Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Texas woke to the soft rhythm of gentle snoring.
A small hand rested lightly against his bare chest, warm and steady.
For a moment, he let his eyes stay closed, soaking in the quiet—the steady rise and fall of breath, the faint scent of night air mixed with something familiar, something safe.
Slowly, his larger hand brushed over the smaller one, lingering on the warmth beneath his palm.
The world around him softened, and he slipped back into sleep, drifting into a dream that felt like coming home.
“Hey babe, I’m heading out to run errands.”
Texas looked up from working on his bike, his eyes lighting on his wife. She was the best part of him. “When will you be back, sweetheart?”
“Around dinner time. I was thinking of picking something up for us instead of cooking.”
“I’m good with whatever makes you happy.”
“Love you, Ange.”
He gave Lisa a wink and smiled. “Love you too.”
As she waved and walked toward her car, Texas stood and jogged after her. Grabbing his wife, he spun her around. “Were you actually leaving without giving me a kiss?”
He laughed at the smile she gave him. “Damn woman, I love you so much.”
Lisa cupped his face with her hand. Ange could have left years ago, when she said she wouldn’t try for any more children.
He could have found another woman to give him babies.
But he stayed with her and they worked through the grief of losing their daughter just hours after her birth.
She didn’t know another man who would have stayed.
“I love you so much I can’t even find the words to explain how I feel.”
“Then kiss me, woman, and show me. Don’t leave me wondering.”
Her lips were soft and full as they pressed against his. Texas could live in her kiss alone.
When it ended, he wanted to kiss her again, but Lisa was already walking away.
“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” he called after her.
She smiled but kept walking farther away. Why was she walking instead of getting into her car? He turned and saw the car on its side, smoke billowing from the engine.
Spinning back, he searched for his wife. “Lisa!” he screamed.
But she was gone. The acrid smell of fire and smoke strangled him. Hands grabbed at him, trying to pull him back. Texas shoved them away, desperate to find her.
Then she came back into view—but her dark hair was blonde, her eyes a soft blue instead of dark green.
“Sunday. Don’t get in the car,” he told her.
“Don’t go,” he begged.
Sunday was jarred awake by the sound of Texas calling out. She shoved the blanket from her face and listened, catching his desperate voice calling for Lisa. Sitting up, she realized he was trapped in a bad dream. Gently, she reached out to shake him awake.
But when Texas slapped her hand away, Sunday froze. He was deep in the dream—too far gone—and if she kept trying to wake him, she might get hurt.
Then he screamed.
Sunday slammed herself back against the wall, making herself as small as possible.
The door burst open, flooding the room with harsh hallway light. A half-naked man stormed inside, long hair tousled, medium height. Sunday barely had time to register him before Texas began thrashing wildly on the bed.
Sunday scrambled toward the end of the bed, heart pounding.
“He’s having a nightmare about someone named Lisa. I can’t get him to wake up.”
Eros didn’t know who the girl was in Texas’s room, but she needed to get clear before Texas’s thrashing caused injury. Taking two careful steps toward the bed, he held out his hand to her.
“Come on. Before he hits you by accident.”
Sunday hesitated but reached for his hand just as Texas suddenly stopped moving and whispered her name, “Sunday.”
Turning back, she saw his eyes wide open, glassy, and unfocused. “Right here.”
Texas’s gaze shifted to the foot of the bed, where a familiar face appeared. “Eros.”
“I’m here, brother. You were having a nightmare. I was trying to keep the squaw from getting hurt.”
“Thanks, but I’m good now.”
“Sounds good. Let me know when you’re ready to head out. I’ll ride with you both.” Eros retraced his steps and left the room.
Sunday moved back up the bed and lay down beside Texas. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just a bad dream.”
“Who’s Lisa?”
Texas laid his arm over his eyes, trying to steady the flood of emotions. His skin felt slick with sweat, cool in the dim room. He heard Sunday’s question, soft but steady. “My wife.”
Sunday’s gaze flicked to the faded line on his ring finger—the faint ghost of a promise long past. She wondered how long it had been since he’d stopped wearing it. “Where is she?”
“Lisa passed away three years ago.”
Sunday’s hand flew to her mouth, her breath catching in a silent gasp. “I’m so sorry, Texas.”
“You and me both, Doll. You and me both.” Rolling onto his side, Texas checked the time and frowned, it was later than he’d planned to be up.
He’d wanted to hit the road early, not mid-morning. “We should get up. Need to get on the road soon.”
“Do I have time for a shower?” Sunday asked. She’d slept in her clothes, too afraid to change in case she had to run again. The baggy jeans and shirt had twisted and bunched uncomfortably all night.
A hot shower would wash away the dream’s memories—and ease his aching muscles. He wasn’t used to sleeping with someone else. Especially in a single bed. “Yeah, I need one too.”
“I think I remember where the bathroom is. Do you think the coast is clear?”
“Let me get my pants on, then I’ll go with you. We can both shower.”
Sunday almost protested but caught herself, remembering the bathroom had multiple shower stalls. She could trust Texas; he hadn’t made a single move while she’d slept beside him.
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.
Texas sat up, pulling the covers over his lower half. “You should call Monday. Let her know we’re headed that way today.”
Sunday didn’t want Texas to see her as anything more than a girl needing help, but did he have to say her sister’s name with such longing? Just like at the diner, she wondered how long they’d known each other. Were they… more than friends?
Texas wasn’t exactly Monday’s type, but then again, what did Sunday really know? They hadn’t seen each other in more than four years. They spoke every month—that was it.
Their sister, Friday, refused to acknowledge either of them. Ten years older and a raging bitch, Sunday thought. Their mother was to blame, Sunshine Mornin was a quirky, free-spirited hippie from the sixties. She’d had a string of long-term relationships that resulted in four kids.
Sunday and Monday shared the same father. Friday had a different dad. So did their brother, who had died before Sunday or Monday were even born. They didn’t even know his name; Sunshine never spoke about him.
What Sunday did know was her mother blamed Friday for their brother’s death.
Sunshine had raised them in a commune until Monday turned eighteen, then Monday left. Sunday followed the next year, moving closer to Monday and leaving their mother to live her life however she wanted.
Noticing Texas had gotten up and pulled on a pair of jeans, Sunday eased off the bed, tugging at her crumpled, twisted clothes. Picking up her bag, she followed Texas out of the room and down the hall.
Halfway to the bathroom, Texas stopped. “Sunday, go on ahead. I forgot something in the garage.”
She glanced nervously up and down the hall.
“If anyone comes in and makes you uncomfortable,” he said, “just tell them you’re my Ol’ lady.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that something important around here?”
Texas smiled faintly. “Around here? It’s one of the most important things you can say.”
Reluctantly, Sunday agreed and headed toward the shower. Texas waited until the door clicked shut before hustling back to their room. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out the jeans and top he’d snagged earlier.
Opening Sunday’s bag, he saw how hastily she’d thrown everything inside. Carefully, he rolled up her clothes and tucked them back into the pack, then returned it to its place.
Satisfied, Texas headed to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He needed to wash away the memories of the dream—and try to clear his head.