Acting Happy (Texas Desires #2) (2 page)

The ever-present creak in the back door hinges hit just right, sending the familiar spine-tingling jolt up McKenzie Stanton’s back and straight into her shoulders. She physically cringed, ducking before shaking out her arms, trying to get out from under the unwanted sensation. More times than she could count over the last few weeks, she had intended to take care of that awful noise. By God, that would be the last time, no more procrastinating. She marched toward the kitchen pantry, pulled out the can of PAM and held the cooking spray as a shield of armor as she walked back across the room.

She didn’t touch the door while giving each hinge a good coating of the spray. After a minute, she forced herself to man up, not hiding the wince as she anticipated the squeak when she opened the door. Already, the sound wasn’t quite as terrible. Standing in the open back door, she sprayed each hinge from that direction too. Kenzie quickly moved the door back and forth to fully coat the metal until the noise completely disappeared. Score! Job well done. She shut the door, twisted the bottom lock, and went back across the kitchen to place the can where it belonged.

“Mama, you in here?” she called out toward the rest of the house as she shut the pantry door. She walked through the kitchen, tugging the ponytail holder from her hair, letting the long strands of blonde hair tumble free until she stopped, bent over, and gathered them together again, quickly binding the hair-tie back in place.

The question was kind of a silly one, and of course she knew the answer. She could hear the television blaring from the living room with her parents calling out random statements that made no sense to any possible conversation, meaning they were all directed to the twenty-five-year-old television set in the front of the room.

Before she got too far out of the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder at the clock on the so-old-it-should-be-an-antique oven and smiled—later than she’d originally thought. So they were now in the nightly routine of carefully planned evening network television. This was probably the not-ever-missed Wheel of Fortune. Kenzie shook her head and smiled even bigger—another steadfast pattern that never changed. She hid the giggle at her father’s latest attempt to solve the puzzle. She couldn’t remember a time that he’d ever gotten any of them correct, but that never stopped him from trying, over and over, day after day. She went to the entrance of the living room and propped her shoulder against the doorframe to wait for a commercial.

As a hormonal teenager, this scene had bothered the heck out of her. She’d sworn when she finally grew up and got out, she’d never own a television set, and for the most part, that had stayed true. But now, she understood this was just their thing, and everybody had a thing. It didn’t seem to be as bad as she’d once thought.

Instead of watching the screen, she looked over at them. Her mom and dad both sat in rickety old La-Z-Boy recliners strategically positioned for the best view of the television. An ancient TV tray with an empty dinner plate sat in front of each chair, where they would remain for the next three hours until network television ended and the news came on. Only then would they do the final dinner dishes together before going to bed for the night.

Funny, after the beating she’d taken last five or six years, this boring life seemed tolerable. As cheesy as it sounded, she now understood that her mom was the peanut butter to her father’s jelly. Their relationship didn’t seem nearly as dull as she’d thought when she’d made her escape from this small town ten years ago. Luckily, a commercial saved her from mentally reliving the mistakes of her past, making her head crazier than it already was.

“I closed down the store. Locked everything up,” Kenzie stated, and hid her smile when they jerked their heads in her direction. No surprise there, they’d clearly not noticed her standing in the doorway.

“Thank you, dear, but you don’t have to do that. That’s what we hired William for,” her mom said, pushing back her tray to rise. Kenzie stopped her, immediately stepping forward, first gathering her mom’s plate, then reaching over for her father’s.

“I got these, Mom. Need a refresher on that, Dad?” She nodded to the nearly empty thirty-two ounce Route 66 prize plastic cup that had to be at least twenty years old.

“No, baby, I’m fine,” he said, chomping on the last of the ice from his glass. Stacking the plates on top of each other, she reached out and moved his tray. He immediately pulled the recliner out, extending the footrest.

“I fixed you a plate, honey. It’s in the oven,” her mom said, smiling up at her.

“Thank you. Smells delicious.” Kenzie clutched her mom’s tray, tugging it out of the way. These television trays, like everything else in this house, were old. Neither folded any longer. They were just placed to the side of the chair in easy reach for tomorrow night’s round.

“Come join us, McKenzie,” her dad suggested.

“I’ve got some laundry to do,” she lied. Luckily the show returned from commercial, and she instantly lost their attention when Pat Sajak started to speak. Kenzie went back to the kitchen, placing both plates in the soapy water made ready for these few final dishes.

Opening the oven door, she found a foil-covered plate. The smell gave the contents away, but she went ahead and peeked under the tinfoil to see a large chunk of roast, mashed potatoes, and creamed-style corn, most likely from a can. Her mom’s Thursday night special. Kenzie pulled the plate out, opened the refrigerator, and placed the plate inside, moving last night’s dinner to the trash. That plate went to the soapy water in the sink.

Being a vegetarian was such a foreign concept to her mother. It didn’t seem to compute that she didn’t eat meat and tried for organic fare whenever possible. Kenzie quickly washed the dishes, placing them in the rack to dry before going back to the refrigerator and grabbing the last protein shake she’d had shipped in last week. She’d need to do better on her food intake, maybe make a trip to the health food store in Gatlinburg. Like always, the internal lecture started. Her clothes were falling off her body. She could only sustain on protein drinks for so long, especially since this was her last one. She needed to stop living in the mental depression and failures of her life.

Reaching for a water bottle and an apple, Kenzie plastered the fake smile she wore whenever she thought about her current circumstances, which was entirely too often, and headed to her bedroom, saying a quick goodnight to her parents. The childish room was still decorated just as she’d left it ten years ago. On a deep sigh, Kenzie changed into her pajamas, washed her face, and propped up in her bed. Three hours later the small alarm clock on her nightstand read ten o’clock. She’d watched all the YouTube she could find, checked email, and looked over social media.

Boredom had officially taken its toll. Shoving the laptop to the mattress, Kenzie lay out flat and listened to her parents turn in for the night. She stared up at the ceiling fan blades, watching the rotation, as the sadness she’d fought all day slowly creeped in. A tear managed enough steam to slip free, pooling in her ear. She was too young to feel this old while biding her time in the one place she’d never wanted to live. If it were even possible, Kenzie hated Jason more in that moment than she had ever before, and that said a lot, because she really hated that man.

~~~

Startled awake, Ty Bateman jerked forward, sitting straight up in bed. Something wasn’t quite right. Recognition didn’t immediately come until he remembered this glorious bed was his own and looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. He’d slept a dozen or so hours, more time than he’d thought possible. Clearly he had needed the rest. Interestingly enough, seven o’clock in the morning didn’t feel quite so early in the mountains. He was missing daylight and tossed back the covers to place both feet on the cold hardwood floor.

Due to the fall season, the nights were turning chilly, but the days were still warming up nicely. Ty went to the closet. The clothes his assistant sent were hanging neatly in place. He grabbed a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt, shrugged them on, then reached for a long-sleeve flannel shirt and ball cap, absently tossing those on the bed as he headed to the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth and wet his hands, moving them over his thick mass of hair. His hair had always been hard to tame, and getting that perfect swoosh with his longer-on-top style was a pain in the ass. He doubted when this dried it would truly be much different, but whatever. Coffee and the porch were his most immediate goals. He grabbed his things and went for the kitchen.

The strong scent of his preferred Columbian blend, rich with caramel and a nutty undertone, hovered in the air. He took a deep breath and smiled. The pre-programmed coffee maker was definitely something his high-strung, think-of-every-possible-angle, micro-manager of an assistant would have scheduled for him. It only took the opening of three cabinets to find a coffee mug. Ty tugged on the ball cap, shrugged the long-sleeved shirt over his arms, then poured himself a cup. Bypassing the trail of dirty clothes he’d left littering the living room minutes after he’d arrived last night, Ty went for the front door.

The first step out on the porch was a seriously life-changing event. To the east, the sun shone brightly, waking up the morning. The quiet noises of nature soothed Ty’s battered heart in a way he’d never thought possible, and the air was crisp and as clean as he remembered. It was truly remarkable that his lungs hadn’t seized in his chest with how accustomed they’d become to breathing in the daily smog of New York City.

Ty had grown up in the country—a small town in Texas—but for the last twelve years, he’d been an entrenched city boy. The hustle of New York City had taken a hold of him, motivated and driven him to accomplish great things with his life. Only lately did the weight of that world seem to settle harshly on his soul. His youthful exuberance had become tainted, jaded. The movie-star lifestyle had finally taken its toll, leaving a cynical, take-charge, run-over-them-before-they-run-over-you attitude.

For the last year, Ty couldn’t even find a hint of compassion in any of his thought processes. He took no shit from anyone or about anything, with a regular chorus of damn-the-consequences in every decision he made. He bulldozed his way through life. Yet now, as he stood on this porch, taking a long drink of the hot brew, he could feel his world settling back in its proper place. The ruthless man he’d become began to strip free as he sat in the recliner closest to the porch rail and kicked up his feet.

This five-bedroom log cabin with its high vaulted ceilings, multi-level rustic yet modern design, sitting at the perfect angle on the top of this mountain might have been the best investment of his life. Now, he wished he’d started his vacation earlier, gotten a few days of this peaceful quiet under his belt before his buddies arrived.

By the time he’d finished his first cup of coffee, the itch in his beard began, but he’d suffer through. The television series he'd starred in for the last ten years didn’t allow for any facial hair, forcing him to be regularly clean-shaven for the camera. He had learned early on that was an advantage, giving him the perfect disguise for when he wanted to be left alone in public. His dark beard grew fast, covering the lower half of face completely, changing the entire dynamic of his jawline, and for the majority of the next four weeks, Ty Bateman wanted to be completely incognito.

Two to three cups of coffee later, he heard a distant disruption moving toward him. Moments later, he saw the first of his two arrivals of the day. Ty estimated he had a couple of minutes before they made it all the way up the mountain, so he went for a warm-up to his mug. When he came back out, he took the porch steps down, gingerly walking barefooted on the small rocks of the circular drive. If he remembered correctly, Cole and Connor were to arrive first. Braden and Reed would show up later this afternoon. Somehow his four childhood best friends had managed to stay connected throughout their careers. The group of them couldn’t have turned out more differently, and life had definitely spread them all over the country, but they had managed to keep this annual vacation intact since they’d graduated high school and gone their separate ways.

A pickup came fully into view; he assumed it was Cole’s. The terrain up the mountain wasn’t always the easiest, but that was one of the draws to the place. They got to put on their real-men attitudes and climb the mountain to their comfortable hideaway. Always the start of a perfect vacation.

Ty pointed Cole and Connor toward the end of the drive, closer to the garage. He moved his tender feet over the rocks to greet them at the truck, mentally berating himself for not taking the minute to slide on his sandals.

“Hey, man,” Cole yelled out, jumping from the truck. Though they’d all graduated the same year, Cole was the youngest of the five of them, which really wasn’t saying much. He retained his deep Texas accent and was the only one to stay in their hometown to follow his lifelong expected career path of farm boy on his family’s sprawling ranch.

“Hey. Like the ride,” Ty called out, stopping at the back of his Jeep. His gear was still tucked in the back. He riffled through the bag with one hand to find his running shoes. Cole slapped the back of his brand new dually pickup truck, taking quick steps toward Ty. His buddy’s ever-present baseball cap was pushed back on his head, showing his still baby-faced good looks.

“Just got her a couple of weeks ago.” Cole got to him about the time he got one shoe on. Big beefy arms wrapped tightly around him, drawing him close, making Ty quickly move his coffee cup away from their bodies as the liquid splashed from the sides. “Good to be here.”