The Cowboy's Texas Heart (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 3)

Shoot, T.R. would so have done the exact same thing. Heather’s desperate clenching and those pleading eyes, her lips dusting kisses on his cheek as he blanketed her body to protect it, would have stoked that fire within any man lying on top of her. And just thinking about if it had been his cousin instead of him made uncharacteristic jealousy course through him.

Thaddeus:She cute?

He snorted. That would be Thad’s first question. He eyed Heather again, fiddling with her phone to no avail and shoving it back in her backpack. Cute wasn’t the right word. It was just sex… No need to clutch your pearls. Just gazing at her, he realized much to his surprise…he wanted more of it. Wanted as much of it as she’d be willing to give before she left in a week. It was just sex, but he still hadn’t felt this disorienting feeling in quite some time. If ever. It felt addictive.

Tyler:Give me a status report on the cabin so I can move her in. Gotta flip her truck. Whole thing’s totaled.

Thaddeus:You helping out the enemy?

Enemy. There was an inkling of truth to it. Whatever Heather wrote in her survey report would probably only help Fossyl, who after years of not using the pump-jacks, since well before Tyler had been grown, wanted to suddenly pump again. With kids on his property, Tyler wanted none of that unsafe machinery.

He opened his brothers’ threads.

Travis:Answer your texts. Bad reports from Nacogdoches Co. I can bring guys and hammers.

Hell no. Travis was a renowned trauma surgeon and had a huge surgery load. He had a partial amputation from his stint in Afghanistan. He was about to have his wedding. No way he’d make his kid bro do manual labor to help fix up this shitshow and risk injuring his million-dollar hands or screwing up his prosthetic.

Tyler:Trav. No need to worry. All under control.

Then he tapped open Toby’s.

Toby (Twenty minutes ago):Helluva storm report we’re getting. What’s the status, bro? All good in the hood?

Twenty minutes ago Tyler was pretty sure he’d been flattened atop the woman beside him.

Toby (Ten minutes ago):Fucking answer, man. We’re seeing carnage on the news. T.R.’s worried.

Toby (Now):Don’t make me sound like Pops. “Answer me, boy, before I lecture you to death.”

Tyler tapped his thumb over the keypad, noticing Heather glancing over at him as he huffed a laugh. He’d read that whole line in Harold Dixon’s husky voice. Toby’d never had any trouble chest-bumping authority, and in some ways, Tyler had always envied him for standing up to their dad. He never could.

Tyler:Got it managed. Long story. No worries, bro.

“That is such a lie,” Heather finally said. “Are we looking at the same natural disaster. It’s like I’m looking at Mordor and you’re looking at Candyland.”

He pocketed his cell, shaking his head, cracking a smile. “Mordor… No need to upset them. If they realize it’s Mordor here, my brothers might drop everything and come running.”

“Your brothers? Isn’t that what family’s for? If you’re lucky enough to have family who cares, don’t you think you could use the help?”

He shoved open his door, trotting lazily around the hood to open Heather’s door for her, but she was already pushing out and jumping down. He braced her elbow, even though she didn’t need it. It wasn’t an excuse to touch her or anything. The sun was sinking lower, casting the afternoon in vibrant hues. One of his boys’ soccer balls sat forgotten in the grass alongside the covered porch that wrapped partway around the house, and as they walked past it, Heather toed it into the air and bounced it expertly back and forth between her knees a few times.

Huh. “You’re good.”

She huffed on an invisible ring and shined it on an imaginary lapel. “Ridgeport Prep ladies’ varsity soccer captain. Class of 2003.”

Shoot, his boys would pounce on her to scrimmage if they could see her—

What the hell were thoughts of his boys doing merging with thoughts of her?

The sudden image of them playing and laughing together assaulted him regardless. This was not where his mind needed to go. He didn’t tell women about his boys. For some reason, admitting he was a dad resulted in two poles: Baggage to stay the hell away from, or dripping sweetness like he was someone special who rescued puppies and the woman believed she could complete what was missing.

Insects floated on the quietude like dust motes over the glowing pastures. He glanced back at her toeing the ball back to the ground and settling it while he walked up the front steps to the wraparound porch of the brick farmhouse where he’d spent childhood summers, where he’d been allowed to just be a boy running over the hills instead of the perfect first son his pops expected him to be, watched Heather inhale deeply as her eyes fluttered closed, then she followed him up the stairs.

Take all the deep breaths you can, sweetheart. It ain’t gonna be sweet much longer if Fossyl starts pumping oil again.Part of the reason he was shopping around for land out west. He’d thought he could save this land, but as he became more and more embroiled in the oil and gas law, he wasn’t so sure.

His porch chairs were wind-tossed against the rail. “Front door’s open. Let yourself in,” he said, striding the length of the porch and picking one up, flipping it on its rocker rails with a flick of the wrist and setting it down one-handed. He turned around to get the other chair, but Heather was busy tipping it up.

He dashed to her and took over. “You don’t have to do that.”