. "She mourned him, too, and so did the kid. Nice young woman. Most folks remember her dad." His eyes had darkened and narrowed.

Tom frowned. "In a kind way?" he asked, because the old man's voice had shaded a bit.

"Hardly. Old man Craig drank like a fish. Beat Elysia's mother and Luke. Day came when Luke was old

enough to realize he had to do something. He called the police, even though his mama wouldn't. Swore out a warrant

for his dad and signed it, too." He chuckled.

"They put the man away. He died in prison

of a heart attack, but I think it was a relief to all of them. Would never have stopped beating her, if they'd

ever let him out. I reckon they all knew it."

That had sounded painfully familiar to Tom, who'd had his share of beatings. His and Kate's father had never touched alcohol, but the brain tumor had made a monster of him. The two of them had been

"disciplined" frequently

by their unpredictable parent, especially

if they ever showed a flicker of interest

in the opposite sex.

Tom threw his line into the water and leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree with a sigh. He wasn't

really interested in fishing,

but it was something to do. His days had been empty for a long time. In the city, there was always something to do in the anonymity of crowds. Here, he either sat at home with rented movies or fished. Fishing was much preferable.

"Hi!"

The bright greeting caught his attention. He turned his head to find Luke and Crissy with tackle boxes and fishing poles.

"I never expected to find a big city dude in a place like this," Luke murmured dryly. "Bored to death or do you just enjoy eating cheap fish?"

"This isn't cheap," Tom murmured on a chuckle. "Ten dollars a day and the price of renting the tackle.

Plus fifty cents a pound for whatever you catch. It adds up."

"Bobby Turner's no fool," Luke said with a grin. "He figures people will pay to catch clean fish in a good

location. He does a roaring business."

Tom, glancing out over the dozens of people

around the big lake, had to admit that the warm weather

drew scores of fishermen.

"Mind if we join you?" Luke asked. "The best spots are already taken."

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"Is this one of them?" Tom queried.

"It sure is," Crissy piped up. "I caught a big fish last time, didn't I, Uncle Luke?"

"She caught a four-pound bass," Luke agreed, settling in. "But I had to land him. She's a bit small yet for

pulling in fighting fish on a line."

"It pulled me down," Crissy explained solemnly.

Then she grinned. "But we ate it for supper. It tasted very good."

Tom laughed in spite of himself. The child had an incredible variety of facial expressions.

Crissy looked at him for a long time, her little face studious and quiet. "You have green eyes and dark hair," she noted. "Just like me."

He nodded. "So I do." He paused, glancing at Luke, who'd gone to the small shed where bait was sold.

"I guess your dad had green eyes, too, huh?"

She frowned. "No," she said, shaking her head. "My daddy had red hair."

Tom's heart jumped up into his throat. The most incredible thoughts were gathering speed in his head.

He stared down at the child. She had his own olive skin, his eyes, his hair. She was in kindergarten, that would make her at least five years old. He couldn't stop looking at her as a shocking idea took shape in his mind.

Luke came back with bait. "Go put this on your hook," he told Crissy, "and watch that you don't get it stuck in your finger like poor old Mr. Hull did last time he went with us."

"Yes, sir," she said at once. "I don't want my finger cut open!"

She rushed off, a miniature whirlwind in jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt.

"She loves to fish," Luke said. "I had a date, but I broke it" He made a face. "My latest girl doesn't like fishing or any other 'blood sport.'"

"Fishing is a blood sport?" Tom asked.

"Sure is," came the reply. "So is eating meat." He grinned sheepishly. "I'm not giving up my cattle, so I

guess this girl will go the way of the others pretty soon. She's a looker. Pity."

Tom knelt down beside Luke, glancing warily

toward the child. "She said her dad was redheaded."

Luke's indrawn breath was audible, although

he recovered quickly enough. "Did she? She was barely older than a toddler when he died..."

"Red is red, whatever age you are," Tom said doggedly. His green eyes met the blue ones of the other man. "She's mine."

Luke cursed silently. Elysia was going to kill him.

“She's mine," Tom repeated harshly, his eyes demanding verification.

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Luke bent his head. "She's yours," he said heavily.

Tom looked at the little girl again, his face white, his eyes blazing. He'd never thought much about getting

married, much less about having children, and all at once, he was a father.

It was a shattering thought.

"Dear God," he breathed.

Luke put a hand on his shoulder, noting how the other man tensed at once. He didn't like being touched.

Luke withdrew the comradely

gesture. "She thought you were a big city playboy," he explained. "She never considered

trying to get in touch with you, especially

after the way you acted before she left

town."

Tom grimaced.

"If it's any consolation, Fred had leukemia when they married, and he was already infirm. They lived together as friends, nothing more, and she was fond of him. She needed a name for Crissy. For a small town like this, we're pretty tolerant, but Elysia couldn't bear having people gossip about us more than they already do." He searched Tom's eyes. "You'll have heard about our father, I imagine?"

Tom nodded. He drew in a long breath. "My father was a madman," he confided quietly.

"I've had my

share of beatings, too," he added, and a look passed between the two men. "The difference was that my father died of a brain tumor—while he was beating my sister for smiling at a boy she liked. He called her

a slut, if you can imagine being labeled that for a smile."

Luke grimaced. "Good God, and I thought I had it bad."

Tom laughed coldly. His eyes were on the child. "One time," he said half to himself, "in my entire life, and

there was a child."

Luke looked down at the ground. "Elysia was your first?"

Tom hesitated, but he was too stunned by what he'd learned to conceal it anymore. "Yes," he said bluntly. "And the last. There hasn't been anyone else, ever."

Luke looked up, quietly compassionate. "Not for her, either," he said. "Not even her husband."

"You're not serious."

"Yes, I am," Luke countered. "He was too ill most of the time, and she never felt like that about him.

She

was honest. Then when Crissy was born, they seemed to find common ground. That child was wanted and very much loved."

Tom's hand clenched by his side. "And now that I know about her—" he nodded toward the child

"—what the hell do I do?"

On that subject," Luke mused, "I would say that you've got a real problem on your hands. Elysia never
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meant for you to find out about Crissy. And here I've given the game away."