Page 27 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

Chapter Six

SKYLAR TOLD HER GRANDMOTHERabout the night scare over breakfast on the terrace.

“Oh, my darling Little Miss.” The woman who’d raised her hugged her gently.

“Do you think it was nothing?” Skylar voiced her wishful thinking. “Just some tourist who couldn’t sleep roaming the beach?”

“I hope so.” Grandma sipped yellow chamomile tea from a dainty porcelain cup seeming as fragile as its owner, wrinkles deepening around her pale eyes. Her hair, usually combed, was a bit disheveled after the night.

“We really should get you outside cameras.” Skylar stirred the spoon around in her small cup, though the honey had most likely dissolved long ago. She preferred larger more practical mugs, but the tea ritual was important to her grandmother and routine even more so.

Hmm, she’d talked her grandmother into the indoor cameras but hadn’t succeeded with outdoor ones. After a while, she’d given up insisting on those. She shouldn’t have.

The metal spoon clanked against porcelain edges, and it grated on her raw nerves. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. When she’d finally fallen into a restless slumber in the morning, she’d dreamed of the night of the storm. She’d woken up drenched in a cold sweat and wishing she’d dreamed of Dallas.

She raised her chin and gazed at the ocean, spectacular in its morning awakening of flamingo and canary hues and looking much friendlier now than at night. Somewhere in the trees, birds sang a hymn to the new day. She’d have to figure it all out somehow. She had to.

From a dreamer, she’d become practical and pragmatic, and she stood firmly on her two feet, even if those feet were back in shifting sands.

The wind rustling the wisteria also played with her grandmother’s white hair, and she pushed it back. With the movement, three seashell bracelets Skylar had made many years ago clattered on Grandma’s wrist. A strand of her hair nearly snagged on a seashell but then slipped back and spilled over her shoulders.

Skylar didn’t have a problem with the wind pushing her hair in her face or catching on bracelets. She wore her long hair in a tight bun these days, and unlike in her childhood and teens, not a single bracelet jangled on her arms. The only jewelry she still wore were golden earrings—Grandma’s gift, and the necklace, Dallas’s gift.

Grandma reached for a cherry turnover. “On a brighter topic, I need you to take a blueberry pie to the Lawrence ranch.”

Skylar cringed. Of course, her grandmother tried to change the topic, but why the pie delivery? “What is this, some kind of neighborhood pie exchange?”

Going to the ranch could mean running into Dallas. And while he’d trailed them yesterday and had even taken Skylar out for lunch, seeing her clearly pained him.

What a difference from the times when his face lit up at the mere sight of her. She swallowed hard, then took a sip of her sweet tea before it could grow as cold as her heart.

“You say that as if a pie exchange is something bad.” Grandma put the pastry on her plate and pinned her with a stare. “Here, we help each other. And send good things and good wishes to each other.”

Skylar lowered her gaze. Great, now she’d upset her grandmother. And after all, maybe she wouldn’t run into Dallas. “Okay. But do we have a blueberry pie to send?”

“Not yet. You’re going to make it.”

Skylar nearly dropped the dainty cup. “You said you sendgoodthings andgoodwishes to each other. If I make a pie, it won’t turn out a good thing. And believe me, they wouldn’t be sending good wishes back.”

Her grandmother chuckled and bit into her pastry. Delicate flakes sifted to her plate after her dainty bite. “I’ll make it then, and you’ll help. I used to bake many pies in my days.”

“And they were great ones. You were the best baker in town, or maybe in the entire state. As far as I’m concerned, you still are.” Skylar smiled.

But her heart constricted at how her grandmother had seemed smaller now, more vulnerable, instead of the pillar of Skylar’s life she’d always been. If her parents had been like wooden boats set adrift in the sea and vanishing, her grandmother had been a steady ship anchoring Skylar to reality and survival. Well, Dallas had been, as well, but she’d jumped that ship fifteen years ago.

To distract herself, she picked the gooiest chocolate chip cookie from her plate. “I’ll do my best not to ruin the pie while helping you. As we work, we can also discuss how you want to decorate the venue.”

“You can discuss it with Amelia.”

Skylar’s hand with the cookie froze in the air. She didn’t like where this was going. “Why would I discuss it with Mrs. Lawrence?”

Grandma blinked at her, all innocence. “Because the reception is going to be at their barn.”

This was just getting better and better.

An hour later, heated up more than the oven she’d taken the blueberry pie out of, Skylar was driving to the ranch. She was supposed to avoid Dallas. And now she was going to his ranch. How did she get herself into this situation?

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