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

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СКАЧАТЬ it was something to do. His days had been empty for a long time. In the city, there was always something to do in the anonymity of crowds. Here, he either sat at home with rented movies or fished. Fishing was much preferable.

      “Hi!”

      The bright greeting caught his attention. He turned his head to find Luke and Crissy with tackle boxes and fishing poles.

      “I never expected to find a big city dude in a place like this,” Luke murmured dryly. “Bored to death or do you just enjoy eating cheap fish?”

      “This isn’t cheap,” Tom murmured on a chuckle. “Ten dollars a day and the price of renting the tackle. Plus fifty cents a pound for whatever you catch. It adds up.”

      “Bobby Turner’s no fool,” Luke said with a grin. “He figures people will pay to catch clean fish in a good location. He does a roaring business.”

      Tom, glancing out over the dozens of people around the big lake, had to admit that the warm weather drew scores of fishermen.

      “Mind if we join you?” Luke asked. “The best spots are already taken.”

      “Is this one of them?” Tom queried.

      “It sure is,” Crissy piped up. “I caught a big fish last time, didn’t I, Uncle Luke?”

      “She caught a four-pound bass,” Luke agreed, settling in. “But I had to land him. She’s a bit small yet for pulling in fighting fish on a line.”

      “It pulled me down,” Crissy explained solemnly. Then she grinned. “But we ate it for supper. It tasted very good.”

      Tom laughed in spite of himself. The child had an incredible variety of facial expressions.

      Crissy looked at him for a long time, her little face studious and quiet. “You have green eyes and dark hair,” she noted. “Just like me.”

      He nodded. “So I do.” He paused, glancing at Luke, who’d gone to the small shed where bait was sold. “I guess your dad had green eyes, too, huh?”

      She frowned. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “My daddy had red hair.”

      Tom’s heart jumped up into his throat. The most incredible thoughts were gathering speed in his head. He stared down at the child. She had his own olive skin, his eyes, his hair. She was in kindergarten, that would make her at least five years old. He couldn’t stop looking at her as a shocking idea took shape in his mind.

      Luke came back with bait. “Go put this on your hook,” he told Crissy, “and watch that you don’t get it stuck in your finger like poor old Mr. Hull did last time he went with us.”

      “Yes, sir,” she said at once. “I don’t want my finger cut open!”

      She rushed off, a miniature whirlwind in jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt.

      “She loves to fish,” Luke said. “I had a date, but I broke it.” He made a face. “My latest girl doesn’t like fishing or any other ‘blood sport.’”

      “Fishing is a blood sport?” Tom asked.

      “Sure is,” came the reply. “So is eating meat.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m not giving up my cattle, so I guess this girl will go the way of the others pretty soon. She’s a looker. Pity.”

      Tom knelt down beside Luke, glancing warily toward the child. “She said her dad was redheaded.”

      Luke’s indrawn breath was audible, although he recovered quickly enough. “Did she? She was barely older than a toddler when he died…”

      “Red is red, whatever age you are,” Tom said doggedly. His green eyes met the blue ones of the other man. “She’s mine.”

      Luke cursed silently. Elysia was going to kill him.

      “She’s mine,” Tom repeated harshly, his eyes demanding verification.

      Luke bent his head. “She’s yours,” he said heavily.

      Tom looked at the little girl again, his face white, his eyes blazing. He’d never thought much about getting married, much less about having children, and all at once, he was a father. It was a shattering thought.

      “Dear God,” he breathed.

      Luke put a hand on his shoulder, noting how the other man tensed at once. He didn’t like being touched. Luke withdrew the comradely gesture. “She thought you were a big city playboy,” he explained. “She never considered trying to get in touch with you, especially after the way you acted before she left town.”

      Tom grimaced.

      “If it’s any consolation, Fred had leukemia when they married, and he was already infirm. They lived together as friends, nothing more, and she was fond of him. She needed a name for Crissy. For a small town like this, we’re pretty tolerant, but Elysia couldn’t bear having people gossip about us more than they already do.” He searched Tom’s eyes. “You’ll have heard about our father, I imagine?”

      Tom nodded. He drew in a long breath. “My father was a madman,” he confided quietly. “I’ve had my share of beatings, too,” he added, and a look passed between the two men. “The difference was that my father died of a brain tumor—while he was beating my sister for smiling at a boy she liked. He called her a slut, if you can imagine being labeled that for a smile.”

      Luke grimaced. “Good God, and I thought I had it bad.”

      Tom laughed coldly. His eyes were on the child. “One time,” he said half to himself, “in my entire life, and there was a child.”

      Luke looked down at the ground. “Elysia was your first?”

      Tom hesitated, but he was too stunned by what he’d learned to conceal it anymore. “Yes,” he said bluntly. “And the last. There hasn’t been anyone else, ever.”

      Luke looked up, quietly compassionate. “Not for her, either,” he said. “Not even her husband.”

      “You’re not serious.”

      “Yes, I am,” Luke countered. “He was too ill most of the time, and she never felt like that about him. She was honest. Then when Crissy was born, they seemed to find common ground. That child was wanted and very much loved.”

      Tom’s hand clenched by his side. “And now that I know about her—” he nodded toward the child “—what the hell do I do?”

       Chapter 3

      “On that subject,” Luke mused, “I would say that you’ve got a real problem on your hands. Elysia never meant for you to find out about Crissy. And here I’ve given the game away.”

      He shook his head. “Crissy gave it away,” he replied, “when she said her dad was redheaded. I believe in recessive genes, of course, but not to that extent. She’s a dead ringer for my sister, Kate.”

      “I noticed that, too,” Luke replied.

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