A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3)

by Justine Davis

  The look of horror returned, but she could sense the difference this time. It was horror at the scenario he’d presented, and Elena knew he’d succeeded in showing Marcos it could be worse.

  And as she sat there watching the two of them, she could only think yet again that Sean Highwater was very, very wrong in his assessment of himself as parental material.

  Chapter Ten

  He’d survived.

  Crazily, those were the words that circled in Sean’s mind as he drove to the station the next morning.

  He’d spent nearly three hours in Elena’s home last night—with Mrs. Valencia!—and survived. And more, Elena hadn’t looked at him as if she thought he was too strange to be comfortable around, or as if she regretted having him come, but as if she were fascinated. Perhaps she, like her son, had thought there was no one else out there who thought like Marcos did.

  And that’s all it was. He’d helped her a little, at least he hoped so, to understand her son. And that made him feel it had been worth the strain of being so close to her for so long.

  Although hiding the effect she has on you is something else altogether. Especially when she wanted to look at the stars…

  The city crew had been busy with the town’s Christmas decorations since Monday; Last Stand was in its seasonal best from the first workday of December onward. Light poles were garlanded and festooned, banners and lights and tinsel-clad wire structures stretched across Main Street every block. It gave the place, along with the covered walkways and classic storefronts an old-time Christmas look that he found oddly comforting, and tourists found attractive. Of course there was always some clown who thought it funny to try and shoot out some of the decorative ornaments, but since Shane’s standing punishment for that, backed up by Judge Morales, was donating whatever skill they had to the town, be it painting city hall or repairing police units, nobody got too wound up about it.

  His brother was a very wise man. Just as their father had been. Except for that one little problem of loving a woman who couldn’t stay sober.

  With the ease of long practice, he veered off that subject, although the subject of mothers stuck in his mind. Elena was a good mother. And her mother clearly was as well, giving up her career like that to help with Marcos. What would his family’s lives been like if they’d had that kind of mother? Different, obviously, but how? Neither Elena nor her mother were a soft touch, so he doubted the rules would have been any less strict. But would there have been a softer shelter to run to, when they were little? Not that his father hadn’t been compassionate, and he’d certainly been there for all of them when they needed him. But his demonstrations of affection had run more to hair-ruffling, a hearty clap on the back, and the occasional special-circumstances hug. But what would his life have been like without that? With only the female influence?

  He realized as he pulled the unmarked unit he drove most of the time to a halt behind the station that he’d gotten here on autopilot again. His father had worried about that, when he’d started to drive, that he’d get lost down that rabbit hole and get into or cause an accident. But now he smiled as he remembered the day his father had admitted he’d been wrong.

  All right, son. It seems that mind of yours knows exactly how much brainpower to allot the task. And as long as it stays that way, I’ll shut up.

  He wondered about Elena’s mother, who by reputation had been such an unforgiving teacher, and how she was apparently quite different with Marcos. Had she been that way with Elena, or had the softness only come with her grandson? Had Elena learned about parenting from her? He didn’t know where her father fit into the picture. He knew he had died, but wasn’t sure exactly how long ago. Elena herself, he was sure, would put Marcos’s well-being above all else, but as a single mother she’d had to be, perhaps, stricter than she would like. But she—

  “Hey, Sean.”

  He snapped out of it at the hail from Mark Latham, Shane’s efficient and energetic aide. “Mark. Something up?”

  The young man shook his head. “Nope. Everybody appears to be getting into the Christmas spirit. I just wanted to ask you, I’m looking for a gift for my nephew. He’s starting to get into gaming, and I’m not.”

  “Ah, the great family rift,” Sean said with a grin. After ascertaining the nephew’s age and interests he made a couple of suggestions, with the warning that he wasn’t as current on things as he used to be.

  “He says your videos still get a lot of hits, though. Or rather TexasFlood’s videos,” Mark added with a grin.

  Sean shrugged. “The classics do, yeah. Why I leave them up.”

  “I wonder how many of those loving commenters would freak if they knew you were a cop?”

  “Maybe a few,” Sean said with another grin. Then a thought occurred to him. “Hey, do you have the schedule for the workout room handy?” They had a small room equipped with the basics. Free weights, a couple of multi-function machines, a treadmill, and more importantly for his purposes an open space with mats, for sparring.

  “Sure.” Mark pulled a phone that Sean swore was twice the size of his out of his back pocket. He tapped the screen twice and asked, “Want me to beam it to you?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He scanned the calendar. There were a couple of scheduled things, one of the guys who’d been hurt last month was doing rehab, and the small group of weight lifters had their own slot. The rest was open. Most people used it either before or after their duty shifts, so he should be able to find a free spot somewhere mid-third shift. He had no idea how long this might take; Marcos was eager, but small and wiry. Kind of like he’d been.

  By the time he reached his desk in the detective office he had made an entry in a free time period, and set it to recur indefinitely. But then he was faced with a decision that seemed harder than it should be. He needed to let Elena know they could start the lessons this evening. That was the simple part. Ordinarily, if it was anyone else, he’d just text them. But he felt the strangest urge to call her.

  It took him a moment to realize he just wanted to hear that low, husky voice again. He thought if she ever called and left him a message, he’d save it forever, just to listen to that voice.

  Maybe I should arrange that.

  He nearly laughed at himself at that one. Maria Elena Valencia de la Cova, for God’s sake. The thought made him feel a little too much like that odd, out-of-step kid he’d once been.

  She made him feel like that kid again. But at the same time she made him feel things no kid would feel.

  He went with the text.

  *

  For the second time in less than a week Elena found herself entering a place she’d never thought to enter at all. The Last Stand Police Department was not a huge building, yet it seemed overwhelming to her, perhaps simply because of what it stood for: law and order in Last Stand.

  She had first thought they would do this at the gym across town, or some other facility, but it made sense that he would want to do this here. It would be more convenient for him, and he was doing them a favor. A very large favor. And at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Marcos’s safety. She tried not to hover, she did not want to be one of those mothers, but it was very difficult when sometimes all she wanted to do was cling to him because he was all she had left of the life she’d once had.

  She had no idea where this room she was supposed to find was, but Sean had texted her to just ask at the desk and they’d direct her. There was already a tall, dark-haired man standing there, but he was to one side with his back to her, writing on a page on a clipboard. The uniformed woman behind the counter smiled welcomingly as she approached.

  “I was told you could direct me to the workout room?” she asked, wondering if she would have to show some ID before being allowed into what she guessed was the inner sanctum. She assumed so, since—

  “Mrs. de la Cova.”

  The man at the counter had turned, and she realized in surprise it was Chief Highwater. And rather inanely, the fi
rst thing she noticed was how different his eyes were from Sean’s, a dark, almost cobalt compared to Sean’s light, almost icy blue. The second thing was how imposing the man was; somehow his brother seemed more approachable to her. There could only be a couple of inches of height and maybe ten or fifteen pounds of weight difference, so it had to be in demeanor. Shane Highwater looked exactly as a police chief should, she decided.

  And Sean Highwater…do not go there.

  “Chief,” she said, somewhat belatedly.

  She saw realization spark in those eyes. “You’re the reason for the reservation of the workout room? Something to do with what happened last Friday?”

  She wasn’t surprised by how quickly he put it together. He was very hands on, she knew, and all the Highwaters were smart, in varying ways. “Yes. Your br—” She caught herself, changed what she’d been about to say. “Detective Highwater is very generously teaching him to take care of himself. As,” she added with a smile, “he says you once did for him.”

  The man smiled, a genuine, pleased smile. And suddenly he was more than approachable, and Elena relaxed. “I did. I figured I owed him for always trying to broker peace between me and Slater.”

  She had not known this. She knew, as did almost everyone in Last Stand, that this man and his next brother in age were often at loggerheads, but not that the even younger Sean had tried to be a peacekeeper. Somehow it did not surprise her.

  “Did he?”

  “He always tried. So I tried to get him to where he could stand up for himself. And he let me. Of course I had to tell him that if he didn’t, in a couple of years his little sister would be able to thrash him.”

  Elena laughed. “And how humiliating would that be?”

  “Enough, at twelve anyway. Of course now I’m not sure Sage couldn’t take any one of us if she was so inclined.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you down to the workout room.”

  When they reached the door he indicated, she glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to six. “S—Your brother said to pick my son up at six. I don’t want to interrupt them.”

  “Not curious?”

  “Fiercely,” she admitted. “But I promised Marcos I would not interfere.”

  “Sean’ll let you know when it won’t disrupt things for you to see.” The chief studied her for a moment before adding, “He’s a good man, my little brother. Or my detective. Either way.”

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  She declined his kind offer to wait in his likely more comfortable office, and when he’d gone she sat down in one of the rather institutional-looking chairs in the hallway. Only when she looked around and saw the window and counter further down, read some of the posted signs, did she realize this area also served as the waiting room for the detention area. Last Stand did not have an actual jail, but did have a couple of holding cells, and the luckier occupants were released from here rather than being taken to the county facility.

  This would be where the parents of those boys who had bullied Marcos had had to wait, and she felt a flash of satisfaction at that. She only wished she had more faith that the shock would engender a change. But if it did not, it certainly wouldn’t be for lack of effort on the part of Sean Highwater.

  She used the few minutes she had to work on convincing herself that the man couldn’t possibly be having the effect on her that she’d thought. But then the door to the room opened and that notion blew up.

  He was standing there, looking down at Marcos, who was chattering excitedly. He was wearing blue athletic pants with a white stripe down the side, but it was what he wasn’t wearing that had sparked every nerve in her body to alertness.

  A shirt.

  At least, a normal shirt. The snug tank top he was wearing no doubt made perfect sense for a workout, but all she could think as she looked at him was he had magnificent arms, strong, powerful, but not bulging like a man who did nothing but bulk up. Masculine arms, not those of a man out to impress but those of a man who worked. And then, as he turned, she realized just how snug that tank top was across the breadth of his chest, and how it clung to the trim flatness of his abdomen. If it were any tighter, she would no doubt be able to count every one of the six-pack of abs he obviously had. If not eight. She gave herself a fierce, inward shake, and tore her gaze up to his face, she hoped in the instant before he realized she was gaping at him.

  She did not know how to deal with this. She’d thought this part of her dead and buried with Enrique. But as much as she’d loved him, and as loving as all aspects of their lives together had been, he had never sent her off the rails like this. No man had. It made her want more even as she retreated. She was eager, yet terrified, and the combination was exhausting. Were it not for Marcos, she would…what? Run? Hide?

  But for the sake of her son, she was doomed to be in some sort of contact with him for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elena seemed almost nervous to be here. Avoiding looking around, anyway. Some people got edgy just being in this building, but he wouldn’t have thought she’d be one of them. She seemed too serene, too dignified, too self-possessed to be bothered by much of anything.

  She didn’t look at him, either, but that only figured since Marcos was excitedly telling her about his first lesson.

  “Sean and—” the boy glanced up at him “—Officer Murdoch?” At his nod, Marcos barreled on. “They showed me how it works. Sean’s bigger than him, but there are tricks, ways.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s okay,” Marcos said hastily. “He told me to call him that. Because we’re sparring partners now.”

  “I see.”

  He was really starting to hate that phrase. She seemed so tense. Unlike herself. Even her mother, who had dropped Marcos off after picking him up from school, hadn’t been this on edge. In fact, she’d seemed simply interested.

  This is the home of those who protect us. It is nice to see the inside.

  The older woman’s words had been gratifying. Elena’s reaction was just…puzzling. Did the thought of any kind of fighting, even training to defend yourself, upset her that much? Or was it simply that she was afraid Marcos would be hurt? He wouldn’t let that happen, and he’d thought she’d known that.

  He tried for a joke. “I was going to recruit Shane so I could be the one to throw the bigger guy, but he had a meeting with the mayor.”

  Her dark eyes finally met his. “You would…throw the police chief?”

  “I’d throw my brother,” he corrected. “And he’d let me,” he added with a glance at Marcos. “For this.”

  “You Highwaters are…remarkable.”

  He would have preferred something a bit more individual, but it appeared he wasn’t going to get it.

  “The getting strong part is hard, though,” Marcos said, his grin fading for the first time. “Really hard. Weights and stuff. I’m not very good at it.”

  Sean reached out and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll get better. It’s a process.”

  “Yeah,” Marcos said glumly.

  Sean thought of the row of obviously well-read books he’d noticed when Marcos had showed him his room at their house. “Hey,” he said lightly, “if Harry had had it easy, he never would have been strong enough to beat Voldemort.”

  Marcos brightened. “Hey, yeah. And he started when he was eleven, too.”

  “Exactly. And those clowns who were bothering you are a lot less scary than a three-headed dog.”

  Marcos laughed at that. And Elena smiled at him, and suddenly the world seemed to right itself.

  “Do you have something else to say to the detective?” she asked pointedly.

  “Oh, yeah,” Marcos said hastily, “thanks.”

  “No prob, buddy.”

  “It was cool to be here and see everything.” The boy grimaced. “And not have people watching me.” He gave his mother a sideways glance that put her firmly in the ‘don’t watch m
e’ category.

  She didn’t look upset by that, but he thought it wouldn’t hurt to give a good reason for it. “There’s a reason for doing it here, under wraps. Surprise is one of the best weapons anybody can have.”

  Marcos frowned slightly. “It is?”

  “Yep. It can make all the difference, if you run into people who think they can pound you just because they’re bigger. Surprise makes them slow to react. And that gives you an edge.” He grinned. “Just imagine dumping ol’ Max on his…backside and escaping before he can even lay a hand on you because he’s too shocked to even throw a punch.”

  The boy grinned at that. “I’d like that.”

  “That’s the goal. We’re not doing this so you can beat up people, but to stop them from thinking they can do it to you. So let’s just keep this a secret for now, okay? So you can spring it on ’em later if you have to.”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically.

  “Don’t forget your things,” Elena said.

  “Oh!”

  The boy darted back into the room, Sean assumed for the small backpack he’d been carrying when he arrived, and that he’d pulled a T-shirt and sweatpants out of to change into.

  “He did well,” Sean said, for something to say more than anything. “He’s determined, and that’s half the battle right there.”

  “Perhaps his capacity for stubbornness will be of benefit,” she said, her mouth quirking slightly in that way that spoke to him of an amusement she was trying to hide. He was glad to see it—she’d seemed so tense. He wished she wouldn’t hide it at all. Her grin was glorious, and her laugh priceless.

  “Sometimes it’s all that gets you through.” He hesitated. “He…mentioned his father today.”

  She looked startled. “He did?”

  Sean nodded. “I think…I’m just guessing, but I think it worries him that he doesn’t remember him very well.”

  She sighed. “He was so young.”