Texas Pride. Barbara McCauley
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don’t believe in wasting time,” Dylan returned.
Jessica was going to kill Jared. Slowly and painfully. He’d been rude from the minute they’d walked in. When were her brothers ever going to learn she wasn’t a child anymore?
Smiling brightly, Savannah stepped between the two men and pressed a beer into Dylan’s hand. “So has Jessica told you about her ghosts yet?” she asked.
Dylan thanked Savannah and turned his gaze to Jessica as he took a long swig of the beer. “She mentioned them.”
“We think it’s romantic,” Annie said. “The idea of two souls so in love they refuse to leave the town where they were to be married.”
Dylan still couldn’t believe that Jessica actually believed this crazy idea. He wondered if she was putting him on, trying to get back at him for the room-and-board business. He glanced at her, and she smiled sweetly.
“Hello, everyone,” a woman’s high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation. The room went silent, and all heads turned in the direction of the front door.
Dylan watched as an attractive woman of about fifty moved into the room. The red in her plaid jacket nearly matched the red of her swept-up hair, and her black velvet skirt matched her shoes. An older man in an expensive blue suit followed the woman into the room. Dylan noticed the man’s pallor was as gray as his hair.
“So sorry we’re late,” the woman said, though Dylan had the feeling that no one in the room had been particularly lamenting that fact. “It was a battle to drag Daddy away from one of his business calls. I swear, he’s been locked up in the study half the day.”
The woman brushed a kiss first on Jake’s cheek, then Jared’s. It was tolerated more than welcomed, Dylan noticed.
The woman hugged Jessica, then settled her gaze on Dylan. “Oh, Jessica, dear, is this the young man who’s staying with you in that town of yours?”
Jessica flinched, then forced a smile. “He’s not staying with me, Myrna. He’s the foreman I’ve hired to renovate Makeshift. Dylan Grant, this is Myrna Stone, my stepmother, and her father, Carlton Hewitt.”
Carlton’s grip was firm, Dylan noted, though his palm was cold. Myrna’s grip was as weak as it was brief.
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