Page 13 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Thirteen

O pening my eyes, I wake to the soft sound of birds outside the open window.

The sheets are a tangle of limbs and warmth.

Kristin is curled into me, one leg flung over my thigh, her cheek pressed to my shoulder.

Her hair is a mess, her breath warm against my collarbone.

I’ve got one hand on her hip, the other tucked behind my head, and the weight of her body against mine makes it hard to remember why I ever preferred sleeping alone.

She stirs, shifts, then lifts her head to look at me.

Her eyes are puffy from sleep, lips swollen from the way we kissed each other stupid last night.

I could stare at her for hours like this.

A part of me thinks I could get used to this, and I try not to let that freak me out.

“Mmm,” she hums, sliding her fingers along my stomach. “You’re awake.”

“Barely,” I say, voice rough. “What time is it?”

Turning, she glances at the clock on her nightstand. “Seven-thirty.”

I groan. “Unholy.”

Grinning, she kisses me. “You’re dramatic for someone who used to sleep in a tent.”

“Yeah, but those tents didn’t have you in them.” Her smile softens. She kisses me again, with more heat. Her hand slides lower, fingers skimming the waistband of my underwear. I tilt my hips into her touch. “You working today?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t work Sundays. It’s a rule.”

“Good rule,” I murmur, liking where this is headed.

“Exactly,” she says, and her fingers dip beneath the fabric.

Feeling heat roll through me, I groan. “In that case,” I murmur, before I can’t think straight. “How do you feel about a motorcycle ride later?”

Slowly, she kisses my jaw, then my neck. “Love it.”

Rolling her onto her back, I press my thigh between hers.

“But first…” I say, and she arches into me, her breath catching.

My hand slides under her tank, finding her nipple, already hard, and I pinch gently.

She moans and pulls my face down to hers.

I kiss her deep, slow, like I’ve got all the time in the world.

My fingers trail down her stomach, slipping between her thighs, finding her swollen and ready.

Her hand is on me too, stroking my clit, her palm warm and firm.

We’re both breathing harder, grinding into each other, the heat building fast. I slide my fingers inside her, and she gasps, her body shaking.

She strokes me harder, her thumb circling my clit.

I’m close. She’s close. And then it happens. The doorbell rings.

Kristin freezes. “Shit.”

I blink. “You expecting someone?”

She scrambles out from under me, grabbing her robe from the chair. “No.”

I sit up, heart pounding. If this is Cleveland again, I’m going to punch somebody. She’s already at the window, peeking through the curtain. Then she exhales, shoulders dropping. “It’s my mom.”

I blink again. “Your what?”

She turns to me, cheeks flushed. “My mom. Donna. She must’ve gone to the bakery early,” she says with a smile. “She does that sometimes.”

I’m still sitting there half-naked, trying to shift gears from orgasm to introductions. “You want me to slip out the back?”

Kristin laughs. “No. You’re staying.” She pulls the robe tighter, kisses my forehead, and disappears into the closet.

“Go say hello while I get dressed.” I sit there for a second, stunned.

With a growl, I drag myself out of bed and grab my T-shirt and pull it on.

I tug on my jeans, run a hand through my hair, and head toward the kitchen with no idea what I’ve got myself into.

Honestly, I’d rather wrestle a bear. Meeting parents has never been my strong suit, but I go.

When I walk in, Donna is standing by the island, setting down a brown paper bag and a small glass jar.

She’s tall, elegant, with silver-streaked hair pulled back into a low braid and a linen blouse.

Her eyes are sharp, but not unkind. She looks me over once, then gives a small nod.

“You must be the one who owns the beautiful motorcycle outside,” she says.

I clear my throat. “That’s me.”

She offers a hand. A firm grip with no hesitation. “I’m Donna Lennox. Kristin’s mother.”

“Reggie Holliday. She mentioned you.”

Donna smiles. “I’d hope so.”

Kristin breezes in, wearing a soft blue dress that hugs her in all the right places. She kisses her mother’s cheek, then pulls open the cabinet for coffee. “Let me guess. You brought croissants,” she says, peeking into the bag on the counter. “And blackberry preserves. You’re spoiling me.”

“I spoil the people I love,” Donna says, sitting at the kitchen table before glancing at me. “And the people they bring home.”

I try not to flinch at that. Bring home. That’s a phrase I’m not used to. I lean against the counter, watching Kristin scoop grounds into the machine.

She hums under her breath until the coffee starts brewing. “I’m going to try to do something with my hair,” she says. “Be right back.” Once she disappears down the hall, it’s only me and Donna again. The silence stretches a little too long.

Donna clears her throat. “You’re not from here.”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s good.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Kristin’s mother tilts her head, not answering my question. Her eyes study my face, and I don’t drop my gaze. “You know, most people are afraid of what they don’t know,” she finally says, apparently skipping my question. “I’m not.”

Lifting my chin a little, I look into her bourbon-colored eyes so like her daughters. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“No,” she says. “I get a sense you’re actually something Kristin needs.

” She hesitates, glancing away. “But I am afraid for my daughter. She’s strong.

” Her eyes find mine again. “But she’s been through more than she lets on.

Will… well. You’ve probably figured out by now that he’s not a man who lets go easily. ”

“I’ve met him. Briefly,” I say with a nod.

“He’s dangerous,” Donna continues. “Not in the way you’d expect. He doesn’t hit. He doesn’t scream. He just… manipulates.”

My hands curl into fists. “I can sense that.”

“She left him,” Donna says. “But he hasn’t left her. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.” I don’t speak. I don’t need to. I simply let her talk. “She needs someone right now. She won’t ask for help. But she needs it.” Her words are gentle, but they land like a directive.

Swallowing hard, my throat feels tight. “And you think I’m that someone?”

Donna moves to the cupboard and takes down coffee mugs. “I’m hoping you are.”

“And if I don’t know what I’m doing?” I ask.

“None of us do,” Donna says a moment before Kristin walks back in, curls less tangled and pulled back with a clip.

She looks between us, eyes narrowing. “What are you two whispering about?”

Pouring a cup of coffee, Donna smiles. “Just asking Reggie if she’s a coffee snob.”

“I’m not,” I say, grateful for the out.

Kristin smiles, and I see how it matches her mother’s. “Good. Because you already know I make it strong, with no apology.”

We sit at the table, the three of us, passing croissants and jam, sipping coffee.

The kitchen is bright with morning light, the air already warm from the open window.

Kristin is beside me, one leg tucked under the other, her elbow brushing mine every time she reaches for her mug.

Across the table, Donna leans back in her chair, hands wrapped around her cup, watching us both like she’s taking mental notes.

Not in a judgmental way, but more like she’s cataloging something important.

“So,” Donna says after a long sip of coffee. “Are either of you going to the fundraiser Friday night? The one for the library?”

Looking up from her coffee, Kristin raises an eyebrow. “You mean the annual auction where half the town shows up to pretend they read more than church bulletins?”

With a laugh, Donna shakes her head. “That’s the one,” she says. “We’re raising money to expand the children’s section. Add more books that aren’t about talking vegetables or bible animals.”

Kristin chuckles. “You’re still pushing that banned books table, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Donna says. “The board’s already clutching their pearls over the idea of teenagers reading anything with a queer character.”

I glance at Donna. “You’re on the board?”

“Of the library? No. I run the place,” Donna says, then smiles at me. “I like stories. And I like making sure other people get to find themselves in one.” There’s something in her tone that says more than her words, and I wonder about Kristin’s past. Something to tuck away for later.

“How’s the clinic?” Donna asks, turning her attention to her daughter. “Denise said you’ve been pulling long hours.”

Looking toward the window, Kristin shrugs. “It’s steady,” she says. “We had three new patients this week. Two of them referrals from the shelter a few towns over.”

“That’s good,” Donna says with a nod. “Word keeps getting out.”

Kristin’s mouth tightens. “It’s also dangerous. People are noticing. Not all of them friendly.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t need more drama.”

For a beat, Donna’s eyes flick to me. “You mean Will.”

At the words, Kristin goes still, then she nods. “He showed up yesterday. Unannounced. Walked into the backyard like he still had the right.”

Donna doesn’t move, but her eyes sharpen. “What did he say?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Kristin says. “He brought insurance paperwork. Claimed he was doing me a favor. Then he saw Reggie and got that look.”

Again, a glance from Donna, but I let Kristin do the talking. “What look?” Donna asks and Kristin sighs.

“Like he was calculating how fast he could ruin me with this new information.”

Anger etching her face, Donna sets her coffee down with a clink. “And what did you do?”

“I told him to leave,” Kristin says. “And he did. Eventually.”

Kristin’s mom turns to me, looking at me dead on. “And what did you do?”

I meet her eyes. “Stood very still and looked like a problem.”

That earns a real laugh from her. “Good.”

Kristin glances between us. “You’re both enjoying this too much.”

Tearing a piece of croissant, Donna pops it into her mouth. “I’m enjoying the idea of him being rattled,” she says. “He’s used to control. Used to knowing the rules. You’re changing the rules.”

Leaning back in her chair, Kristin’s eyes are on me. “I’m not trying to make a statement.”

“You don’t have to,” Donna says. “Being happy is enough. That’s what scares him.

” The room is quiet for a long moment as we all let the words sink in.

Kristin reaches for the preserves again, spreading them over the last bit of pastry on her plate as Donna finishes her coffee.

She sets the mug down and stands, adjusting the strap of her bag before looking at me.

Not at Kristin, right at me. “Remember what I said,” she says.

I nod once. “I will.”

Moving around the edge of the table, Donna steps toward her daughter, and kisses her cheek. “You look good,” she says. “Lighter.”

Kristin smiles, soft and a little shy. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll call you later,” Donna says, and then she’s gone, the front door clicking shut behind her.

Brow furrowed, Kristin turns to me. “Okay. What was that about?” I don’t answer. Instead, I lean in close and kiss her with heat and suggestion behind it. After a beat, her lips part under mine and she doesn’t ask again. There are other things to think about.