She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she nodded. “Know your name? Honey, I’ve known it since before you were born.”
I stared at her unashamedly. I’d assumed maybe she knew about me because of Jameson or Alex, but this was not that. “Excuse me?”
She placed her tea down, her expression softening into something nostalgic. “Your mama and I knew each other back on the pageant circuit. I was Miss Texas. She was Miss Illinois. Same year.”
My brain stalled. “You knew my mom?”
“Of course, I did. With legs up to Jesus and cheekbones sharp enough to slice through hopes, your mama was born for the pageants, darling, and the talent portion? Half the judges would’ve proposed marriage to her on the spot if it was allowed. You’ve got her smile, by the way. Lucky girl.”
Something in my chest twisted as I imagined it, my mom and Claira as young women, laughing together and strutting their stuff. “She always spoke about that part of her life like it was a whole different world.”
“It was,” Claira said, everything about her completely soft and earnest. “She was adored in it, though. I was so sorry to hear of her passing. I remember the first time we saw Jamie after. He was so distraught. Y’all must miss her terribly.”
I nodded, and a long, weighted silence fell between us. Not awkward, just a shared moment of remembrance. Claira brightened before the tears pressing at the back of my eyes could fully form, as if she’d decided we’d had enough depth for the morning.
She straightened up and clapped her hands once. “Well, if we’re going to be family, we better start making plans. Do you like biscuits? I’m fixing to bake and it’d be rude not to let you try my award-winning recipe.”
Family. The word hit harder coming from her than she could possibly know. I smiled, feeling overheated, overwhelmed, and unexpectedly, alsoseen.
“Biscuits sound perfect,” I said. “My walk this morning worked up an appetite.”
Her answering smile could’ve powered the whole state of Texas. “Excellent. Let’s get you an iced latte first, huh? You still look like you’re going to faint.”
I wasn’t about to argue with that, but she refused to let me help her when I offered. So, I just watched and listened to her chat about nothing in particular while she got the coffeemaker going. She was sliding a fresh iced latte toward me when the back door slammed open.
“Mom!” Trent’s voice echoed down the hallway, rough, irritated, and unmistakably close. “Round everyone up. We’ve got a missing woman?—”
He stepped into the kitchen, stopped dead, and exhaled like someone had hit him with a tranquilizer dart. I froze too, but probably for a very different reason.
For him, it was probably surprise to find me there. For me? Well, Trent’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, his jaw tight and his hat tipped back enough to show the frustration working between his eyebrows, and he was staring straight at me.
In my sweat-soaked running tank and my hair in an undoubtedly frizzy ponytail. My face was probably still red. Basically, I was not at my absolute peak hotness and here he was, looking like he was doing yet another shoot forSexy Ranchers Weekly.
“Found her,” he muttered like it was a personal inconvenience and not, in fact,hisfault I’d been missing in the first place.
Before I could remind him that I was an actual human being and not a runaway calf, Claira lit up bright as a sunflower. “Oh good, you’re here. I was just about to tell Charlotte about our plans for Christmas this year. We’re long overdue for a winter wedding in this family.”
This time, I really did choke on my drink. Trent sighed, lifting his hat all the way off his head before he shook it. Firmly. “Mom, we haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“Don’t youMomme,” she said, waving him off. “The last five weddings on the Shepard side of the family were all in June. It’s too dang hot, and I’m tired of pastels and peonies. I want holly, velvet, and candlelight. I want toweara sweater, notbea sweater.”
“Mom,” he repeated, dangerously close to growling. “We willnotbe discussing winter weddings. Or any weddings, really.”
Claira leaned toward me conspiratorially. “You’ll be such a beautiful bride.”
I laughed. God, I loved this woman. Adored her. I wanted to ask if she would adopt me, but Trent already had a hand wrapped around my arm, gentle, but his grip definitely meant business.
“We actually have other plans for this morning,” he lied, that easy smile nowhere in sight. “We’ve got to go. See you later.”
“No, we don’t,” I started to protest, dying to keep sitting exactly where I had been and baking biscuits with his mother, but he was already steering me out the door, mumbling apologies over his shoulder.
The second we were outside and headed toward his truck, his gaze snapped to mine like a whip. “What thehellwere you thinking, running all the way over here? In this heat?”
I spun on him. “What wasIthinking? You left the house without saying a word. I mean, leave a note or something. I woke up alone. In the middle of nowhere. With no car.”
“I own aranch,” he snapped back, throwing his hands up—but only after opening the passenger door of his truck for me. It seemed like even in the middle of an argument, it was too ingrained for him not to. “I have to work and we start early. Of course, I left. I do it every morning.”
“I have a life too,” I fired back. “Or at least, Ihadone. Yet here I am, staying forweeksbecauseyousuggested it. What do you expect me to do, sit inside your gigantic house and talk to the furniture?”
