The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  “Good to know.” Could she believe him? Whether she could or not, now that she’d blundered into displaying her sensitivity on that point, it was time to change the subject. “Did your sister-in-law like the bread bowl?”

  His smile was back, making her feel better. He didn’t want to be thought as harassing—but she didn’t like to think of herself as churlish. “She even liked my suggestion for what she might do with it. Makes me feel . . . validated. Like maybe I’m not hopeless at design after all. You really ought to visit her shop. I think you’d like it—might even find some inspiration there.”

  “Maybe I will.” She’d need the sun to go down for a few more hours before it would be comfortable enough to do any weeding in the garden. “How late is her shop open?”

  “Until six. After their marriage, Abby moved into the cabin she helped my brother Grant refurbish—an even better example of her style than the shop, not to mention it sits on the prettiest hilltop in three counties. Maybe I could show you it sometime.”

  “Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “What did you say the shop’s address was?”

  He held out his hand in a wait-a-minute gesture. “I don’t mean to seem pushy but . . . it’s on another of those back country roads, pretty hard to find if you don’t know the area. And honestly, it also happens to be in the direction of the Triple A, where I’m meeting my brothers again for dinner. Might be better if you follow me out—”

  “So I won’t get lost, reliant only on a text message that might fail, resulting in the need to call out a Texas Ranger?” she finished, giving him a suspicious look. “If it’s that hard to find, why did she open a shop there?”

  By now they’d reached her car, and still watching him, she clicked open the lock.

  He halted beside her. “When she first came to Whiskey River, a pregnant widow short on funds, she rented an old ranch house that was inexpensive because it’s in the middle of nowhere, down an old dirt road off the highway a ways out of town. She started furnishing it with castoffs she picked up off the side on the road, in thrift shops, and found materials she turned into something else. Like an old cedar stump whose roots she braided with mini-LED lights and turned into a chandelier. Painted colanders made into lampshades. Interesting, innovative, completely different from anything you’d find in a store. Friends who visited the house saw them and started asking her to make them something similar. Then her mother-in-law, her late husband’s mother, a huge admirer of her designs, urged her to start an online store. Eventually she turned the garage next to the house into a shop and showroom. By then, she was well enough known online and in town that people were willing to make the drive.”

  She’d intended to tell him goodbye and drive off, but she had to admit, the shop intrigued her in spite of herself. “Okay, sold. I think I need to see this for myself.”

  “Are you willing to let me lead you?” Her eyes must have widened at that double entendre, for once again, he held out a hand. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

  “I’m not willing to be led,” she said pointedly. “But you can show me the way to the shop.”

  Looking relieved, he said, “Good. I’ll introduce you to Abby. I think you’ll like her. Like you, she’s shy, not good with strangers. Had an overbearing mother who belittled her all her life. You won’t believe this after you’ve seen what she creates, but she grew up with her mother denigrating her ‘crude little craft projects’ and telling her she had no talent and would never make anything of herself. Boy, has she proved that woman wrong.”

  “Good for her,” Mary said, feeling an immediate sympathy for the designer. “I think I will like her.”

  “Ready? Let’s hit the road. Before we go, here’s another Texas saying. Now, being a high-class city woman from a ritzy neighborhood in Dallas, Abby’s mother would never have described the trash Abby transforms like this, but if she were to use a countrified expression, she would say they started out as ‘useless as two buggies in a one-horse town.’”

  Mary smiled at the image. “I think I like Texas-isms. And women who can make something of two buggies in a one-horse town.”

  “Follow me, then, round two.”

  *

  It was probably good that she had followed Brice, Mary thought, as they finally approached the modest ranch house located on a dirt road after they’d turned off a small county road that was hardly larger. The exterior of the house was neat as a pin, the terrace in front boasting a table and chairs separated from the road by an attractive bed planted with lantanas, cactus, and prairie grasses interspersed with wrought-iron sculptures. His sister-in-law’s work?

  Brice pulled his truck to a stop in front of a building beside the ranch house, which looked like the converted garage he had described, while an old wooden sign over the entry door announced “Hidden Treasures.”

  By the time she pulled in beside him and got out of her car, Brice had already hopped down from his truck and was striding over to meet a tall, slim blond woman who emerged from the shop. He gave her a hug and they both turned to Mary as she walked down the terrace toward them.

  “Abby, let me introduce Mary Williams, the reference librarian in town. She lives in the cottage next door to my good friends, Elaine and Tom. Bunny invited me into her house—” He gave Mary a grin while Abby groaned.

  “I can believe that. My daughter, Katie, would do the same thing. Kids—they have no sense of privacy or decorum.”

  “It makes them charming, though,” Mary said. “That innocent sense that all the people they like must obviously like each other too.”

  “Exactly,” Abby said wryly.

  “The décor in her cottage is eclectic,” Brice continued. “Old collectables mixed with new pieces, so I thought she’d enjoy seeing your work. Mary, my sister-in-law and fabulous designer, Abby McAllister.”

  “Delighted to meet you,” Mary said.

  “The same. Would you like to look around the shop? I’d be happy to tell you about any of the pieces that interest you. If you are a craftsperson, too, I can give you directions on how to make some of the things for yourself.”

  “That would be kind of you!” Mary said, impressed. Abby must care about clients, not just income, if she were willing to pass along trade secrets rather than hold out for a sale. She already felt she’d met a kindred spirit.

  “I’ll leave y’all to it. Another Texas saying for you before I go, Mary. You and Abby have ‘howdied, but you’ve not shaken,’ so time to get better acquainted.”

  Abby laughed. “Texas. Isn’t it great?”

  Mary nodded. “I’m beginning to agree.”

  “Grant, you’re coming out to the ranch for dinner?”

  “Yes, it’s my last night here. I head to Johnson City tomorrow.”

  “Case-related?” When he nodded, Abby said, “Okay. I know better than to ask what for. You’ll probably get to the ranch before I do. You should stop by and see the renovations Grant’s started on in the barn on the Scott place.”

  Abby turned to Mary. “When my husband’s brother Duncan married Harrison Scott, whose father bought part of the original Triple A ranch when the family had to sell some land during hard times, they reunited the property. Since Harrison moved into the McAllister ranch house, that left the house her father built and some of the barns empty. As a former Marine, Grant had the idea that it could become a great venue to host events—days out for kids at base daycares in San Antonio, riding events for recovering wounded vets, like he once was.”

  “She’s too modest,” Brice said. “Grant says the idea of using the Scott place to generate income, rather than having it stand idle or worse, selling off that section of the ranch, started with Abby. She’s a great repurposer.”

  “Grant’s just started on the work. He and Duncan are waiting for their small business loan to be approved.”

  “Sounds like it would be a good addition to the area,” Mary said.

  “Grant intends to do most of the grunt labor himself, in
the time he can spare from mowing, fence repair and tending cattle. I’ll see you later then, Brice.”

  “Thanks for showing me the way,” Mary said.

  “My pleasure. See you at dinner, Abby.”

  As he walked back to his truck, Mary struggled to prevent herself from sinking into melancholy. It was both warming—and painful—to observe how close Brice’s family was, evident in his questioning to try to find out if someone was trying to harm the family ranch, in how enthusiastic an advocate he was for his sister-in-law’s business, and in the obvious warmth and affection between them.

  The blessing of family. Once, she had been blessed like that too. She still missed it keenly. She was still bitter over its destruction, a bitterness she might never overcome.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Abby was saying. “My daughter, Katie, makes great lemonade. You could enjoy a glass while you look around the shop.”

  “Are you sure there’s time? I don’t want to keep you late.”

  “It’s just a hop, skip and a jump up a back road to the farmhouse. We have plenty of time. Katie will be excited to show someone new her lemonade-making skills.”

  Walking to the door of the ranch house, she opened it and called inside. A moment later, a lovely little girl of about six came running to the threshold. “Oh, you have a customer! I was playing a game and didn’t hear anyone drive up.”

  “A thirsty customer. Mary, meet my daughter, Katie.”

  “Hi, Katie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You’re so pretty!” Katie said. At a reproving look from her mother, she added, “Well, she is, even if maybe it’s not polite to say so.”

  Charmed, Mary said, “Thank you, Katie. And you are beautiful too.”

  “That’s what my grandmother says when she wants me to wear one of the frilly dresses she buys me.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “I like my pants and T-shirts better.”

  “Well, it wasn’t polite, but at least it was a compliment,” Abby said, shaking her head. “Do you think you could bring Miss Mary some of the lemonade you made this afternoon?”

  “I would love to taste it. Your mommy says it’s really special.”

  Katie nodded wisely. “It is. I’ll bring some right out. Are you going to look at my mommy’s shop? She makes so many pretty things. You’ll probably want a teacup lamp. Mommy made me a pink one for my bedroom. It’s my favoritest thing—except for riding my pony with Daddy.”

  “Off with you then, before she dies of thirst,” Abby said.

  Giggling, Katie ran back into the house.

  “She is adorable!” Mary said, trying to tamp down the inevitable flood of envy. “What a charmer.”

  Abby laughed, shaking her head. “Six, going on twenty-six. Thank heavens for Grant! She worships him and listens to him much better than she does to me. Otherwise, I’d be terrified of the thought of her becoming a teenager. Let’s go into the shop and get out of the heat.”

  As they walked into the cool, air-conditioned building, Mary stopped short, not only for the blessed relief from the sun, but in absolute delight. “I hardly know where to look first!”

  Abby shrugged modestly. “Take your time. I’m happy to tell you about—or give you construction details for—anything you see.”

  Mary wandered around, marveling at the tree-root chandelier Brice had mentioned, which was much more attractive than the mental picture she’d formed when he described it. The airy structure of tree roots threaded through with tiny LED lights both gave homage to the native trees of the area and to the shape and design of a traditional chandelier. On one wall, ladders formed bookcases; on another, beside a farm table, in an old buffet that had been stripped and whitewashed, rake heads removed from their handles served as a wineglass rack. But what particularly caught her eye were the old kitchen items made into lights—colanders and rectangular graters painted bright colors, with light bulbs inside providing illumination; green- and clear-glass canning jars with bulbs inside hung from chains to make pendant lighting over a kitchen peninsula.

  And, of course, the famous teacup lamp Katie had described, a feminine fancy that would look wonderful on her bedside table.

  When Katie came back, they sat at the farm table and sipped lemonade—which was indeed special, made out of fresh lemons she squeezed herself with one of her mother’s old juice-squeezers, Katie told her.

  “Well, I definitely need a teacup lamp,” Mary said.

  “I told you, you would!” Katie said triumphantly. “Nobody makes nicer things than my mommy.”

  Many of the items were more primitive than her style. But others were clever and, as Brice had suspected, inspiring.

  “I’ll start with a teacup lamp. I also love the lights you’ve made from kitchen items. I may have to ask you to teach me how to make some of them before I spend my whole month’s salary.”

  “Can’t have you blowing your salary on furnishings and starving to death,” Abby said with a laugh. “One teacup lamp, then. I’ve got a supply of cups in my workshop, so you can pick your favorite colors and designs. Now, tell me what you’d like to make for yourself.”

  “It’s hard to choose. I love the colander-and-grater lamps, but I think first, I’d like to make canning-jar lights to hang over my kitchen island.”

  “Do you have some canning jars?”

  “No old ones. But I’d be willing to sacrifice some I already have and buy more to do tomatoes and peppers later in the season.”

  “You put up vegetables?”

  “Yes. My grandmother did. The cottage I’m renting in Whiskey River is the first time I’ve had a yard large enough to grow enough vegetables to have extra to jar. I’m especially excited to make my grandmother’s tomato relish.”

  “Sounds delicious. How about we make a deal? You bring jars to the shop and I’ll show you how to make them into pendant lights. I’ll buy some of your produce and you can show me how to make tomato relish.”

  “You don’t have to buy it—I’ll give you some. And yes, it’s a deal.”

  Sipping the tart-sweet lemonade, smiling at the beautiful child, Mary felt better than ever about her decision to settle in Whiskey River. Brice told her Abby’s mother had denigrated her talent? The woman was an idiot. Abby was a creative genius.

  Along with warmth toward this woman she thought would become a friend, Mary felt a renewed appreciation for Brice McAllister. Who not only had been helpful—he’d understood her well enough to suspect she’d find a kindred spirit in Abby McAllister.

  She hadn’t really wanted him tagging along with her at the flea market, but she had to admit, she’d enjoyed his company. It had been a long time since she’d been around someone who made her laugh.

  Especially a good-looking man.

  Then, he’d led her here, introduced her to Abby, and left. Not crowding her. Not asking intrusive questions. Just open, friendly, helpful.

  She’d had ample evidence from Elaine’s testimony and her own eyes that he was indeed “one of the good guys.”

  Maybe she needed to be a little more open and friendly herself. And let herself enjoy more of his company if and when she encountered him.

  Moving here wasn’t about denying herself, but about starting fresh, without the chains that bound her to a past that had dragged her down.

  Maybe, like the red hawks gliding in the blue, blue sky above the shop, she should try stretching out her wings and soaring a bit.

  Chapter Six

  The following weekend, Brice set out on the drive from Austin back to Whiskey River for the high school homecoming weekend. Most of the town came out for the football game, and a lot of alumni now living in towns scattered across Texas returned for it too. He expected to see a number of his former football teammates and band members, though it was not an official reunion year for his class.

  Plus, he just enjoyed a chance to watch the game. He’d loved playing himself, and never lost his taste for ‘Friday Night Lights,’ the chief beginning-of-the-weekend en
tertainment in the fall for countless small towns in Texas.

  Homecoming weekend added a few extra activities, with a picnic and barbecue Saturday in the town square. Reunion classes usually set up tents, booths with artists and vendors selling fall items, and face-painting, games and other activities for kids. Duncan and Grant would finish up ranch chores early enough to attend the tail end of the picnic, as would Elaine, Tom and Bunny.

  Brice was hoping during one of the homecoming activities to have a chance to see Mary Williams.

  Shaking his head with exasperation, he recalled the faux pas of his double entendre at the Diner after she’d confirmed her interest in visiting Abby’s shop, when he’d asked if she were willing to let him lead her. He’d about bitten off his tongue, hoping he hadn’t ruined all progress he’d made at the flea market in getting her to relax around him. But after an initial withdrawal, she’d pointedly replied that he could show her the way—leaving the choice of whether or not to follow up to her.

  At least she’d allowed him to show her. Ah, there were so many things he’d like to show her!

  Like how much he wanted to kiss her. Unfortunately, she was likely far from ready for that lesson.

  He needed to stay patient and concentrate first on gaining enough of her trust that he could be confident she’d call on him for assistance if she were threatened. It made him sick to think that someone out there somewhere might have evil intentions toward her. More than anything else, at least for now, if such a person ever turned up, he wanted her to not hesitate for a second before calling him for advice.

  And once she trusted him? Elaine might term him a “player,” which he admitted he had been in his wilder youth, but the last several years, he’d preferred getting to know a woman and keeping company with the same one, until he or the lady decided they needed to move on. Or were forced to move on, he thought, frowning, his hurt and anger over his former girlfriend Ashley’s betrayal stinging anew.

  So, gain Mary’s trust first. Then, if they both wanted it, maybe move on to something more than being mere acquaintances. He might not be ready for marriage, but he’d be more than ready to try a casual, longer-term relationship.