The Way to Texas by Liz Talley Page B

he’d shown he didn’t want to bother with delving into the abnormal attraction they tried to hide from each other.
    Okay. No big deal.
    So she pulled her sunglasses from her purse, grabbed a piece of gum and locked the doors. Then she headed around the side of the house to look for the object of her somewhat disturbing dreams—dreams that pervaded her thoughts at random moments, dreams she tried to suppress.
    She found him bent over a bright red four-wheeler that looked much too big for her to handle.
    â€œSurely, you don’t think I can drive that thing?” she said.
    Tyson stepped back and critically assessed the machine in front of him. “I think you can handle her.”
    â€œYou can handle ’er, Dawn. I ain’t known you long, gal, but I’ve seen you in action. Anyone who can get my old man to spit out his chaw before comin’ inside Tucker House can handle a little ol’ four-wheeler.” Avery Long stood on the porch in a T-shirt and jogging pants. He did look a bit green round the gills, but his words were friendly as ever.
    â€œOkay, I trust you, Avery,” Dawn called with a friendly wave.
    â€œY’all have fun,” Avery called, before disappearing into the house.
    â€œBut you don’t trust me?” Tyson asked, wiping his palms on the front of his jeans. Jeans that were a bit too tight on his butt, but Dawn wasn’t complaining. Just noticing.
    â€œI won’t answer that,” she said. The words should have teased, instead they felt potent. Was it him? Or herself she didn’t trust?
    Probably both.
    Tyson’s gaze met hers and something passed between them. She’d be crazy to put a definition to exactly what it was, but it made her itchy in her skin. And likely Tyson felt the same.
    He turned toward the other four-wheeler, which sat under a Texas sweetgum tree festooned in orange and gold. The green ATV was even bigger than the red one Dawn would be riding. “Let’s get going. It’ll be dark before we know it.”
    Dawn eyed the red ATV warily as Tyson set a few items in the storage compartment on his four-wheeler. Then he patted the seat of hers, assisted her onto it and showed her the handbrakes, off/on switch and gave her a rundown about shifting her weight when climbing hills. She dutifully reiterated his instructions before pushing in the brake and thumbing the ignition switch.
    The machine roared to life beneath her.
    Her heart leaped the first time she hit the gas, but after a minute or so, she discovered driving a four-wheeler was similar to the go-carts she and Andrew raced when he was younger. The scenery rushing past her and Tyson as they steered onto the dirt trails carved into the hilly Texas countryside was much more attractive than the oversize mouse heads she and her son had sped past at the Family Fun Zone.
    She redirected her gaze from the view of Tyson’s appealing backside, and enjoyed the lacy stalks of wild-flowers and the fading green of the expansive stretches of pasture surrounding them. Soon they entered a quiet patch of forest. Branches brushed against her shoulders as the pungent smell of pines, so fresh and primeval, invaded her nose. Light fell through the trees insoft patterns and the lush green was interrupted only occasionally by the surprise of autumn color.
    Peace settled inside her as her body melted into the drone of the machine. Perhaps all those silly folks who splashed through Texas on loud four-wheelers knew something she did not.
    They rode for thirty minutes before Tyson slowed and pointed toward a path that broke off from the one they were on. It disappeared around a curve as if swallowed by hungry trees. She nodded and followed him as he charged into the unknown.
    A few minutes and a couple of near decapitations later, they emerged into a clearing bordering a pond. The still beauty of the sparkling water made her catch her breath.
    Tyson rolled to a halt and killed his