On Lone Star Trail (4 page)

“You win.” One of the men raised his hands in surrender.

“It's not a matter of win or lose,” TJ said. “It's a matter of thinking. I just wanted you to consider the other side. The truth is, I agree with your position.”

After a second of shocked silence, everyone laughed. “Good job, TJ.” The man lowered his arms and grinned, obviously pleased by the apparent U-turn.

Good job indeed. Who would have guessed that the rough-around-the-edges man was a skilled orator?

T
he meal ended with the best chocolate pound cake Gillian had ever eaten, leaving her feeling as if she wouldn't need to eat again for a week. She rose and told TJ she'd meet him in front of the office in ten minutes. To her surprise, though TJ had taken seconds of almost everything, he emerged holding a large bag of groceries.

“More food?” She groaned at the thought.

“Take a look.” TJ tilted the bag so she could see the contents. “Carmen had everything I needed in her pantry.” Gillian smiled. The food wasn't for them. It was for the bored teenagers. Though she would not have thought of providing food, TJ's knowledge of kids was evident.

“I've never seen so many RVs in one place,” Gillian said as they crossed Lone Star Trail and walked into the meadow now filled with two dozen motor homes. Though the sun had yet to set, the temperature had dropped, and she was glad she'd brought a hoodie.

TJ raised an eyebrow. As they'd walked, she had felt waves of tension emanating from him, and his replies, though courteous,
had been curt. Now he smiled. It was just a casual smile, and yet it turned his face from ordinary to handsome.

This was twice that he'd seemed transformed. Gillian had almost not recognized TJ when he'd entered the dining room. She'd been expecting the scruffy biker with the ragged beard and long hair, not a clean-shaven man with curly hair that, despite the deplorable cut, gave him a boyish look. The new TJ was attractive, but the one who smiled at her now qualified as a heartbreaker.

“You obviously haven't gone camping,” he said with another smile.

“That's true.” It was silly the way her heart had begun to thud, all because TJ was smiling at her. Despite her father's admonitions, Gillian wasn't looking for romance. That wasn't why she'd come to Texas, and even though Kate had startled her with her declaration that Dupree, Texas, the Heart of the Hills, had three self-proclaimed matchmakers who would like nothing better than to find a husband for Gillian, she had no intention of asking for their help. All Gillian wanted was a chance to relax and reevaluate her life.

“My family didn't take many vacations,” she said. There was no reason to tell TJ that—like teaching—camping was something a Hodge did not do. Her father had traveled occasionally, but other than the annual trip to Albany to celebrate George's birthday, he had not taken her with him. The live-in nanny had seen to Gillian's needs, ensuring that she was on time for her music lessons and did not neglect her practice.

“I was lucky, though. Kate and her grandparents used to invite me along on day trips to the beach or the falls or to one of the state or county parks. Having them live just three houses away was the best part of my childhood.” The excursions might not have been as glamorous as her father's jaunts to Switzerland and New Zealand, but they'd been fun.

As a light breeze stirred the air, Gillian smiled, remembering
the evenings she and Kate had run along the beach, kicking up damp sand as they raced toward the lifeguard's station. With her longer legs, Kate had normally won, making the few times Gillian had been the first to touch the tall wooden chair all the sweeter.

“Where was that?”

TJ's question brought her back to the present. “Buffalo, New York.”

He nodded. “So the beach was Lake Erie, and the falls Niagara.”

“Exactly. Have you been there?”

This time he shook his head. “No. I've been concentrating on the national parks, but I have to say I was impressed the first time I saw one of the Great Lakes. I couldn't imagine a lake so big that I couldn't see the opposite shore.”

“That's why they call them great.”

“Yeah.”

As they approached the first row of RVs, TJ's posture changed, the tension Gillian had seen when they left Rainbow's End returning.

“Showtime,” he muttered.

“Showtime?” That was a strange way to describe what they were about to do.

TJ nodded. “Teaching's a performing art. If you don't entertain the kids, you'll never get them to learn.”

Gillian stared at TJ, trying to absorb what he'd just said. It was so different—180 degrees different—from her father's view that she wondered which one was correct. Right now, though, she needed to concentrate on helping TJ with whatever it was he was planning.

Though lights were on in most of the RVs, teenagers were milling around outside, their posture betraying the boredom Greg had described.

“You lookin' for someone?” A dark-haired boy approached
Gillian and TJ, his swagger declaring that he was King of the Hill or, in this case, the valley.

“Yeah, you. By the way, I'm TJ.”

TJ's response seemed to take him aback, and there was a second of silence before the teen announced, “I'm Shane, and I'm in charge here. What do you want?”

“I figured we could build a fire.”

This time it wasn't only Shane who seemed surprised. Gillian was too. She hadn't asked TJ about his plans, although now that she thought about the contents of the grocery bag, a fire seemed reasonable. The boy thought otherwise.

“You plainly ain't from around here,” he said. “If you was, you'd know that fire's a four-letter word in Dupree. That's how we got here.” Shane gestured toward the RVs. “Fire took out our old home.”

TJ seemed unfazed. “A campfire's different. Besides, I brought adult supervision.”

A blond boy had joined the dark-haired one while the others remained on the sidelines in two distinct groups. “Who?” The blond looked around, as if searching for an authority figure.

“This lovely lady is our designated adult,” TJ said, gesturing toward Gillian. “She'll make sure no one complains about the fire or the noise.”

Designated adult. Gillian suspected that was something like designated driver and wondered exactly what TJ intended to do that he wouldn't be playing that role.

“You serious?” Shane asked.

“Yep. What about you? Do you know how to build a safe fire?”

“Sure.”

That the word was accompanied by a swagger and a threatening look at the blond told Gillian Shane had no idea what TJ meant. That didn't seem to bother TJ.

“Good. Let's get started. Call the others.”

The next ten minutes could have turned into pandemonium,
but they didn't. Gillian stood on the sidelines, watching in amazement as TJ organized the boys into an effective fire-building team seemingly without doing anything more than pointing out what needed to be done. One group searched for wood while another gathered stones to build a fire ring. Still another cleared the ground of dried leaves and other combustibles.

Though TJ had not appointed team leaders, Shane took charge of wood gathering with three of what appeared to be his cronies and set his blond sidekick to finding stones with four others. The six who'd comprised the second group showed no intent of following Shane. Instead they shuffled their feet and gave exaggerated coughs until a skinny boy whose pale blond hair and light blue eyes hinted at a Scandinavian heritage cleared his throat.

“We need a rake.” He looked around the group. “Jason, I think I saw one near your RV. Think your dad would let us borrow it?”

The teen nodded. “Sure, Todd.”

“Who's got extra garbage bags?”

Another teen volunteered. And all the while, TJ simply observed.

“Todd's not just the class brainiac. He's also a born leader,” TJ told Gillian. “The problem is Shane doesn't usually let him do anything.”

Gillian wondered how TJ had learned all that in such a short time. Was it something teachers knew instinctively, or was it part of their training?

“What's going on?”

Gillian turned, not surprised to see half a dozen girls approaching. The noise level had increased to the point where even someone inside an RV would notice that something unusual was happening. Gillian looked for TJ, but he'd moved away and was now supervising the arrangement of wood inside the
fire ring. Apparently dealing with the girls was part of Gillian's designated adult role.

“We're going to have a campfire,” she said.

“Why?” the first girl asked. Perhaps an inch taller than Gillian's five foot four, the girl had dark brown hair and eyes and what would have been a pretty face had her makeup been more subtle. As it was, the heavy eyeliner and garish shadow made her resemble a clown. Her clothing, though, had nothing in common with a clown's baggy suit. The combination of a tight sweater with a deep vee neckline and an overly short skirt left no doubt that she had what was once called a pinup girl's figure.

“You have to wait and see, but an educated guess is that s'mores are involved. By the way, I'm Gillian.”

The girl nodded. “I'm Brianna. Why do you think we're having s'mores?”

Gillian held out the grocery bag TJ had given her for safekeeping, revealing the contents. “I can't think of anything else to do with graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate. Can you?”

A second girl shook her head. “I'm Tracy.” She gestured toward the other girls. “Are we invited?”

“Sure.” The mission had been to entertain all the teens, not simply the boys. “You and anyone else who's interested in a s'more.”

But TJ had more than s'mores in mind. Once the fire was built and the introductions made, he announced that it was illegal to have a campfire without telling stories around it. Remembering how powerful peer pressure and the worry of being embarrassed could be, Gillian wasn't surprised that no one volunteered. If TJ was disappointed by the lack of participation, he gave no sign of it; he simply launched into a tale of his travels around the country on his motorcycle.

The man was a born storyteller. Though Gillian doubted the actual events had been as amusing as TJ made them sound, there was no doubt that he'd gotten the kids' attention. They
listened as intently as any group of teenagers she'd ever seen, and when he appeared to have finished, they asked for more.

“Maybe tomorrow,” TJ said. No wonder he claimed that teaching was a performing art. TJ wasn't just a born storyteller, he was a great performer, recognizing the value of leaving an audience wanting more. “Right now,” he said with a grin that was clearly visible in the light of the campfire, “my stomach wants a s'more. Who's going to roast the first marshmallow?”

Good-natured squabbling was the predictable result. Finally, TJ turned to Gillian. “What about you?”

She shook her head. “You must be kidding. After the supper I ate, I won't need another meal for a week.”

Giving her a faux scowl, he said, “You can't disappoint the kids.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “You're our adult supervision. You gotta eat some. Otherwise, how can you be sure it's really chocolate and not something bad?”

“That sounds like I'm the royal taster.” Gillian couldn't help laughing. “It's the craziest argument I've ever heard, but okay.”

She skewered a marshmallow and began to toast it. When it was perfectly browned, she slid it onto a graham cracker and topped it with a piece of chocolate and another graham. Taking a bite, she let the flavors of her childhood coat her tongue, then slide down her throat. “This is great!”

A half hour later, once the campfire had been extinguished, TJ and Gillian started back to Rainbow's End.

“You're really good with kids,” she said when they were out of earshot of the group.

He shrugged. “It's been awhile since I was their age, but I still remember what it felt like. They're kids, but . . .”

He paused, his attention drawn to a couple standing in the shadows of a live oak. There was enough moonlight to reveal arms wrapped around each other and lips locked in a passionate kiss. Gillian wasn't surprised by the kiss. Teenagers, after
all, were teenagers. What surprised her was the identity of the couple. She would never have pictured Brianna, with her heavy makeup, overly short skirt, and revealing sweater, with Todd, the nerd.

TJ shook his head. “Young love. It'll never last.”

S
o, how did it go?”

Gillian smiled. Though Kate had claimed she'd come to Gillian's cabin to make sure she had everything she needed, Gillian knew better. Her friend's curiosity about the trip to Firefly Valley was the real reason she'd knocked on the door.

“Really well, thanks to TJ. He was amazing with those kids.”

Kate lowered herself onto one of the upholstered chairs, her smile as broad as Gillian's. “I'm not surprised. He was pretty amazing at supper—not at all what I expected after the way you described him. If I weren't a happily married woman expecting my first child, I might have entertained a fantasy or two about him.”

“I'm shocked.” Though Gillian's words were laced with sarcasm, there was a grain of truth to them. TJ was not the kind of man she would have expected to attract Kate.

“I was only kidding, Gillian. You know Greg's the only man for me. But I have to admit it was fun to see your reaction. For a woman who claims she has no interest in love and marriage, you looked just a tad upset by the thought of competition.”

“You're mistaken, Kate. Sadly mistaken. Either that or matchmaking is contagious. Fortunately, I'm immune.”

Kate shrugged. “So you say. But tell me, what did you learn about the oh so attractive TJ Benjamin? Is he married?”

“Do you really think I'd ask him that? In case you didn't notice, he was pretty uncomfortable when you asked him what he did for a living. I wasn't about to pry.” But Gillian had noticed the absence of a wedding ring and that he had made no mention of a woman in his life. “If I had to guess, I'd say he's a confirmed bachelor having his midlife crisis a decade or so ahead of schedule.”

“You could be right. That would explain why he's traveling instead of teaching.”

But it did not explain the sadness Gillian had seen in his eyes. Though she'd told herself that it, like TJ's marital status, was none of her business, she couldn't help wondering what had caused it. And wasn't that silly? Though their paths had crossed, in another day or two, they'd diverge again. There was no reason—absolutely no reason—to be so concerned. It was time to change the subject.

“Have you and Greg picked out names for the baby?”

“Are you sure you don't mind driving me?”

Gillian shook her head, surprised by TJ's question. She thought they'd resolved that at breakfast when she'd mentioned going into town and had offered him a ride. Though he hadn't said anything, she suspected he was chafing at the forced inactivity while he waited for his bike to be repaired. Dupree was hardly a metropolis, but it might occupy TJ for an hour or so.

“Of course I don't mind.” She opened the door to her rental car and slid behind the wheel. “You never can tell. I might decide to become a chauffeur.” It was a joke, of course. Between her
disability insurance and the income from the trust fund her father had established for her, she had no financial needs. What she needed was something to make her feel creative and productive.

Chuckling, TJ slung an obviously expensive camera around his neck and slid into the passenger's seat. “I'm trying to picture you in one of those chauffeur hats with the shiny brims, but the image won't come into focus.”

“I guess that means I need to find something else to do.” And that was the crux of the problem. Gillian had no idea what she wanted to do with her life now that she couldn't play the piano. All she knew was that she needed something to fill the void.

As she'd told Kate, music had been the most important thing in Gillian's life from the time she was five and a bored nanny had set her on the bench of the family's Steinway grand. That had been the beginning. The end had come on a Manhattan sidewalk last September, making her future an enigma.

Gillian knew she wasn't the only one with problems. The man in the passenger's seat had his share. As the car tires crunched on the gravel drive, TJ stared across the road at the RVs settled into Firefly Valley, his expression pensive, his shoulders as tense as they'd been last night when they'd approached the RV settlement.

Gillian didn't know what was bothering him, but something was, and her instincts told her this was different from the sorrow she'd seen in his eyes. This wasn't sorrow or pain; it was discomfort. Though it might be connected to TJ's cynical comment after they'd seen Brianna and Todd kissing last night, Gillian doubted that, since she'd noticed the discomfort before they'd met the teens. It almost seemed as if the sight of the motor homes had triggered it both last night and this morning.

For a second Gillian was tempted to scoff at the idea of an inanimate object causing fear until she remembered her reaction to TJ's motorcycle. Fears weren't rational. She knew that as well as anyone. She also knew that talking about them didn't
always help, and so she decided to pretend she hadn't noticed TJ's uneasiness.

“So you don't think I'd make a good chauffeur,” she said, hoping the silly speculation would distract him.

“I don't imagine there's a lot of call for chauffeurs in Dupree, anyway.” TJ's voice held more than a note of amusement, telling Gillian he'd deliberately repressed whatever melancholy thoughts Firefly Valley generated. That was good. That was very good.

“That may be true now,” she said, keeping her own voice light, “but you never can tell what will happen once Drew Carroll's web design company opens. Dupree could turn into a new boomtown.” And pigs would fly. Though Kate had said that the town council was optimistic about the city's prospects, neither she nor Greg expected anything more than moderate growth, even with the addition of Greg's former partner's company.

“Are you a cockeyed optimist?”

Gillian turned to stare at TJ, startled by the question. “No, but the woman I'm going to visit is.” Kate's grandmother Sally was both a self-confessed cockeyed optimist and a fan of
South Pacific
, and since Gillian had spent countless hours visiting Kate, she had more than a passing acquaintance with the songs from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical.

Now happily married for the second time, Sally was a firm believer that every woman would have a “Some Enchanted Evening” moment when she met the man of her dreams. The best part of that was that Sally had never tried to push Gillian toward the altar. Thank goodness.

“What about you?” Gillian asked TJ. “Are you an optimist, cockeyed or otherwise?”

“Me?” He shook his head. “Why would a man who crashed his only form of transportation be optimistic?”

There it was again, the cynicism that clung to TJ like mud to Gillian's best suede shoes. She wouldn't pry, she reminded
herself. TJ's expression left no doubt that he would not welcome meddling any more than she would welcome matchmaking. Besides, they'd be in Dupree in a minute. That was not enough time to start a serious discussion, and so Gillian said only, “Kate tells me Eric's the best. He'll have you back on the road in no time.”

A grunt and a deliberate turn of his head toward the window were TJ's response. Gillian took the hint and remained silent until they passed the “Welcome to Dupree” sign.

“Where should I drop you?” she asked.

TJ shrugged. “Anywhere. And don't worry about driving me back. I can walk.”

“It's three miles,” she said, shuddering at the thought. It was one thing to walk that far on a treadmill, something quite different to climb Ranger Hill under the Texas sun. Even though it was only early April, what Gillian would have classified as summer had already come to Texas.

“Spoken like a city dweller,” TJ said, a bit of scorn coloring his words. “It's not all that far.”

Refusing to concede the point, Gillian glanced at her watch. “I'll pick you up at the Sit ‘n' Sip in two hours. You can't miss it.”

“If I'm not there, don't wait.”

Gillian was still shaking her head at the man's stubborn streak when she pulled into Sally's driveway.

The small ranch-style home bore no resemblance to the two-story colonial where Sally had spent most of her life and where Kate and Gillian had shared countless secrets, but Gillian knew the same welcome was waiting inside.

“Come in, child.” The woman who'd been as close to a grandmother as Gillian had ever known wrapped her in an embrace that smelled of talcum powder, strawberry shampoo, and dark-roast coffee. While so much of Gillian's life had changed, those scents had remained constant, a reminder of Sally's love.

“Where's Roy?” Gillian asked when Sally released her. Though she'd met Sally's second husband only briefly at Kate's wedding,
Gillian had formed an instant liking for the man who'd put the sparkle back in Sally's eyes, and she wondered whether he was responsible for Sally's new wardrobe. Growing up, Gillian had never seen Sally in anything other than skirts and dresses, but today she looked like a native Texan in jeans, a chambray shirt, and hand-tooled boots.

“Roy's playing golf with some friends.” Sally laughed. “He told me we needed girls' time—not that I'm a girl anymore.”

Wrinkles lined Sally's face; her tightly curled hair had been silver for decades; and her chin had lost its firm line years ago. While she wasn't a girl by anyone's definition, despite—or perhaps because of—the generations that separated them, she was one of Gillian's dearest friends.

“Come in,” Sally repeated, ushering Gillian into the cool interior of the home she now shared with Roy. “Here's my new home sweet home.”

To Gillian's surprise, it bore no resemblance to Sally's house in Buffalo. Instead of a formal floor plan with separate living and dining rooms and antique furniture, this one boasted a great room, and the only piece of furniture she recognized was the old upright piano.

“I couldn't leave that behind,” Sally said, seeing the direction of Gillian's gaze. “I keep telling myself that one of these years I'll learn to play. Right now, though, let me get you some sweet tea.”

They paused briefly in the kitchen while Sally loaded a tray with a pitcher, glasses, and a plate of fancy pastries before nodding at the French door. “It's too nice to stay inside.” She led the way to a covered porch and settled onto a padded chaise longue. “Tell me about yourself,” she said when she'd handed Gillian a glass of tea.

Gillian shook her head. “I'd rather talk about you. You look fabulous.” If she hadn't known Sally had recently celebrated her seventy-fourth birthday, Gillian would have thought her no more than sixty-five. “Marriage is obviously agreeing with you.”

A sweet smile crossed Sally's face. “God has been good to me,” she agreed. “He gave me second chances at life and love. A year ago I had no idea what he had in store for Kate and me, but look at us now. We're both married and waiting for my first great-grandchild's arrival.”

She gave the pastries a longing look, then cut one in two and placed the smaller piece on her plate. “After the scare with my heart, the doctor said I need to watch my diet.” Sally wrinkled her nose. “You know doctors—they're so cautious. Speaking of which . . .” She reached over and picked up Gillian's right hand, inspecting it as if she could see beneath the skin to the once shattered bones and torn tendons. “They did a remarkable job.”

“Yes, they did. I can do almost everything I did before.”

Sally's eyes narrowed as she traced the scars. “But you can't play.”

“Not at the professional level. Some days I can barely manage scales, but others are better. Those days I feel like a first-year student.” Gillian shrugged, as if her failure to regain full use of her fingers was insignificant. “One thing's for sure: the days of concert stages are over.”

“Fortunately, the future is limitless.”

Gillian laughed and reached for the other half of the pastry. “I told TJ you were a cockeyed optimist, and you've proven me right.”