Falling for the Sheriff. Tanya Michaels
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vu triggered by the scent of coffee. She herself had never developed a taste for it, but Damon hadn’t been able to form the words good morning without a mug in his hand.
To combat the Texas summer, Gram kept the air-conditioning chugging at a temperature low enough to cool the hardwood floors. Kate slid her feet into music-note slippers given to her by a student at Christmas and padded to the kitchen to help with breakfast. She wasn’t surprised that the door to Luke’s room was still closed; he rarely got out of bed without parental prompting.
Gram, a natural morning person, beamed at her. “Sleep well, dear?”
“Like a rock, actually.” It was the best night’s rest she’d had in recent memory.
“I was just about to scramble myself some eggs. Want some?”
“You made dinner last night. It only seems fair that I make breakfast,” Kate counteroffered.
“All right. Then I can work on my shopping list. I’m running into town to pick up a few last minute items for the cookout this afternoon.”
The two women ate breakfast in companionable silence. Afterward, Gram gathered her purse and keys, saying she wouldn’t be gone long. She was just missing a few ingredients for the desserts she planned to bake.
Alone in the quiet house, Kate began unpacking some of her belongings into the closet and bureau. She’d been too drained last night. After making a substantial dent—and finding a casual green-striped sundress that seemed appropriate for today—she headed for the bathroom and showered. She used the blow-dryer with the door open, hoping the noise would jumpstart the process of waking Luke. When she knocked on his door, however, there was no answer, not even a mumbled “go away.”
She toyed with letting him sleep longer, wondering if that would improve his disposition today, but decided she wanted this opportunity while they were alone in the house to break the news about the welcome party. He might not react with enthusiasm, and she didn’t want him hurting Gram’s feelings.
“Knock, knock,” she said as she pushed the door open.
He was out cold, his breathing slow and even, his shaggy hair going in all different directions, an uneven halo against the pale blue pillowcase. Without the scowl that was rapidly becoming his trademark, he looked a lot like he had as a little boy. Her heart constricted, a tight ball in her chest. She loved her son so much and wanted nothing more than to make his life better, easier. If only he could see that!
She sat on the edge of the bed, saying his name softly, then with more volume, jostling his shoulder.
One eyelid cracked open just enough for him to peer at her in displeasure. “Whaddayawant?”
“To make you breakfast. And to talk. We saved you some bacon,” she said coaxingly.
He hesitated, torn between two of his favorite activities—sleeping and eating. Playing video games was also in his top five, but she hadn’t hooked up his gaming system last night. Maybe that could be his reward for being well-behaved today.
“Why don’t you put on some clothes and brush your teeth,” she suggested, “and I’ll cook you some eggs. Scrambled with cheese?”
He shook his head. “Fried with the squishy yolk, so that the yellow runs everywhere when you cut it.”
“Okay.” She rose, leaving the room and giving him some privacy. But she hesitated in the hallway, listening to make sure he actually got out of the bed instead of rolling over and falling back to sleep.
Just as she was setting his plate on the table, he appeared in the kitchen, wearing a pair of maroon shorts with an elastic waist and a charcoal-colored shirt that had once featured the name of a sports team. The letters had faded to obscurity after about a million washings, and tiny holes in the fabric were beginning to appear at the neckline and around the seams. He claimed the shirt was the softest piece of clothing he owned and wore it about three times a week. She really needed to find him a replacement before this one ultimately disintegrated. Although he’d changed, he hadn’t taken the time to brush his hair. It stuck out around his face in fluffy spikes.
She handed him a glass of orange juice. “You sleep okay?” Considering the coma-like condition she’d found him in, it seemed like a safe opener.
“No. The bed’s lumpy, and the outside noise is weird.”
How did he not consider the gentle hum of crickets and tree frogs an improvement over planes landing and periodic car alarms blaring? “There’s hardly any noise at all!”
“That’s what makes it weird.” He stabbed into an egg, watching the yellow ooze across the plate as requested. “Where’s Gram?”
“She went out for some groceries.” And would probably be home any minute now, so Kate better get to the point. “She invited some people over this afternoon for a cookout.”
Luke scowled around a mouthful of bacon. “You want me to spend my afternoon with a bunch of people I don’t know?”
“That’s the whole point of the gathering, so we can get to know some of our new neighbors. Maybe start making friends.”
“I have friends. In Houston.”
“Well, we aren’t in Houston anymore. Gram was nice enough to take us in, and we owe her. Our actions here reflect on her, too.”
“So you’re saying if we don’t fit in, she might kick us out?”
“Of course not!” Her grandmother would never resort to reverse extortion. Was he asking because he feared not being accepted, after the way most of his teachers had labeled him last year, or was he secretly hopeful, wondering if antics at Gram’s cookout could be his ticket back to Houston?
“I expect you to be on your best behavior,” she stressed. “Do not screw this up.”
Hurt flared in his eyes, but his tone was his default-mode sarcastic when he said, “So you’re saying I shouldn’t hotwire the guests’ cars and do doughnuts in the back pasture?”
“After your stunt yesterday, you don’t get to make jokes like that.”
“How long are you going to stay mad about that? It was just a stupid candy bar!”
No, it was a destructive pattern of behavior. Then again, if she always acted as though she expected the worst of him, was she creating a self-fulfilling prophecy? “Luke, I—”
Outside, a car door closed, and he shot out of his chair. “I’ll see if she needs help bringing in groceries.” His gallantry was clearly motivated by an excuse to end the conversation, but Kate would take what she could get.
The screen door clattered as he hurried out of the house, and Kate heard Gram call good morning to him. Decades ago, Joan Denby had been able to coax Kate out of her shell when she was feeling abandoned by her father. Maybe now Gram could work her magic on a sullen teenage boy.
There were so few bags that Luke got them all in one trip. Kate offered to help put away the groceries, but Gram said to just leave them out for baking. She then made Luke’s day by giving him permission to hook up his game console to the living room TV while the two women worked in the kitchen.
Once he’d happily scampered off to lose himself in a digital quest, Gram raised an eyebrow in Kate’s direction. “Am I wrong, or was there some tension between the two of you?”
“Always.”
Gram patted her arm. “Hang in there. The teen years are difficult. I seem to recall a certain summer where you and Crystal fell for the same lifeguard at the local pool and life as you knew it was over!” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in melodramatic parody.
Kate chuckled in spite of herself. “Okay, I suppose even I had my tantrums.”
“And you grew into a wonderful woman. Luke has a good heart.”
“I