Finding His Lone Star Love. Amy Woods

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      “What do you mean?”

      “You know, I just mean, well, it’s just that—” Lucy tugged at her glasses, suddenly nervous and tongue-tied “—guys like you...” She stopped talking before she said something off-putting.

      “Guys like me?” Sam abruptly stopped walking and faced her. “I just met you, Ms. Monroe, and, forgive me, but you don’t know enough about me to be able to size me up and categorize me with other men you’ve known.”

      He was right, and Lucy blushed at his surprisingly blunt correction. She didn’t know what to say so she kept silent and just kept walking.

      Sam caught up to her but he was quiet, and when she stole a glance his way, his brows were knitted and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Lucy was surprised at how strong the urge was for her to ask what he was thinking, but she reminded herself that it wasn’t any of her business. Still, the intensity she saw in the set of his jaw made her strangely sad, and she found herself wishing for something that would break the spell she’d unintentionally cast.

      Thankfully, they had covered most of the grounds and were at the front entrance, where Shiloh’s bus would drop her off. They were lucky the bus came all the way to the observatory, several miles from the outskirts of town. The school had made a special arrangement for Shiloh since Lucy was her only guardian and couldn’t drive into town each day to pick up her niece. The bus driver was a sweet lady, who loved Shiloh, and Lucy was grateful she had someone she could trust to drive Shiloh home every day in her place. Shiloh hated the special treatment, as she hated all such things, and she didn’t like being the last one off the bus when everyone else, even the kids who lived farther out of Peach Leaf, was already off by the time they reached her stop.

      Sometimes Lucy didn’t know what to do to please the child. She was twelve now—spunky—and had a mind of her own, and a mouth to go along with it; there were some days when Lucy wished her niece would return to being the kind darling she had been as a little girl. But she loved her so much and couldn’t be angry with her for anything for very long. Lucy just hoped Shiloh’s habit of shutting out her aunt was a phase she’d get through soon.

      Dust billowed around them as the bus lumbered to a stop. Lucy waved at Mrs. Stevens and waited for the driver to unfasten Shiloh’s wheelchair and lift her down. She turned and saw Sam’s face as he realized that Shiloh wasn’t going to walk out of the bus on her own two legs.

      Lucy was accustomed to people catching themselves staring when they saw a child in a wheelchair. It wasn’t that they meant any harm—it was just a human reaction to someone who was different than most. But there was something odd and unusually powerful about the way Sam’s mouth straightened, and his eyes clouded. Surely the man had seen a kid with a disability like Shiloh’s before.

      “Is something wrong?” Lucy asked. She hoped Sam would be honest. People usually tried to skirt around the subject, but she’d found she preferred if they asked questions or talked about what they felt, rather than try to ignore what anyone could see with their own two eyes.

      “No, no, nothing at all,” Sam said, shaking his head. He turned to grin at her and the strange, concentrated expression she’d seen a moment ago was gone. “It’s just that I didn’t know that your niece used a wheelchair to get around. You didn’t say anything about it.”

      Lucy searched his eyes.

      “Of course, you didn’t have reason to,” Sam said, understanding the question in her features. He turned and smiled as Mrs. Stevens pushed the lever to lower Shiloh down from the bus. Shiloh raised both hands as though she were on a roller coaster and Lucy melted at the old inside joke they shared, glad there was a trace of the sweet little girl in there somewhere.

      “Who’s this dude?” Shiloh asked, sizing up Sam.

      Shiloh had a knack for saying exactly what she was thinking, just like her mom, Jennifer—Lucy’s sister. People had always joked that neither mom nor daughter had been born with a filter.

      “Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart,” Lucy said, brushing a strand of hair out of Shiloh’s eyes, before her hand was promptly swatted away, just as she’d suspected it would be.

      “Shiloh, meet Sam, our new...trial chef.”

      Shiloh stared up at Sam, hooding her eyes with her hand. “Hi, Sam,” Shiloh said, her tone completely unreadable.

      Sometimes Lucy understood her niece, and other times she couldn’t remember ever having been as nonchalant about everything as Shiloh was, though she knew most of that was just Shiloh trying to hide any kind of emotion, like a normal teenager.

      “Hi, there.” He grinned and held out a hand, not in the slightest fazed by her lack of care at his presence. “I have to say, that’s a pretty sweet ride.”

      Shiloh cracked a genuine smile, the first Lucy had seen in a long time. It was a nice sight. Maybe Sam would earn his place after all.

      “So,” Sam continued. “How long have you had it?”

      Shiloh stared at him, skepticism suddenly taking over.

      Lucy bristled, bracing herself for whatever words might come out of her niece, though she was glad that Shiloh spoke her mind most of the time. Lucy had spent plenty of her own time keeping her words to herself at Shiloh’s age, and it hadn’t necessarily served her well. She would have loved to have Shiloh’s confidence when she’d been young—heck, she could use a dose of it now.

      A fierce need to protect Shiloh from the world was in her blood, despite the fact she hadn’t brought her niece into the world herself. Lucy loved Shiloh as though she had carried her in her own womb, and part of that love—that parental love—she guessed, was constant worry.

      * * *

      Sam’s heart fell to the bottom of his stomach with such force that he was surprised he couldn’t actually hear a thud. He kept his expression as neutral as possible as he tried to process everything in front of him.

      There was no mistaking that this girl, Shiloh, was his daughter.

      She didn’t look like him at all. She took after her mother and Lucy. The same copper hair, except wavy rather than curly, the same eyes, and the same freckles, like fairy dust across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. But all the same, he knew she was his as sure as he knew his own name.

      Shiloh looked at Lucy, her expression insecure, and then back to Sam.

      “Do you mean how long have I had this specific chair? Or how long have I been...like this?” She pointed at her legs.

      Sam swallowed. He wasn’t sure which he meant, actually. He wanted to know every single thing about her down to the tiniest detail, and it didn’t matter where she started—as long as she did.

      “Both,” he said, deciding that the best way to navigate the new waters he found himself in was to just be honest.

      Shiloh studied him and shrugged her shoulders, seeming to decide that this was okay with her.

      “Well, I got this chair last year from Dr. Blake for Christmas,” she said, pointing out the bumper stickers with the names of popular bands she had stuck all over the back. “But, I’ve been like this—” she pointed down at her legs again “—for a long time.”

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