McKettricks of Texas: Tate

Libby nodded. Marva’s “best” wasn’t all that good, as it happened, but she didn’t want the subject of her mother to ruin the evening. She raised and lowered her shoulders, releasing tension, and focused on the scenery. “I guess so,” she said.

The conversational lull that followed was peaceful, easy.

Hildie got things going again by suddenly popping her big head forward from the back seat and giving Tate an impromptu lick on the ear.

He laughed, and so did Libby.

“Do you ever think about getting another dog?” she asked, thinking of Crockett. That old hound had been Tate’s constant companion. He’d even taken him to college with him.

“Got two,” Tate reminded Libby, grinning.

“I mean, one of your own,” Libby said.

Tate swallowed, shook his head. “I keep thinking I’ll be ready,” he replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the winding road ahead. “But it hasn’t happened yet. Crockett and I, we were pretty tight.”

Libby watched him, took in his strong profile and the proud way he held his head up high. It was a McKettrick thing, that quiet dignity.

“Your folks were such nice people,” she told Tate.

He smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They were.”

They’d passed mile after mile of grassy rangeland by then, dotted with cattle and horses, all of it part of the Silver Spur. Once, there had been oil wells, too, pumping night and day for fifty years or better, though Tate’s father had shut them down years before.

A few rusty relics remained, hulking and rounded at the top; in the fading, purplish light of early evening, they reminded Libby of the dinosaurs that must have shaken the ground with their footsteps and dwarfed the primordial trees with their bulk.

“You’re pretty far away,” Tate said, as they turned in at the towering wrought-iron gates with the name McKettrick scrolled across them. Those gates had been standing open the night before; Libby, relieved not to have to stop, push the button on the intercom and identify herself to someone inside, had breezed right in. “What are you thinking about, Lib?”

She smiled. “Oil derricks and dinosaurs,” she replied.

Tate pushed a button on his visor, and the gates swung wide, then whispered closed again as soon as they passed through. Hildie, quiet for most of the ride, began to get restless, pacing from one end of the back seat to the other.

Once again, Libby dared hope her dog wasn’t planning to move in with Tate and forget all about her, the way Ambrose and Buford apparently had.

“Derricks and dinosaurs,” Tate reflected.

“You might say there’s a crude connection,” Libby said.

Tate groaned at the bad pun, but then he laughed.

When they reached the ranch house, he drove around back instead of parking under the portico or in the garage, and Libby gasped with pleasure when she caught sight of the castle.

It was enchanting. Even magical.

“Wow,” she said.

Tate shut off the truck, cast a rueful glance over the ornate structure and got out to help Hildie out of the back seat.

Set free, Hildie ran in circles, as excited as a pup, and when Ambrose and Buford dashed out of the castle and raced toward her, all former grudges were forgotten. She wag-tailed it over to meet them like they were long-lost friends.

The twins waved from separate windows in the castle, one at ground level and one in a turret.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Libby said, shading her eyes from the presunset glare as she admired the oversized playhouse.

“Me, either,” Tate said.

“Cometh thou in!” one of the little girls called from the tower.

Libby laughed. Tate shook his head and grinned.

Took Libby’s hand just before he stooped to enter the castle, then pulled her in after him. The three dogs crowded in behind them, thick as thieves now that they weren’t roommates anymore.

The inside was even more remarkable than the outside, with its fireplace and overhead beams and a stairway leading to the upper floor.

Libby wondered what Calvin would think of the place.

“It’s so—big,” she said slowly.

Ava nodded eagerly. “Dad says Audrey and I need to think about giving it to the community center, so other kids can play with it, too.”

Libby glanced at Tate, saw that he was looking away.

“That’s a very generous idea,” she said, impressed.

“We haven’t decided yet, though,” Audrey put in, descending the stairs. “All Dad said was to think about it. He didn’t say we actually had to do it.”

Tate gestured toward the door. “I’m pretty sure supper is ready by now, ladies,” he said. “Shall we?”

Audrey and Ava curtseyed grandly, spreading the sides of their cotton shorts like skirts.

“Yes, my lord,” Ava said.

Tate laughed. “Go,” he said.

Both girls hurried out of the castle, the canine trio chasing after them, barking like dog-maniacs.

“‘Yes, my lord’?” Libby teased, grinning, when the din subsided a little. “Now where would a pair of six-year-olds pick up an antiquated term like that?”

“Garrett probably taught them,” Tate answered. “He likes to get under my skin any way he can.”

Esperanza stood beside the patio table, laughing as she shooed the dogs out from underfoot and ordered the twins inside to wash their hands and faces.

Ambrose and Buford followed them, but Hildie paused, turned and scanned the yard, then trotted toward Libby with something like relief when she spotted her.

Touched, Libby bent to pat the dog’s head.

Esperanza had outdone herself, preparing supper. There were tacos and enchiladas, seasoned rice and salad.

Libby enjoyed the food almost as much as the company, and she was sorry when the meal ended and Esperanza herded the twins into the house for their baths.

Overhead, the first stars popped out like diamonds studding a length of dark blue velvet, and the moon, a mere sliver of transparent light, looked as though it had come to rest on the roof of the barn.

Libby was totally content in those moments, with Tate at her side and Hildie lying at her feet, probably enjoying the warmth of the paving stones.

When Tate squeezed her hand, Libby squeezed back.

And then they drew apart.

Libby stood and began to gather and stack the dishes.

Tate got to his feet and helped.

Libby had forgotten how big the kitchen was, and as they stepped inside, she did her best not to stare as she and Tate loaded one of several dishwashers and cleaned up. The pool was visible on the other side of a thick glass wall, a brilliant turquoise, and looking at it, Libby couldn’t help remembering the skinny-dipping episode.

She smiled. They’d been so innocent then, she and Tate.

So young.

And such passionate lovers.

Tate took her gently by the elbows and turned her to face him. Kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Thanks for saying ‘yes’ to tonight, Lib,” he said. “It’s good to have you back here.”

Libby’s throat tightened with sudden, searing emotion.

Tate cupped her chin his hand and tilted her face upward, looked into her eyes. “What?” he asked, very gently.

She shook her head.

He drew her close, held her tightly, his chin propped on the top of her head.

They were still standing there, minutes later, not a word having passed between them, when Esperanza returned, the front of her dress soaked, her lustrous, gray-streaked hair coming down from its pins. Barking and the laughter of little girls sounded in the distance.

“The dogs,” Esperanza told Tate breathlessly, “they are in the bathtub, with the children.”

Tate sighed in benign exasperation, then stepped away from Libby. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. As he passed Esperanza, he laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezed.

“These children,” Esperanza fretted. “I am too old—”

Libby hurried over to help the other woman into a chair at the table. Brought her a glass of water.

“Are you all right?”

Esperanza hid her face in her hands, and her shoulders began to shake.

It took Libby a moment to realize the woman was laughing, not crying.

Relieved, Libby laughed, too.

Tears of mirth gleamed on Esperanza’s smooth brown cheeks, and she used the hem of her apron to wipe them away.

Then, crossing herself, she said, “It is just like the old days, when the boys were young. Always in trouble, the three of them.”

Tate returned, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene. Like most men, he was probably wary of female emotion unleashed.

Libby took in every inch of him.

Tate McKettrick, all grown up, was still trouble.

The kind it was impossible to resist.

CHAPTER FIVE

LIBBY WAS UP EARLY the next morning, feeling rested even though she’d only had a few hours’ sleep. After driving her home and walking her to her front door the night before, like the gentleman he could be but sometimes wasn’t, Tate had kissed her again, and the effects of that tender, tentative touch of their mouths still tingled on her lips.

The sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon when she took Hildie for the first walk the poor dog had enjoyed since Ambrose and Buford had come to stay with them weeks before. It was good to get back into their old routine.

All up and down Libby’s quiet, tree-lined street, lawn sprinklers turned, making that reassuring chucka-chuck sound, spraying diamonds over emerald-green grass. Hildie stopped for the occasional sniff at a fence post or a light pole or a patch of weeds—Julie, joint owner, along with Calvin, of a surprisingly active three-legged beagle named Harry, would have said the dog was reading her p-mail.

As Libby and Hildie passed Brent Brogan’s house, a small split-level rancher with a flower-filled yard and a picket fence, Gerbera stepped out of the front door, bundled in a summery blue-print bathrobe, and hiked along the walk to get the newspaper.

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