The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  He paused, studying her face. “So, tell me straight. Do you want to continue—or not?”

  Continue, let her feelings deepen, risk loss and pain again?

  Did she want to live, or just exist?

  After struggling for another minute between fear and desire, she whispered, “I’d . . . like to continue.”

  “Hallelujah,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “So, what are the guidelines? You know I love to touch you, but I don’t want to force anything or make you uncomfortable.”

  “Or tempted?”

  He grinned. “I’m not sure I want to avoid ‘tempted.’”

  She paused, a little light-headed after the emotional release of her tears. All of this was so new she’d had no time to think about what she really wanted—or would be comfortable with. “I’d like to continue going places with you. Having you come here to cook. I’d really like to kiss you again, but I’m not sure I can control my reactions if I do.”

  “How about if I promise not to let you take advantage of me?” he offered with a grin.

  “Your control is that good?”

  “I would never do anything to hurt a lady,” he said, sobering instantly. “No matter how hard it might be to resist. Whatever you are comfortable giving—however little or much—will be enough. I’m just . . . grateful that you’re willing to give us another chance. And determined to prevent any future . . . ‘couch disasters.’”

  “We’re agreed, then?”

  He nodded.

  “So . . . I can kiss you good night?”

  “As long as it’s not ‘goodbye.’”

  She went up on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the lips, savoring his closeness. Her body clamored for more, but her mind, relishing this unthreatening, incredibly comforting contact, ignored it. He stayed absolutely still, letting her kiss him, but not trying to deepen or prolong it.

  “So . . . that’s okay with you?” she whispered as she broke the kiss.

  “More than okay. Wonderful. You have permission to repeat it as often as you like.”

  “Thank you, Brice McAllister. For being the man you are.”

  “Just for you, sweetheart.”

  Tentatively, he put his arm around her, and she let him, walking with him to the door. Standing on the threshold, he kissed her cheek. “Good night, Mary. Thanks again for a wonderful day.”

  “Good night, Brice. Thanks for understanding—and for making me want to truly live again.”

  He put on his hat, tipped it to her and walked to his truck, then gave her a wave before driving off. Pensive, she drifted back into the living room to drop down onto the “disaster” couch.

  And smiled sadly. Painful as it was to tell him what had happened, she felt . . . a sort of healing calm. As if an old bandage had been ripped off, exposing the still-raw wound to healing air. The hurt was still there—would always be there.

  But for the first time in a long time, she was no longer carrying the burden of it alone. For the first time since the shooting, she caught glimmers of a future that didn’t leave her alone forever.

  *

  Three weeks later, Mary sat in her kitchen, brewing espresso to put in the carafe they’d take with them on her excursion with Brice.

  Since the night she’d dissolved into tears and confessed some of her history, she’d seen him once or twice a week. Sometimes cooking with Bunny at the house, sometimes going to events in town or festivals in San Antonio or Austin.

  She’d even visited his condo—a cold, sterile white box furnished in a minimalist, ultramodern style that she told him reminded her of the anteroom of a modern art gallery. He’d confessed with chagrin that, busy with training after he’d first joined the Rangers, he’d let a girlfriend decorate it. Unfortunately, the furnishings had lasted longer than the relationship. He’d never felt at home there, but being on the road as much as he was, he hadn’t taken the time to change it.

  It might, he suggested, be a future project they could take on together.

  So he seemed to believe in a future. Maybe she should take his suggestion and make an appointment with the specialist she’d found at the Medical Center in Houston, have them do a new workup and see if there were in fact treatments now that would offer her the chance to bear a healthy child. An ability that would free her to give herself to him completely, and if they decided to make their union permanent, give him the children that a man who loved them so much deserved.

  The notion was so painfully precious she couldn’t let herself hope for it.

  Brice continued to be the same compassionate, understanding man who’d gradually weaned her out of wariness. He let her kiss him, kissed her back, took advantage of every opportunity to touch her hand, stroke her back, or give her a hug.

  Part of her felt bad that she’d made him keep his desire on such a short leash. There were ways she could satisfy him, of course, without risking pregnancy, but she wasn’t quite ready—yet—to try something that might strain both their controls past the breaking point.

  Better to know for sure where the relationship was going before committing to something that, if it turned out to be a mistake, would be irrecoverable.

  Even with the reservations about the physical restraints, she felt more complete, happier, than she had since the carefree days before the shooting. More aware every day of how much, these last three years, she’d been merely existing. Learning again how opening herself to affection and involvement could brighten and bring joy.

  Brice continued to look for events and entertainments he thought she’d enjoy. Which was why, this early Saturday, he would be arriving soon to take her to a plant nursery Abby had discovered that specialized in vegetables, perennials, and shrubs that grew well in the Hill Country area.

  Having already killed her share of some of her favorite plants that her nonna had grown in California, she was looking forward to choosing some that might thrive rather than wither before her eyes.

  Hearing the sound of a truck engine, she hopped up to greet Brice at the door. He walked in, so big and masterful and delicious, picked her up and swung her around, then gave her an exaggerated kiss on the lips. “How’s my best girl?”

  “Pert as a cricket,” she said, using another of the Texas-isms he’d taught her.

  He laughed. “Let’s load up the coffee—and dare I hope there are biscotti to go with it?”

  “Of course. A gentleman who escorts a lady to one of her favorite places in the world deserves only the best.”

  “What are your other favorite places in the world? I’m keeping a list,” he said with a grin. “Just to give myself options. Libraries, obviously. Bookstores, I would imagine. Antique or junktique shops. Plant nurseries and . . .”

  “Good wineries. Fine restaurants. And a certain place with big rocks by a trickling stream, with cattle grazing in a nearby pasture, a soft breeze blowing, the scent of water, wildflowers, meadow grass . . .”

  Something in his face changed, going from teasing to more intense. “The Triple A?”

  She nodded.

  “So you could see . . . maybe living in a cottage there someday?”

  “A cottage overlooking that location? Now, that would be heaven.” And it would. All that natural beauty, shared with a man who was even more amazing.

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Now we better be off. We promised Bunny she could come cook dinner with us tonight.”

  “Yes, I need to redeem myself. I think she’s jealous that I’ve had you all to myself on several trips. Even though she agreed that she’d be bored going to wineries and the concert in Austin was past her bedtime.”

  “She wouldn’t stay mad at you. Besides, I’m sure Elaine has emphasized that adults do adult things sometimes, like she and Tom do.”

  “I just have to woo her back by fixing her favorite things tonight.”

  “Anything you cook is my favorite, so that’s easy to agree with.”

  They walked to the truck, where he took her hand to help her up a
nd gave her another long, lingering kiss.

  “What was that for?” she asked dreamily after he released her.

  “Just because. It’s a beautiful day, I’m taking my favorite lady to one of her favorite places in the world. With espresso and biscotti. What could be better?”

  *

  It took them about an hour to reach the nursery, which was located along a back road between Fredericksburg and Johnson City.

  Walking in, Mary was delighted to discover the business featured a number of display gardens that, although it was heading into fall, still boasted a wealth of flowering plants.

  “Why don’t we wander around for a bit and then you can talk to a staff person about what you’ve seen that you like?” Brice suggested.

  “Sounds like a plan!”

  Brice trailing indulgently behind her, she walked slowly past dry rock gardens with a wide array of succulents in various shapes and sizes, a hillside of grasses of different heights and colors, then a long bed that featured a planting of crepe myrtle trees, deep pink, then ruby, then lavender, their peeling, cinnamon-striped bark accenting the large sprays of flowers. Planted at their feet were a variety of lantanas, white-flowered under the pink trees, orange-and-red under the ruby, yellow under the lavender. Another bed held a sprawl of starry purple asters in full bloom beside the deep lavender spikes of gayflowers.

  “This is wonderful!” she said, exuberant with delight as she looked back at Brice. “I want some of everything!”

  “I don’t think I can fit all that in the truck,” he said with a straight face. “Maybe we better find an employee and start narrowing down the list.”

  He hailed a garden specialist, who asked what color flowers she preferred and what the planting locations offered in terms of soil and moisture level. In addition to the asters and gayflower, she added some Carolina jasmine for winter bloom, an old-fashioned flowering quince for early spring bloom, and a winter honeysuckle, as well as several pots of Texas tarragon to add to her herb bed.

  Once she’d lined up her purchases, they took their coffee and biscotti to a picnic area on the grounds. “It is so beautiful here!” she told him as she poured his coffee. “Someday I want my garden to look like that,” she gestured toward the display garden. “Thanks for indulging me. I just hope you weren’t too bored.”

  “I like flowers. I just don’t like weeding or tending them. Besides, it makes me happy to see you happy.”

  “That sentiment deserves a kiss,” she said, suiting action to her words. “I like making you happy too,” she added after breaking the kiss.

  “Then just keep being you.” The sincerity of the look he gave her, the tenderness in his face, made her feel like melting inside. Her resistance to letting anyone close again had been rock solid when they first met. But little by little, he’d chipped away at it, until she felt, with more remarks like that, the whole structure was in imminent danger of collapse.

  Maybe it was time to schedule that appointment with the Houston specialist and make an informed choice on one option or the other. The possibility of a safe pregnancy, or permanent safety from pregnancy. Because Brice’s control might be as solid at Hill Country granite, but more and more, she was longing to do away with restraint and give herself completely to the man with whom, she admitted to herself, if not yet to him, she was falling in love with.

  Hands entwined, they walked back to the truck. “We’ll have just enough time after we get home to get these into the ground before Bunny comes over,” he said as he helped her stow the plants into the back of his truck.

  “I thought you didn’t like planting and tending.”

  “Only for you, sweetheart. Besides, I need the space back.”

  Chuckling, she let him help her into the cab chatting on the way back about the new plants and where in the garden she planned to put them. Brice told her the case he’d been working was almost ready to close, although of course he couldn’t give her any details. Not that, resisting as always that aspect of his life, she would have asked for any.

  When he pulled the vehicle into her driveway, she shifted to hop out. He put a hand on her wrist to restrain her.

  She looked up, smiling. “What? Another kiss?” She made an exaggerated pucker and closed her eyes.

  He kissed her lightly, but when she opened her eyes, he was wearing an intense expression. “I think sometime soon we need to have a serious talk about the future. If you think you might be anywhere near ready.”

  A flutter of nervousness and excitement swirled in her belly. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand what he was asking. Was she ready?

  “Give me a day or so to consider my answer.”

  She felt a pang at the look of disappointment that briefly crossed his face before he nodded. “Fair enough.”

  If she had disappointed him, he gave no more evidence of it, teasing her again by groaning at the supposedly excessive weight of the shrubs she’d bought and the vast number of holes they’d have to dig to get all the plants in the ground and watered in.

  By the time they had the truck unloaded and the plants prepped, Bunny was calling a hello.

  After the stint in the garden, in which Bunny participated enthusiastically, they spent the evening fixing and eating dinner—Bunny’s favorite chicken she got to pound—playing games and amusing the little girl, with no further private discussion. Brice didn’t mention the prospect again before kissing her goodbye and carrying a tired-out Bunny back home.

  She stood by the back door, watching him until he disappeared inside the Edgertons’ house with his sleepy burden. Was she ready to move on, really move on? Take the risk of making a commitment to him—if he did in fact intend to propose?

  She didn’t think, knowing her history and his deep sense of responsibility, he’d want to talk about a commitment less formal than marriage. He wouldn’t ask her to make the potentially heartbreaking choice of ending for good all chance of bearing a child unless he was prepared to make their relationship officially permanent.

  A life with Brice at her side—teasing, watching, guarding, loving her. Wonderful. Even more wonderful, being able to give passion free rein, explore his body and let him explore hers as she’d longed to do now for what seemed forever.

  She still felt strongly that a man like Brice needed to be able to have children of his own. Before she gave him her answer, she would consult that specialist in Houston.

  Chapter Twelve

  The middle of the next week, Brice drove into Whiskey River to talk with Tom at the bank. As usual, while he drove along, his thoughts cycled back to Mary.

  How close they’d come to breaking up, before she revealed a story of loss more poignant and tragic than anything he could have imagined.

  No wonder she wasn’t too enamored of the police if, after that terrible crime, the perpetrators had never been found. A lawman’s primary job was to get dangerous criminals off the streets, so they couldn’t endanger peaceful citizens going about their everyday lives. She’d have a lot of justification for believing if they couldn’t do that, what good were they?

  The incident itself was disturbing enough, but to know that it had happened to a woman who loved children and was as good with them as Mary made his chest ache. He’d not been able to prevent himself from going to hold her while she wept, anguished for her loss, feeling helpless at knowing there was nothing he could ever do to make that right.

  After learning the true depth of that darkness in her past, he understood much better why she had locked herself away from living, putting up a boundary wall of silence, masking her attractiveness so no one would be tempted to breach it.

  No one until him. He felt humbled and honored that she’d trusted him enough to want to finally emerge from the shadows.

  If he hadn’t already been in love with her, knowing what she’d survived and the courage it had taken not to let it permanently scar her life would have pushed him over the edge.

  Course, the fact that she was gorgeous and c
ooked like a top chef didn’t hurt, he thought, smiling.

  By now, he was approaching the outskirts of Whiskey River. He slowed the truck to the municipal speed limit, and a few minutes later, pulled into the bank parking lot.

  He could, of course, have spoken to his friend over the weekend, but since this involved official business, he preferred to conduct the interview in uniform and at work.

  He and his team had managed to track most of the spurious deposits and were very near to closing in on the prime suspect they’d been watching now for nearly two months. The man had arranged transfers to straw accounts in banks in a scattering of small towns, with no geographic pattern, which had made it harder to center in on where he was operating from. If there had been any recent suspicious transfers into the Whiskey River bank, Brice could add one more clue to help them close the net.

  Hoping he’d get that clue, he walked in, nodding to the tellers and employees in the outer office, all of whom knew him and called a greeting. After exchanging a few words with Tom’s secretary, he was ushered into his friend’s office.

  “Badged up and in uniform!” Tom eyed him up and down. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call?”

  “Investigative business this time.”

  “What can I help you with?”

  “Has the bank gotten any demand drafts from any San Antonio banks payable to someone with a recently opened account?”

  “I’ll check, but we don’t deal much with demand drafts. Most of our business is in mortgages and small business loans. Let me call Larry Franklin, our CFO.” He picked up the phone and made a short call. “Let’s go into Larry’s office. He knows the records programs better than I do and can check faster.”

  Brice followed his friend into another office, where a tall man whom he’d hadn’t met before rose to shake his hand. After an exchange of greetings, the financial analyst logged into a series of programs, turning back to Brice a few minutes later. “No, we haven’t done any demand drafts for more than six months. Do you need me to go back farther than that?”