Back to Texas

“I don’t understand,” Adam said. Bridgett gracefully glided down the stairs. She was still in her waitress uniform but in his mind, she could have been a model on the runway in Milan. He had been invited to quite a few fashion weeks over the years and none of the women compared to Bridgett. Though she had a natural beauty and aura about her—if you plied her with makeup, hair spray and couture gowns, you’d suffocate her. “I can stay?”

Bridgett nodded. “Grab your luggage, and we’ll check you in.”

Crap. That was something Adam hadn’t thought of. Checking in meant showing ID and he no longer resembled his driver’s license photo. Plus if he was from Katy, Texas, how would he explain the California driver’s license?

After grabbing a small duffel bag from the truck, he met Bridgett inside the inn’s foyer. The white-and-red Victorian wasn’t the type of place he was accustomed to, but it possessed an inviting charm. And although he’d never admit it to his friends in LA, he’d rather lodge in a quaint and cozy B and B than an obnoxiously garish and overpriced hotel.

“Adam, this is Janie Anderson. She handles all guest relations.” Bridgett introduced him to a middle-aged woman coming down a dramatic, richly stained oak staircase ending at a large semi-circle landing that created the room’s focal point. “Janie, I would like to introduce you to Adam—I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.”

“Steele.” He hoped Bridgett hadn’t noticed the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He turned to Janie, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“She’ll register you while I check on your room. Janie, Adam will be staying in the Balcony Room. I’ll be back down in a minute.”

“Oh, you must be one of Mazie’s cousins.” Janie removed a leather-bound registry from the front desk drawer. From the landing, Bridgett shook her head when Adam almost corrected the woman. Janie ran her fingers across the top edge of the pages until she reached the ribbon marker, opened the book flat and turned it to face him. “If you’ll fill in your name, address and phone number—although with you being a relative I’m sure Mazie has it already—you’ll be good to go.”

No identification, no license plate number, just a person’s word. How ironic that his own family wouldn’t take him at his word, but strangers would. When he finished filling out the registry, Bridgett was ready for him. He followed her to the second floor, enjoying the sight of her bare legs and pert backside while she led him to his room.

“Here you are. Mazie keeps this room for out-of-town family, but she made an exception for you. And before you ask, it’s easier for Janie to think you’re a distant relative than endure her third degree.” Bridgett crossed to an elaborate glass-framed and oak-paneled door. “You have your own private balcony looking onto Ramblewood Park, a fireplace and a private bathroom. Mazie decorated this space with mid-1800s Victorian furnishings. Each room is different, but this is the nicest one. Of course, she designed it with pets in mind so there’s no frilly lace to snag tiny toenails. I don’t think you’ll find it too feminine.”

And feminine it wasn’t. Warm, rich oak accents carried throughout the crimson-painted room, from the chair rail to the hand-carved fireplace, giving the space an air of male sophistication.

“It’s perfect,” Adam said. “How can I repay Mazie for her generosity?”

“Don’t break her heart, that’s how you can repay me.” Adam jumped. A woman in her late twenties stood in the doorway, rivaling Bridgett in height. “I’m Mazie Lawson and welcome to my Bed & Biscuit.”

Bridgett gave Mazie a meaningful look. “I apologize for my overly cautious friend.”

Adam extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you and thank you for making room for me.” Adam wasn’t sure what he’d expected Mazie to look like, but he’d figured she would’ve been more than twenty or thirty years older.

“Well, I need to finish preparing dinner. We’re eating at six-thirty. Bridgett, would you mind stopping by Bridle Dance to pick up a sack of pecans Kay has for me? You can take my car. I ran short and I’m determined to win the pie contest this weekend. I won’t allow Maggie Dalton to take the blue ribbon fifteen years in a row. And I do wish you’d reconsider not dropping out of the competition. You had your heart set on entering.”

Bridgett shook her head. “I’d never beat you or Maggie, anyway,” Bridgett said, laughing. “Maggie and Mazie...the two pie queens of Ramblewood. Let me guess. You’re going to remain in this house, miss the majority of the festival and bake pies until the contest on Sunday afternoon.” Bridgett turned her attention to Adam. “The Magpie was a bakery before it became a luncheonette. Miss Parisian Le Cordon Bleu here is jealous that she hasn’t been able to beat a woman who made a career out of pies and cakes.”

“The Le Cordon Bleu?” Adam asked. “I’m impressed.”

“As you should be, mon cher,” Mazie said in a horribly Americanized French accent before turning to leave. “I must cook. Au revoir!”

“I’ll head out to the ranch in a bit,” she called after Mazie. Bridgett faced Adam. She shifted from one foot to the other and then scanned the room. An awkward silence filled the air as she flicked her thumb under her index finger repeatedly. Adam wondered if she’d just realized they were alone together. “I need to shower away the luncheonette.” She inched back toward the hallway. “Would you care to join me—I mean drive out to the ranch with me?”

“Sure, I’d love to see more of your town.” Adam’s mind veered off in a whole other direction as he envisioned her showering. “Do you live here, too?”

“Temporarily,” Bridgett said. “It’s a long story. I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty.”

Adam waited until he heard Bridgett’s footsteps fade away before he stuck his head into the hallway. A door closed at the opposite end. Ducking back inside his room, he relaxed against the wall and closed his eyes, amazed how things could change overnight. He had decided to alter his life when he’d left his sister’s earlier. A few hours later, a fresh start had fallen into his lap.

* * *

BRIDGETT SWORE SHE’D never taken a faster shower. She attempted to blow her hair out, cursing its thickness. Getting it to a half-way decent point, she reached for her cosmetics bag. The no-makeup look took more of an effort than simply slapping on blush and lipstick.

Almost mid-October and the weather was still on the warm side during the day. The nights brought about a welcoming chill after the scorching summer they’d had. Jeans, a form-fitting tank with a loose white sleeveless linen shirt over it and her favorite inlaid-heart cowboy boots comprised her first-date outfit.

First date? What a delirious thought! A quick run to Bridle Dance for pecans did not constitute a date. An outing maybe. Bridgett slipped her long silver-and-jade pendant necklace around her neck, took one last glance in the mirror and reminded herself to descend the stairs slowly or else she’d end up riding them on her butt. Mazie still hadn’t replaced the runner they’d torn out due to a pet guest destroying it a week earlier.

After she said a quick goodbye to Mazie and Janie, Bridgett stepped out onto the front porch.

“Did you even try?” Adam stood near the wrought-iron gate leading to the street, his cell phone to his ear. “Okay, I’m sorry, but you need to understand where I’m coming from, too.”

Bridgett knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of her. Not wanting to be seen, she slipped back into the house, listening through the screen. She managed to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation as Adam paced the width of the front yard.

“Lizzy, look at it from my side. This wasn’t what I wanted, either.”

Lizzy? Could he be married or involved with someone? She hadn’t thought to ask. And, why had he been on the interstate driving past Ramblewood? Was he heading to or from home?

Bridgett chewed on the inside of her cheek. How could she be so naive? He could be an ax murderer for all she knew. And here she’d invited him to stay a few feet away from her bedroom. Bridgett covered her face with her hands, debating what to do next.

Take a risk. That’s what Abby would do. Her sister had driven all the way to Texas on a hunch, and it had changed her life. Pushing back her shoulders, Bridgett flung open the door just as Adam reached for the handle. Startled, they both laughed.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Are you married?”

They both spoke at the same time. Adam tilted his head to one side. “Married? No, I’m not married, dating or otherwise attached. You?” Adam asked. “It’s not why you’re living here, is it? Fight with your husband?”

“No, I haven’t been lucky in the love department.” Bridgett’s toes curled in her boots at the mention of his single status. “The last real date I had was—” Bridgett cut her own sentence short before she embarrassed herself. “Sure, you can drive.”

“You look great, by the way,” Adam said from behind her. “I like your hair down.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t the first time she’d ever been complimented, but coming from him it meant more somehow.

* * *

THE CAB OF his truck quickly filled with an exotic floral scent when Bridgett climbed in beside him. Adam hoped wherever they headed would take a while. He enjoyed having her to himself, although he’d enjoy it more if his tongue would connect with his brain. Known for usually saying too much, Adam struggled to find ways to keep the conversation going. There was so much about his life he had to hide that it was hard to find a safe topic of conversation. He wondered if Bridgett even listened to his music. Her boots screamed country but he detected a slight edginess waiting to break free. Besides, some of his ballads had actually crossed over to the country stations.

Bridgett directed him where to turn, pointing out various places in town. The freedom associated with driving down rural roads, without traffic, smog and constant noise reminded him of his early twenties, before his world had changed. Wanting to enjoy that freedom, he hadn’t turned on the radio since he’d left Lizzy’s and unless he was using his cell phone, he kept it off, as well. His voice mail was probably full and he couldn’t care less. Adam wanted to remove himself from that world and embrace a simpler life.

“Where were you headed to when you stumbled upon Ramblewood?” Bridgett asked.

“Promise you won’t laugh when I tell you.” When Adam had decided to drive to California instead of fly, he’d borrowed a pickup he’d purchased for Lizzy but she’d never driven, having said it wasn’t her style. “I had planned on taking my dream trip across the United States, visiting all those crazy tourist attractions like the world’s largest ball of twine and the biggest iron skillet. I saw it in a movie once, but I never had the time to do it myself. After the falling out I had with my family, I wanted to take a mindless, fun trip.” The drive to LA had been a bucket list item he’d decided to knock off while he tried to sort through his plans.

“Falling out?” Bridgett asked. “What happened?”

Adam gripped the steering wheel tighter. He’d said more than he’d intended.

“Let’s say I didn’t exactly turn out the way my family had expected me to.” He wished he could tell her the whole story. But if he wanted a second chance in Texas, he needed people to accept him as he was today. Not as he used to be. Plus, he couldn’t take the chance on his transformation and whereabouts being leaked to the media. Not that he thought that was Bridgett’s intention, but sometimes people let things slip. No, The Snake needed to stay in the past...for now.

“Understood,” Bridgett said. “It’s none of my business, really. What was your first stop?”

“I haven’t made it there yet. I grew up near the world’s largest Igloo cooler. I guess you could say I started my trip with a freebie. My first stop was supposed to be the Toilet Seat Museum in San Antonio followed by the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.”

“Isn’t the Cadillac Ranch the place with the cars sticking halfway into the ground?”

“That’s the one,” Adam nodded.

“I can understand the cars, but a toilet seat museum?”

“This ninety-something-year-old man has turned a thousand plus toilet seats into works of art over the last fifty years. If he can create it, I can take the time to see it.”

“I’m sensing an art theme with you.”

“I love art,” Adam declared. “Tell you what. If I go to San Antonio, I’ll take you with me and you can see it for yourself.” Bridgett’s face remained stoic. No laugh or smile. Just a continued stare past the windshield. “Was it something I said?”

“No,” Bridgett sighed. “Something I promised myself and Mazie earlier.”

“I’m a good listener, if you want to talk.”

“I promised myself to be free and live more, so yes, I’d love to join you and see toilet seats. But, I promised Mazie I wouldn’t rush into anything with you. What she doesn’t know—and I’m not sure why I’m telling you this—is that I’m planning to leave town, anyway. As soon as I find a restaurant that I can afford, or one of the places I’ve applied at hires me I’m out of here. Whether I see toilet seats with you or leave on my own I risk being strangled by my friend. I’m trying to figure out if that’s worse than letting myself down by staying put.”

Her voice held a twinge of humor, but Adam sensed the weight of the world was on her shoulders as she contemplated her next step in life. But leaving home? He could relate and it didn’t sit well with him for some reason. He should stay out of it. It wasn’t his place, but he found himself unable to resist trying to reason with her.

“If I may be so bold to offer one piece of advice, and I learned this lesson the hard way: Follow your heart, but don’t burn your bridges. It’s not always easy to go home again.”

Adam turned to see Bridgett watching him closely. A shiver ran up his spine. Suddenly he felt exposed.

“Are things bad with your family?” Her tone was warm, not a hint accusatory.

Unable to speak without his voice cracking, he only nodded. Bridgett reached out and laid her hand on his arm.

“I understand more than you realize,” she said softly.

Covering her hand with his, he drove the rest of the way to the ranch in silence.

Chapter Three

Bridgett was a mess. Sitting with Adam’s hand over hers, she felt at ease one minute and nervous the next. Who knew one person could hold so much power over her emotions, especially someone she’d just met.

A hint of raw vulnerability had emerged in Adam when he’d owned up to letting his family down. Despite his casual tone, his eyes had betrayed him and held a sense of deep regret. An expression Bridgett knew well—it was identical to the one Ruby wore each time they had crossed paths these past few weeks. Her mother had asked the same of her as Adam wanted from his family. A second chance. Her mother’s lies had broken the trust they’d shared. No matter what her mother said, Bridgett had difficulty accepting that she was finally telling the truth. She wanted to forgive her mother, but she hadn’t figured out how. So how could she possibly tell Adam not to give up without coming across as an absolute hypocrite?

“Turn left here.” Bridgett rubbed the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders. She’d always loved coming out to the Bridle Dance Ranch. Not only had she grown up with the Langtry men, their father had taken time out of his busy schedule to teach Bridgett to ride. And it had been no easy feat thanks to her fear of horses back then. Joe had passed away two years ago, but Bridgett would never forget his kindness and ability to turn a scared little girl into an accomplished rider.

“It’s magnificent.” Adam peered over the steering wheel and up at the wrought-iron Bridle Dance lettering balanced between two rearing bronze horses on either side of the dirt road. “I’d love to know what foundry they used for those horses.”

“Foundry?” Bridgett asked.

“The place where they create the mold and cast the bronze.”

“Ah, okay.” Toilet seats, cars stuck in the dirt and now sculptures...the man definitely had a passion for art...if you could call toilet seats and cars art.

“My sister studied sculpting before she got married.”

“She doesn’t sculpt anymore?”

“No, her ex-husband almost killed her and brutally broke both her hands. She’s never been able to return to it.” The words may have flowed freely from Adam’s mouth, but his jaw flexed when he spoke, cautioning Bridgett to leave the painful subject alone. “Are those pecan trees?”

Rows of large trees with weeping branches formed a thick canopy above the entrance road, some limbs still heavy with fruit, others almost bare. Men gently shook the branches with a long padded pole as ripe nuts fell to the ground. An older Ford tractor towed a bright red harvester, sweeping the closely shorn grass and gathering the nuts for transport to the pecan cleaner.

“Yes. The Langtrys may use some modern equipment to gather the nuts, but they shake the trees the old-fashioned way. And if anyone wants to pitch in for an hour or two, they’re given a ten-pound burlap sack filled with fresh pecans to take home.”

“Calling this place a ranch is an understatement.” Adam slowly continued past the white-railed fencing that surrounded the pastures and led to the showcase of the quarter-of-a-million-acre property: the three-story log castle—at least that was how Bridgett had referred to it as a kid. The house even had a log turret on the back.

“Pull off to the right and take the driveway to the main house,” Bridgett directed.

She hopped from the truck and waited for Adam to join her at the gate leading into the side yard. Reaching over the fence, Bridgett petted Kay Langtry’s midnight-black standard poodle.

“This here is Barney.” Bridgett squeezed through the gate, grabbed hold of the dog’s collar and waited for Adam to enter.

“You don’t have to hold him—I’m good with dogs.”

“You sure? Because Barney’s a wild one.”

“Let him go.” Adam began to bend forward at the same time Bridgett released Barney. The dog had the upper hand, er, paw, and knocked Adam into the gate.

“Barney, sit!” Kay demanded as she crossed the lawn. “I’m sorry. My boys thought it was cute to teach him to ‘give people huggies,’ but the dog doesn’t know his own strength. Bridgett, it’s wonderful to see you.” Kay gave her a hearty hug. “And who’s your young man?”

“Adam Steele. He’s staying at the Bed & Biscuit for the weekend.” Bridgett turned to Adam. “And this is Kay Langtry, a second mother to most of Ramblewood.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Adam said, nodding. “You have a stunning piece of land.”

“Adam was captivated by the entrance sculpture,” Bridgett said.

“Those were my husband’s favorites.” Kay laid a hand above her heart. “If you’re not in a hurry, I can give you a mini tour.”

The three of them strolled through the main stables, or horse mansion as Joe Langtry used to call it, where Kay introduced Adam to two of her sons, Shane and Cole. While they talked, Bridgett caught sight of Lexi exiting one of the stalls. She excused herself and joined her friend.

“What are you doing here?” Lexi removed her latex gloves and tossed them into a covered trash bin. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m horsey and you look stunning in that outfit. Who’s the guy you walked in with?”

“Geesh, you don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Usually not, but I do have to confess. Mazie called and told me to check out the eye candy you’re with.”

“Your sister’s a real piece of work.” Bridgett crossed her arms. “Did she tell you what she told Adam before I even introduced them?”

“Yes and she told me you looked pretty annoyed about it, too. He has a sexy rebel vibe going on, doesn’t he? What’s his story?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Bridgett recounted what she knew about Adam, and it wasn’t much. “I’m hoping to find out more this weekend.”

“How long is he in town for?” Lexi slinked along the stable walls for a better look at Adam, which only made her stand out even more. “Do you need Shane and me to give him a little nudge? We can double-date. My husband owes me a night out.”

“Thank you, but—” Bridgett swatted Lexi’s arm to stop her from spying.

“Ouch!” Lexi feigned. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re scaring the horses with your prowling. Let’s see what happens this weekend before I call in the reinforcements. I have no idea how long he’s staying.” Or how long she’d remain in town herself.

* * *

“THIS IS OUR Dance of Hope Hippotherapy Facility and the Ride ’em High! Rodeo School.” Kay stopped in front of the massive Craftsman-style building. “That’s my Joe on top of the one sculpture and my granddaughter on the other.”

Adam gazed from the bronzed girl perched on a horse to the twenty-something man atop a bucking bronco. “I take it he was a rodeo man himself.”

“Come inside and I’ll show you the inspiration photos for both pieces.” Kay pushed open the carriage doors leading into a magnificent stone entryway, dividing the two businesses. “This photo was taken during Joe’s last ride—my oldest, Cole, was born the next day. And, this one I took the day Joe met my granddaughter, Ever. She was the inspiration for this place.”

“Forgive me for asking, but what kind of therapy facility did you say this was?”

Kay beamed at his question. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Adam followed her down a hallway and outside to four separate corrals. Each of them contained a horse, rider and a few other people leading the horse slowly around the grassy area.

“This is hippotherapy.” Kay waved to one of the passing riders. “Watch the hind end of that horse and notice how his hips rise and fall. Their walk so closely mimics a human’s, by sitting astride a horse, a person with cerebral palsy—like my granddaughter—or a person recovering from a spinal injury, can increase their muscle strength and improve neurological function. It may lead to them walking again. It’s not all physical though. We have an occupational and speech therapy side, too.”

“I had no idea this existed.” Adam rested his arms on the top fence rail and watched the riders. He noted the saddles were different from any saddle he’d seen before. Instead of leather, they were fabric with two large handles on the top for the rider to grip.

Horses’ neighs and hooves clomping against the dirt reminded Adam of his parents’ ranch. Closing his eyes, it almost felt like home. He opened them as a man in military fatigues rode proudly past. With a few exceptions, most of the patients were children. “You said your granddaughter inspired Dance of Hope?”

“See the rambunctious girl in the far corral.” Kay pointed out a tiny brunette with pigtails. “That’s Ever. A friend of ours told Joe about hippotherapy and the concept fascinated my husband. By the end of the day, Joe had researched the nearest facility. It was quite a distance from here. He called them up and we took a trip there the next morning. It’s where he met Ever. At the time, she was wheelchair-bound. She had grit and determination and Joe loved her the moment they met.

“Ever’s adopted?” The girl waved when she spotted her grandmother.

“Since Ever was a foster child, the opportunity for her to continue with this type of therapy wasn’t guaranteed. Joe and I had inquired about adopting her, but we were—how’d they put it—above the ideal age range. My son Cole and his wife adopted Ever. Once they’d met her, they had found it impossible to allow her to stay in the system. She’s a very special child.”

Adam watched the girl dismount next to a platform. “I thought you said she was wheelchair-bound.”

“She was.” Kay touched Adam’s shoulder. “Would you like to meet her?”

“I’d love to.”

Despite the greater part of her legs being encased in braces over her jeans, Ever practically ran to her grandmother. Adam found himself battling tears that threatened to choke off his words.