Her Single Dad Hero Read online

  Thankfully, Jordan seemed not to see that side of her. He knew her deepest, darkest secrets, and they didn’t seem to matter to him. He valued her as a competent manager and organizer, and he obviously found no fault with her looks. They had much in common when it came to their careers and lifestyles. He’d seemed unconcerned when she’d told him that she wanted to wait till they were married to be together as man and wife, and had said that he wasn’t currently a man of faith, but was open to Christianity, and promised that they could discuss it later when they had more time. She’d told herself that was a good sign.

  Dean knew her from before, though. She already had a deficit to overcome with him. She couldn’t risk spoiling lunch. So, after a longer than usual run and a light breakfast, she took her time dressing. She styled her hair with hot rollers and carefully applied makeup. She chose a pale floral lace tank top with skinny jeans and vanilla, leather spike heels. Once convinced that she appeared as feminine as possible for the task at hand, she went to the office and waited, going over the books and internet articles that Rex had left for her.

  She heard footsteps on the porch at a few minutes past noon and was at the front door when the first knock sounded. Opening it the next instant, she greeted Dean with a smile. He wore a clean chambray shirt with the cuffs of his sleeves rolled back and the neck open. The blue heightened the gem-like color of his eyes, and the pale straw of his hat looked very much like the color of his blond hair. He was an amazingly attractive man, even in faded, dusty denim.

  Next to him, Donovan wore a blue-and-green striped shirt, baggy jeans and a big smile. He looked up at her and proclaimed, “You look real pretty!”

  Ann found that little-boy smile more and more difficult to resist. “Thank you, Donovan.”

  Dean looked her over and said, “Especially like the shoes.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending that she was not very much pleased. “They just aren’t too good for tramping across fields.”

  “Exactly. I am extremely impressed that you can walk in them, though.” He shot her a cheeky grin, flashing those dimples at her. “Ready to go?”

  Rolling her eyes, she reached over and took her small handbag from the half-moon foyer table. “I am now.”

  “Did you remember to bring socks?”

  Socks. Of course. “Uh, one moment.”

  Turning, she hurried up to her room, where she snatched a pair of clean socks from the dresser. She had long ago gotten rid of sports and school memorabilia, leaving only the purple, tailored bed coverings and drapes. Before she left here this time, though, she was going to repaint this dresser and the shelving unit across the room. What had possessed her to paint all the drawer fronts and shelves different colors, anyway?

  She rushed back downstairs, socks in hand. Dean and Donovan had stepped inside. “Thanks for reminding me,” she said to Dean.

  “Voice of experience,” he told her, opening the front door.

  She went out first, checking to be sure that she had the key before hitting the lock and pulling the door closed behind Dean, who followed Donovan. Her dad rarely locked the house, but her years in Dallas simply wouldn’t allow her to walk away from an unlocked house. Dean’s slight smile told her that he found the precaution unnecessary, but she would never forgive herself if she returned to find her dad’s TVs and computer missing, not to mention her own electronic devices.

  Of course, the horses and cattle could be taken by anyone bold enough to pull a trailer onto the place, though Wes had installed some motion detection devices at vulnerable spots along the fence line. He had an alarm panel set up in the office, and occasionally a coyote or bobcat set off one of the motion detectors. He’d warned her not to get upset if the alarm woke her, just to check the security screen, and if she saw nothing suspicious take a look at the recording in the morning. Rex, who was apparently some sort of expert on such things, had set up the recording component and arranged for cloud storage, but that security arrangement did not include the house, which seemed shortsighted to Ann.

  She followed the Pryors to Dean’s somewhat battered, white, double-cab, dually pickup truck. At least she supposed it was white under that thick layer of orange-red grime.

  As if reading her thoughts, Dean said, “Hope you don’t mind if we wash the truck before we head home.” He opened the front passenger door with one hand and the backseat door with the other.

  “We had to unload ever’thing so we could,” Donovan informed her as he scrambled up into his car seat. “Gotta get out all the tools and stuff afore you can wash it.”

  Dean chuckled as he buckled Donovan into his seat. “Quite a job, isn’t it, bud?” He glanced at Ann, who had yet to slip into her seat. “Donovan earned some extra money to buy school gear by helping me unload the truck bed this morning.”

  “I’m gonna get some cool stuff!” the boy exclaimed excitedly.

  Ann smiled and stepped up into the surprisingly comfortable bucket seat. She was buckled before Dean slid in behind the steering wheel.

  “War Bonnet Diner okay for lunch?”

  “Is there any place else?”

  “Not if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starved!” Donovan declared from his car seat in back.

  “That makes two of us,” Dean said, glancing into the rearview mirror as he pushed his sunglasses into place on his nose.

  For a starving man, he didn’t seem in much of a hurry. He drove in a leisurely fashion that had Ann setting her back teeth. In Dallas, where everyone was in a hurry all the time, he’d have been run off the road. The trip into War Bonnet covered fewer than six miles, but it seemed to take forever. They pulled into town, stopped at the blinking red light just past the Feed and Grain on the edge of town, far longer than required to determine that no other vehicle could possibly impede their pathway, and rolled on.

  Dean waved as they passed the gas station then tooted his horn at a madly grinning middle-aged woman in the grocery store parking lot.

  “My aunt Deana,” he explained.

  Every other driver they passed waved or called out a greeting. War Bonnet boasted only a single city block of business buildings, including the town hall, bank, post office, a junk shop that billed itself as a collectibles store, a pair of empty spaces and the café. The school and athletic fields lay on the southwest side of town, beyond the four or five blocks of houses that comprised the remainder of War Bonnet, along with the small church on the southeast side. Her family had attended that church for most of her life, but her parents had switched to Countryside Church after she’d left home.

  With tornadoes an ever-present danger in Oklahoma, the joke around War Bonnet was that a good-size dust devil could wipe it off the map. The little whirlwinds routinely whipped up red clouds of dust that danced down the streets, lashed the blooms off flowers, spattered windows with grit and stung eyes. One had even disconnected the electricity to the tornado siren near the school. After that the cable had been buried.

  Dean found a parking space in front of one of the empty storefronts, and they walked up the sidewalk to the little café, which bustled with activity. The undisputed social center of the community, the café featured a long counter with eight stools, two booths in front of the plate-glass window and five tables, for a total capacity of thirty-six diners. Donovan begged to sit at the counter, but there were only two stools open, so Dean steered him toward a table in the back corner near a jukebox that hadn’t worked in over a decade.

  After escorting the boy to the bathroom to wash his hands, Dean ordered a hamburger and onion rings. Donovan asked for fish sticks and fries. Ann decided to try the fruit plate and chef’s salad. It was better than she’d expected, but Dean’s thick, fragrant hamburger made her mouth water. She’d forgotten how good a simple hamburger could smell. When Donovan offered to trade her fries for grapes, she gave him the grapes and
declined the fries then accepted onion rings from Dean.

  The moment she bit into the crisp ring, memories swept over her, fun times spent in this place with school friends and family. After she’d gotten her driver’s license, she and her friends had hit this place after school, loading up on milk shakes, fries and onion rings before heading off to whatever commitments claimed them. She’d found such freedom in that. No more school buses to catch, no adults around to police their behavior—not that they’d misbehaved really. None of her group had drunk alcohol, used drugs or even dated much. They’d been too busy with school, sports, church, chores and getting their livestock ready for the county fair. True, they’d teased and gossiped and gotten loud, even broken out with the occasional short-lived food fight, but essentially they’d been harmless.

  “Ann Billings,” said a female voice, jolting her out of her reverie. Opening her eyes, Ann stared at the small, rounded, older woman. Something about her seemed familiar, but the short, curly, iron-gray hair and thick, owlish glasses brought no one to mind. Then the woman cupped her hands together and clucked her tongue, saying, “First your brother, now you. Will all the prodigals return to Straight Arrow Ranch?”

  “Mrs. Lightner!”

  The old dear smiled and held out her arms as Ann rose to her feet and bent forward for her hug. When she straightened again, she said to Dean and Donovan, “Mrs. Lightner was my Sunday School and piano teacher.”

  “Dean, Donovan,” greeted the older woman, nodding at each. “I’m surprised to see you all together.”

  “We’re going shopping!” Donovan announced happily.

  At the same time, Ann said, “Dean is doing some work for the ranch.”

  “I’m harvesting out at the Straight Arrow just now,” Dean explained calmly. “And Donovan’s ready to buy school supplies. Ann’s going along to find a pair of boots.”

  “School supplies,” Mrs. Lightner echoed. “First grade, is it?”

  “Kindergarten,” Dean corrected. “He turned five on Christmas Day.”

  “He’s such a big boy that I thought he must be six at least,” Mrs. Lightner said. She turned her full attention on Donovan, saying, “You’ll do very well, I’m sure.”

  Donovan nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am.” He frowned then. “But how come they won’t let me take my dog?”

  “I’ll need Digger with me,” Dean told him.

  “Oh, that’s true,” Mrs. Lightner confirmed, nodding sagely. “Even though it’s just half a day, your dad will miss you. He’ll need the dog to keep him company. You’ll have lots of new friends and teachers, but Dad will be missing his right-hand man.”

  Donovan sighed. Then he abruptly brightened, split a look between Ann and his father and shook a finger in Dean’s face, proclaiming, “You need to get a wife.”

  “Whoa!” Dean cried, shoving back his chair.

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Mrs. Lightner chortled.

  “Your grandma can shake a finger at me, buddy, but you cannot,” Dean scolded lightly, crumpling his napkin and dropping it beside his plate. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. I have things to do today.”

  Donovan crammed the last bit of fish into his mouth, rubbed a paper napkin over his face and slid down off his chair. Ann stood as Dean pulled his wallet from his pocket and tossed several bills onto the table.

  “You’re driving, so let me pay for lunch,” she said quickly, hoping that would squelch any suppositions that Mrs. Lightner might have about the two of them dating.

  He looked at her, his face blank, shrugged and slid his wallet back into his pocket, leaving the gratuity on the table. “Suits me.”

  Relieved, Ann reached for her purse. At the same time, she felt an unexpected and puzzling sense of disappointment. She didn’t have time to think about it, though, as Mrs. Lightner surprised her by sliding her arm through Ann’s.

  “How is your father?” the older woman asked.

  “He’s in the city with Meredith for chemotherapy,” Ann told her. “Meri calls every day. It sounds pretty tough, but we’re trusting that he’ll come through okay.”

  “Everyone here at the town church is praying for him,” Mrs. Lightner said.

  “Thank you,” Ann replied. “We appreciate that.”

  “So how long are you going to stay?” Mrs. Lightner asked, walking with her to the cash register.

  “As long as I’m needed. At least until Rex and Callie get matters settled in Tulsa and come home. My fiancé is filling in for me with my job,” Ann said pointedly.

  “You’re engaged?”

  “That’s right. If you were at the wedding, you probably saw him.”

  “I did attend the wedding but not the reception,” Mrs. Lightner mused, obviously thinking. She looked up suddenly. “Distinguished, older man, graying temples, expensive suit?”

  Older man? Graying temples? Ann would have said silver, not gray, but the expensive suit nailed it. She put on a smile. “That’s right.”

  Mrs. Lightner looked to Dean, who waited by the door with Donovan. “Well,” she said, “to each her own.” Then she hugged Ann again, said her farewells and left.

  Stung for reasons that she couldn’t quite explain, Ann waved over the waitress, paid the bill and followed the Pryors out onto the sidewalk. She watched them strolling along in front of her, Dean’s large, capable hand resting against his son’s narrow back while Donovan talked excitedly about some subject that escaped her. Then again, Donovan never seemed to speak in any other fashion. He was an excited, happy, obviously well-loved little boy. And apparently something of a matchmaker.

  She wondered where his mother was, then she realized that she’d been trying very hard not to wonder. Donovan had told her, of course, that he didn’t have a mom, that his grandmother did his laundry, but Ann purposefully hadn’t pursued the subject because she really hadn’t wanted to know. Knowing the situation would somehow open her to...speculations, unwelcome, unnecessary, troublesome speculations of the sort that no engaged woman should entertain. Especially a woman as unsuited to being a mother as Ann thought herself to be.

  Standing aside, she waited while Dean belted Donovan into his safety seat. Then, to her surprise, Dean walked straight past her on his way around the truck. She knew instantly that she’d somehow insulted him, probably by insisting on paying for lunch.

  “Dean.”

  He halted at the front of the truck and reached out a hand to thump a thumb against the hood, but he didn’t turn or speak.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He turned his head then, that cold, blank look on his face. “What makes you think I’m upset?”

  “I don’t know. I—I just thought it was fair that I pay for lunch.”

  Nodding, he looked away. “Uh-huh. I really didn’t expect anything else from you, Jolly.” With that, he walked around the truck and opened the driver’s door. He stood there, waiting, until she opened the passenger door and got into the truck.

  She didn’t know what to say or think, and she really couldn’t get into it with Donovan sitting there in the backseat. As it was, the boy sensed the tension.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, leaning forward.

  Dean turned a warm smile over his shoulder even as he reached for the ignition switch. “Sure, bud. What could be wrong?”

  Apparently satisfied, Donovan sat back and began enumerating the items he intended to buy. Ann smiled and nodded.

  Like Dean said, what could be wrong?

  Or was she avoiding the more important questions? Like, why couldn’t she escape the feeling that something very important was wrong?

  Why did it suddenly feel as if her whole life was wrong?

  Chapter Five

  “Look at this, Dad!”

  Donovan held up a red plastic
container in the shape of a car with real wheels. Decals depicted the windows and other details, but it could be rolled.

  “It’s a pencil case,” Dean explained, opening the thing to expose the sharpener and storage compartments.

  “Cool! Can I get it?”

  Dean pulled out his phone and activated the calculator function. “Well, it’s not on the list, but let’s see if it’s in your budget.” He helped the boy find the price, figure the tax and deduct the amount from his available funds. Next they checked to make sure the pencil case would fit in Donovan’s chosen backpack. “Looks like you’d still have enough to finish your list, so if this is the bonus item you’d like to choose, you can get it.”

  Crowing, the boy spun around on the heel of his shoe. The pencil box functioned in several ways, one of them being a toy, all for under five dollars. Donovan couldn’t have been happier. Ann couldn’t have been more impressed. Whatever else he might be, Dean Paul Pryor was a great father. Dean had clearly taught his son the value of a dollar, how to shop and prioritize and to be happy with the most functional things. Later, when they moved on to clothing, she found herself seeking his guidance for her own purchases.

  “What do you think of these boots?”

  “Real good-looking,” he answered, turning one over in his hands. “I’d buy them myself if I could afford them. For Sunday best.”

  “Not for every day?”

  He shook his head, set down the ostrich leather boot and reached for another, one with a rounder toe, lower heel, wider vamp and crepe sole. He tossed it in his hand, saying, “This boot here is lighter by several ounces, easier to get on and off, far better padded where it counts most and it’s got a steel toe.” She looked down to see a much more scuffed boot in a different leather finish on his own foot.