A Long Tall Texan Summer: Tom / Drew / Jobe. Diana Palmer

to worry about. Isn’t that right, Elysia?”

      She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

      “Then why did my mommy throw a shoe at you?” Crissy asked the tall man.

      “Because he called me a—!”

      “Ellie!” Matt interrupted.

      Elysia clenched her teeth and forced a smile in Tom’s general direction. “Never mind.”

      “Don’t you like each other?” the child asked plaintively. “Mommy, you have to like Mr. Tom because he’s my friend.”

      Those green, green eyes would have melted stone, which Elysia wasn’t. She went down on one knee. “I like Mr. Tom,” she told the child. “I really do.”

      “And do you like my mommy?” the child asked the man.

      He drew in a short breath. “Sure. I think she’s just spiffy.”

      “Huh?”

      He glanced at Elysia with cold green eyes. “Terrific. Super. A truly wonderful person.”

      “Thank goodness,” Crissy said, smiling her relief. “Now you have to stop yelling at each other, okay?”

      Tom and Elysia stared at each other. “Okay,” they chorused gruffly.

      “Let’s have a cup of coffee,” Matt said quickly. “Elysia, do you mind?”

      “Not at all.” It was something to do, to get her out of range of that…that man!

      The men followed slowly back toward the house with Crissy in tow. By the time they arrived in the dining room, Elysia was calm and coolly friendly, even to her daughter’s hated friend. But she was relieved when Tom left, just the same.

      He became a regular visitor to the ranch after that. Sometimes he came when Luke was there alone with the child, but occasionally he showed up for Sunday dinner. Elysia tolerated him, but she couldn’t forget the horrible things he’d said to her, his cold treatment of her. Even understanding his past didn’t make him any more welcome in her home. She knew that he was just pretending to tolerate her company so that he could spend time with his daughter.

      She still wasn’t sure if he might try to claim custody of Crissy, and it made her nervous. She saw the way he looked at the child, with pride and tenderness. Crissy was equally fond of him. It was going to complicate Elysia’s life, but she didn’t know what to do. Tom had every right to see his child. But it cut right into Elysia’s heart every time she saw him. The past might be over, but her feelings for him had never wavered. They grew harder to contain as she saw that rare tenderness he displayed with Crissy. With no one else was he as open, as vulnerable. To make matters worse, when Elysia came into a room, he seemed to freeze over.

      She didn’t know that it was jealousy motivating him, that seeing her with Matt that evening had provoked all sorts of doubts about her feelings.

      She was getting Sunday dinner when Tom came into the kitchen to ask for cups to go with the carafe of coffee.

      “They’re in that cupboard.” With her hands busy making rolls, she had to nod with her head toward the cabinets.

      “I’ll get them.”

      She kneaded risen dough, trying not to notice how nice he looked in slacks and a dark jacket with a delicately red striped shirt and paisley tie. He wore his hair short and neat but she had fantasies about how he might look with his hair tousled or down around his shoulders like his Native American ancestors…

      “Crissy wants to know if you’ll let her come home with me to meet Moose,” he said.

      She froze. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking of making up excuses, but she was.

      “I know you don’t approve,” he said quietly. “But she’s my child, too.”

      She glanced at him worriedly and then away again. “It isn’t that I don’t approve,” she faltered.

      He put the cups down and went to stand close behind her. “But you want her to like Matt, is that it?” he demanded.

      She whirled. “Whatever made you ask that?”

      He searched her wide eyes. “You’re involved with him, aren’t you?” he demanded.

      She grimaced. “No, I’m not,” she said through her teeth. “But I wish I were. He’s handsome and sexy and…”

      “Experienced,” he said for her, bitterly.

      The tone of his voice slowed her down. She looked at him quietly, seeing emotional scars that probably were invisible to most people. They were vivid to her, perhaps because they shared the same sort of past.

      “Experience doesn’t make a man,” she replied. “There are many things much more important.”

      “Such as?”

      “Tenderness,” she said promptly. “The ability to carry on a conversation. Intelligence. A sense of humor.”

      He glared down at her. “I suppose Matt has all those qualities,” he said.

      “He’s my friend,” she told him. “Only my friend.”

      His green eyes narrowed. “And what am I?”

      Her heart jumped. She didn’t want to be pinned down with such a question. She turned her attention back to her dough.