Love Under Two Flyboys [The Lusty, Texas Collection], Cara Covington [best ebook reader android .TXT] 📗

“That was clear thinking enough,” Charles said. He got up and gave his wife his chair, while Taylor set a cup of coffee in front of her.

“I understand Terry is going to lend his expertise at fixing it,” Charles said. “He’s a damn fine airplane mechanic.”

“The man could easily get a job at any of the major airlines and pull in six figures a year,” Taylor said. “Instead, he serves his country as an Air Force Chief Master Sergeant.”

“I’d almost forgotten that he’s coming home for Susan’s ceremony on Saturday,” Samantha said. “It will be good to see him again.”

“He’s taking two weeks’ leave,” Morgan said.

“Oh, then your plane couldn’t have come down at a better time.” Charles blinked. “Oh, dear, that didn’t come out quite right at all, did it? What I meant was, Terry gets restless after a few days away from the flight line. He likes to have his hands in an engine.”

“First he haunts the airfield,” Taylor said. “Then he’s raising the hoods of all our cars.”

“Like I told you,” Morgan said as he sat down beside her, “our cousin likes to keep busy.”

“You’ve all been very kind to me. I don’t want to—”

“You’re not imposing,” all three senior Kendall males interrupted her and answered at once.

Tamara looked from them to Samantha.

“I believe that was my line when I first came to Lusty so many years ago. Only instead of a broken-down airplane, I had a broken-down car.”

“And not a penny in your pocket, if I recall,” Preston said.

“Well, I have money, so—”

“So you can keep that in your pocket. We already told you, accepting payment for hospitality is not how Kendalls do things.” Morgan sounded as if he absolutely would not be defied on the matter. “You can give us a hand at the building site, instead, if you feel you must ‘pay’ for our help. Money we have. Help with the construction, not so much.”

Instead of acknowledging his decree, she turned her attention to his mother. “The males in your family bear more than a passing resemblance to bulldozers,” she said.

Samantha laughed. “Yes, they do. It’s how Kendalls do things.”

Tamara was beginning to believe that single tagline covered a multitude of sins.

* * * *

Peter Alvarez parked his aging Ford Crown Victoria in an open spot directly in front of the Lusty Historical Society Museum. He rotated his shoulders, trying to work the kinks out from the long hours spent behind the wheel over the last couple of days. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d missed lunch. His watch read three-thirty. He’d passed a restaurant just down the street, but the sign on the museum stated the hours were Monday to Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.

Knowledge before food. The story of my life. No signs prohibited parking, and no meters stood ready to eat his change. He liked Lusty, Texas, already. It had always been his plan to come here someday, ever since he’d heard his abuela speak of the unique little town and the people who lived here when he’d been a teen.

His grandmother had never been able to decide if she was scandalized or awed by the place. Peter could appreciate her conflict. It had been the Catholic in her warring with compassion for the immigrants her own grandparents had been.

Peter didn’t bother to lock his car. Instead, he just left it and entered the museum. Again, he could see no box asking for donations, or any sign that one couldn’t simply just wander around at will.

He raised one eyebrow at the third large photograph on the wall just inside the door. The picture had been enlarged, likely with the aid of a computer program. The quality of the print was good. The sepia color, so universal in the photographs of the late nineteenth century, did nothing to detract from the mood of the picture. The photo captured six people, everyone smiling, as if sharing a good joke.

What struck him about the photograph the most—aside from the smiling faces, so not de rigueur of the day—was that the people in it had been posed as if it was just another family portrait.

He read the inscription, although he’d immediately recognized three of the subjects pictured. He had seen photos of them in one of Abuela’s old albums.

“Why, hello there, young man.”

Peter turned at the sound of the voice. A middle-aged woman with white-blond hair swept up in a neat bun atop her head, a sweet smile, and twinkling eyes made her way over to stand beside him.

“We don’t get many strangers in here, but welcome. I’m Anna Jessop, the curator of the museum.”

Something about the woman made Peter want to grin. She barely reached his shoulder and put him in mind of Mrs. Santa Claus—or his tia abuela Rosita.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Jessop.” He gave in to the urge and smiled. “I’m Peter Alvarez. I’ve been meaning to make this pilgrimage for years, but kept putting it off. And then I had to travel to Waco this week and thought, it’s not that much farther to Lusty, so here I am.”

“What on earth would make a Virginian want to make a pilgrimage to Lusty, Texas? We’re not a very large town.”

How does she know where I’m from? Before he could ask that out loud, she gave him a grin and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Sorry. I’ve got a good ear for accents. I don’t detect much of the Hispanic in yours, despite your last name, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Peter liked to stick as close to the truth as humanly possible. It made the lies easier to support.

“No, I don’t mind, and you wouldn’t. My father is fourth generation American, and has no accent, either. The first generation of our family settled in this area back in 1870, or thereabouts.” He pointed to the picture. “That’s them there—Rita and José Mendez, and José’s sister, Rosa. Family lore has it that they started