McKettricks of Texas: Austin. Linda Lael Miller
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worse,” she marveled, gripping the arms of the poolside chair where she’d fallen asleep after a solitary lunch in the ranch-house kitchen.
Austin laughed, drew up a chair himself and eased into it with the care of a man much older than his twenty-eight years. His beard was coming in, buttery-brown, and his hair looked a little shaggy.
It ought to require a license, being that good-looking.
“Gee,” he drawled. “Thanks.”
It galled Paige that after all this time, he could still make her heart flutter. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Austin settled back, popping the top on a beer can, letting her know he meant to take his sweet time answering. A scruffy-looking dog meandered in and settled at his booted feet with a little huff of contented resignation.
“I reckon if anybody’s going to demand explanations around here,” Austin said at long last, “it ought to be me. I live here, Paige.”
She’d set herself up for that one. Even seen it coming. And she’d been unable to get out of the way.
Paige drew a deep breath, released it slowly. “I’ve been staying in the guest suite for a couple of days,” she said after a few moments. “The lease was up on my apartment and the renovations on our old house aren’t quite finished, so—”
Austin’s eyes were a lethal shade of blue—“heirloom” blue, as Paige thought of it, a mixture of new denim and summer sky and every hue in between. According to local legend, the McKettricks had been passing that eye color down for generations.
He studied her for a long time before speaking again. Set the beer aside without taking a sip. “My brothers,” he said, “are marrying your sisters.”
Paige sighed. “So I’ve heard,” she said.
Austin ignored the slightly snippy response, went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “That means,” he told her, “that you and I are going to have to learn to be civil to each other. In spite of our history.”
Paige recalled some of that history—youthful, frenzied lovemaking upstairs in Austin’s boyhood bedroom, the two of them dancing under the stars to music spilling from the radio in his relic of a truck.
And the fights. She closed her eyes, remembering the fights, and her cheeks burned pink.
“Paige?”
She glared at him.
“Is it a deal?” he asked quietly.
“Is what a deal?” she snapped.
Austin sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. He looked thinner than the last time she’d seen him, and shadows moved behind the light in his eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was in pain—maybe physical, maybe emotional. Maybe both.
He leaned toward her, spoke very slowly and very clearly, as though addressing a foreigner with language challenges. “Whether we like it or not, we’re going to be kin, you and me, once New Year’s rolls around. My guess is, my brothers and your sisters will still be married at the crack of doom. There’ll be a whole lot of Christmases and Thanksgivings and birthday parties to get through, over the years. All of which means—”
“I know what it means,” Paige broke in. “And what’s with the condescending tone of voice?”
Austin raised both eyebrows. A grin quirked at one corner of his mouth but never quite kicked in. “What’s with the bitchy attitude?” he countered. Then he snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Oh, that’s right. It’s just your normal personality.”
Paige rode out another surge of irritation. Much as she hated to admit it, Austin had a point.
Libby was marrying Tate. Julie was marrying Garrett. Tate’s twins, Audrey and Ava, were already part of the family, of course, and so was Julie’s little boy, Calvin. And both couples wanted more kids, right away. Oh, yes, there would be a lot of birthday parties to attend.
“Could we try this again?” Paige asked, trying to sound unruffled.
Austin tented his fingers under his chin and watched her with an expression of solemn merriment that was all his own. “Sure,” he replied, all fake generosity and ironic goodwill. “Go ahead and say something friendly—you can do it. Just pretend I’m a human being.”
Paige looked away, and a deep and inexplicable sadness swept over her. “We’re never going to get anywhere at this rate,” she said.
Time seemed to freeze for an instant, then grind into motion again, gears catching on rusty gears.
And then Austin leaned forward, took a light grip on her hand, ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles.
A hot shiver went through her; he might have been touching her in all those secret, intimate places no one else had found.
“You’re right,” Austin said, his tone husky. “We’re not. Let’s give it a shot, Paige—getting along, I mean.”
He looked sincere. He sounded sincere.
Watch out, Paige reminded herself silently. “Okay,” she said with dignity.
Another silence followed. Paige, for her part, was trying to imagine what a truce between herself and Austin would actually look like. After all, they’d been at odds since that summer night, soon after they’d both graduated from high school, when Paige had caught the lying, sneaking, no-good bastard—
She drew another deep breath, mentally untangled herself from the past. As best she could.
They’d gotten together by accident, in the beginning— Tate and Libby were going to a movie one Friday night, and, grudgingly, Tate had brought his younger brother along. Paige had gotten the impression that their parents had insisted, and if Tate had refused, it would have been a deal breaker.
Paige had been curled up in an armchair reading a book when Austin turned that fabled charm on her, grinned and asked if she’d like to go to a movie.
After that, she and Austin had been as inseparable as Libby and Tate.
Paige had thought he was playing some game at first, but after a few months, they were a couple. After a year, Paige was on the pill, and they were making love.
Yes, she’d been in love with Austin. She’d lost—okay, given—her virginity to him, along with her trust and, of course, her heart.
Ultimately, he’d betrayed her.
But all that had happened just over ten years ago, before his folks, Jim and Sally McKettrick, were killed in that awful car accident, before her own dad had died of cancer. So very much had happened in the interim and, well, Paige was tired of holding a grudge.
“You were having a bad dream before?” Austin asked presently.
“Huh?” Paige said.
“When I woke you up a little while ago?”
“Yes,” she answered, smiling a little. “Thanks for that.”
He grinned, making the pit of her stomach quiver for a moment, then reached for his can of beer. Raised it slightly in an offhand toast. “Anytime,” he said.
The dog whimpered, chasing something in his sleep. Or running away from something.
“Shep,” Austin said, nudging the animal gently with the toe of one boot. “Easy, now. You’re all right.”
Paige looked down at Shep. “A stray?”
Austin grinned again. This time, there was no smart-ass edge to his tone. “What gave him away? The matted coat? The dirt, maybe?”
“The poor thing could use a bath,” Paige admitted. She’d always had a soft spot for animals—especially the abused, neglected