Page 48 of Seaside Cowboy's Fairy Tale

Chapter Thirteen

RACHEL’S HEART WASracing as they entered his childhood home. Tex probably didn’t understand her nervousness. His mom was awesome to him. She’d checked her surroundings before leaving the car and made it to the house as fast as possible, watchful of the perimeter. Though she stayed vigilant, she slipped her gun back into her purse when they were inside.

Tex loved his family, albeit from a distance, but Rachel wasn’t blinded by that love. After all, his mother and brother were his heirs. She’d done her research on them and observed them during Kennedy’s two marriage ceremonies to his brother Austin, but Rachel had kept to herself then, not wanting to intrude. There was nothing like actually meeting and interacting in person. She didn’t suspect Austin, though. He now had a generational wealth of his own.

But the danger wasn’t the reason for her racing heart.

Yup, she could be confident with bullets flying, but she was terrified of Tex’s mom. Maybe she was nervous because she’d learned early not to trust anyone.

Rachel placed a store-bought cheesecake and a chrysanthemum bouquet—Mrs. Lawrence’s favorite flowers, according to Tex—on the side table.

He made introductions.

“Happy to meet you again, honey! We can get to know each other properly this time.” His mother took Rachel into her signature bear hug, careful not to squeeze Rachel’s injured shoulder.

“M–me, too. Thank you for the invitation.” Rachel’s eyes popped, partly from the surprise and partly from the hug’s intensity, even though she’d witnessed Mrs. Lawrence’s effusiveness at Kennedy’s events.

Then Mrs. Lawrence released her, and Rachel took in her surroundings.

The spacious house boasted gleaming hardwood floors that looked as if they’d been around as long as Tex had. She could imagine the tales behind each ding and dent. With sturdy oak furniture that seemed chosen ready to withstand a pack of boys and Western oil paintings depicting horses and cattle, the place smelled of brisket and roasted potatoes, and her unspoiled stomach perked up.

Tex’s mother looked down-to-earth in a gray hoodie and a long magenta skirt with tiny red flowers. Rachel breathed easier about her unpretentious T-shirt, jeans, and cap—a new cap, to replace the blood-soaked one from the shooting—though side by side with Tex in ironed black slacks and a crisp white shirt, she must look like someone who hadn’t made an effort. Would his mother find that insulting?

Since Mrs. Lawrence was barefoot, Rachel stepped out of her sensible shoes, the smooth floor surprisingly warm, probably from the sun shining in large windows.

The matriarch’s only decoration was small golden earrings. No, wrong. His mother’s main and awesome decoration was her wide, generous smile, and as she responded to Rachel with such affection as if Rachel was a long-lost relative who’d just won the lottery, she emanated more warmth than a medium-sized heater.

Rachel let out her relief. Tex was guarded and had a taste for fine, expensive things. And, having only seen his mother dressed up for fancy wedding settings, Rachel had half expected her to be the same, even if she lived on a ranch. And she’d love to remove Tex’s mother from her list of suspects. Though not so fast.

“Rachel! You’re here!” Kennedy’s cheerful voice called Rachel’s attention to the dining room, making Rachel’s lips curve up. Kennedy used to be quiet and reserved, but she was changing under this family’s influence.

Rachel suppressed a pang of envy. She was thrilled for her friend, and Kennedy more than deserved her newfound happiness. Kennedy’s feet, used to designer shoes, were bare now, and like Tex’s mother’s, Kennedy’s luminous smile best accessorized her stylish knee-length cream-hued dress with a keyhole neckline and a silver belt.

“Glad to see you both again.” Kennedy’s husband, Tex’s brother Austin, followed his wife in khaki pants and a polo shirt.

Two golden retriever puppies and a beagle half ran, half slipped on the floor nearby, barking their hearts out, but their tails were wagging. Another bark, a harsher, more threatening one, echoed from deep inside the house.

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