Page 75 of Texas Splendor
Austin threw back his head and laughed. God, it was good to be home … to know there would be a Christmas next year … and he would be here.
Breathless, Maggie rushed over, Rawley in her wake. “Uncle Dallas, can me and Rawley go put some on the balcony outside his room?”
“Sure.”
“Me, too,” Faith said as she held her arms out to Rawley.
He lifted her into his arms. “Get her bags, Brat.”
Maggie relieved Dallas of his burden and rushed after Rawley, her short legs unable to keep up with his long strides.
“She never seems to mind that he calls her a brat,” Loree said quietly. “Why does he call her that?”
“I think because she’s like her mother and speaks what’s on her mind—even when he wishes she wouldn’t. When Rawley first started going to school, he somehow got on the teacher’s bad side. Teacher was punishing him for not learning quickly enough. Rawley was too ashamed to tell me about it. Reckon he thought he deserved it. Maggie thought differently and told me about it.”
“So you talked with the teacher and worked things out?” Loree asked.
“Hell, no. Gave him his wages and sent him on his way. Hired another teacher. Nobody, but nobody punishes my children but me. And you were right. I would have snatched that piano teacher baldheaded if I’d seen her lifting a hand to my boy. Never did thank you for interfering there.” He walked off, with Loree staring after him.
“I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think you have to worry. That’s the closest thing to an ‘I owe you’ that I’ve ever heard from Dallas,” Austin said.
Austin studied the abundance of food that stretched the length of the heavy oak table. Every time he turned around, Dee or Amelia came through the door that led to the kitchen, carrying more food. He picked up something that looked like a tiny pie, held it beneath his nose, and sniffed. It smelled like raisins. “What’s this?”
Amelia stopped slicing off pieces of pound cake and looked up. “Mincemeat pie.”
Austin gave her a slow nod and popped it into his mouth. A combination of tangy and sweet hit his tongue. “Pretty good,” he said as he swallowed and reached for another one.
“Would you do me a favor and tell Maggie she can come decorate the cookies now?”
“Sure,” he said as he snitched another pie and headed toward the parlor. He never would have believed that Dallas’s big old adobe house would seem so warm and cozy. Dee had added so many small touches. Wreathes on the doors, greenery here and there, red ribbons, and satiny bows.
He rounded the corner to go into the parlor and staggered to a stop in the doorway, his path blocked by Becky, who had obviously been planning to leave the parlor. Her face burned crimson, reminding him of the stockings Dee had hung over the fireplace. Then her pale blue gaze shot upward. He slowly shifted his gaze to the arch above his head and his stomach tightened like a ribbon wound too tight around a package.
Damn mistletoe!
If it had been anyone else standing there—Dee or Amelia—he would have laughed heartily and given her a sound kiss on the lips. But not Becky. Five long years had passed since he’d held her, kissed her, been close enough to smell her vanilla scent, and count the freckles on her nose.
He didn’t have to look into the parlor to know that they’d managed to gain everyone’s attention. His mouth went as dry as a dust storm. Becky gave him a shaky smile, and he recognized the silent plea in her pretty blue eyes, but damn if he could figure out what she was asking for.
He swallowed hard, lowered his head, bussed a quick kiss across her cheek, and turned to the side, giving her the freedom to slip past him. He’d never been so glad to hear anything as he was to hear the rapid click of her shoes as she left the room.
Reaching up, he snatched the mistletoe from its mooring and glared briefly at his oldest brother, daring him to say anything about what he’d just done.
“Maggie—” his voice sounded like that of a drowning man coming up for the last time. He cleared his throat. “Maggie, your ma says the cookies are ready for decorating.”
Maggie shoved the present she’d been shaking back under the tree and raced out of the parlor.
Austin crossed the room and hunkered down beside the rocking chair. Loree stilled her gentle swaying and met his gaze. He brushed a stray curl away from her cheek. “Think you can give Houston back his daughter and come with me for a minute?”
She nodded slightly and eased up on the seat. Austin slipped his hand beneath her elbow and helped her stand. Houston stopped helping his other three daughters paste bits of colored paper into a chain and stood.
“ ‘Preciate your getting her to sleep. Sometimes there’s nothing like a woman’s touch.”
“Kin Aunt Loree rock me?” Amanda asked.
“Maybe after a while,” Houston said patiently. “I think your uncle Austin needs her right now.”
