Tobin knows a touchy subject that might set me off like a stick of dynamite when he hears it.
At least, that’s how it’s been before.
Strangely enough, today, I don’t feel the usual anger surging hot in my veins.
I hadn’t last night, either, when I’d told Grace my parents were dead.
I didn’t even realize it until now.
Who the hell knows what that means.
“You’re a florist?” I ask her. “I thought you raised pumpkins.”
She nods shyly. “Dad did most of the pumpkin farming. I helped when I lived at home, but then I went to college.” She glances at her father. “I’m an interior designer. Floral design is just part of it, the main thing that caught my interest.”
I look at Tobin. “We could use some decorating around here, don’t you think? The boys who finished this place left it so neat and tidy it’s almost like a mausoleum. Never got around yet to putting our own spin on it.”
He lays his napkin on the table, undoubtedly holding in a sigh.
“Perhaps,” he says, careful not to look at me.
He’s not impressed with how I’m handling this, extending an invitation to keep Grace and her old man around.
I get it. His tone is placating. Hell, he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had since my real dad shuffled off his mortal coil, but he’s not family.
He’s an employee. Always has been. I tend to forget that far more often than he does.
Ignoring Tobin, I look at Grace.
Whether he likes it or not, they can’t leave until that snow gets cleared, and I’m not lying about wanting company.
“Anything catch your eye with this place? Give me your suggestions.” I fold my hands, keeping my eyes trained on her.
She looks at her father, wide-eyed, as if to say, see what you did?
I smile at that.
So does Nelson, who gives me a lopsided half-grin.
“Well…I’d need to take a look around and ask you both some questions. What styles you like, favorite colors, what areas are mostly used for what, discover your color palette, all the usual stuff,” she says cautiously.
“Easy,” I say. “I like blue, love being comfortable, and we mainly cook and eat in this area. Right now, I’m feeling anything that isn’t plain white, considering what’s outside.”
I lift a hand, waving toward the window.
She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile, but ends up grinning anyway.
Goddamn, I like how she grins.
I have a feeling she doesn’t do it often.
“In all honesty,” I say slowly. “This place is pretty much exactly how it was when I bought it. It came furnished right down to our specifications, plus some creative input from the firm that handled everything. We haven’t done a whole lot except move our stuff in.”
“Even that picture of the actress?” Nelson asks.
Shit.
Tobin doesn’t offer more bacon this time. He just freezes, staring at me like an animal with its leg trapped.
I can read his mind. He’s wondering if I’m ready for this.
And ready for the other hundred questions that are sure to follow.
I can’t say I am, but it’s not like I have much choice in the matter.
Maybe it’s time. If I can’t handle an old guy sniffing around in the privacy of my own home, how will I ever handle it when everybody in Dallas finds out who I am?
So far, very few people know my true identity, but that won’t last in a town this small, where gossip is practically a sport.
“It’s my picture,” I tell them. “I’ve had it for years.”
“I saw a lot of her movies,” Nelson says. “Did you know Judy Barnet? Work with her or something?”
I can feel Tobin’s gaze; his concern glows almost hot, sincere and growing.
I nod at Nelson. “I knew her well. She was my mother.”
“Your mother?” Nelson seems surprised, caught off guard, and breaks into another thirty-second cough he smothers with a slurp of coffee.
“Damn, you are him, aren’t you? The Barnet kid. I never made the connection between her and…” He frowns. “So what’s your real name? Dane or Ridge?”
“Dane’s my middle name,” I tell him. “Mom insisted on Dane when I started acting, so I’d still have a sliver of personal identity outside the glaring camera lens.”
So much for that.
“I’ve seen your Westerns.” A big grin spreads over Nelson’s face, deepening his wrinkles. “Can’t say I really cared for that last one, though. The gun battle at the end didn’t come with any surprises.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard from the critics,” I say, appreciating his honesty. “My acting career is behind me these days.”
I look at Grace. “Tell me more about your thoughts on the house, what type of changes you’d make.”
“It’s already very lovely. Nicely decorated. Contemporary. New,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
I grin. “As in?”
“As in…nothing, I guess.” She flicks her hair back nervously, a soft gold wave catching the light. “I just mean it’s a really good starting point. You’d have to mess up big time to make this place ugly.”