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

Chapter Thirty-One

Tyler pressed the accelerator, his truck roaring down the exit ramp, the evening sun slung low casting barley-gold upon the creosote. Relief flooded his system, lifting a weight off his chest he’d been carrying for days. It had been a long time since he’d breathed in this desert air that was in his blood where he’d cut his teeth and chased after his obnoxious little bros.

He tossed his phone on the mailer envelope in the passenger seat, the flap wavering in the wind. She’d done that for him, given him this gift. He eyed his boys in the rearview mirror, laughing and joking together, excited to see Heart again, and his mouth quirked up. She’d done that, too, brought laughter back into his house, vitality, spontaneity. She’d inspired him. Tears didn’t belong on such a free spirit, and he’d heard those tears in her scratchy voice.

He’d missed her. Missed her so badly it had hurt to breathe. His boys missed her. They were all so stupidly in love with her. She was as entwined in his land and his legacy as he was. She’d been his from the moment he’d pinned her to that bathroom door and sank home, his perfect storm. She’d blown into his life to wrangle his stubborn ass, to crash down his defenses, stir things up, and make him feel again, live again, make him realize he didn’t want to be alone. Like hell he wouldn’t fight for her.

Seth and Stevie hugged the front headrests from the backseat as he turned onto a stretch of gravel leading toward a beautiful cedar bungalow. Their faces loomed between the seats, Seth’s arm still in his sling while Stevie clutched a plastic prize machine bubble he’d gotten after twisting fifty cents.

Seth had suggested bringing her a gift like flowers. Stevie had upped the gift ante and hit the nail on the head with the prize machine at the truck stop where he’d filled the tank…

There she was on her deck.

Man, she stole his breath each time he looked at her. My Heart. She’d stolen that, too, must have, because he sure as hell hadn’t felt it beating since she’d left.

“She’s there,” Stevie said, dark brown eyes dancing with excitement.

A tie-dyed tank stretched over her slender form and sun-kissed skin, her butterfly tattoo protruding from beneath it like fairy wings, and her mahogany tresses were piled up messily with those pencils stabbed through them. She wore boxers that made him ache to feel those miles of legs wrapped around his waist again. She was so mercilessly beautiful.

“Think she’ll say yes?” Seth asked, this time, quieter. His voice wavered, reminding Tyler that Seth might try to act tough, but he was still just an uncertain boy, as his hand came around Tyler’s neck from around the headrest to hug him. He squeezed his son’s arm. “Don’t screw it up.”

“Thanks for the confidence, son,” he teased.

Seth laughed.

“We want her back, Daddy,” Stevie added, his voice lilting with a hint of desperation. “What other girl makes Jurassic pancakes?”

Heart turned over her shoulder at his approach. But that whirlwind of passion was snuffed from her eyes. She looked tired. Thinner than usual, which made Tyler frown, because she didn’t have a lot of weight to lose to begin with.

She knitted her brows and visibly swallowed as he roared his truck up to her front porch next to her new truck—his butterfly sticker fresh on the back bumper—where she was watering plants—correction, watering…Chia Pets? Even in a moment like this, he couldn’t help but smile at how much he liked her weird.

She set her watering can down and bit that delicious lip uncertainly, and he thrust his farm vehicle in park.

“Gimme a minute, boys.” His voice was gruff as he held out his hand.

Steven dropped the plastic bubble on his palm, the cheap toy sticky from his son’s sweat and covered in Cheetos dust from leftover snacks he and Heart had bought at the drive-in.

He snagged the envelope off the seat as well as her dress package, pushed open the door, and thudded his boots down, then approached her kitschy bungalow, hopping up her steps to the deck, his throat thickening. He couldn’t stand to see her beat herself up another second. Her eyes dipped to his plaid shirt with recognition, rumpled and hanging open. Yeah, he’d worn it on purpose. It smelled like her and he didn’t care if it seemed pathetic. He wanted to smell vanilla and almonds for the rest of his life.

“I made a spreadsheet of all the ways we screwed this up.” His deep voice was so gruff, he wasn’t sure she heard the joke.

Still, he was pretty sure she’d cracked a smile as she turned back to her watering. A good sign?

“You left without saying goodbye,” he said more gently.

“You told me to—”

“I couldn’t think straight.” He stepped up behind her.

“I couldn’t bear—”

“My bed is empty and I hate it.”

“Ugh, you’re being a pushy, interrupting lawyer again.” She whirled around to face him, her eyes finally dancing with that playful glint, and he relished how they dipped to his chest, roved over his arms with such need, it was as if she was resisting touching him or silently begging him to hold her.

He grinned. His smile fell as she turned away again.

He closed the few inches of space left between them. Greedily, he searched for her scent, like he needed a fix and she was the hit. He pressed against her, chest brushing her back, her knot of tresses right beneath his nose. Being so close sent shivers washing over his skin.