Chapter Twelve
Swirling the last of the cream into his second cup of coffee, Ryan let out a long, satisfied breath.
Being able to sleep in made Saturday his favorite morning of the week.
It wasn’t the best day—that honor belonged to Sundays and the boisterous, crowded tradition of family supper—but the quiet start to a weekend was a luxury he rarely took for granted.
Standing by the kitchen window, he peered out at the yard, wondering where Nicole had disappeared to.
He hadn’t seen her at the breakfast table.
There had been such chaos at supper last night, they’d barely gotten a chance to say two words to each other.
Especially after holding her hand through most of the family history discussion with their newest cousin.
Holding her hand had felt so right, so normal, that he hadn’t realized he was doing it until everyone stood up.
But the best part of it was that Nicole hadn’t seemed to mind.
Now he wished he knew where she was, could chat a bit, make sure that accidental connection hadn’t somehow worked against him.
A high-pitched, metallic screech cut through the morning silence.
Coming from the side of the house it sounded like a banshee in a blender.
Gray scrambled to his feet, his tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive.
The dog trotted toward the screen door, pausing to look back at Ryan with an expectant whine.
“I hear it, big guy.” Ryan stepped out onto the porch.
The air held a crisp bite, hinting at the cooler weather creeping closer.
Following the eager dog around the corner of the house, Ryan spotted the source of the noise.
Nicole stood on the front bumper of her truck, Old Betsy.
Just the name made him smile. She leaned so far into the engine bay that her feet were barely touching the chrome.
Her head was lost somewhere near the firewall, and the view from behind—the nice, rounded curve of her in those fitted work pants—had Ryan’s mind drifting in a direction he had no business traveling.
Giving his head a sharp shake to clear the fog, he hurried his pace, careful not to do something truly embarrassing, like trip over a tree root while watching her derriere and wind up in traction for real.
Gray bolted forward, beating him to the truck. The dog let out a sharp, happy bark and launched himself upward, planting his front paws firmly on the bumper beside Nicole as if he’d been promoted to lead technician.
“That dog is something else,” Ryan murmured to himself, a smile pulling at his lips. He’d give the dog credit for at least one thing, he truly did have excellent taste.
Stepping up to the passenger-side fender, Ryan leaned in to listen to the fading chirp of the engine. “Sounds like the timing belt is crying for mercy.”
Nicole jumped slightly, then leaned back, wiping her hands on a rag tucked in her waistband.
She looked down at him, her face flushed from the heat trapped under the hood, a faint smudge of grease marked one cheek.
“That’s what I figured. It’s been giving me a little sass since the drive from Oklahoma, but this Texas heat seems to have pushed it over the edge.
Problem is, it’s a two-person job to get the tension right on these older models. ”
Setting his coffee cup on the flat expanse of the fender, he raised his arms, palms open. “Second man at your disposal. Unless,” he glanced at Gray, who was currently trying to lick Nicole’s ear, “the position has already been filled.”
Nicole chuckled, the sound bright enough to compete with the morning sun. “The dog’s willing, but he has a hard time holding a socket wrench. I think the position is still open.”
Tapping the fender, he nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Slipping away toward the tool shed, Ryan returned a moment later with a heavy metal chest. He set it on the ground and began pulling out the necessary wrenches.
“Pass me the three-quarter inch,” Nicole requested, her voice muffled as she reached deep into the bay.
Ryan handed it over, his fingers brushing hers. “Sleep well last night?” Why did he suddenly feel like that was an inappropriate question? One that momentarily dragged his mind to visions of her snuggled under the covers, her hair fanned out over a bedside pillow.
“Took a while.” Twisting her wrist, the wrench clinked against a bracket. “My mind was reeling with all that family mystery stuff from last night. I kept trying to piece together the dates.” Lifting her chin, she pointed ahead. “Hold that tensioner steady while I tighten this bolt, will you?”
Ryan braced his shoulder against the fender, his hand steady on the metal. “We’ve lived with one version of our history for decades. Finding out there’s a whole other branch… that’s a lot to process.”
“Exactly.” Nicole straightened, her eyes alight with a focus.
“I was chatting with Joanna last night. She mentioned how many resources she found at the old library when she was writing her book on the ghost towns of Texas—original town maps, property records, even some old shipping manifests from when Galveston was a major port. I was thinking of heading into town to see what I could dig up.”
“The library’s a good spot.” Ryan nodded, still holding onto the metal.
“But I kept thinking about what treasures might be stowed up in the attic. Aunt Eileen decided not to cancel her Saturday social club meeting and go hunting tomorrow after church. Since I don’t have anything else pressing today, I thought I might head up and see what I can find. ”
Nicole stilled, her gaze shifting from the engine to the upper windows of the ranch house. “The attic?”
“Probably more dust than data,” Ryan teased, “but it’s a direct source.”
Her head bobbing and a small smile taking over her face, her hand stilled. “As a kid, I loved my Nancy Drew mysteries, which is probably why I had fun piecing together the genealogy of families, but if you don’t mind company, the library can wait.”
Ryan looked at her—grease smudge on her cheek, hair escaping her ponytail, and a spark in her eyes that made his heart give a slow, heavy thump. “All right then. As soon as Betsy stops screeching, we’ll go see what the attic is hiding.”
Gray seemed to think the two conversing meant the repair work was done and playtime had arrived. Having momentarily darted away, he reappeared dropping a slobbered baseball at Nicole’s feet.
Without hesitating, she retrieved the ball and let ’er rip toward the paddocks.
Flying high, the ball sailed through the air. Gray galloped after it, almost airborne, and Ryan stood still, his jaw nearly scraping the ground. “Holy…”
Nicole chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those macho boneheads who thinks girls can’t play ball?”
“Actually, I’m wondering why the Rangers haven’t recruited you.”
That made her smile.
Before Gray could snatch the ball, Finn came out of the barn just as the ball hit the dirt, and picking it up, spotted Nicole and Ryan across the way. With Gray now sitting politely at his feet, Finn tossed the ball back.
To Ryan’s surprise, Nicole had to dart forward to catch it, since Finn’s arm clearly wasn’t as good as hers. Grinning, she turned to face him.
“Okay,” he chuckled, “you throw and catch. Can you bat too?”
“Lefty or righty.”
He knew his eyes were bulging in their sockets. “You’re a switch hitter?”
She shrugged.
“Wow,” he shook his head, smiling at her, “next time a game breaks out during lunch, you are so on my team.”
Gray came prancing up to her. Dropping the ball at his paws, she leaned over and scratched his ears. “Sorry, boy, we have a little research to do, but I promise we’ll play another day.”
Swishing his tail, to Ryan it looked like the dog nodded. Today was just full of surprises.
A thick layer of gray dust coated the first stack of plastic bins, the bright holiday labels peeking through the grime.
Grabbing the handle of a particularly heavy crate marked Christmas Lights, Nicole shoved it toward the low eaves of the ranch attic.
The air was heavy, smelling of old cedar, dry heat, and the faint, sweet scent of the vanilla candles stored with the other holiday decorations.
“I say we push all these more recent items to this side, and clear space for anything we find that might be older than we are.”
Ryan grunted, hauling a stack of outgrown suitcases to the other side of the landing where Nicole pointed. “I can’t believe how much stuff Uncle Sean and Aunt Eileen keep. I think this entire box is filled with nothing but Declan’s Little League trophies.”
“Which means there are probably six or more boxes for everyone else’s childhood trophies.”
Squinting at the writing on the next box, Ryan nodded. “This one would be Adam. At lease someone had the good sense to label most of these.”
“Even if they hadn’t, we can pretty much rule out the modern cardboard boxes as not containing any hint of the family over a hundred years ago.”
“Look at this.” Nicole kneeled over an open cardboard box and blew the dust off a framed photograph, revealing a team of young boys. Some with missing teeth. All with nearly identical, mischievous grins, and all holding up a string of very small fish. “Are you in this?”
Ryan leaned over her shoulder, his laughter a low vibration in the small space. “Looks like we’re all in it. The Austin cousins, the Oklahoma cousins, and the West Texas cousins. I’m pretty sure that was my first catch.” He chuckled some more. “I was terrified the fish was going to bite me back.”
“Aww, that’s kind of sweet.” Setting the photo carefully back into the box, she shoved it over to the others and continued clearing a path through the modern clutter, tossing a deflated football and a rusted set of horseshoes to the side until the floorboards changed.