Lone Star Legacy by Roxanne Rustand Page B

place been in your family?”
    “I’m not sure. I think the records showed it was the late 1800s. Why?”
    He’d come upstairs to ask her about the placement of shelves in the new cabinets he’d just finished installing downstairs. At his knock, she’d called out for him to come on in, though from the sounds of water splashing and Sophie’s giggles, she was busy with bathtime.
    “Just curious.” He glanced again at the heavily flocked crimson paper. Most of it had been removed, but the remaining tatters seemed to portray buxom women in rather compromising poses.
    “Hold on.” Sophie’s giggles and Beth’s laughter floated out into the living room. A few minutes later, the little girl bounced out of the bathroom clad in a purple nightgown with a ruffled hem, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face pink and glowing.
    When he’d first seen Sophie, Joel’s heart had wrenched over all he’d lost, and his old guilt and grief had threatened to consume him. Even now, he couldn’t look at her strawberry blond hair and sweet little face without imagining what his own daughter would’ve looked like by now.
    Sophie twirled, her arms outstretched, then raced to a basket by the sofa and grabbed an armload of picture books. “Can you read me stories? My daddy did.”
    He felt the blood leave his face. My daddy. “I—”
    Beth came around the corner, a towel slung over one shoulder. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, too, but the steam and the splashing had freed curly tendrils that framed her face, and her damp T-shirt clung to her curves. The look of exhaustion in her eyes turned to sharp awareness when her gaze collided with his. “I’ll read to you later, when you’re in bed, Sophie.”
    “But, Mommy—”
    “It’s time for your bedtime snack, okay? I’m sure Mr. McAllen wants to be going home soon. It’s late and he’s had a long day.” She nodded toward the kitchen table. “I’ve got cheese, crackers and juice all set.”
    Sophie’s face fell, but she dutifully put the books back and trudged over to the table and climbed up on a chair.
    “I…could have done it,” Joel said quietly.
    “I just assumed you’d rather not.” Beth’s smile was bittersweet. “Her dad always said the stories bored him, to tell you the truth. And I’ve noticed that you don’t exactly like being around young kids.”
    “It’s not that.” At the look of patent disbelief on Beth’s face, he tipped his head toward the basket of books and managed a smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve read the Fern Hollow books. They were my favorites.”
    “Really.” She studied him for a moment, as if not quite sure of him. “And your most favorite?”
    “Definitely Sigmund. For years, I maintained a fantasy about that crocodile coming to my house to eat cream buns.”
    The disbelief in her eyes faded. “Mine is the one about the seasons. I just love the artwork in that one.” She bent to pick up a scattering of doll clothes at her feet. “So, what can I do for you?”
    A sudden image flashed through his thoughts that had nothing to do with his work on her café, or children’s books, or the bawdy wallpaper on the—
    Well, maybe the wallpaper.
    She followed his gaze. “Nice, huh? The first layer was pink paisley, and that was bad enough. Under that were layers of purple pansies and 1970s burnt-orange-and-avocado stripes. The red-flocked paper must’ve been welded on in places, because it sure isn’t coming off.”
    “It’s…unusual.”
    “I don’t think you could accuse anyone in this branch of my family with good taste.” Her eyes danced. “I’m beginning to think my great-great-grandmother might’ve run a house of ill repute here. Not that there could be such skeletons in my family tree.”
    “I’ll bet some of the old folks in town would know. You could even play that up in the décor now, if you wanted to do something unique.”
    “The Bordello—Good Coffee and Fine Food? I’d