Read Online The Way to Texas by Liz Talley - Free Book Online

under his arm with ease.
    â€œLordy, where’d you get this hunk, D?” A gold crownwinked at him as she grinned and took him in from the top of his ball cap to the bottom of his work boots.
    â€œI didn’t get him. Nellie did.”
    â€œDarn, that girl’s got good taste,” the woman said setting the bags upon the counter and dusting her hands.
    â€œI thought she had her hands full with that good-lookin’ husband of hers. What’s she need another one for? But I’ll take this one. He looks a mighty fine specimen of manhood.” She cackled and winked at him.
    â€œHi,” he said, “I’m Tyson Hart, the contractor.”
    She stuck out a weathered hand. “I’m Margo. I help D run this center. And I may look old, but I got a young girl’s heart. And her moves, too.”
    â€œI don’t doubt it,” Tyson said, taking the proffered hand and giving it a shake. She looked so regal with her coffee-colored skin and reggae-style braids, he started to bow over her hand. Or lift it to his lips as a courtly gesture.
    â€œRight answer, baby,” she said, pulling her hand from his. She started unloading the bags on the counter. She didn’t necessarily dismiss him, but she moved on. “D, I’ve had about all I can stand of that too-big-for-her-britches witch down at the vegetable stand. Her mean ass is running a fruit stand and putting on airs with me. Not to mention her pumpkins are priced too high for anybody to afford this Halloween.”
    Tyson left Dawn and Margo talking about someone named Ruby Pierson and her overpriced gourds and headed to the second story.
    Remodeling a structure the age of Tucker House was daunting, but he felt better knowing he and Dawn had cleared the air about the sexual attraction sitting between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.
    They would be friends. Having a female friend wouldbe a good thing. She could give him advice on what Laurel might want for Christmas. She could tell him whether his new gray sweater matched the pants he’d bought for church on Sunday. She could advise him on what would get chocolate ice cream out of a white T-shirt. Having a female friend would work out fine.
    He’d ignore the urge to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Or to brush against her when she slid past him into a room. He’d stop picturing her naked in the shower. And stop wondering what kind of sweet noises she’d make during sex. He absolutely would not touch her. Her skin was kitten-soft and made him want to stroke her. Make her purr.
    Scratch that. He thumped up the stairs. His thoughts were already betraying him.
    As he reached the top step, his cell phone rang.
    â€œHart.”
    â€œWhere in the jehosephat did you put the remote control? I can’t find the damn thing anywhere.” The voice was rusty and annoyed.
    Tyson sighed. He loved his grandfather, he really did. But the irascible older man was getting harder and harder to keep patience with. Tyson didn’t want to admit it, but he suspected the man who’d taken him in when he was ten showed the early stages of Alzheimer’s. “I put it on the top of the TV, Gramps. Do you see it?”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYou sure you don’t want to come with me to Tucker House while I’m working?”
    â€œHell, no,” his grandfather said, “Do I fart dust? That place is for old folks. I ain’t old.”
    â€œI didn’t say you were, but it might be fun to renew old friendships. Play bridge. Check out the ladies.”
    Tyson walked through the second floor, picturing thechanges he would make as he talked to his grandfather. He had a lot of work in front of him to get the space ready before Christmas. He knew he could be finished by mid-January at the very latest.
    â€œI don’t want no ladies fussin’ round me. They’ll be bringing me new shirts and casseroles. Trying to knit me