Right as Raine (Aster Valley 1)

“Does that mean you want to move to Aster Valley?”

I wanted him to say no, because I wanted him with me. But I also wanted him to be happy.

“No. Maybe. Yes. I don’t know. I have a lot to think about. But at least we have the rest of the month here.”

I agreed, swearing silently to myself as I remembered Coach’s demand that I return home. I covered up my discomfort by making a stupid joke about how I hoped Stacy the real estate agent wouldn’t simply drop by unannounced again.

But when the doorbell rang the next morning again, this time it wasn’t Stacy. It was ten times worse.

16

Mikey

Moose Raine was a giant of a man. He’d been a linebacker for Nebraska in college but hadn’t been picked up by anyone in the league after graduation. Instead, he’d gotten a job in mid-level management at a bottling company and had low-key resented it for twenty years. When Tiller had finally hit it big in the NFL, he’d offered his dad the chance to retire early and coach youth football full-time as part of a charity foundation Tiller had set up.

I’d always thought Moose’s efforts to push Tiller were the common desire for a parent to live vicariously through the child’s success. In his case, it had paid off. Now, Moose got to live his dream, too, and tons of kids got the chance to pursue football instead of getting into trouble after school. Win-win.

I knew Moose loved Tiller. He was proud of everything his son had worked so hard for. But I often wondered if Moose cared a little too much about Tiller’s work and not enough about the man himself. What would their relationship be like when Tiller was done playing football? To Moose, football was everything.

I wasn’t sure Tiller felt the same way deep down. But maybe that was wishful thinking. During my phone call with Coach yesterday, my father had made it very clear that someone like Tiller Raine didn’t have the time to spend coddling a needy hanger-on. He was clearly disgusted with my trailing after Tiller as if I was one of his groupies.

Needless to say, I’d ended the call feeling about a centimeter tall. My father always had a knack for making me feel small. It was one of the reasons Sam couldn’t stand the man. It was also one of the reasons I realized it truly was time for me to pick up stakes and make a life somewhere outside of Texas.

And if I chose Aster Valley, I knew I’d have friends right off the bat. It was just a matter of asking some of the Aster Vallians what they thought of the idea of my restaurant. Hopefully the real estate agent could help me do the right kind of research.

“We came as soon as Coach called,” Moose said, nudging Jill into the foyer before holding the door open for Tiller’s sister, Stephanie, her husband, Luke, and their two daughters, all of whom seemed to be carrying tinfoil-covered dishes.

I stood there agape as Tiller’s entire family trooped into the lodge. “Uh, hi?” Tiller was still asleep in my bed, and I’d only been up long enough to make some gingerbread cookies so we could decorate them for gifts for Winter and Gent and maybe Truman and our new friends at the diner.

Jill stopped and gave me a hug. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Sorry to spring this on you at the last minute, but we didn’t want to miss seeing you now that Tiller’s heading back to Houston sooner than we expected.”

I didn’t freak out at the news of Tiller’s return to Houston because I honestly assumed she was mistaken.

“Mom? Dad?” Tiller said, walking around the corner pulling a long-sleeved T-shirt on over his low-riding pajama pants. I said a little silent prayer of thanks for the quick display of his killer abs and sexy-as-hell happy trail. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced at me like I’d somehow have the answer. I shrugged and shot him a “your guess is as good as mine” glance.

“So, we’ll do Christmas real quick before you have to catch your flight,” Jill said merrily, leaning in to press a kiss to Tiller’s cheek. “Hi, love. How are you feeling?”

He frowned and looked at me again. This time I recognized nerves in that expression on his face. There was something he wasn’t telling me. “I’m feeling fine,” he grumbled.

“What flight?” I asked.

We all made our way into the kitchen sitting area since Tiller and I had made it our de facto hangout spot. I immediately went into my usual host mode, helping everyone find a place for their dishes and then offering drinks around. It looked like they’d brought a ready-made spread from a honey ham–type place which made me shudder. If only they’d given me some notice, I could have whipped up something homemade.