On Lone Star Trail by Amanda Cabot Page B

saw in Mike’s eyes wasn’t counterfeit. “What do you . . . oh, I see.” He chuckled. “The Vangesthought I was scoping out the competition. You can reassure them that we have no intention of entering the hospitality industry, at least not for the foreseeable future. It’s politics that interests my father.”
    Picking up a small stone, Mike attempted to skip it across the water, frowning when it sank after only the second skip. “He wants me to run for mayor of Blytheville and use that as a stepping stone to state office. I think he has illusions—or delusions—of Washington.” Mike’s tone left no doubt about his opinion of those aspirations.
    â€œYou mean the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue?”
    Mike nodded. “No one ever claimed my father had small dreams.”
    That confirmed what Kate had said. Cal Tarkett was a shrewd and determined businessman who wanted the Tarkett name to be as familiar as Rockefeller and Carnegie were a century earlier.
    Gillian looked at Mike, admiring the openness of his expression. Another man might have tried to hide his discomfort, but he did not. “You sound as if you’re not sure those are your dreams.”
    â€œWas it that obvious?”
    â€œOnly to someone who’s had her share of parental pressure.”
    Mike looked intrigued, or perhaps he was simply relieved that the conversation had shifted away from him. “Did they push you into music?”
    â€œNo, that was my dream. It’s only been since the accident that my dad has started to pressure me into what he calls a ‘suitable lifestyle.’”
    â€œAnd that would be . . . ?”
    Gillian paused. As comfortable as she felt with Mike—and that was strange, because she’d never felt so comfortable so quickly—they were venturing into highly personal territory. But she’d been the one to open the subject. She owed Mike an honest answer.
    â€œThe usual,” she said as casually as she could. “I’m supposedto marry someone suitable, produce grandchildren—preferably girls since my brother has already given him a grandson—and live in a McMansion.”
    Mike’s chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. “If you change ‘live in a McMansion’ to ‘live in the White House,’ that’s my parents’ dream.” He grabbed both of Gillian’s hands and smiled at her. “So, what do you think? Should we elope to Vegas and make everyone happy?”

13
    Y ou don’t have to worry.” Gillian smiled at Kate as she accepted a cup of coffee and settled onto the comfortable couch in Kate and Greg’s apartment. Though it had been the better part of a day since Mike had arrived, this was the first opportunity Gillian had had to talk privately with Kate, and she wanted to relay the good news. There’d been no time after supper, and when Gillian returned from Firefly Valley, she’d seen no lights in the apartment. Recalling Kate’s saying that she was trying to schedule a date night with Greg, Gillian guessed they’d found a movie they both wanted to see.
    Kate returned Gillian’s smile. “That’s what the doctor said. I wasn’t worried, but she was a little concerned about my weight gain. She thought it might be the first sign of preeclampsia until I told her about Carmen’s cooking.” Kate gestured toward the plate of fruit in front of her and the tray of Danish pastries she’d pushed to the far side of the coffee table. “We both agreed I need to be more careful. Fruit instead of pastries and clear soup instead of tamales.”
    Though tamales had not been a big part of Kate’s diet until she came to Rainbow’s End, she’d soon developed a craving forthem and had even served them at her wedding reception. “I’ll bet you’d be allowed one.”
    Rolling her eyes, Kate reached for