The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  “After you.”

  They walked in, Brice waving to Polly, who was in the little central area that served as an office, garbed in her usual uniform of paint-splashed overalls, stripping the finish off an old piece of furniture. “Hey, Brice, how are you?”

  “Can’t complain. And you?”

  “Always something in town that needs fixing or renovating, so I’m fine.”

  “Polly, have you met Mary Williams? She’s the reference librarian at the Whiskey River library.”

  “No, I haven’t. Welcome! I’d shake your hand, but I’ve got paint thinner on my gloves. You folks looking for anything in particular?”

  “Books, mostly,” Mary said. “Although I also collect old kitchen things.”

  “Books are in the next room—the ‘library,’ we call it. You’re in luck about the kitchen things. Meg’s found some great items recently at estate sales. She’s set it all out in the old kitchen, on the other side of the library.”

  “We’ll find it. Thanks, Polly.”

  “You’re welcome, Brice. Nice to meet you, Mary.”

  “And you, Polly.”

  “What are you looking for?” Mary asked as they walked toward the book display, a hefty trace of suspicion in her voice.

  “Old Zane Grey westerns. Anything by Larry McMurtry. Bios and legends about Texas Rangers. I’ll help you find some Texas lore. If you’re going to live here, you need to be educated about it. And about Texas expressions. So your library customers don’t need to explain themselves.”

  “You going to start my education?”

  “I could if you like.”

  She angled a glance at him. Pleased, Brice knew he’d intrigued her. Intrigued her enough to let him tag along a while longer?

  “Okay,” she said as they walked into the room whose rows of books on shelves and laid out on tables justified Polly’s description of “library.” “Tell me your favorite Texas expression. I’ll see if I can figure it out.”

  “Just one?” He shook his head. “That’s tough. There are so many good ones.”

  She smiled, further encouraging him. “Start with one.”

  After thinking for a minute, Brice said, “I used to use this one when I wanted to annoy my brothers. It would really make them mad, because I’m the youngest, so they always thought they could do everything better than me. It was especially effective when they were bragging about how well they were going to do something.”

  He paused. She waited, definitely interested now. “And . . .”

  “‘You couldn’t hit the floor if you fell out of bed.’”

  To his delight, she giggled. “I like it.”

  He swept her a bow. “No extra charge.”

  Disarmed now, she had relaxed, making no further protest as they both rummaged through the books on the table and browsed those on the shelves. Brice had no luck locating any westerns of interest, but Mary picked up an old tourist guide. “Some of these places might not even exist any longer,” she said, thumbing through it, “but it will be fun visiting the ones that do. Well, I’m off to check out the kitchen gear. Thanks again for your help.”

  “I’m going to take a look too.” Before, frowning, she could voice the protest he could see she wanted to utter, he added quickly, “I think I mentioned my sister-in-law does interior design? She makes lamps out of teacups and various other kitchen gear. If I find anything interesting, I’ll get it for her.”

  Appearing mollified, Mary let him walk along with her to the kitchen. Stopping short on the threshold, she uttered a gasp of delight.

  The room really was the original farmhouse kitchen, complete with original sink, an old refrigerator that looked like it was from the ’50s, with a farm table in the center surrounded by old chairs. Not a working kitchen, though, since every surface was covered by tools, linens, pots, pans, and other items.

  “It’s wonderful!” she breathed, heading over immediately to check out the linens.

  Brice browsed through the gear set out on the table, unable to identify most of it. Picking up a long wooden item that looked like a piece of log with the ends flattened off and center scooped out, he said, “Do you know what this is for?”

  Mary looked up. “It’s a dough bowl. For making bread.”

  “Are you sure?” He picked it up and put it on his head. “Kinda looks like one of those old fore-and-aft Navy hats. Or maybe Napoleon’s. You know, the one he wears in the paintings when he’s standing like this.” Brice straightened, made his face look stern, and stuck one hand into his shirt.

  To his surprise, Mary burst out laughing. So she did have a sense of humor after all, he thought, grinning.

  “You look ridiculous. Take that bowl off your head.”

  “Dunno. Abby—my sister-in-law—might make something out of it. Put candles in the hollowed-out part and surround them with old lasso rope. I think I’ll get it.”

  He picked up another item, one that had a long patterned handle like a piece of silverware, but ended in a comb-like piece with the tines about four inches long. “What’s this?”

  “A cake breaker. You use it to cut cakes that are delicate and might squish if you tried to cut them with a regular knife.”

  “Looks like it might be a comb for someone with really thick hair.”

  “Don’t comb your hair with it!” she cried before grinning, he put it back down.

  She gave him a reproving look, but unrepentant, he picked up another item. “This tin box? Almost rectangular, but long and narrow. Ah, I know! It must be used to store a football.” He gave her an innocent look. “No?”

  “How about a tin to store your freshly made loaf of bread,” she said dryly.

  He shook his head. “Naw, I think it would be better for the football. Sure could have used something like this during practice on a rainy day, to keep the ball drier. What about this?” He held up a metal implement with a long handle that ended in a large semicircular, slotted piece of metal. “A masher for very large potatoes?”

  By now, having caught on to the game, she couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a pot strainer. You put it on the top of your pot in place of a lid, then tip the pot to drain off liquid. Useful when cooking vegetables.”

  Keeping a straight face, Brice picked up several more items. Proposing some outlandish use for them, then looking to her to correct him, kept her chuckling while she chose some linens and several glasses made of cobalt-blue Depression glass.

  “How do you know about all this old stuff?”

  “My nonna taught me how to cook. She had a lot of utensils like these.”

  Inspecting the blue glasses she’d set aside, he said, “Those are real pretty. How about this to go with them?” He pointed to a deep-blue glass container that looked like a cookie jar with a lid. “The surface of the glass looks like lace.”

  Mary looked at it and sighed. “Gorgeous! It is lace—the pattern’s called ‘Royal Lace,’ and it’s one of the most expensive types of cobalt-blue Depression glass. The piece is in perfect condition. I hate to even think what it must cost.” After hesitating, she said, “What the heck,” picked up the price tag and read it, then shuddered. “Bad as I thought.”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred dollars. Which is still a good deal; in an antique shop, it might be a hundred dollars more. But that’s not in the budget. Maybe I’ll put it on my Christmas-for-me list.”

  Her body language said she was ready to leave. Figuring he’d dragged out the time she’d allow him to spend with her about as long as he could, he glanced at his watch again. “I’d better be heading out. Need me to carry the items out for you?” Then he quickly held up a hand. “Sorry, automatic response when in the company of a lady. I know you can handle it.”

  “I can manage, but thanks.” But this time, she didn’t seem unfriendly when she turned him down.

  They walked together back to the office, paid Polly for their items, then headed back out to their
vehicles.

  “Thanks again for your help,” Mary said as she stowed her purchases in her car.

  “Anytime. Sure you know how to get back to town?”

  “Yes, I don’t think I’ll get lost.”

  “If you do, text Tom or Elaine. A text message will go through when a call won’t.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “If Tom isn’t sure how to find you, he has backup.” He gave her a grin. “He can call out a Texas Ranger.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “Goodbye, Brice McAllister.”

  “Goodbye, Mary Williams.”

  She bent to get into her car, paused, and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Bunny was right. You do make me laugh.”

  Pleased, Brice smiled to himself as he climbed up into his truck. Then sat and watched Mary settle herself in the car, fasten her seat belt and drive off.

  He felt this odd, inexplicable sense of protest at watching her drive away, as if it were wrong for her to leave him.

  Still, he felt pleased about the progress he’d made today. She was relaxing more around him. And he wasn’t above using Bunny to make her feel even more comfortable.

  Because if anything did happen to frighten or threaten her, he wanted her to be one to call out this Texas Ranger.

  Chapter Five

  Looking out at the eager faces, Mary turned another page of the book. “Then the Prince arrived and helped the Princess fight off the dragon, who ran away, howling.” She made a howling noise, setting the children to giggling. “The Prince and Princess put away their swords and went off to get ice cream, and lived happily ever after. The end.”

  “Yeah!” Bunny said, clapping with the other children.

  “You tell the bestest stories, Miss Mary,” another little girl said.

  “That’s because I have the bestest listeners. Okay, that’s all for today.” She stood up from her stool in the middle of the semicircle, the gaggle of children around her standing, too, as their parents come in to claim them, thank her, and bid her goodbye. “See you soon, Miss Mary,” Bunny said, holding Elaine’s hand as they walked out.

  Mary smiled as the children headed down the hallway and out the front door. She’d been hesitant at first, but she was glad now that Shirley had talked her into doing a story hour for children at the library. She loved watching the eager faces, avidly listening, ready to believe every tale, no matter how fantastical. Was there anything sweeter than the absolute trust of a child?

  She enjoyed each of them and would not allow herself to be sad. She might not ever have one of her very own to love, but all the children she encountered could do with a little more affection. She would spread all the affection she had to share with these, with some extra reserved just for Bunny.

  Story time concluded at three o’clock. After the emotional high of spending time with children, she usually went home early, letting the glow last. Since it had been particularly hot today, she’d treat herself to a stop by the Diner. She must be becoming a real Texan, she thought as she gathered up her things, because she’d developed a strong preference for sweet iced tea, and the Diner made the best in town.

  The idea of becoming a real Texan made her think of Brice McAllister, his Texas sayings, and his nonsensical uses for the kitchen items he’d found. He had made her smile. He was, she conceded, as Elaine had promised, a very engaging guy.

  With whom to be casually acquainted.

  She could have walked to the Diner, but since she was on her way home, she drove over. After parking in front, she strolled in, seeing the usual gaggle of ranchers and farmers seated at the far tables. Most of them retired, but a few still actively running their spreads, the group gathered in the late afternoons almost every weekday to chew the fat and talk about ranching.

  To her surprise, she noted Brice McAllister sitting with them. Spotting her, as well, he gave her a nod.

  A wave of uncertainty rippled through her. She couldn’t pretend now that she hadn’t seen him. Would he come over to talk with her? Did she want him to?

  She had to admit, she’d enjoyed the time at the flea market. She’d felt . . . more comfortable around him. But that didn’t mean she would feel comfortable being around him too often.

  She wasn’t ready for that yet with any man. She might never be.

  After nodding back, she went over to the counter to order her tea. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the ranchers’ conversation carried easily to where she stood, waiting for the server to fill her order.

  “Haven’t seen any strangers around lately,” one of the older men said, evidently responding to a question Brice had asked. “Duncan asked us a while back to be on the lookout, when his wife first had difficulties on the ranch. Saw some folks in a truck nobody knew back then, but nothing since.”

  “Thomason mention to anyone what he wanted to do with the land he’s buying up?”

  “Silver spoon he was born with had a teaspoon of honey in it too,” one of the ranchers said. “He’s always talking big about some fantastic deal he’s putting together.”

  “That boy thinks the sun comes up to hear him crow,” another said.

  “After Jernigan sold out to him, he told me he asked Thomason if he was going to put cattle back on the land,” the first man added. “Thomason said why ‘deal with animals that are hardly worth spit in a good year?’ Said he’d stock something better than that.”

  “Cutting horses bring a good penny, but can’t see him competing with the Kellys when it comes to horse breeding,” Brice said. “Did he mention anything else?”

  “Not that I heard,” the first man said. “Boy’s town-bred, wouldn’t know the first thing about training horses. He’d have to hire someone, and there’s nobody around better than the Kellys.”

  “Any of you hear anything, you let me know, okay?” Brice said.

  “Sure, Brice. You take care of yourself, now. We were right sorry to hear about your friend, Trooper Martin, God rest his soul. Good man.”

  “He was. Y’all take care too.”

  Brice got up, and after tipping his hat to the men, walked toward her. Another wave of nervousness went through her. Should she smile and engage him in conversation? Or nod pleasantly and look the other way?

  Watching him walk over out of the corner of her eye, she felt the same jolt of attraction that she’d felt the other times he’d come near her. That intense, impossible-to-ignore aura of masculinity that called out to everything female in her.

  The look in his eyes that told her he found her attractive too.

  She’d probably at least have to greet him. She didn’t want him to think she was encouraging his interest, but she’d been rude before and he didn’t deserve that, especially after he had gone out of his way to be helpful.

  “Ah, I see the Diner has converted you to their sweet tea,” he said as the young woman brought over her order. “I think I’ll get a refill myself,” he said, handing his cup to the server “Fill my to-go cup up if you will, Sally Ann?”

  “Sure, Brice. Anything you want. Anything,” Sally Ann added, batting her eyes.

  He just smiled—not ignoring the flirtatious gesture, but not encouraging it to go further, either.

  It was silly of her to find the girl’s blatant interest . . . annoying. Of course women were interested in him. Brice McAllister was over six foot of handsome, virile, charming male.

  She could appreciate that without being in the market herself.

  “Heading back to the library?” he asked.

  “No, I go home early after I do story hour on Mondays.”

  “Story hour? Bet you’re good at that. Bunny says you tell great stories, not all of them from books. That she can give you a character and you can make up stories for her.”

  She paused while the server came back with his tea refill. “Thanks much, Sally Ann,” he said, giving her another easy smile.

  “Just for you, Brice.”

  Mary found herself annoyed again—unt
il Brice gave her a quick glance and rolled his eyes. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Headed home? I’ll walk you out.”

  “Is there something wrong?” she found herself blurting as they walked out. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and you seemed to be interrogating those gentlemen.”

  “Not interrogating. Folks around here want to know what’s happening with their neighbors, so they can help them out if necessary. My brothers have had some trouble on the ranch, small incidents, but together they add up to making it harder to run the ranch at a profit. A local real estate agent has been buying up land around the borders of the ranch. The local rich boy, son of an important family, who tried to lord it over everyone when we were at school. We don’t like him, and the feeling is mutual. If it were anyone else buying the land, we might not think anything of it. But knowing how much bad blood there is between us and Thomason . . .”

  Mary frowned. Brice McAllister might be helpful, but maybe he was more like the harassing police she’d known than she’d originally thought. “You’re investigating him when he hasn’t done anything? Isn’t that . . . unethical?”

  “Nothing unethical about asking questions. I wouldn’t begin a full-on investigation unless I turn up evidence of wrongdoing, and I don’t have any yet. At least, nothing solid that can be proven. So . . . I keep asking questions.”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” she demanded, her tone sharper than she’d intended.

  He smiled. “I reckon I do. I’m just naturally curious, especially if things don’t seem to add up. I don’t mean to be intrusive, though.”

  “Sorry, I’m a bit sensitive on that point. I’m . . . very private myself, so if I see someone pestering people with questions, I tend to feel that they are being . . . harassed.”

  His smile faded. “I’d never want to do that,” he said seriously, holding the door open for her to walk out. “My stepmom, Miss Dorothy, would give me a licking with a hickory branch if she thought I was bothering someone.”