Fall For You (Texas Heat)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Carter

They say that here in Central Texas, we only get two seasons: Summer and February. And while there may be a kernel of truth to that, it’s not entirely accurate. It’s February now, for example, and the weather is so balmy and warm that it might as well be summer.

Not that I’m complaining. This year’s relatively mild winter means a longer growing season, which is good news for my family’s farm and ranching business. I’m sure my big brother Camp is itching to move his seedlings out of the greenhouses and into the ground as soon as possible.

It’s good news for all of Heartwood, when you think about it. The primary business around here is tourism, after all, and there’s no denying that sunshiny days and warm, balmy nights bring more people into town than flash floods and ice storms.

And, of course, it’s good news for my own endeavor, Donahue’s Farm to Table. We’ve been open for a handful of years now, and I’ve been working hard to get the restaurant established, but it’s been slow going. I’ve invested a significant amount of capital into staging a special Valentine’s Day event this month—a prix-fixe tasting menu that showcases some of our local meats, cheese, produce, wines, beer, etc. It’s a bit of a gamble and I really need it to be a success.

At the moment, I’m seated at a two-top in the dining room, catching up on my work and listening with half an ear to the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes. I’m vaguely aware of servers threading their way around the tables, carrying trays of beautifully plated, delicious-smelling food. This is my happy place—even if crunching the numbers for the dinner isn’t exactly adding to that happiness. I make a mental note to add the coffee I’m currently drinking—a “Winter Blend” coffee from a local roastery—to the Valentine’s Day menu. It’s a dark roast with hints of cocoa and orange spice notes that’s perfect for the season, even in spite of the weather, and which will work perfectly with several of the desserts I have planned.

“Heads up, Carter,” my sous chef calls. Glancing over at him, I see he’s slid a stack of to-go boxes onto the pass.

“Thanks, man.” I close my laptop and stow it in my bag and then get to my feet.

“No problem,” Luis replies, but he doesn’t go back to work and he’s eyeing me strangely as I approach the expo station. “This is for Ms. Vi, right?” he asks as I start transferring the containers he’s prepared into the insulated bag I keep stowed there for just this purpose.

“Yeah,” I answer, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Of course.” Violet Barnes is one of our elders. She’s a long-time resident of Heartwood, and a really good friend. But, unfortunately, she took a bad fall last week and ended up concussed. I’ve been taking meals to her every day since she’s been home from the hospital. Which Luis already knows.

“And you’re taking it over to her house now—yourself?”

I feel my eyebrows climb even higher up my forehead. “Same as I’ve done every day,” I say as I drop a couple of napkin- condiment-utensil packets into the bag—just to save Ms. Vi’s nurses a little work. “Any reason why today would be different?”

“Well… I dunno. I just thought maybe her niece would be stopping by to pick it up,” Luis replies, not meeting my gaze.

That gives me pause. “Why the heck would you think that?” Ms. Vi’s niece—her grand-niece, actually—hasn’t been home in almost twelve years—not that I’m keeping track, or anything. “Last I heard, Jo was still out in California.” Again: not keeping track. That’s just common knowledge.

“Not according to Marta.” Luis nods towards the kitchen. “I overheard her and Alicia talking about it. Apparently, Nina called Marta late last night to say that Jo just rolled into town.”

“And how did Nina find out?”

“Beats me. I guess you’d have to ask Marta ’bout that. But Nina’s a home-care nurse, isn’t she? So maybe she was the nurse on duty at Ms. Vi’s last night. ’Least, that’d be my guess.”

“Makes as much sense as anything,” I say as I zip the bag shut. “And I appreciate the heads up, but I don’t imagine Jo being home is gonna change much of anything.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Breakfast is nearly over. My staff is already prepping for lunch. Even allowing for potential complications, I have plenty of time. “I should be back before we get too busy. If anything comes up before then, you know how to reach me.”

“A’ight.” Luis nods, then mutters something that might be, “It’s your funeral,” under his breath.

That’s not an unreasonable sentiment, given how everything went down between me and Jo last time. And since everyone in Heartwood had front row seats for the fireworks, I’m sure it’s not the last time I’ll hear it, either. Jocelyn Barnes, my former fake bride, is trouble. Always was, probably always will be. Which, truth be told, was one of the reasons I fell for her in the first place. But that’s all in the past—and if I have anything to say about it, that’s exactly where it’ll stay.

Jocelyn

I wish I could think of something profound to say right now. Maybe something along the lines of, “You can’t go home again.” Or “When the good Lord closes one door, you can be sure he’ll open a window somewhere else.” Or even, “When one door closes, open it the fuck up again; that’s how doors work!” I’m feeling some sort of way about being back in Heartwood, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what exactly that way is.

It's not like I’d wiped its dust from my feet and vowed to never come back here. But, on the other hand, I guess maybe I’d always hoped I wouldn’t have to. I have too much history here. I made mistakes, didn’t bother to correct them and now it’s too late. But that’s old news, I suppose.

Anyway, I suppose I thought that if I could get myself established and earn enough money, I could somehow convince my aunt to move out to the coast with me. Which, now that I’m back, I’ve already realized was just plain delusional on my part.

Vi’s a stubborn, old bird; she likes it here and she doesn’t intend to move anywhere else—not even for me. But that just adds to the guilt I’m already feeling because I feel like I should have been here when she needed me and I wasn’t.

And, unfortunately for my conscience, here’s something else I’ve figured out within minutes of my return (although, to be honest, I think I always knew it) whether Vi needs me or not, I’m not back for good. I can’t hack it here. There’s no way I’m staying.

I guess I might feel differently if Heartwood had always been my home, but I didn’t so much as step foot in the place until the year I turned twelve. That’s when my parents divorced and commenced waging the reverse custody battle from hell. By which I mean neither of them wished to be saddled with me, but they were equally unwilling to pay the other to do it.

Based on what I overheard my social worker telling one of her colleagues, it was likely I’d be spending the rest of my childhood in state care. But then someone got the bright idea to check and see what other relatives I might have out there. Turns out, there was only one.

Vi was my dad’s aunt—and only by marriage, though I guess that was close enough to count. And while I never met my grand uncle (he’d been dead for several years by then) by all accounts, I wasn’t missing much. Everyone who knew them, seemed to agree that he’d treated Vi poorly. Which didn’t change the fact that she was willing to take me in; it just made it less of a long shot and more of a freaking miracle. And I wish I could say that I paid her back by being an exemplary child, but unfortunately that was not the case.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her now. “Can I get you something—coffee, breakfast, an icepack, a warm compress, an extra blanket?”

“No thank you, dear.” Vi favors me with a weak smile. She’s seated in an overstuffed armchair in the front room, and she certainly looks cozy enough, but I see the abbreviated movement as she starts to shake her head and then flinches to a stop, and I can’t help wincing in sympathy.

“Painkillers then?” I suggest—even though I’m not all together certain if that’s a good idea. “I mean, I assume you know what you’re supposed to be taking, right?” Because I sure as hell do not.

I mean, yes; I know I should. There’d been a nurse here when I got in last night. And she did take the time to run me through all of Vi’s meds. But I was exhausted, hungry and headachy myself after the long drive; and perhaps I wasn’t paying as much attention as I probably should have done, because right now, I’m drawing blanks.

“Don’t stress yourself, child,” Vi instructs. “It’s only a small headache; I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, but…”

“And I’ll eat something presently. Don’t worry so much; things will work out.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” I can’t stop myself from muttering in response. Stress and worry is all I’ve got. That’s what I’ve been running on ever since Vi’s best frenemy, Bev, tracked me down and gave me hell and a dose of scripture, scolding me for being both irresponsible and ungrateful. So worry, stress, and guilt too, I suppose. Along with adrenaline and caffeine—and a big side of panic, now that I’m finally here. Because all of this is way above my pay grade.

“Are you sure?” I ask again. “There must be something I can do.”

Vi’s gaze shifts to the big bow window and a smile lights up her face. “Yes, actually there is,” she says—at the same moment as the doorbell chimes. “You can answer the door.”

“Okay. Sure. I can do that,” I say, then head into the hallway, crossing my fingers and hoping like hell that this is a day nurse. Because, otherwise, I’m gonna have no choice but to call Bev and ask her for help. And trust me when I say that no one wants that.

But when I pull open the door, I find myself face to face with the last person I was expecting to see. Although, really, given how quickly the tea always gets spilled around here? I probably should’ve.

“Carter. Hey,” I say as my heart starts turning cartwheels—like it always seems to whenever he’s around. “What are you doing here?”

“Jo.” Carter’s expression is perfectly neutral as he nods in greeting—it gives away nothing. “I heard you were back.”

I feel myself scowl in response. Did he just say he’s here because of me ? Am I supposed to be impressed that he’s out here so quickly; that he’s sniffing around after me, within only hours of my arrival—with my aunt just out of the hospital? Sorry, but no.

“Thanks, but I’m just here for a visit,” I tell him. “I doubt I’ll have time to do any socializing while I’m in town.”

Carter’s eyes grow comically wide. “Wait. You think I’m here to see you ?”

I blink in surprise. “Well, aren’t you?” Isn’t that what he just said?

He shakes his head and smirks knowingly. Then he leans in close and murmurs. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not the only Barnes girl I have a history with, you know. I’m here to see your aunt.”

“Oh, really?” That’s a likely story, isn’t it? I cross my arms and glare at him. “Well, I guess maybe you haven’t heard, but she just got out of the hospital. I don’t imagine she’s in the mood to entertain visitors either.”

“I know about the concussion,” Carter replies, frowning back at me. “Who’d you think’s been keeping her fed for the last five days?”

“What?”

He lifts the bag he’s carrying to eye level and says, “I’ve been bringing her meals on the regular. Didn’t want her to have to worry about cooking while she’s supposed to be off her feet and resting.”

My eyes narrow. He’s always been a shameless liar, but it’s also vaguely possible he’s telling the truth. And the possibility only grows stronger when Vi calls out from the parlor, “Carter, is that you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responds. “How’re you feeling today, Ms. Vi?”

“Well, I’d be feeling a darn sight better if you’d come in and close the door. I’m not looking to heat the whole neighborhood, you know.”

Carter’s eyes meet mine and I swear I know just what he’s thinking—because it’s what I’m thinking as well. I’m fresh off the west coast, but even I can’t complain about the weather here this morning. it’s not cold out. We’re not even heating the house, right now, never mind the neighborhood.

“I guess that’s the concussion talking,” I say, taking a step back and waving him in.

“Yep. I’m sure that’s all it is,” he agrees as he breezes past me. I inhale sharply, taking a deep, involuntary breath. He’s always smelled amazing, and that hasn’t changed. Cedar and smoke, with hints of leather and mint, all layered over clean skin and…mm, yum. It’s a fragrance combination I once thought of as All Boy, but which I guess I must now upgrade to All Man.

But he’s stopped in his tracks and pivoted to face me. “What’re you doing? Are you…smelling me?”

“Hm?” I ask, feeling dreamy for a second as a flood of memories inundate my exhausted brain. Then reality splashes me in the face. “Oh, no. God, no. You said you’d brought food, right?” I gesture at the bag he’s carrying. “That’s what I’m smelling.”

That damn smirk is back in place. “The bag is sealed, Jo. You must be part bloodhound if you think you can pick up a scent through that.”

Ignoring the small part of me that’s wondering—did he just call me a dog?—I shrug with elaborate unconcern. “I can’t smell anything. Which is why I’m still not convinced you’re telling the truth.”

He studies my expression for a long moment then says, “You know I walked over here, right?”

“No. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“It means I don’t have my truck with me today. So, you might as well quit scowling at me, because there’s no way you’re getting a ride in it.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” I growl through gritted teeth. I cannot believe he went there. “I see the last eleven years haven’t done much to improve your sense of humor.”

“No,” he says, the smile falling from his face like a tree-limb in an ice storm. “There hasn’t been much that was funny.”

Then he turns and stalks away from me, heading into the front room where Vi greets him delightedly; leaving me alone, seething in the hallway.

“Welcome home, Jo,” I mutter to myself as I close the door. “What the hell else were you expecting?”