“I am so glad to see you,” she said.
“Me too,” he said.
They both stared at each other, the heat of the Texas June evening building around them, and she leaned in closer and finally just thought, screw it. There was no way she was going to let him leave again without telling him how she felt.
“I’ve been—”
“I wanted to—”
He shook his head and stood up, walked over to her. “Ladies first.”
“Um, well, as soon as you left that morning, I felt this gaping hole inside of me and I couldn’t figure out what I was going to do about it because I realized I’d been lying to myself for a while now about you. That I ever thought we were just casual was ridiculous. I love you, Cal.”
“You do?”
“I have loved you for a while…after that time on the porch. I went out there to comfort you but as I left, I knew you meant something to me. I was just so afraid to admit it. Afraid that I wouldn’t be able to make it work.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept watching her. “You know I love you. I told you that the morning I left and that hasn’t changed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve loved you forever.”
Her heart felt so full and she couldn’t keep herself from launching herself toward him and he caught her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips. She looked down into his face and saw all the love she’d always been afraid to admit that she wanted. It was there on his face and in his heart.
She kissed him. Deeply, trying to show him how much he meant to her. She held him as tightly as she could.
He broke the kiss and turned to walk back to the bed swing, sitting down with her on it, holding her close. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. But she knew it would take time for them both to believe it. And that was okay. The important thing was that they were together. Time would prove to them that their love was as strong as they believed it was.
“Me too. I want to take this slow and make sure, for both of our sakes. But I’m never letting you go again,” he said.
“I’m not letting you go either,” she vowed.
Just then they heard a sigh from the garden shed and glanced over to see Memaw and her friend Clara Perkins watching them. Clara was notorious in town for her matchmaking and seeing her and Memaw together didn’t really surprise Amelia.
“Took y’all long enough. Thought I was going to have to hogtie you both to get you to stop being so stubborn,” Priscilla said.
“Memaw!”
“Sorry, honey, but I have to agree with Priscilla. You two were taking the Lord’s own sweet time to admit what the rest of us could already see.”
Cal shook his head. “I guess it’s official then. We’re a couple. You okay with that?”
“Better than okay!”
Epilogue
Cal and Lane came with her to New York to pack up her apartment on the Upper East Side. Having them by her side made her realize that her career success had been a pale substitute for the kind of love she’d always craved.
She and Cal were working on fixing up her place in Last Stand but she’d moved out to the Delaney ranch with him. Lane’s custody was being contested by Lancey, who had gotten out earlier from the Marines and wanted to help raise him.
Even so Amelia and Lane had formed a bond that would stay strong. She was determined to make it that way. She’d realized that blood didn’t determine how much a parent loved a child…the parent did.
That realization had been a long time coming and she knew that most of the reason for that was on her shoulders. She’d been afraid to believe she could really be a Corbyn when all the time she’d always been one.
Cal came up behind her and Lane slipped his hand into hers.
“Ready to go home?”
“Definitely,” she said. No more running for her. Now she knew where her home was. It was anywhere she was with Cal.
The End
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The Lone Star Lawman
Justine Davis
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Shane Highwater swore, but quietly. This was the library, after all. But even here he couldn’t escape that woman? If it wasn’t beneath the dignity of the police chief of Last Stand, he’d try and sneak out the back. He’d only have to make it across the parking lot and he’d be back to the department where he could hole up in his office and his very capable aide could bar the door.
He nearly laughed out loud, but it turned into a smothered groan. Sneaking out? Holing up? Had he really contemplated running from that tiny little thing in baby blue? He could just picture it, a guy six two, a hundred and ninety-five pounds of mostly muscle, and a cop to boot, scampering away from a woman who barely topped five three and was maybe one fifteen if she was carrying a dictionary. If Asa Fuhrmann, the iconic hero of the actual last stand the town was named for, and whose statue stood outside this very building, was still around he’d be laughing at him. And rightfully so.
Not to mention with his luck lately, there’d be somebody with a phone posting it on social media within five minutes, and the last thing he wanted was more freaking videos of himself whizzing around the internet.
At least she hadn’t spotted him yet. And apparently she hadn’t seen him come in and then followed him like she usually would, since she was looking at bookshelves not searching the building. He felt the familiar mental click as he registered the fact that she was looking at actual books. He himself preferred the paper variety; he spent altogether too much time already in front of screens of various sorts to want to read on one for pleasure.
She turned and bent to look at a lower shelf, and he was presented with a trim derriere in snug blue denim, with back pockets that seemed to make his fingers curl.
That’s what you get for even thinking the word pleasure.
He’d never denied Liliana Jones was a good-looking woman. She had that long sweep of hair the color of fall leaves, red and gold and brown all at once, today held back, braided in some intricate pattern he couldn’t figure out. She also had that cute upturned nose, and a sort of easy grace he liked. Then there were those eyes of hers, that some days looked green, others almost golden. And all that wasn’t counting the nice curves in the right places.
But it was hard to remember all that about someone who seemed out for his blood every time he encountered her. Not that he wanted to feel attracted. To any woman, let alone this one. In fact, he found it rather annoying that the first woman in a long time to spark any interest was this one.
No, he was quite happy with the way things were. Happy to be on his own, free and footloose. Happy to be able to focus completely on his job, which required his full attention. And that job was the only connection he had or would ever have to this particular woman. And he’d stay happy if he could manage not to have her up in his face again, hurling accusations.
She’d selected a book from the lower shelf—she was in the new fiction section, he noted—and straightened to look inside it. And standing up that backside view was still something t
o be appreciated. Admired.
And avoided.
Deciding it wasn’t really running—he’d only come over to get the book already in his hand, after all—he turned and headed for the desk. Quietly. Not because of her but because…well, library.
“Chief Highwater,” the young woman at the checkout said, also quietly. And quite respectfully; no way Joella Douglas would make a scene. Especially not in her workplace, although the crayon-red streak in her hair belied her tranquil attitude. In here, at least; he had little contact with her outside. Which was, in a way, proof of a sort.
“Ms. Douglas,” Shane said with a smile as she scanned the bar code on the book, then on the small card that hung on his key ring.
She smiled back, acknowledging his formal address. She believed in it, in this place she clearly revered; outside she was Joey to one and all. But he was still Chief Highwater. One of the perks—or annoyances—of his job.
She closed the book and handed it to him. “Fitting,” she said.
“What?” He flexed his right shoulder, stretching the tightness he hoped he’d be rid of soon, as he looked down at the slim copy of All’s Well That Ends Well. Was she saying his life was a comedy? Right now he wasn’t sure he’d argue that, although he’d chosen the play simply because it was next in line on his reading list. Every few years he went through Shakespeare again, for the sound and the rhythm as much as the sense.
“‘Trust a few, do wrong to none,’” she quoted. “Describes you pretty well.”
He smiled at her then. “I notice you left out ‘Love all.’”
“Hard to do in your job, I imagine.”
“It has its moments,” he agreed.
“See you at the party tomorrow,” Joey said, clearly referring to the yearly gathering to celebrate the birthday of Minna Herdmann. The centenarian-plus was the most famous local character in town, as much a monument as that statue in front of this building, and while the annual gatherings were a chore for the department he personally admired the heck out of that tough, spry old lady. And found himself grinning every year when it rolled around; they’d begun it on her ninety-fifth birthday, figuring the odds were she only had a year or two left, and here they—and she—were, seven years later, still going strong.
“Along with the entire town, at some point,” he answered. “I think it’s a requirement of living in Last Stand.”
With a teasing grin, Joey added, “I heard she turned down the mayor as her escort in your favor.”
Shane grinned back. “Not much of a compliment, huh?”
Joey laughed. “She is an amazing woman.”
“Yes, she is.” He suddenly wondered if Ms. Jones was going to show up tomorrow. He turned his head slightly to see if he could spot her back among the shelves.
Joey was quiet for a moment, then said, “If you speak to your brother, tell him that book he wanted is in.”
He looked back and saw she was smiling shyly at him. He knew she had to mean Slater, since Sean was a die-hard e-book reader. Although he didn’t know what made her think he’d be speaking to Slater; that they rarely did—civilly at least—was hardly a secret in Last Stand.
“Let me guess,” he said dryly, “Plato’s Symposium or the like?”
She actually dimpled. What the heck? “Actually, it’s a history of the revolution.”
She didn’t have to explain which revolution, not standing here in Texas. But he was still puzzled. “We all know that, inside out. Dad made sure of it.”
She hesitated, then said quietly, respectfully, “Your dad was the best speaker on our history that I ever heard.”
The old pain stabbed, but he kept it hidden. He always kept it hidden. Good ol’ level-headed, always-calm Shane Highwater, that was him. “He was good at it.”
“I always liked him. As chief, too. He was tough, but fair—”
“Too bad he didn’t pass that down.”
He’d waited too long. He smothered a sigh but didn’t turn to look at the woman who’d come up to the counter. Joey was frowning, but said nothing.
“Thanks, Ms. Douglas,” he said and turned to go.
“Coward.”
It came from behind him, the voice sharp, and too loud for the silence here. He stopped, closed his eyes for a count of three. Thought of something he’d read about a person who consumed one and a half times their weight in other people’s patience. Then he turned back. He made sure his voice was level.
“For not fomenting a scene in a public library?” With a reporter for the town paper? “That’s just good judgment.”
“Inferring that’s something I don’t have?”
He reminded himself she was in pain, much like the pain he’d just stifled within himself. He could see it in her eyes, glinting gold today. “Have I ever said that?”
“No, you just keep giving me that ‘I’m being so patient with you’ look.”
He sensed rather than saw Joey stiffen. “He is, but I’m not. If you can’t keep it down, you’ll have to leave,” she said abruptly. For a quiet person, Joella Douglas had a steel spine, Shane thought. And a bit of the fire the streak in her hair hinted at. But then, she was Texas born and bred.
“Which will also end up being my fault,” Shane said, regretting it the moment the words were out. First rule of his job: never let them get to you. He’d failed at not only that but the corollary: if they do get to you never let them see they’re getting to you.
“Figures you’d side with him, because of his brother,” his nemesis said to Joey. And to Shane’s astonishment the young assistant librarian blushed furiously. He remembered that moment when she’d told him about the book she was holding for Slater. He nearly gaped at her. His scapegrace, saloon-keeping brother and…the librarian?
More like your master’s degree, high IQ, philosopher by bent brother.
“I’m not siding with anyone,” Joey said, recovering. “And I understand today is…a rough day for you. But I’m merely enforcing the policies of this library.”
The woman had the grace to look abashed. Her cheeks went as pink as Joey’s had. And it was in a voice full of contrition that she said, “I’m sorry, Joey. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Words I’ll never hear,” Shane muttered.
“She’s only doing her job,” Ms. Jones said, her voice still apologetic.
Shane lifted a brow at the woman. He didn’t say the obvious, that he’d only been doing his job, because he’d said them a half dozen times before and it hadn’t made a cow patty’s worth of difference. In Liliana Jones’s view, he was directly responsible for the death that had blasted her life to bits. No amount of talk or explanation was going to change that.
But at least she let it drop, for Joey’s sake no doubt. Another of those little mental clicks came as she followed up apology with action. So at least she wasn’t one of those who apologized and then kept doing exactly the same thing she’d just apologized for. And she let him escape—oh, that’s a fine word for it, Highwater—without further attack.
He cleared the back door and breathed normally again. Compared to their other encounters, this one had been fairly mild. The real irony was he kind of admired her for her loyalty and determination that no one forget about Chad Crittendon. That the guy had been a lying scumbag who hadn’t deserved a woman like her or that kind of loyalty wasn’t really her fault, because she’d obviously only ever seen the charming front Crittendon had put on for her. And, he reminded himself yet again, she didn’t know the whole story. And wouldn’t, probably ever.
Still, he wondered why today was any rougher than any other day for her.
He strode across the parking lot, denying he was hurrying in case she had a change of heart and tried to catch up with him. But he wondered if maybe he should have grabbed The Taming of the Shrew instead. Decided not, since it was his least favorite. Not to mention that he doubted any of the tactics in that play would even begin to work on Liliana Jones. But neither did politeness and calm, gentle
ness or kindness.
And as he finally reached the haven of his office, all he could think was that bending over backward was a difficult position to defend yourself in.
Find out what happens next…
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The Brothers of Whiskey River Series
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About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Katherine Garbera is a two-time Maggie winner who has written more than 60 books. A Florida native who grew up to travel the globe, Katherine now makes her home in the Midlands of the UK with her husband, two children and a very spoiled miniature dachshund.
For more from Katherine, visit KatherineGarbera.com
Her Texas Ex Page 15