On Lone Star Trail (5 page)

She popped a bite of pastry into her mouth and savored the combination of pineapple and almonds on top of a flaky butter crust at the same time that she regretted mentioning TJ. Sally might not be a matchmaker, but as an incurable romantic, she was always interested in a good love story. That meant Gillian would be subjected to a series of questions about him.

“TJ. So there's a man in your life now.”

It was time for Gillian to nip the speculation in the bud. “I hate to disappoint you, Sally, but TJ's a guest at Rainbow's End. He'll be gone in a couple days.” And Gillian would be gone
soon afterwards. A month from now, this trip and TJ Benjamin would be nothing more than memories.

Though Sally was obviously disappointed by the absence of wedding bells in Gillian's immediate future, she nodded as if she understood. “You're planning to stay until the baby's born, aren't you?”

Kate had asked the same question, insisting she and Greg were looking forward to having her as a long-term guest. Gillian gave Sally a regretful smile as she repeated what she'd told Kate. “I'm only going to be here for a week.” The physical therapist had said Gillian shouldn't go any longer between sessions. Of course, the same therapist had told her she had achieved as much healing as she ever would, making her wonder why she would rush back for more therapy or even consider finding a therapist here if she decided to stay longer.

“Roy and I have two spare bedrooms,” Sally said, ignoring Gillian's statement the same way she'd ignored protests in the past. “We talked about it last night, and we both agreed we'd love to have you stay with us. And don't try telling me that we're on our honeymoon. We're not teenagers. Besides, we've been married for close to a year.”

Though Sally looked like the quintessential sweet little old lady, she did a good imitation of a steamroller when she wanted to convince someone.

“Thank you, but . . .”

Before Gillian could complete the sentence, Sally raised an eyebrow. “But what? Is there a special someone waiting for you up North?”

As Gillian shook her head, TJ's image flashed through her brain. How silly! She wasn't interested in him, at least not that way. If she were looking for a man—which she wasn't—it wouldn't be an unemployed motorcycle-riding teacher. The only reason TJ had even crossed her mind was that he was so different from the men she'd met at Juilliard and on concert tours.

None of those men had piqued her interest the way TJ did, and that was surprising. Those men were the kind of men she was expected to marry. TJ was not. It was true that he was no less educated, but he was definitely less polished than the perfectly dressed, perfectly coiffed men who'd been part of Gillian's life since she'd graduated. She couldn't picture him in a concert hall or a five-star restaurant, and she definitely couldn't imagine him being comfortable in the back of a stretch limo, yet somehow those differences made him intriguing. There were depths to TJ that she'd never seen in the men she'd dated. Perhaps that was the reason those dates had never been more than casual.

“I'm not planning to get married any time soon,” she said, suddenly unsure whether she was convincing herself or Sally.

“I wasn't either, but look what happened to me.” Sally refilled Gillian's glass. “I really think you should stay here, at least for a couple months. And don't roll your eyes at the idea of Dupree. It may be a lot smaller than New York and Chicago, but the town is changing. We've got Drew Carroll's web company coming in, and Marisa St. George—pardon me, Marisa Kendall—has opened a bookstore. The seniors are even planning to start a book club once we figure out where to meet.”

Gillian wasn't certain why Sally thought those changes would affect her. Admittedly, Gillian relished a well-stocked bookstore, but that wasn't a reason to spend months in Dupree.

“Think about it, Gillian.”

And, though it was the last thing she'd planned to do, Gillian nodded. “I will.”

T
he town was more appealing than he'd expected. The business area, if you could call it that, was larger than he'd realized. There were more empty buildings than he'd like to see in a town this size, but Pecan Street boasted a number of small stores including what appeared to be a first-rate bootery and the shop that was the likely source of the quilts he'd seen at Rainbow's End.

One of the letter-named streets even had a decent barber, who'd managed to salvage TJ's hair after the crude hacking he'd given it. The fact that the man had made no comment other than that curly hair was a challenge earned him a healthy tip.

With his hair no longer sticking out in odd ways, TJ continued his tour of the town, discovering that Dupree was bookended with construction. An apartment complex was going up on the south side, while a sign on the north end showed an artist's rendition of the office building and cluster of duplex houses that were currently little more than cement foundations. Even when both were finished, Dupree would not be a boomtown. Still, it had more charm than TJ had expected.

He looked at the display on his camera, surprised that he'd
taken more than a hundred pictures. It wasn't as if he planned to remember his time in Dupree. As soon as Eric finished repairing his bike, TJ would be gone. And yet, something about the town intrigued him. Though he couldn't pinpoint the reason, he felt comfortable here.

Retracing his steps on Lone Star Trail toward the center of town, TJ studied the businesses lining the oddly named main street. Several of the buildings were empty. Others needed a good coat of paint. Still others needed their bricks repointed. But somehow this time the flaws didn't bother him the way they had the first time he'd noticed them. Instead, his mind began to whirl with ideas about how to renew the town. Odd. He'd never felt that way about a place, not even the suburb where he and Deb had spent their entire married life.

Glancing at his watch, TJ realized he had half an hour before he was supposed to meet Gillian. He might as well go into the Sit ‘n' Sip and see what the town's premier—translation: only—eating establishment offered.

“Howdy, stranger. What can I get you?” The brown-haired, brown-eyed man gave him an appraising look as he handed TJ a laminated menu.

“Just a cup of coffee.” Breakfast had been more substantial than TJ was accustomed to, making him suspect he'd be able to survive on the two meals a day that Rainbow's End provided. That would help him stretch his remaining cash until he decided what to do next.

“There you go,” the man said as he slid a large mug in front of TJ, “and now that you have a cup of the finest java in Dupree, you're no longer a stranger.” He extended his hand for a shake. “I'm Russ Walker, and this is my place.”

“TJ Benjamin.” As he returned the introduction, TJ took a sip of coffee, wincing when the overly strong and bitter brew slid down his throat. Hastily, he added cream and sugar to the beverage.

“You staying out at Rainbow's End or just passing through?” Russ Walker asked. It was more than casual conversation, TJ knew. This was quintessential small-town America at work. Residents looked after each other, and that included determining whether strangers were potential threats.

“I'll be at Rainbow's End for a couple days,” TJ said as he explained what had brought him to the self-proclaimed Heart of the Hills.

The barely veiled suspicion in the man's eyes disappeared, replaced by sympathy. “It's a doggone shame about your bike, but Eric St. George is a good man. He'll do you right.”

TJ nodded and took another sip of coffee. With the addition of what seemed like half a jar of sugar and a cup of cream, it was tolerable. “That's what everyone says.” He could only hope the praise wasn't misplaced. “You said his name was St. George. Any relation to the St. George apartment building that's under construction?”

Russ Walker leaned on the counter, his smile announcing his delight at being the one to convey news. “You could say so. Fact is, the building was named for him, his wife, and his daughter. They all work at Rainbow's End now. Carmen's the cook, Marisa does the books, and from what I've heard, Eric does just about everything else.”

“It's an unusual place.” Though he had no intention of remaining once his bike was repaired, TJ had to admit that the combination of the beautiful location, excellent food, and comfortable bed was appealing. If it hadn't been for those RVs across the road, TJ might have said it was close to perfect.

Russ picked up the coffeepot and refilled TJ's mug. “I heard Gillian Hodge is out there. Did you happen to meet her?”

Though he was surprised that Russ knew Gillian's name, TJ suspected her connection to Kate and Greg might be the reason she was not a total stranger in town. Guessing that the Sit ‘n' Sip's proprietor sought more news for the local grapevine, TJ
nodded. “You could say that. She's the one who rescued me when I crashed my bike.”

The man's eyes widened. “Is she as pretty as her pictures?”

Pictures? “I can't say. I never saw any pictures, but she's easy on the eyes.” A pretty face, curves in all the right places, and hair that reminded him of a sunset. Yes, indeed, Gillian Hodge was easy on the eyes.

Russ nodded, as if he'd read TJ's thoughts. “I figured she would be. It sure is a pity what happened to her.”

“I'm afraid you lost me there.” But if TJ's suppositions about Russ's fondness for gossip were correct, he'd soon learn whatever had happened to Gillian.

Straightening his shoulders, Russ drew himself to his full height and puffed out his chest, clearly relishing his role of being in the know. “I'm surprised no one told you.” He paused for effect. “She used to be a concert pianist. A pretty good one, from all accounts. Won some kind of fancy award.”

A concert pianist. TJ's breath came out in a whoosh as the words registered. No wonder he'd found her so unapproachable when she'd stopped her car to rescue him. His first impression had been correct. They came from very different worlds. Gillian was probably used to caviar and chateaubriand, limos and luxury, where he was a barbecue and beans kind of guy.

TJ shook himself mentally. There was no reason Gillian's career should have shocked him. It wasn't as if they were more than casual acquaintances. He turned his attention back to Russ, whose expression had grown more sober.

“The way I hear it, she had one of those sky's-the-limit careers. Then she was in some kind of accident—hurt her hand pretty bad.” Russ's mouth curved into a frown. “Rumor is she'll never play again.”

G
illian pulled into one of the angled parking spots in front of the Sit ‘n' Sip, wondering whether there was any point in going inside. TJ didn't strike her as the kind of man to wait patiently for a woman who was a quarter of an hour late. The time with Sally had passed quickly, and Gillian had been startled to realize she'd been gone longer than she'd planned. She had half expected to see TJ heading back to Rainbow's End or possibly standing on the curb, tapping his foot in annoyance. Instead, there was no sign of him. Unwilling to possibly abandon him, she climbed out of the car.

As she entered the small diner, she blinked to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness, and as she did, a man called out,“Welcome to Dupree, Miss Hodge. I hope you'll sit a spell.”

Gillian blinked again, this time at the novelty of being addressed as “Miss Hodge.” It was true that reporters occasionally called her that, but this man was no reporter. His white apron and position behind the counter left no doubt that he worked here.

Before Gillian could respond, the man said, “I was just telling
your friend here about your accident. Is it true you won't be playing again?”

He might not be a reporter, but he sounded like the ones who'd been waiting for her the day she'd been released from the hospital after the last round of surgery. Feeling as if she'd been ambushed, Gillian nodded. “That's what the doctors say.”

She turned to TJ, who'd drained his cup and laid a couple bills on the counter. “Are you ready?” It might be rude, but Gillian had no intention of discussing either her medical history or her career with a complete stranger. Though Texans had a reputation for friendliness, there was a fine line between friendliness and prying. This man had stepped over the line.

“I'm sorry about that,” TJ said as they pulled onto Lone Star Trail. When he ran a hand through his hair, Gillian noticed that the shaggy ends were gone. It appeared TJ had put his time in Dupree to good use.

“Russ was just being friendly,” TJ said. “He was really impressed that a famous pianist came to Dupree.”

“Former pianist,” Gillian corrected him. Oddly, it didn't hurt as much as she'd expected to say that.

“That must be tough.”

“It is.” Though she had not wanted to talk to Russ whatever-his-last-name-was, Gillian had no such discomfort with TJ. The pain she'd seen in his eyes and his leaving his chosen career at least temporarily made her think he would understand.

“I feel rudderless,” she admitted. “I had my life carefully planned, and now there's nothing. I have no idea what I'll do next, because the only thing I know is music.”

Even though Kate had had no difficulty transitioning from a high-powered job in Manhattan to a totally different lifestyle as Greg's wife and the owner of a resort, Gillian could not imagine doing anything similar. There was no one like Greg in her life to make such a dramatic change seem appealing.

TJ stroked his chin, leaving Gillian to wonder if he missed
having a beard. “Have you thought about teaching? I'm not talking about a public school. You'd need certification for that, but what about private lessons? I imagine parents would pay well to have someone with your credentials teaching their kids.”

Gillian shook her head. Her manager had suggested the same thing shortly before they parted company. She had refused then, and she was refusing now. “That's not for me.”

Gillian wouldn't insult TJ by telling him her father would be horrified if she even entertained the idea. Admittedly, that was part of the reason she hadn't considered teaching, but it was only part. The primary reason was that she doubted she could establish the rapport with her pupils that would be needed to succeed. TJ seemed to have an instinctive bond with teens, while Gillian was ill at ease with children of any age, perhaps because she'd had so little experience with them. Though she had a nephew, Gabriel was twenty-four, only five years her junior.

“I'm not good with kids,” she told TJ.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that. You held your own with those girls last night.”

“But I felt uncomfortable every second we were there.”

His skepticism obvious, TJ shook his head. “Then you ought to consider a career in acting. You didn't look uncomfortable.”

“Well, I was. Teaching's not for me. The problem is, I don't know what I'm going to do next,” Gillian said, hating the way her voice threatened to quaver. “What I do know is that I need a clean break. Music is my past.”

TJ's lips thinned, and he stared out the windshield, his expression inscrutable. “I hear what you're saying, and I understand why you feel that way. I know you don't want advice—I didn't either—but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't outrun your past.”

TJ hated the way Gillian's face fell. It might have been kinder to say nothing, and yet he'd felt compelled to share the little he'd learned with her. When he'd embarked on what was beginning to feel like an odyssey, he'd believed it was what he needed to close a chapter of his life. At the time it had seemed like the right—perhaps the only—thing to do.

There'd been no deathbed promises, no tearful moments talking about Deb's still incomplete bucket list. Instead, during those final months they'd spoken of the places they'd seen, the adventures they'd had. It had seemed cruel to talk about a future here on Earth when Deb had none, and so TJ had kept them focused on the past.

Was that a mistake? Was he wrong in believing that finishing Deb's bucket list would bring him closure? TJ didn't know. All he knew was that the past still dominated his thoughts, and he had no idea what he would do once he checked off the final park.

A year ago he had thought that by now the future would be clear, but it was still as opaque as the Yellowstone mud pots that had fascinated Deb. TJ could only hope—he'd long since stopped praying—that Gillian would be more fortunate.

“I'd like to help you,” he told her, “but one other thing I've learned is that you need to find your own answers.” If only he could find his.

“That's all right. As you guessed, I've gotten my share of advice and don't really want any more.” Gillian paused for a second, apparently concentrating on the road, before she said, “There is one thing you can do for me, though.”

TJ looked at her, surprised there was anything he could do for her. “What's that?”

“Satisfy my curiosity. What does ‘TJ' stand for?”

He laughed, remembering the number of times students had asked that. He'd always refused to answer, knowing how kids liked to ridicule names, but there was no reason not to tell Gillian.

“What do you think?”

“Thomas Jefferson.”

TJ shook his head. “Not hardly.”

“Timothy James.”

“Nope.” When she'd guessed three more names, all infinitely preferable to the one his parents had chosen, TJ took pity on her. “All right. I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to tell anyone, especially not the kids in Firefly Valley.”

Gillian nodded her agreement. “You make it sound like it's something awful.”

“Trust me. It is. How would you like to go through life saddled with Tobias Jeremiah?”

“Tobias Jeremiah.” She rolled the name on her tongue. “I like it. You can tell your parents they chose well.”

TJ shook his head. “That's no longer possible. My parents died ten years ago.”

Gillian's eyes misted. “I'm sorry. Was it an accident?”

“Nope. One of those deadly viruses that are all too common in Africa. My parents went there as missionaries and never came back.”

“That's awful.”

It was, although nowhere nearly as awful as Deb's death had been. But TJ wouldn't talk about Deb. Trying to deflect attention from himself, he asked, “Are your parents both alive?”

Gillian shook her head. “My mother died when I was born.”

TJ's surprise must have been evident, because Gillian continued. “Women dying in childbirth was supposed to have ended in the nineteenth century, but it seems no one told my mother or her doctor. They knew she was at higher risk just because of her age—I was a surprise baby—but no one expected that the delivery would have so many complications.”

“Now I'm the one to say I'm sorry. Did your dad remarry?”

She shook her head again. “No. He's a one-woman man.”

Like TJ.