Free On Lone Star Trail by Amanda Cabot

“What’s that?”
    â€œSatisfy my curiosity. What does ‘TJ’ stand for?”
    He laughed, remembering the number of times students had asked that. He’d always refused to answer, knowing how kids liked to ridicule names, but there was no reason not to tell Gillian.
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œThomas Jefferson.”
    TJ shook his head. “Not hardly.”
    â€œTimothy James.”
    â€œNope.” When she’d guessed three more names, all infinitely preferable to the one his parents had chosen, TJ took pity on her. “All right. I’ll tell you, but only if you promise not to tell anyone, especially not the kids in Firefly Valley.”
    Gillian nodded her agreement. “You make it sound like it’s something awful.”
    â€œTrust me. It is. How would you like to go through life saddled with Tobias Jeremiah?”
    â€œTobias Jeremiah.” She rolled the name on her tongue. “I like it. You can tell your parents they chose well.”
    TJ shook his head. “That’s no longer possible. My parents died ten years ago.”
    Gillian’s eyes misted. “I’m sorry. Was it an accident?”
    â€œNope. One of those deadly viruses that are all too common in Africa. My parents went there as missionaries and never came back.”
    â€œThat’s awful.”
    It was, although nowhere nearly as awful as Deb’s death had been. But TJ wouldn’t talk about Deb. Trying to deflect attention from himself, he asked, “Are your parents both alive?”
    Gillian shook her head. “My mother died when I was born.”
    TJ’s surprise must have been evident, because Gillian continued. “Women dying in childbirth was supposed to have ended in the nineteenth century, but it seems no one told my mother or her doctor. They knew she was at higher risk just because of her age—I was a surprise baby—but no one expected that the delivery would have so many complications.”
    â€œNow I’m the one to say I’m sorry. Did your dad remarry?”
    She shook her head again. “No. He’s a one-woman man.”
    Like TJ.

9
    W hen they reached Rainbow’s End, as Gillian headed to her cabin, Eric St. George emerged from the building that served as the resort’s garage and his workshop.
    â€œWe need to talk,” the heavyset man with hair more gray than blond said as he ushered TJ inside.
    Though Eric’s tone of voice and his expression indicated that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good news, TJ took a quick breath and smiled at the sight of his bike. There was nothing wrong here. In fact, everything was right. The crumpled fender and slashed tire were gone, and a closer inspection revealed that the repairs were invisible. If he hadn’t known better, TJ would have said there’d been no accident.
    â€œWow! I heard you were good, but this is more than good. It’s great.”
    â€œThanks.” Despite the compliment, Eric still looked uncomfortable. “I’ve had a fair amount of experience with body work, but engines are my real specialty.” He pointed at TJ’s bike. “That’s why we need to talk. I didn’t like the way yours sounded, so I took it apart. Someone did a lot of customization.”
    TJ nodded. “The last owner liked to tinker.”
    â€œI could tell.” Eric patted the engine. “The problem is your crankshaft. It’s more worn than I would have expected for the mileage. It could last another year, but it’s just as likely to break in the next month or so. I don’t have to tell you what that would mean if you were somewhere remote.” Meeting TJ’s gaze, Eric said, “The decision is yours, but I recommend you replace it.”
    No wonder Eric had seemed ill at ease. This was just what TJ didn’t need: another major expense. “How much will that cost?” When Eric quoted a figure that