Texas Pride

This book is dedicated to all my readers.
Thank you for bringing the Stone family into your hearts and homes.

And to Christine Niessner, a special and talented editor who believes in me and my ghosts.

“H
e's coming, Lucas! He just passed the farthest windmill, and he's headed right this way. It's him. I know it is!”

Lucas moved silently behind Margaret, intending to follow the direction of her gaze, but found himself watching her, instead. It was rare to see her so excited, and her pleasure brought him an unexpected warmth. Her pale blond hair shone silver and her slender transparent form had a luminescent aura. It had been a long time since he'd seen her glow this brightly. A very long time.

“It might not be him, Meggie,” Lucas said gently, not wanting her to get her hopes too high. There had been too much unhappiness for her, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer even one more disappointment.

She turned to him, her green eyes wide, her lips curved into a smile. “No, Lucas. He's the one. I feel it.”

Lucas knew better than to refute one of Meggie's “feelings.” She'd been right too many times to ignore. Still, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of this man coming to Makeshift. He had become quite fond of Jessica Stone over the years, and he felt extremely protective of her.

“What a strange automobile he's driving,” Meggie said, staring out the window again. “We've seen some unusual mechanical wagons over the years, but nothing quite like that. Do you think he lost some parts?”

The air vibrated with the sound of the vehicle, but Lucas still couldn't bring himself to look away from Meggie. She wore his favorite dress, the blue one that was as prim and proper as the schoolteacher herself. She'd had it on the first day they'd met. When she'd burst into his saloon, he'd thought she was going to scold him for teaching blackjack to her older students. Instead, she'd thanked him for instructing and encouraging her most difficult pupils in the use of mathematics.

An intense longing filled him, and though he knew it was impossible, the desire to touch her rose in him. He carefully traced the outline of her shoulders with his fingertips, remembering how soft and warm her skin had once felt.

Sensing rather than feeling his touch, Meggie turned and smiled sadly at Lucas. “We'll be together again,” she said quietly. “I don't know how, my love, but I know we will.”

She lifted a hand and spread her fingers. Lucas brought his palm to hers, dwarfing her small hand with his large one, carefully lining up his fingers with hers. The glow between them brightened and they both smiled.

* * *

Jessica Stone heard the deep rumble of a distant motorcycle and glanced up from the carton of books she'd been unpacking. With a frown, she wiped her hands on her jeans, then rose and went to the window of the second-story hotel room she'd moved into three days before. Hannibal, the German shepherd she'd rescued from the shelter in Cactus Flat, jumped up from his favorite spotwherever Jes-sica was—and followed closely at her heels.

Eyes narrowed, Jessica stared at the approaching cloud of dust. The unusually hot weather West Texas was currently having so late in November created waves of shimmering heat off the barren plain. A dark figure emerged from those waves, and the sunlight glinted silver off the motorcycle's handlebars.

“I'm not expecting anyone,” Jessica said to Hannibal. “How ‘bout you?”

Hannibal tilted his large black head at his mistress, then barked once.

“I didn't think so.” Jessica watched the bike slow as it neared the edge of Makeshift.

Normally Jessica liked being alone in the abandoned town she'd inherited when her father had died, but as she watched the lone rider park his motorcycle in front of the saloon across the street, she suddenly wished that Jake and Jared had stopped in today for one of their all-too-frequent, and all-too-obvious, visits.

Her brothers' overprotective behavior was a constant source of irritation. She knew, of course, that they only hovered over her because they loved her, but at twenty-seven, she thought herself capable of making her own decisions. Even if one of those decisions was to move out to Makeshift by herself.

Still, as she watched the biker pull off his helmet and give his long dark hair a shake, she wouldn't have minded a little company.

The man swung one long leg over his bike and stood with his back to her, both hands resting on his lean hips, and glanced around. He wore faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt, which stretched tightly over his wide back and muscular shoulders and arms. He was tall, at least as tall as Jake and Jared, who were both six foot four.

He turned and looked up directly at her.

Jessica sucked in a sharp breath and jumped away from the window. Hannibal barked at her sudden movement.

“Shush!” She put a finger to her lips. The dog wagged his tail and pressed his nose against her knee.

She waited a few moments, letting her heart calm before she peeked out the window again.

He was gone.

She moved closer to the window and glanced from one end of the town to the other, but she saw nothing. A dust devil picked up a tumbleweed in front of the general store and kicked it down the wooden sidewalk.

“Where did he go?” she muttered, frowning at the empty streets. The town wasn't that big, and except for the saloon and the hotel, most of the buildings were still boarded up.

A low growl rumbled from Hannibal. The dog jumped away from Jessica and turned, his ears laid back and his teeth bared.

Jessica froze, and she knew without a doubt that the stranger was standing in the doorway behind her.

She turned slowly and stared into eyes the darkest brown she'd ever seen. For a moment, she could have sworn he appeared as surprised as she was, but the look was quickly gone, and a disinterested nonchalance was all that remained. He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded. His gaze shifted from her to Hannibal.

“Nice dog.”

The stranger's voice was deep and rough, and Hannibal responded to the sound with a short bark. Jessica laid a hand on the dog's head, whether to calm the animal or herself she wasn't sure.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, wishing that the man wasn't blocking the only easy exit from the room. His tall frame practically filled the doorway. Close up, she could see the muscles she'd only guessed at from across the street. There was a rugged strength that emanated from him, a masculinity that frightened her, yet at the same time also pricked at the most basic, primitive female instinct. He was pure sensuality, and her breath caught as she stared at him.

He pushed away from the doorjamb, and the movement caused Hannibal to growl again. “You Jessica Stone?”

It should have comforted her that he knew her name. It didn't. “Yes.”

“I heard you're looking for a foreman.”

Jessica frowned. She'd filled out the paperwork, but the advertisement wasn't scheduled to be in the paper until the next day. “And how did you hear that?”

“In town. Couple of guys at the diner were talking.”

That was certainly possible. If there was one thing people did in a small town, it was talk. There'd been quite a buzz in Cactus Flat that Jessica Stone had received a grant to convert Makeshift into a center for troubled youth. Most of the townspeople supported her, but there were a few who were adamantly opposed to the idea. Her stepmother, Myrna, was at the head of that list. Not because she was so against helping teenagers, but because the annoying woman wanted the land for herself.

“I haven't interviewed anyone yet,” she said. “The ad comes out tomorrow.”

“Cancel it and hire me.”

He said the words with such confidence Jessica almost agreed. That would go over well with Jared and Jake. They'd certainly understand she hired this biker guy because he told her to. “I hardly think I should hire the first man who shows up.”

“No,” he agreed. “You should hire the best man.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “And that's you?”

He grinned. Jessica felt her insides twist and turn at the flash of straight white teeth. “You have a name?” she asked.

“Dylan Grant.”

“And your qualifications, Mr. Grant?”

“Sixteen years in the business. You name it, I've done it.”

She certainly believed that. Something told Jessica there was much more to that statement than the obvious. There was a hard edge in his eyes and in the way he held himself that spoke volumes about his life experience, though she guessed him to be only in his early thirties. And he certainly appeared capable. It was clear he was a man who made his living with physical work. His T-shirt defined the iron muscles in his upper arms and shoulders, his skin was tan and his big hands looked rough and callused.

Jessica suddenly realized she was staring. She pulled her gaze back to his and saw the amusement in his dark eyes. She cursed the blush slowly working its way over her cheeks.

“What brings you out this way?” she asked, forcing a businesslike tone into her voice. “Cactus Flat is hardly a tourist hot spot.”

Dylan winced. “I've been called a lot of things,” he drawled, “but never a tourist. That's cutting pretty deep.”

Dammit.
There was that smile again. Jessica bit the inside of her lip and ignored the flutter in her stomach. “This project is very important to me, Mr. Grant. It's a relatively small job, a reconstruction of a few of the buildings here. It's not long-term, but I need a responsible, dependable man to run a crew. Drifters and restless bikers are hardly what I consider reliable.”

“No matter what I am, Miss Stone,” he said flatly, “I keep my word. If nothing else, you can count on that.”

She hadn't meant to offend him, but when it came to rebuilding Makeshift, Jessica could take no chances.

“I'm acting as my own general contractor,” she said. “Do you have any problem working for a woman?”

“Can't say. I've never worked for a woman before.”

She couldn't help but smile. “At least you're honest, Mr. Grant. That's nearly as important as experience.”

Dylan's eyes narrowed. Her heart skipped when he moved into the room toward her. Hannibal gave another short growl when the stranger knelt and held out his hand.

“If there's one thing I have, Miss Stone,” Dylan said, reaching his fingers toward Hannibal, “it's experience.”

Dylan gave an inward sigh of relief that his hand was still intact as he pet the dog. There was no doubt that if he'd attempted a move toward Jessica the animal would have gone for his throat.
Good dog,
he thought, and scratched behind the animal's ear.

Hannibal wagged his tail.

The animal's mistress was a little more apprehensive, Dylan noted, allowing himself a slow upward perusal of Jessica's long denim-clad legs and curved hips. She'd rolled the sleeves of her white cotton blouse to her elbows, revealing slender smooth-skinned arms, and it was impossible not to notice the press of her rounded breasts against the thin cloth.

He forced his gaze upward still, and she tucked a long strand of dark shiny hair behind her ear, watching him warily with eyes that were a deep rich blue. He'd seen that color before, once, in another place and another time. But there was something about these particular eyes that made his gut tighten and his pulse quicken.

He didn't like the feeling one bit.

He wrenched his gaze away and stood. “What exactly is it you're doing out here, Miss Stone? It's a little off the beaten track for a shopping mall.”

She bristled at his statement. “Shopping has never been a hobby of mine. I'm converting Makeshift into a camp for teenagers.”

“Makeshift?”

She nodded. “My great-great-grandfather, Josiah Stone, founded this town in 1873 after he bought Stone Creek and started ranching. Cattlemen needed a place for supplies and rest when they were driving their herds to New Mexico. The first structure built was the saloon.” She looked out the window and gestured across the street.

“Important things first,” Dylan said with a grin.

“Exactly.” She smiled back. “The town boomed for twenty-five years, until railroads took over. Mining kept it going a few more years, but that dwindled, too. A few diehards stayed on and took care of the place, but they've been gone since the forties. When my father, J. T. Stone, died earlier this year, we found out he'd divided Stone Creek into four parcels, one for each of my brothers and half sister, and one—Makeshift—for me.”

Dylan looked around the small hotel room. A patchwork quilt covered a large brass bed, and two antique oak nightstands held matching stained-glass oil lamps. Several framed paintings covered the freshly painted walls, and a large cherry armoire stood open, revealing several gowns of an era long past.

Dylan shook his head in amazement. The room had obviously been restored to its original condition with care. The only thing out of place here was the telephone sitting on the floor beside three cardboard boxes of books and a radio on a nightstand. Otherwise, he might have thought he'd stepped over some invisible time line and been transported into the previous century.

He gestured at the bed. “Are you living out here by yourself?”

She glanced away, but not before he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I'm not alone. I have Hannibal, and one of my two brothers is usually close by. They aren't crazy about my living out here, so they stop by often.”

He stood close enough to catch the light scent of jasmine that drifted from her skin. He resisted the urge to lean even closer and pull the fragrance more deeply into his lungs. “I don't see anyone here now.”

She brought her gaze back to his with an intensity that surprised him. “What you see—or don't see—can be very deceiving, Mr. Grant.”

As she continued to stare at him, Dylan felt as if a weight were pressing on his chest. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy and he found it difficult to breathe. Hannibal stood suddenly, his ears pricked, and started to bark.