Texas Strong

by Jean Brashear

  They stared at each other. “I had no idea,” she said. Then she sat up as though unaware of her nudity. “You admire me.” She seemed stunned.

  “Laura, I love you.”

  She waved that off. “That’s different. Admiration means respect.”

  He gaped. “If I haven’t convinced you before now that I not only adore you but respect you, no wonder you were leaving me.”

  She ducked her head. “It broke my heart, but I couldn’t figure out how else to get your attention.” Then she captured his gaze. “I didn’t marry our kids or our house or our social position, Jake. I married you, the man who was deep in debt for student loans, who lived off ramen noodles and rode a bike because he couldn’t afford a car. The possessions that have accompanied your success were gravy. I love our kids, of course, but I juggled all of that because it was us. Me and you, a team. And we were supposed to get to be a couple again when the kids left, but instead Bob died, and you left, too.”

  “Bob? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “After his death, you changed. Almost overnight, you sold your practice, went into trauma. It’s like you became possessed.”

  He drew her closer. Shook his head against the tumble of her hair. “Honey, I never meant to desert you. You’re right—losing Bob really made me reevaluate. It’s hard to be aware that your time on earth is finite. I wanted my life to mean something. To make a difference to more than vain women.”

  “I understand, I do. But isn’t there some way to have that and still have a life together? I would never ask you to give up work you love, but I’m—” She bit her lip. Glanced away.

  He grasped her chin, made her face him. “You’re what?”

  “Scared,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose you, and you’re killing yourself right before my eyes.”

  He wasn’t as shocked as he might have been. Have you studied the schedule lately? “I may be too old for trauma.” He couldn’t believe he’d just admitted his worst fear. “But I’m not ready to be useless, Laura.”

  “Oh, Jake…” She cupped his jaw. “We can’t help aging, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have contributions to make.” She kissed him softly. “I’m just greedy for every last day with you I can get.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “I’m realizing that I’ve been pressing to keep up with people who are twenty years younger. I haven’t wanted to admit I’m finding it difficult.”

  Her smile was sympathy and understanding. “So what do we do now?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly.” He pondered. “I could definitely begin by only working the shifts that are on the schedule. I couldn’t cut back yet without burdening the rest of them, but—” He locked his gaze on hers. “If I have to go back to plastics, I will, Laura. Nothing’s worth losing you.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You won’t. We can figure this out, as long as we’re talking. I just—I miss you, Jake.”

  She folded into his arms, fitting perfectly as she always had. “I miss you, too.” He kissed the top of her head as he thought a little more. “Chrissy says you’ve been cooking at the cafe.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “They needed some help, and it was something new to try. Since I might need a way to pay my bills.”

  He jolted. “No. You are not leaving me. Even if you were—which I won’t let happen—you’d have plenty of money.” His brows snapped together. “But we are not living apart. Do you want your own restaurant? You’re certainly a gifted cook.”

  She placed one hand on his jaw. “Starting a new restaurant is more than a full-time job. We might as well live apart if I did that. I wouldn’t mind something part-time—Ruby says every woman needs her own mad money—but that doesn’t solve our problem.”

  He considered what Bridger had been asking. “You were involved with the work day to finish the clinic here, right?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Bridger came to me not long ago to ask if anyone on my staff might want to relocate.” He glanced down. “It was obvious that he meant me, since there’s no doctor in Sweetgrass Springs, but at the time, I wasn’t interested. Maybe I should take a look.”

  “Live…here? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Would that be terrible? It’s a really big change for us.”

  She contemplated. “The people couldn’t be better. Chrissy loves it here, and she wants to stay.” She brightened. “And we could help with Becky and Thad. Would you really consider it?”

  “Wow. Nothing I ever imagined for us, but…” He gazed at her. “If it would keep us together, I’d sure consider it.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then stroked her cheek. “I am so sorry about Our Day, honey. I’m going to make it up to you, I swear. As a matter of fact—” He scooted to the front of the rocker and rose with her still in his arms. “Let me show you part of how I planned to do it.”

  He walked into the living room of the cottage. “Close your eyes.” He set her down and began lighting candles. “No peeking.”

  He noticed her shiver but wasn’t eager to leave her long enough to get their suitcases. He snatched an afghan from the sofa and wrapped her in it, keeping his arms around her, too. “Okay.”

  She opened them, and he tried to see it all through her eyes, the table set for two, the golden glow reflected in crystal and silver, Veronica Gallagher’s colorful array of purple iris and Gerber daisies, spicy red geraniums mingled with magnolia blossoms spilling over the center of the table.

  “Oh, Jake…”

  “The champagne should still be cold, even if the ice is melted. I meant to woo you first, not ravish you.”

  Her head tilted to his. “I liked being ravished.”

  “Yeah?”

  “A definite wow.” She revolved in his arms. Let the afghan drop. “As a matter of fact…”

  “Oh, babe, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Okay.” Instead she rose to her toes and didn’t look at him at all. She was too busy kissing him, stroking him.

  “We’re not going to get any cold champagne at this rate.”

  “I don’t care.” She trailed kisses across his jaw, down his throat.

  “Um, is there anything else we should talk about first?”

  “Uh-uh,” she murmured as her mouth traveled lower.

  “So…we’re good? You’re not leaving—” he gasped as her lips did wicked things to him “—me?”

  She paused in her torture. “We’re good.” She smiled the old Laura smile, the one that told him all was right with the world. “Real good.” She winked, then returned to her task.

  His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Laura—”

  Before he lost it completely, he bent, scooped her up. Grabbed the champagne on his way to the bed.

  Laura laughed. Shifted and clamped her legs around his waist.

  He stumbled, nearly dropped the bottle and her both.

  But he wouldn’t, not again. He’d almost lost her. She was his woman, the best part of his life. He was here to stay.

  And she wasn’t running anywhere. “By the way, forget the circus,” he murmured against her lips. “Unless you take me with you.”

  She chuckled. Kissed him hard.

  And held on tight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was late, and he was a fool for being here.

  If he waited, though, until daylight…he’d lose his nerve.

  So here he was, standing on her doorstep, hastily-picked wildflowers in one hand and handcuffs in the other. He was about to drop the flowers on her porch and jam the cuffs back in their case when the door opened.

  Her instant smile killed any thought of retreat. “Tank—” she began.

  He felt like a six-year-old standing in front of the teacher. Hell, no, Thad was six, and he was more on top of things than Tank felt. “These are for you—” He jabbed the bouquet at her.

  “For me?” Her smile increased by megawatts. “They’re so pretty!” She gathered them in and pressed her ch
eek to them.

  Then her gaze caught on the cuffs. At first she was startled. Then she grinned. “The deed is done. Want to cuff me, Deputy?”

  “I, uh, it was supposed to be a joke.”

  She reached for his hand and drew him across the threshold. “It’s a good one. Plus I am guilty of the crime. Have you eaten? Do you want something to drink? I don’t—wait, Laura bought some wine. Let me—” She moved away, but he caught her. Turned her back.

  “I had supper. My sister brought me some.”

  “How nice! Does she do that often?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, but lately she’s been inviting me over some.”

  “She seems really nice. She definitely loves you.”

  “Yeah.” He barely resisted shuffling his feet. “I’m not sure why. I haven’t been very lovable. I’ve pretty much been a bastard to everyone.”

  “Not to me,” she insisted. “Not to my kids. And Veronica says you saved her from your dad.”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about him.”

  “No problem,” she said blithely. “Come into the kitchen and let me put these in water.”

  He followed slowly. “They aren’t really—I mean, I just picked them. They’re not—”

  “They’re beautiful,” she answered. “And handpicked.” She smiled at him with such cheer he couldn’t—who could resist her?

  “I guess.” Then he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He glanced around. “So your sister’s really not here?”

  “Nope. Accessory to kidnapping,” she said, pointing at herself. “Book me. Lock me up and throw away the key.”

  He had to smile back. “You think she’s happier now?”

  “Given that Jake probably has her naked by now, I’m guessing happier is a mild word for how she is.” She took pity on him when he grimaced. “That’s just how they are. They’ve embarrassed their kids forever by how much they’re obviously in love. They’d embarrass me, but I’ m too busy envying the dickens out of my sister.”

  “So why did she leave him?”

  “Because he’s an idiot. But my favorite idiot. I’ve had a crush on Jake for years.” She sighed.

  “Isn’t that kind of—”

  “He tolerates it. Rubs his knuckles on my head like I’m nine.” She smiled. “They’ll figure it out. They just got a little lost, but there’s too much love there for them not to work things out.”

  “I can’t really imagine it—being like that, I mean.” He hesitated. “That’s not really true, I guess, because I see Jackson with my sister, and Ian and Scarlett and such, but…it’s like they’re another species. Did your parents love each other?”

  “I think so. Not like Jake and Laura or the others you mentioned, but I was too busy rebelling to pay attention.”

  “You? A rebel?”

  She winked. “Want to see my tattoos?”

  “You have tattoos?”

  “Yeah.” She winked. “Only two, though. How about you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you’re all respectable, hooking up with a wild child?”

  He frowned. “Is that what we’re doing? Hooking up?” He’d done that, but with her, he wanted…more. Mentally he knocked on wood. How could he ever expect to deserve more, though? With this sunshine and rainbows woman?

  Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance.

  “Do we have to label it? Can I just be your friend?”

  Of course that’s the most she would want. “Yeah. Probably better that way. To limit it like that.”

  “Tank…” When he looked up at the warning tone in her voice, she shook her head. “Only to start, I mean. Are you going to warn me again that you’re not good for me and I’m better off without you, or can we just skip that lecture?”

  “Damn it, it’s true. Don’t treat it like a joke.”

  She rounded the counter and stood before him. “It is a joke, if not a funny one.” She framed his face with her hands. “I’m not afraid of you. Are you ever going to get that through your head?”

  “Chrissy, I don’t—mmph!” He couldn’t finish because she was kissing him. Just rose to her toes and placed her mouth on his.

  When he started to pull away, she held on. His sister’s voice sounded in his head. Don’t let him win. Don’t give up on love.

  He jerked his mouth from hers. “I shouldn’t let you do this, but—” He yanked her close and kissed her back. Wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet.

  Her arms stole around his neck, and she clung to him.

  When the kiss ended, he didn’t release her.

  And she didn’t let go.

  They held on tight, both of them breathing hard.

  “I’m supposed to ask you and your kids to Sunday dinner at my sister’s,” he said in her ear.

  She lifted her head, her eyes studying him somberly. “Is that supposed to be our date?”

  “I don’t know, I guess it—”

  She kissed him quickly. “I’m just messing with you. No, it’s not our date, so you’re still on the hook for that. But yes, we’d love to come.”

  It took him a minute to catch up. “Really? You want to?”

  Her laughter was soft and sweet. “Of course I do, you big lug. So where are you taking me when it’s just you and me?”

  Suddenly his whole world brightened. It was night, but a wide blue sky opened up in his mind. He could date this woman. And maybe they would have more dates and—

  His cell sounded, and he exhaled. “Crap.” He set her down and kept his arm around her while he listened to the dispatcher.

  When he heard the address, he dropped his arm and began putting distance between them. He clicked off and headed for the door. “They’re calling me in.”

  “Tank, what is it?”

  He shook his head. “I have to go.”

  Back into hell.

  And he wouldn’t take her with him.

  He left without another word.

  Tank could hear the screams the instant he opened his car door.

  The child was curled up inside the screen door, wailing. “Mama!” he cried out, and for an instant Tank was thrown back to his time as a small, helpless boy who could do nothing to stop his brute of a father but beg for help.

  Help that never arrived.

  He charged for the door, weapon drawn. He opened the screen. “What’s your name, son?”

  “It’s K-Kevin. Please—help my mommy!”

  “I will, but I need you to do something for me.” He glanced at the child’s bare feet and stifled a curse, but there was no time to do anything but hope the child would stay put. He picked up the boy and set him outside on the crude wooden porch, pointing to the far corner. “I need you to stay right there, Kevin, and stay down. Don’t move, no matter what.”

  The terrified child nodded, his dirty face streaked with tears.

  “If another policeman shows up, though, you go with him, all right?” He could only pray that backup was coming.

  Then Tank entered into hell. Broken dishes were flung everywhere. Burnt food smeared the air. An overturned chair blocked his way, and quietly he moved it. His instinct was to charge inside, but he had to scout out the situation first. If Karnes was too close to his wife, no telling what he might do to her.

  At last he reached the bedroom and saw her on her back on the bed, feet kicking frantically, her face nearly purple as Karnes choked her with one hand while he waved a pistol wildly in the other.

  Tank aimed for center mass as he shouted. “Karnes, let her go!”

  The man’s head came up scenting like the predator he was. His pistol swung around Tank’s direction and in that stillness that happened when matters were life-and-death critical, Tank saw his finger begin to squeeze the trigger.

  Then Karnes aimed again at his wife, his finger squeezing.

  Tank fired, and Karnes flew sideways onto the pillows. His wife gasped for breath.

  “Come here now, Mrs. Karnes
,” Tank said as calmly as possible, given that his own pulse was pounding like a drumbeat.

  She only looked confused and scared as she fought to breathe.

  Then Karnes started to rise, his pistol aimed at Tank this time. “You bastard—”

  Tank reached for her and yanked her off the bed. “Get down. Stay down.”

  She scrambled past him as his attention returned to Karnes.

  Too late. Tank spun at the impact of the bullet. As Karnes cursed and screamed like a madman, aiming again, Tank fired a second time.

  Karnes went down.

  And stayed down.

  Sirens wailed, and Tank struggled to sit up. “Sheriff’s office—freeze!” he heard from the front room. He laid back for a minute. His arm hurt like a sonofabitch. Footsteps pounded down the hall. Sheriff Hoover glanced from Karnes to him. “Get Bridger!” he shouted to someone behind him.

  Tank rose to sitting again, if weaving a little. “I’m okay. How bad is she hurt? Did you find the boy?”

  “She’s beat all to hell, but Bridger says she’ll heal. The boy is with her.”

  More footsteps then, and Bridger filled the doorway. “Tank. Lie down. Let me take a look.”

  “I’m okay. He just winged me.” Using the wall, he got to his feet.

  A quick grin. “Well, John Wayne, let’s get you out to the ambulance and see what we got.” Bridger wrapped his own big hand around Tank’s good arm and led him outside.

  Tank saw the woman weeping over her boy, but when she spotted him, she limped to meet him. “Deputy, I don’t know how to thank you—” Her eyes went wide. “You’re shot!”

  “How’s your boy, Mrs. Karnes?”

  “Kevin’s just scared.” Her eyes were filled with guilt. “I know you tried to get me to leave him.” She covered her face, and her shoulders shook. “I nearly got my son killed. I got you shot.”

  Tank reached for her and gathered her in. “You’ll take your boy away from here and make him and the baby a good life. The shelter will help you, and if you need anything, you call me, all right?”

  She trembled and wept, but at last her head rose. Her shoulders straightened as he’d never seen them. “I have to now, don’t I?”