Coming Home to Texas (8 page)

But, like most boys their age, they thought they knew everything. And that was the first thing that had to change. Nash killed the engine and popped the hood latch. He gathered the boys around the front of the car as he propped the long hood on its support rod and began pointing to various engine parts. “Who can tell me what that is?”

“The radiator.”

“And that?”

“That's where the spark plugs are.”

On it went for twenty minutes, a game of informational one-upmanship between the boys that gave Nash a perfect glimpse of how much the guys already knew. It also told him a lot about the dynamics of the group, such as who took charge, who started arguments, who backed down when challenged and who bluffed when he didn't know. It shouldn't have surprised him how some things about teenage boys were universal. What did surprise him, as he drew out details of their home and school life, was how little attention it seemed these boys received from their parents; he'd expected the rural happy-family model to rule the day out in the country like this. The load of family problems, broken homes, economic hardships the boys hinted at even on this first day stunned Nash.
Serves me right for making assumptions
, he chided himself as he handed out a worksheet at the end of the day.

“Homework?” Davey, the quietest of the bunch, and the one who actually seemed to know the most about engines, finally piped up in obvious protest. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Relax. It's not homework,” Nash replied.

Jose squinted at the paper. Did the boy need glasses and not have them? “Looks like homework to me.”

“I want each of you to tell me about your dream car. If I were to hand you a million dollars tomorrow, what car would you buy? Go research that car. Tell me the options you'd get, fill in the specs for fuel consumption, brake horsepower, torque, all the goodies. Even the color—interior and exterior. As many details as you can find. That's not homework, now, is it, boys?”

Billy looked up from the worksheet. “What would you buy, Deputy Larson?”

“You can call me Nash. What car would I buy? You're looking at her.”

“You have a million dollars?” Doug gawked.

“No, I don't need a million dollars. I want a car I can work on and drive anywhere, and for me, that's this car, not a fancy Lamborghini or some other European number. That's the thing about cars. I said you
could
spend a million for your dream car, but you don't
have
to. Would I drive a Lambo? In a minute. It'd be fun to drive. But would I want to own one? Not so much. See you next week, dream car papers in hand.”

“Sixty-five Mustang,” Davey offered as he stuffed the worksheet in his pocket, making Nash suspect it would show up next week with grease stains and tattered edges. “Red.”

As they headed out of the garage, the boys started in on a boisterous argument over what the ultimate dream car was. They'd only grunted at each other when they had come in. Already they were getting better at communicating as a group. It had begun. He'd gotten a toehold on the project. From here anything was possible. Nash recognized the spark of satisfaction deep in his chest—a sensation he'd been pretty sure was gone from his life.
Thank You, Lord
, he prayed as he folded up the chairs against the garage wall.
You know how much I needed that
.

He'd just closed the hood on the Z when Ellie walked into the garage looking a bit frazzled. “How'd it go?” she asked in a high, tight voice.

Nash would have said “great,” but her expression made him take it down a notch to “Pretty good, actually. How about you?”

Ellie chewed her bottom lip. “In all honesty, I'm not so sure.” She took a few steps toward him. “They
want
to be here, don't they? I mean, this wasn't forced on them, right?”

Nash wiped his hands as he walked over to her. “You haven't worked with teens before, have you?” Knowing her, she'd expected everyone instantly to share her enthusiasm for crafts, to be as eager to learn as she was. Teens could get there, but they usually hit you with a lot of apathy before they engaged. And really, hadn't he had the same thought about the boys' reluctant attitudes? “They test you at first, hide any enthusiasm, even if they really are interested.”

“Oh, these girls were hiding their enthusiasm, that's for sure. One girl—Marny?—she had what Gran calls ‘the eye of death' down pat. I've never felt so much bored annoyance in the space of ninety minutes.”

She looked crestfallen. She'd probably done a great job with those girls, even if she didn't realize it yet. Ellie was authentic, and kids recognized that and connected with it—they just rarely showed it. He searched for something he could say or do to cheer her up or at least distract her. “I'm hungry,” he offered, looking at his watch. “Want to show me where the best barbecue is in town?”

“Buck's is good, but it's Wednesday night. Everyone will be there.” Her words declared loud and clear that she didn't care for
everyone's
company right now.

“So, who's got the best barbecue
out
of town?”

Her eyes caught on to what he was suggesting. “Red Boots. About twenty miles east of here. But you don't want to drive all that way.”

“You clearly don't know about car guys. A nice drive on a warm spring night on a back country road? You don't have to ask me twice. Come on.”

Chapter Eight

E
llie lifted her hands over her head through the car's open T-top roof, letting the warm summer air flood around her fingers.
Freedom
. It felt like freedom to be barreling down the road, away from the bored-looking girls, away from everything that wasn't working in her life, away from all the prying eyes in Atlanta and Martins Gap.
Away
. She'd fled back to Martins Gap thinking she was escaping, only to discover her problems and shortcomings followed wherever she went.

Nash glanced over at her and smiled. He was having fun, too, pointing out how the car handled certain curves, opening up the engine on straightaways and generally being a kid showing off his favorite toy. She was almost sorry when he pulled the sports car into a parking place at the crowded Red Boots Grill—the temptation to tell Nash to just keep driving off into the sunset pulled hard on her tired spirit.

“You enjoyed that,” Nash said as he walked around and opened the car door for her. Ellie had forgotten guys even did that anymore—Derek never had. For all Derek's modern pizazz, there was something to be said for good old-fashioned manners. “I'm glad.”

“It was fun. I feel like the wind washed all the knots out of my neck.” She tried to tamp down her windblown hair, then gave up.
There isn
'
t anybody in the Red Boots who would know me anyway, so who cares what my hair looks like right now?

“That's what I feel when I drive her—washed off. Some days I think I can almost see the stress lying scattered on the road in my rearview mirror.” He flushed, running a hand through his own tousled hair. “That sounds cheesy, doesn't it?”

They both must look like windblown scarecrows. It was wonderful not to care. “Not a bit.” She nodded up at the sign—a neon-red boot that kicked. “Hope you're hungry.”

“Starved. Disgruntled teens always make me hungry.”

Ellie laughed. “Disgruntled. That's a good name for what those faces looked like. A cross between grumpy, bored and unimpressed. I've faced hostile catering clients that were an easier sell.”

Nash opened the door for her. “Do you care about the girls? About what they think and whether or not they're getting anything out of your time together?”

“Of course I do. Why would I do this if I didn't think they would enjoy knitting and get the same things out of it that I do?”

“Then that's what matters. They're just testing you to see if you
really
care. And you do. They'll figure that out and come around. Trust me.”

“Name?” a scrawny girl in a red shirt asked from the hostess desk.

“Natsuhito,” Nash replied in a totally ordinary voice.

Ellie and the girl both blinked at the strange name.

“Wanna spell that?” the hostess asked, clearly stumped. “Or should I just say Nat?'

Nash leaned over the clipboard. “
N-A-T-S-U-hito.
Just like it sounds.” Ellie watched in astonishment while Nash smirked like a kid in on a joke.

When they'd moved aside to the waiting area, Ellie raised an eyebrow at him. “Natsu-what-o?”

He leaned back against the wall and crossed one foot over the other. “Natsuhito. You didn't think Nash stood for Nashville, did you?”

“
That
'
s
your full name?”

“The Japanese part. My full name is Natsuhito Joshua Larson. Natsuhito was my mother's grandfather's name, and Joshua came from my dad's side of the family.” He nodded back toward the hostess. “I pull it out for fun now and then.”

As if on cue, the hostess looked right at them and drolled out “Nash-tu-hillo party?”

Ellie found herself laughing as the hostess led them to a booth. “I thought we were being incognito tonight,” she remarked as she slid into the red leather seats.

Nash slid in across from her, the smile still lingering on his features. “We are. Nobody will ever know Natsuhito is us. And we needed to have some fun.”

“You're one surprise after another, Nash-tu-hito.”

“Nat-su-hito,”
he corrected. “And
Nash
will be just fine. I think most people in Martins Gap would choke at the name if I used it there anyway.”

“Maybe not,” Ellie countered. “Sure, it's a small town in the middle of Texas, but they're a welcoming lot. They won't care much where you came from.”

The server set down big plastic glasses of water and Nash took a long drink. “So now you're defending the place? Before it sounded as if you couldn't get out of there fast enough.”

“Oh, Martins Gap can be annoying and quirky sometimes, but it's still home. I just needed more...possibilities than I could see here. The ranch was always Gunner's thing—even when he ran away from it for a bunch of years. I want to do something to support the family business, but I need to make my own mark in the wider world. One that's much wider than here.” She exhaled and fiddled with the place mat. “I'm not even sure my future will be at GoodEats Inc. anymore, either.”

“Because of what happened with Derek?”

“Here's some biscuits,” said the server as she set down a big plate of fluffy, crusty squares. “Y'all ready to order?”

Nash looked at Ellie for guidance. “I've got this,” she said to him before turning to the server. “A pound of fatty brisket, a pound of ribs, coleslaw and corn. And two root beers.” She raised an eyebrow at Nash. “They make the best root beer in the state just up the road and serve it here—do you like it?”

Nash shrugged his shoulders. “It's been a dozen years since I've had the stuff. I can't remember.” He looked up at the server. “Why not?”

The server left, and Ellie pulled her silverware from its red napkin wrapping. “You're about to find out what real Texas barbecue is supposed to taste like. It's going to ruin the rest of the country for you, just know that.” She slathered butter on one of the biscuits and took a bite. “Oh. Yep, nothing will ever come close after Red Boots. And I'm in the food biz, so I claim a hunk of expertise here.”

“That's mighty big hype for a hunk of beef. Someone might think you were in marketing.”

Ellie laughed before taking another bite of biscuit. The tension of the afternoon began to slough off her neck and shoulders—whatever tension was left after that marvel of a car ride. Her brother Luke always talked about his motorcycles in terms of how the ride made him feel, and now she could begin to understand what he meant. Good food and pleasant company just added to the whole relaxing effect. She didn't know Nash that well, but found him delightfully easy to talk to despite their stressful introduction.

“You were telling me what happened with Derek and your job.”

His cue yanked her back down to earth. “It's probably the oldest story there is—guy cheats on girl with girl's best friend. And the work thing just made it worse. I like working at GoodEats, I do. It's just that, well, I never really felt like one of the team. I know I'm just starting out, but all the other staff seem to be these sophisticated, big-city types. Some days I feel like an invader from cowboy-land masquerading as a marketing professional.”

Nash took a biscuit. “You must be good at your job if they're willing to hold it for you while you're here.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think that might have been Derek's doing. He pulls a lot of weight around there.” Ellie sat back. “I was so amazed when he first began to take notice of me. Little Ellie from nowhere catching the eye of the star chef. Here was a guy who'd been all over the world, who wore Italian suits and got hundred-dollar haircuts, but still went to church and loved grilled-cheese sandwiches. I thought he was amazing, and for him to notice me made me feel special, you know? Like I'd arrived in the real world to have this big-time chef—who could have anyone—want to be with me. I fell hard. He knew how to woo a girl, that's for sure. It was like something out of a movie. Gifts, fancy events, romantic dinners on his rooftop deck and flowers—boy howdy, did that man know how to send flowers. When Derek proposed, I was over the moon.”

A mountain of meat, piled high on white butcher paper alongside tubs of coleslaw and creamed corn, appeared at the table. Nash took in the scope of the enormous meal and grinned. “You weren't kidding about the hungry part.”

“Well,” she replied, not even needing a knife to separate a chunk of the oh-so-tender brisket to pull toward her side of the paper landscape laid out between them, “leftovers are pretty much a given when you come here. Gunner insists it's the best breakfast ever, but that may be a guy thing.” She put the tangy, splendid meat in her mouth. “Forget everything you know about nutrition and just enjoy.”

Nash pulled off a hunk for himself, and Ellie had fun watching his reaction to the barbecue. “Wow,” he said, his eyes closing in carnivorous delight. “This definitely lives up to the hype.” He looked at her. “You're right. Everything else that claims to be barbecue after this is just going to seem like a knockoff to me.”

Ellie chuckled. “It's always a hoot to watch someone get their first taste of Red Boots. I suppose it's kind of a rite of passage around here. I'm surprised no one's taken you before this. You've been in town what—a little over two months?”

Nash leaned on one elbow. “I haven't exactly been social. I suppose I've been keeping to myself while I figure things out.”

“Things like what?”

“I was all about the job and the cause in LA. I was totally committed to my work and the kids. Lots of the guys I worked with had my home phone number and my cell, and they would call me at all hours when they got in trouble.” She watched his face change, a fierceness tightening his features with the memories. “It wasn't an imposition—I liked it. I liked how they felt they could count on me, especially since these were guys who weren't used to being able to rely on anyone. I could relate to that. We moved so much growing up I didn't really have buddies, no guys I knew had my back. I felt a real calling to be that for some of those boys. They knew I was all in for them, and it's what enabled some of them to break free of the gang hold and try for a better life. I felt like my commitment showed them they could belong somewhere else than in a gang.”

“You must have made such a difference in their lives.” Listening to him talk, all her efforts at GoodEats seemed trivial. He had changed lives, and all she'd ever changed was this month's pasta-special campaign. “That must feel good.”

“It did.” He reached for one of the ribs. “But you know what they say—the people you let closest are the ones who can hurt you the most.”

Ellie dug into the tub of coleslaw. “Derek made sure I learned that lesson.”

“Where did things go wrong between the two of you? Or don't you want to talk about it?”

How many nights had she sat up pondering that question? She was fine if she kept busy during the day—which wasn't hard to do on the ranch—but nights were another thing. Lying in bed, she had trouble shutting down her brain's constant dissection of her and Derek's relationship. The answers she came up with only made her feel worse. “No,” she replied. “It's okay. I spend so much time thinking about it that talking it out might help. With someone who's not family, I mean. Gunner, Brooke and Gran love me, I know, but their advice isn't what I need right now, you know?”

“I get that. For what it's worth, I've got no advice whatsoever for you.” He licked sauce off his sticky fingers. “So feel free to bore me with all the juicy details.”

* * *

Nash watched Ellie pull off more brisket with a deliberate, artistic hand. He just piled meat on his side of the paper, but Ellie arranged it. “The way I see it,” she began, “it boils down to the truth that Derek and I each liked the idea of being married to each other, but in reality, we wanted something different.”

Nash wasn't quite sure what that meant. “You're gonna have to explain that.”

She gestured wildly as she talked. “I wanted a fancy guy. Sophisticated, a man of the world. Successful, well dressed, the whole package. And Derek was that. It's just that the mind-set that came with it? That never sat right with me, even when I tried to convince myself that's how successful people think and behave. Derek saw no reason to meet my family before he proposed—and didn't expect me to meet his family, either. Except for Gunner's wedding, he could never find time to come out here—not that I wasn't guilty of the same thing. I missed a lot of chances to come back to the Blue Thorn because I was too busy making us into Atlanta's next power couple. Ha-ha on me.” She gave a dark, bitter laugh as she dunked a hunk of brisket into the pool of sauce.

“And then?”

“It started showing up in the wedding plans. He wanted big and splashy, the best of everything—which makes sense. I mean, Derek's taste and flair are what make him who he is.”

Her confidence really had taken a hit from this guy. “Hey, you have taste and flair.”

“Have you ever read the real estate ads?”

Nash couldn't quite see what that had to do with the current topic of conversation. “No.”

“The small, sensible houses—the ones that are good enough but not showstoppers—have you ever noticed they are always called ‘charming'?” Her eyes narrowed at the last word.

“No.”

“Well, they are. And to Derek, everything I did and everything I liked was charming. He wanted to push me over into spectacular—that was his turf. He was always shifting my preferences a bit here, tweaking my choices a bit there, redoing everything. I thought it was attentiveness. I didn't recognize it was for the revision it was. He was making me over into someone who could be his partner, and I let him. I liked it. He changed my hair, where I shopped for clothes, even how I drank my coffee. He called my knitting ‘charming' and ‘Ellie's quaint little hobby.'” The edge in her eyes showed how unforgivable she found that last remark, and Nash made a mental note never to use the words
charming
or
quaint
in her presence—certainly not to describe anything she loved as much as knitting.