Page 4 of One Boiling Summer (Texas Summer #15)

CHAMOMILE AND CONFESSIONS

HUDSON

Good old Blue Betsy rumbled to life.

Lacey smiled and inhaled deeply. “Love this truck. I’m glad you didn’t sell it,” she whispered, caressing the leather seat.

I knew she loved it. She used to bug us in the barn when I taught my little brother the basics of mechanics, trying to take Dad’s place once he wasn’t around. Every single time, she’d tell us how much the truck meant to her and how cool it was that Carson fixed it up.

Carson. It was always about him.

“This old town hasn’t changed one bit,” she said, watching the shops go by as we turned onto her street.

“Actually, the town population’s grown twenty-five percent, according to Poppy Daily.

Might not sound like much, but down at the firehouse, we feel it.

Cap grumbles about it, and Doc complains his clinic’s busier than ever.

Even Branson says the officers are spread thin.

More people means more emergency services needed.

We should hire more folks, and the mayor’s trying, but the budget can’t keep up,” I explained.

Talk of budgets—boring but safe. Definitely nothing that screamed, I’d like to show you around the firehouse, especially give you a look at my big hose. Best I kept that to myself.

“Here we are,” I mumbled.

At the end of the cul-de-sac sat her family home. A small Victorian that had once been pretty. But after the fire that claimed her father’s life—and my dad’s as well, both in the line of duty—it became harder for her and her mom to keep it up.

“That tree over there in the side yard is the one Mom and I planted in memory of Dad. Look how tall it is now.” She didn’t move at first, her eyes sweeping over the lot, as if longing for days gone by. “Carson’s done a great job keeping up this place. I’ll have to remember to thank him.”

I snorted and got out. Carson. Carson. Carson.

I ran around to her side and opened the door. She ignored my hand, her eyes still far away.

I lugged her stuff up to the porch. She unlocked the door and walked in, tracing her fingers over objects as if they were memories come to life.

I heard her whisper, “Oh, Mom,” under her breath as I adjusted the thermostat.

“It doesn’t even look dusty,” Lacey said, glancing over her shoulder like she half-expected Carson to be standing behind me. “He could hardly keep his room clean growing up. I didn’t expect this level of detail when I asked him to watch the place while I was gone. I’m impressed.”

Her eyes were bright, and damn it if something in me didn’t twist at the sight.

“Yeah. Must’ve been some real hard labor for him,” I replied, my tone as dry as the Texas heat outside. And dammit all to hell if her perfume hinting of lilacs didn’t already fill the house.

I stood back while she took it all in. The attraction between us was like a one-way street from my body to hers. She didn’t have a clue. Whatever. I wanted her happy—even if it wasn’t with me.

“This place is sacred to me. Why was I gone so long?” she whispered, fingers brushing the framed photos lining the walls.

She lingered over one of her and Carson, about twelve, sitting on a fence, all limbs and grins and cowboy boots. She probably didn’t notice I was in the picture too, blurry in the background.

Suddenly, her shoulders shook again. A sob reached me and grabbed hold, forcing me toward her. My hands reached out, wanting—yearning—to hold her and promise her everything would be okay.

“Hey, Lace…” I struggled for words.

“No. I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute,” she cried, running down the hall to the bathroom.

With a heavy sigh at the door slamming closed, I pushed a hand through my hair. I should leave, like I always had—always watching her from afar. But I needed to make sure she’d be okay tonight.

I wasn’t the guy who’d run out on a woman who’d drunk three beers and then bawled her eyes out in the bathroom. But I was still the coward who wouldn’t say a damn word about my attraction to her, so I let my actions speak instead.

Moving through the kitchen with ease, I filled a kettle and set it on the stove. Found her favorite chamomile tea in the cupboard. I remembered Carson making it for her during the last visit after her mother had passed. I set two mugs on the counter and waited.

“Think I need something stronger than tea,” she snorted behind me, back sooner than I’d expected.

I turned to find her leaning in the doorway, red-eyed from tears but dry—for now. Wouldn’t surprise me if she cried herself to sleep once I left.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” I said, cocking my head.

“No. You’re right. Tea it is.”

The kettle whistled. I fixed us both a mug with a splash of honey, no milk.

“You remember how I take my tea?” Her voice was curious.

“Just like mine.” I handed hers over.

Our fingers tangled for a beat—accidental, but the sparks weren’t, at least on my end. The flush rising in her cheeks became my new favorite hue.

“It’s strange being back,” she said, eyes on the mug. “Everything fell apart the last time I visited.”

“No one can blame you. People grieve in different ways. None of us boys dealt with our dad’s passing the same. If anything ever happened to Mama…” I shook my head and hated to think of it.

Lacey had gotten through her mother’s funeral service, holding it together with a stiff upper lip.

I remembered that day vividly. Afterward, at the reception here, guilt and grief had overwhelmed her.

She downed a few glasses of her mother’s strong strawberry wine, and got into a fight with Carson who tried to stop her from making a scene.

He got frustrated and left with the girl he’d brought with him, which I suspected was the cause of their argument in the first place. Then she stood on a chair and got everyone’s attention, insisting on giving a toast.

What came out was a mess—ranting about her failures as a daughter, the town judging her for leaving, the life she thought she wanted in the big city.

It ended in her tears, and with me carrying her upstairs to her room, hoping to save her from further embarrassment. I had laid her on her bed and covered her with a quilt. I stroked her back and promised her she’d be okay until she feel asleep.

To this day, town gossips still talked about it: “Lacey got drunk and made a scene at her mama’s wake.”

“Why’d you come back now?” My voice softened.

“Everything fell apart in New York too.”

“I’m sensing a pattern.”

“I figured things would be different if I came back to Poppy Valley. Ready to try living here with…”

She didn’t say Carson’s name, but it hung there between us like the steam from our mugs.

“Yep. Definitely a pattern. Your life gets messy, you run, and you hope Carson will be here for you when you fall.” I had her figured out now.

“No. That’s not true. Not quite.” She chewed her cheek and crossed her arms. My eyebrows lifted, calling her out. “Okay, maybe I did expect him to be here for me. But clearly, with Emme by his side, he won’t be.”

“And don’t get any ideas about breaking them apart. Emme’s a nice girl. She’s done a lot for him. He’s really matured because of her.”

“Do you think I’d be the kind of woman to come between them? He made his choice.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Apparently, our marriage pact meant nothing to him.”

“Uh, say what now?” I almost choked on chamomile.

“It was a silly teenage thing. We pinkie promised that if we were both single at thirty, we’d marry each other. So much for that plan.” She shook her head.

“Wait. You two turn thirty this winter.”

“Exactly. But clearly Emme got to him first.” She sighed, tossing the rest of her tea down the sink. “So here I am. All alone in a big house filled with memories and regrets and no idea what to do with my life.”

“Hey. First of all, you’re stronger than you think.

You’ll get through this.” She blinked up at me like I was the first man to truly see her.

“And second, you’re not alone. I’m here, Lace.

Reach out anytime you need me. Day or night.

I’ll come running.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her soulful brown eyes held mine across the kitchen, glassy, about to cry again.

Another second of this and I’d admit truths I’d kept locked up for years.

Instead, I watched the girl who was never mine slip away, sashaying toward the front door.

“You should head back to the party. To your family. Thanks for the ride, though.” She held it open.

Resigned that I’d done enough for now, I followed.

“Hey, Lace…” I turned at the top of the porch steps, catching her womanly silhouette in the dim light of the family room behind her.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re back. I mean it. I’m here for you.” The moment stretched, too loaded for comfort, heavy enough to give me hope.

The way she looked at me was new, different, almost like I was an equation she couldn’t solve.

Maybe that was wishful thinking. But I took the steps by two, lighter in my boots.

At the truck, I peered up. “Wow. Check out these stars. Bet New York doesn’t have a view like this.”

She stepped down to the first stair and peeked, her laugh light on the summer breeze.

“Wow, is right. I forgot how many there are. In the city, too many bright lights cut off the view. I missed this sky.” As if the younger, carefree Lacey had returned, she bounded out to the yard where she twirled, arms outstretched, face tipped to the moon.

I didn’t have words for the beauty before me. Didn’t need them. Resolve slapped me upside the head.

I’d made my presence known to her, offered my help—and there was no going back.

If it took reminding her every single day what was here for her—and who— I’d do everything in my power to convince her to stay.

With me.

Now and beyond this hot summer in Texas.