The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  It had been a long time since she’d had a man in her kitchen. The sharp grief those memories still evoked just confirmed that she wasn’t yet healed enough to move on.

  No matter how much Brice McAllister made her senses tingle.

  She handed him the packages of cheese and a clean knife. “Plates are in the sideboard too. Are you ready to hop up, mimmo?”

  “Yes! I’m hungry!”

  “Tell Uncle Brice to be quick with the cheese while you put the crackers in this bowl.” As the little girl transferred handfuls of crackers into the bowl, Mary watched as McAllister sliced the cheese.

  “Airplane coming in for landing!” he said, teasing Bunny with a slice as he moved it toward her mouth, then away. “No, had to wave off the landing. We’ll try again. Coming in!” he said, this time popping the slice into her mouth between giggles.

  He really was good with her, Mary thought. He obviously enjoyed teasing Bunny, but never to the point of frustrating or annoying the child. Despite herself, she felt a further easing of her wariness.

  A deeply buried sense of caution immediately protested. Feeling less wary didn’t mean she was ready to start dating, she countered the alarm. Even if he did make her senses fizz like expensive Italian mineral water.

  He handed her a glass of wine. “You can officially begin cooking.”

  Nodding, she had to chuckle.

  “See, I told you Uncle Brice would make you laugh!” Bunny cried.

  “You were right. But you always are, aren’t you, mimmo? Have some cheese and crackers. The rest of dinner will be ready soon.”

  She put olive oil in the pan and started sautéing the chicken. When it was browned and just tender, she stirred in the wine, capers, and lemon juice, cooked it another minute and then removed it from the heat, letting it sit in the pan as she got the potatoes and green beans out of the oven.

  “Bunny, set the table while I put food in serving dishes?”

  “Yes, Miss Mary. Uncle Brice, you can help.”

  Mary smiled as she watched the small girl direct the big man who towered over her to pull out silverware, plates, napkins and arrange them on the table. He walked over to fetch the wine and wineglasses, as well as Bunny’s glass and water, and set everything on the table while Mary transferred chicken and vegetables to serving dishes.

  Finally, she got the salad dressing from the fridge, along with olives, hot Italian peppers, radishes, and onions, and brought them to the table.

  “You make your own salad dressing?” he asked, looking at the carafe.

  “Of course. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and seasonings.”

  “Bet it’s spectacular.”

  She motioned him to the table. “Shall we eat, and you can see?”

  “Thanks again for cooking such a great meal for self-invited guests,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “Bunny knows she’s welcome anytime.” She paused. “Anyone she loves enough to call ‘uncle’ is welcome too.”

  Was he welcome? she wondered as she sat down. She’d just recently gotten her house fully furnished, her job mastered, and settled into a comfortable routine.

  Probably not, she admitted to herself. Nice as he seemed to be, she didn’t need an attractive man like Brice McAllister disturbing the tranquility of her new life.

  And he was big enough, and compelling enough, to create a Texas-size disturbance.

  Chapter Four

  After spending a week back at his job in Austin, Brice decided to head to the Hill Country over the weekend. He could visit with his brothers, but also do a little more on his unofficial investigation about the problems on the Triple A. Poke around and look up some of the people who had recently sold land to Thomason. Chat them up and see if the real estate agent had made any mention of his plans for the property.

  He’d also stop by to see Tom, Elaine and Bunny. And hopefully, their lovely neighbor.

  He’d thoroughly enjoyed the evening he’d spent at the cottage and the meal had been terrific. Mary Williams was just as good a cook as Bunny had claimed. He’d appreciated her apology for her earlier unfriendliness, and though she continued to be cautious, she had opened up more. He’d learned that her mother had taught her to appreciate wine along with cooking. With her dark hair and eyes, he’d first thought she might be Hispanic, but by her choice of recipes and pet name for Bunny, he figured she must be of Italian descent.

  Running the image of her through his mind, he felt a swell of desire. The wave of attraction that had swept him away when he saw her in that halter top and short shorts the first afternoon at Tom and Elaine’s didn’t diminish at their next meeting, when she was wearing that flattering cotton dress.

  He was pretty sure the simmer of attraction was mutual. If it was, would she ignore it? Or eventually, when she grew to trust him, act on it?

  That was an intriguing possibility.

  He’d have to remind himself to take it slow. If she was attracted to him, the caution he’d already seen her display wouldn’t be overcome easily. If he moved too fast or pressed too hard, she’d retreat.

  He still had no idea where she’d come from. She might be from some other part of Texas, but if so, she’d never developed a regional accent. She spoke with Standard American pronunciation and might have grown up anywhere.

  Most striking to him, except for one brief mention of her mother, was her otherwise total absence of reference to any family or friends before her arrival a year ago in Whiskey River. Something Elaine had mentioned to him too.

  He also noted the shudder that had gone through her when Bunny talked about weapons. Maybe whoever she was avoiding from her previous life had threatened her with a firearm. Which meant she could be in real danger if the person showed up again.

  He felt a swell of anger at the thought of anyone hurting her. Which made him more determined than ever to get her to trust him. If she was under threat from someone, he wanted to be the first person she’d call if the lowlife ever managed to track her down. He’d take great personal pleasure in dealing with a despicable piece of trash who would hurt a woman—especially this woman.

  Though if she had been abused by a former lover, it was going to take a long time for another man to gain her trust.

  When he thought of her beautiful dark eyes, that curvaceous body, and the intriguing hints her house and garden had given him of the character of the woman hidden behind that screen of caution, he knew the patience needed would be more than worth the effort.

  He turned down the country road bordering Triple A land, then into a farm driveway which still had the “for sale” sign of Thomason’s real estate firm planted near the road, a “sold” sticker slapped on top. Stuck in the ground beside the real estate post was a sign advertising “garage sale today.”

  Good, he thought. That meant the former owner, Jake Donaldson, whom he remembered vaguely from school as being half a dozen years older than him, would be home and he wouldn’t have wasted the drive. Even better, with the yard sale going on, he could let Donaldson assume he’d come for that, which would make the man even more relaxed. There was something about having a Texas Ranger, even an off-duty one, asking questions that tended to make people nervous, even when they didn’t need to be.

  He parked his truck and walked over to the barn where tables set out in front were covered with an assortment of clothing, knickknacks, appliances, books and other things a family getting ready to move wanted to get rid of.

  Fortunately, Donaldson himself was arranging things on one of the tables. Spotting him, the man gave Brice a nod and walked over to meet him. “Hey, Brice. Thanks for coming out. Not much of interest to you out here,” he waved a hand toward the table, “but there are tools and things in the barn. Couple of chain saws, some auto mechanic equipment.”

  “You won’t need them where you’re moving?”

  “No. We bought a house just outside San Antonio. Real suburban living. Got a good job for a construction firm located in the city.”

 
“That why you decided to sell up?”

  Donaldson shook his head. “I really decided long ago. Only held on to the ranch until Pa died. He worked all his life to keep this place afloat. Frankly, I don’t want to work that hard.”

  “You know why Thomason wanted to buy it? He’s not exactly a hardworking kind of guy.”

  Donaldson laughed disdainfully. “Shoot, no, he’s more a ‘let my assistant do it, because I might break a manicured fingernail’ kind of guy. Always did have more money than sense. No idea why he wanted it—Pa did his damnedest, but he struggled to make a go of it. I can’t imagine Thomason’s got a buyer in mind who’d give him more for it than he paid us. It would be different if it were your family’s place, with those high cliffs overlooking the river, a prime location for some rich city dude to build a weekend house.”

  No enlightenment to be had here, Brice thought regretfully. “I’ll go take a look at those tools. Duncan might need some of that equipment out at the ranch.”

  Since Donaldson expected it, Brice walked into the barn and made a circuit around it. Melancholy filled him as he gazed at plows, feed troughs, harnesses, fencing, baling gear, and other accoutrements that said this had once been a working ranch.

  He felt a renewed appreciation for all the work Duncan had put in over the years, hauling the Triple A back from the edge of bankruptcy and keeping it going.

  No rich pretty-boy real estate agent was going to drive it into the ground now, he vowed.

  Brice was about to walk back out of the barn when a vaguely familiar car came down the driveway. He stopped short, then a slow smile crept across his face as he watched Mary Williams shut down the engine and climb out. His smile deepened when he noted she was wearing another of those dark, shapeless dresses he’d seen that first day at the library. And sure enough, her hair was pulled back into the Old Maid Librarian bun, the thick glasses hiding her pretty eyes.

  He watched as she greeted Donaldson politely, then wandered over to a table to look at an assortment of books. With a sense of anticipation, he strolled over to halt beside her.

  “Bookshelves at home not full enough?”

  He kicked himself for not coughing or clearing his throat first, for she jumped about a foot, her eyes widening with an alarm that made something twist in his chest. There was the odd robbery or assault from time to time, but Whiskey River was generally a pretty safe place to live. It hurt his heart to see that something had conditioned her to be so apprehensive.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “My fault,” she said with an uncertain smile. “When it comes to books, I get absorbed pretty quickly. Lose all track of place and time. Becoming a librarian was my ideal occupation. I get to spend all day around books.”

  “I know lots of people read on tablets or their phones now. But there’s something about the feel of a book in your hands, the smell of paper and binding.”

  She angled her head at him, surprised. “Yes, there is. Although I do a lot of reading on my phone—always have it with me, easier to read a few pages waiting in line at the grocery store or the take-out counter, or over lunch—I always like to have ‘real’ book waiting at home.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”

  “Because I’m a former football jock, and therefore barely literate?” he said wryly.

  “Not at all. I’m sure football jocks are very literate. They have to read all those confusing diagrams with Xs and Os, don’t they? I said that because you’re in law enforcement. I would think lawmen were more action oriented, too impatient to sit still in one place and read a book.”

  “My reading habits might not be up to librarian standards, but I like a good book. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “I don’t collect first editions, if that’s what you mean. Just . . . books. Since I moved here, I’ve been particularly interested in out-of-print books of stories, memoirs, guidebooks—anything about the area.”

  “Texas is a great place for legends and sayings.”

  “So I’ve become aware. Sometimes people coming into the library make a comment and I’m not really sure what they mean.”

  She smiled, the first time not with Bunny that she’d given him one of those open, genuine, terrifically appealing smiles. Delighted, Brice felt like he’d just won the lottery.

  “One day, an old guy looking at records was irritated because he thought the county clerk had mixed up his tax account. ‘The guy’s so stupid,’ he said, ‘he’s one bubble off plumb.’ I had to get him to explain what he meant. I think he laughed about the dumb librarian for the rest of the day.”

  “You’re being a little hard on yourself. There are probably lots of women who’ve never used a plumb level. For that matter, many of the younger generation probably haven’t either, since these days you can use an app on your cell phone to check whether the shelf you’re putting up is level.”

  “I imagine you’ve used a plumb level.”

  Brice nodded. “Growing up on the ranch, we learned to use all sorts of old tools. Money’s always tight, so no need to buy anything newer if the one Granddaddy used still does the job. Have you found any gems here?”

  “No, unfortunately. But Shirley told me about a local flea market, out on the rural road past Buddy’s. I’m not exactly sure where that is, but I can probably find it.”

  “Old Man Tessel’s place?”

  She angled her head, eyes up, visibly scanning her memory, then nodded. “Yes, I think that was the name Shirley mentioned.”

  “I’m going to meet my brothers out at the Triple A later, so I’m headed that way. You can follow me if you want. Then you won’t have to worry about getting lost. Phone GPS works well along the main roads, but with the hills and narrow valleys, coverage can get spotty pretty quick if you’re on a back road.”

  He held his breath, waiting. He wasn’t asking her to come along with him in the same vehicle, and he’d let her know he was heading on someplace else, so accepting his offer wouldn’t be like inviting her to spend the day with him. He hoped it would be casual and unthreatening enough for her to accept.

  Though he might wish he could spend a whole day with her, this would at least buy him a little more time.

  After a moment, obviously thinking through the pros and cons, she nodded. “Yes, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. It’s kind of you to offer.”

  “No trouble at all. As I said, I’m going that way anyway.”

  “Okay, thank you then.”

  “I’m parked over there. The gray truck. I’ll wait for you to pull out behind me.”

  “Lead on.”

  After a word of goodbye to Donaldson, Brice turned toward his truck. Trying to keep a handle on his elation, he slowed his pace, not wanting to seem too eager. Though he was. Ridiculous to feel as delighted by her letting him lead her to a flea market as if she’d actually accepted a date.

  Did he want to date her?

  Well . . . maybe. Not only was she gorgeous, with a mysterious past that lit up all his protective instincts, but she also intrigued him. The discussion about Texas sayings confirmed his suspicions that she wasn’t a native of the state.

  What had brought her to the small town of Whiskey River?

  Much as he was impatient to find out, everything about her shouted that she was a very private person who didn’t welcome questions about her past. He’d have to be patient and learn about her bit by bit.

  It was way too early to think about dating. They needed to get to know each other better first, see if there could be more between them than a simmering attraction. Somehow he knew, for her, physical attraction wouldn’t be enough.

  Keeping an eye on his rearview mirror, Brice drove off at a moderate pace. The back roads had a lot of twists and turns, going up rises to plateaus with broad vistas, then curving down to cross creek beds, dry this time of year, but which in winter or spring could flood suddenly in a heavy rain. Following someone in this ar
ea, if you didn’t know the roads, could be dangerous if you drove too fast.

  Half an hour later, they arrived at an old farmhouse known locally as “Old Man Tessel’s.” Part antique store, part salvage shop, part junktique, it and several other buildings beside it carried a varying and eclectic mix of merchandise, usually at bargain prices.

  Brice pulled up into the lot, hopped out of his truck, and waited for Mary to park her vehicle beside his. “Thanks so much for the navigation help,” she said as she got out of the car. “I don’t think I could have found the place otherwise.”

  “There are easier ways to get here by the main roads, but it’s faster by back roads if you know where you’re going. Speaking of, do you know your way back to town from here?”

  “I think so. Turn left out of the parking lot, head south for several miles, turn onto the highway to Johnson City, then straight back into town?”

  “Right. It’s all main—or relatively main—roads from here going that way, so you should be okay.”

  “Good. Thanks again.”

  Time for his next ploy. His pulse rate kicking up, he held his breath again as he checked his watch. “I have some time to kill before I meet my brothers. Would you mind if I tag along? Might find some books I’m interested in too.”

  He could see her retreat, the wariness returning to her face. “Suit yourself,” she said, her tone noticeably cooler.

  He’d expected that reaction, but at least she hadn’t told him she would prefer it if he’d just leave. “If you see any tales of Texas, I can let you know if it’s a good book or not. My brother Duncan collected most all of them he could find when we were younger.”

  “Will we run into ‘Old Man Tessel’?” she asked, looking at the sign.

  Brice laughed. “I’m not sure whether there ever was such a person—maybe he’s just another Texas legend. The place is run by Polly Winstead and her sister Meg now. Polly renovates houses, so she’s always coming across architectural odds and ends, and Meg makes a living finding things at yard and estate sales she can resell here.”