The Texan's Baby (Texas Rodeo Barons)

CHRIS WAS DEFINITELY aware of the differences between the Miller spread and the Baron ranch. No gated entry and grand stone mansion, no manicured lawns, modern barns or a swimming pool in the back. Just a one-story ranch-style bungalow, a neat lawn with some bedding plants livening the place and a vegetable garden off to one side. A late-model half-ton truck sat in the driveway next to a used but reliable compact car.

“You grew up here?” Lizzie asked from the passenger seat. They’d brought his truck today; his parents would expect it and he enjoyed driving it more than Lizzie’s luxury car if he were being honest.

“All my life,” he answered, strangely nervous. “Dad works at a neighboring ranch and my mom has a part-time job at the library in town.”

It was nothing compared to her lifestyle in Dallas.

“It’s nice growing up in one spot, isn’t it?” She turned her bright eyes to him and smiled. “We had some instability in our lives, with our mom and with Peggy dying, but we always had Dad and Roughneck. There’s a lot to be said about the security of constancy.”

He’d always felt so, too.

“It must have been hard for you to move. You were so close to your parents and could visit whenever you wanted.”

“It’s not that far to drive,” he said, but she was right. He’d missed being a little closer. Checking in to make sure they were all right. His mom had had a bout of angina the year before and years of handling livestock had left his dad in good shape but dealing with a bit of arthritis in his knees.

He parked next to the car and got out right away to open Lizzie’s door. She reached into the middle of the bench seat and took out a bakery box containing an orange chiffon cake. Lizzie had insisted on bringing dessert and had planned on baking, she said. But in the end she’d worked late into the evening and they’d stopped at a bakery instead.

When he shut the door behind her, he turned around to find his mother on the front steps. “Christopher Miller. About time you got your sorry hide back here.”

He wouldn’t have expected any other greeting and his heart lightened as he smiled. “Where’s Dad?”

“Just finishing up in the shower. When he heard you were bringing a woman home with you, he decided to spruce up.”

Mrs. Miller smiled at Lizzie. “We’re very happy to have you here. Should I call you Liz? That’s what Chris has called you.”

To his relief Lizzie smiled in return. “Liz is fine. Thanks for having us over for dinner, Mrs. Miller.”

“Oh, go on and call me Debra, none of this Missus business.”

He was thankful she hadn’t insisted on being called Mom—and also thankful for the warm welcome. His parents hadn’t been totally happy about his move to Dallas, after all.

“Come in, come in,” Debra invited, holding open the screen door. “I’ve got fried chicken ready to go on and Chris’s favorite mashed potatoes. Hope you’re hungry.”

Lizzie smiled up at him as they crossed the threshold into the house. “Always,” she whispered, and Chris laughed. It was true. She had a healthy appetite for sure.

His mother took the bakery box from Lizzie and put it on the kitchen counter after peeking beneath the lid and oohing over the cake. “Let’s take a cool drink out on the back verandah,” she suggested. “And we can catch up while Robert makes himself pretty.”

Chris watched as Lizzie accepted iced tea from his mother and then went outside to the shaded verandah. His mom picked a comfortable padded chair and left the two-seater swing empty. He held out a hand, inviting Lizzie to sit down and then he sat beside her.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Lizzie said, letting out a breath. “There’s nothing like wide-open space to blow your troubles away, is there?”

Chris looked over at her, surprised at her observation. She was the kid who enjoyed the business, living in the city. And yes, she fit in at Roughneck but even that was very different from the simple life his folks led.

“How right you are,” his mom agreed. “Now that it’s just Bob and me, sittin’ on that swing at the end of the day is just about perfect.”

He watched Lizzie as she smi

led and her eyes lit up with impish humor. “We had a tire swing at our house when we were little. I used to sit in it and spin around and look up at the sky. My brother thought it would be fun to spin me around and around and let me go. But it backfired.”

“What happened?” Chris asked, intrigued by this side of Lizzie. She was so open. So guileless.

So much like the woman he’d met at the bar. Unencumbered.

“The ride ended, I got out of the tire and threw up on his boots,” she replied, and the three of them laughed. “He never tried that again.”

A slap of the screen door announced Chris’s dad’s arrival. He came outside dressed in clean jeans and a button-down shirt, his face freshly shaved and a glass of tea in his hand. “Sorry I’m late to the party,” he greeted, pulling up a chair beside Debra. “I smelled like the barn.”

Once again Chris was surprised by Lizzie, pleasantly so. “Hi, Mr. Miller. I’m Liz. And you shouldn’t have worried about the barn. I’m pretty used to it.”