by Cathie Linz
Striker had refastened the snaps on his shirt although he left it untucked. He moved forward only to have Kate scramble past him and up out of the storm cellar with more speed than agility. He was immediately at Kate’s side with a hand on her elbow, steadying her until they reached solid, albeit muddy, ground.
A moment later he was enveloped by his mom fiercely hugging him before quickly letting him go.
“Sorry about that,” Angela said, stepping back and blinking away tears. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional on you that way.”
“That’s okay.” Striker glanced over at his dad, who looked like he’d rather chew glass than be standing here on the Westwind Ranch. Stan Kozlowski was solidly built, a Marine through and through who still proudly wore his hair in a buzz cut despite the fact that he was now retired.
“Nice weather you’ve got down here in Texas,” his dad drawled. “Very impressive welcome.” He nodded to the tree that lay splintered a short distance away.
“What? You don’t know better than to be tooling around in an RV in a twister?” Striker countered. “It’s not like you’re driving a Humvee.”
“No problem. The storm was ahead of us,” his dad stated.
“I warned him that twisters have been known to turn around, but you know how your father is.” Angela glanced at her husband with equal parts of affection and exasperation. “As to why we’re here… I needed to come back and pay my respects.” Her green eyes clouded with memories before she made a conscious effort to regain control. “I had no idea we’d arrive on the shirttails of a tornado.”
“Never a dull moment, huh?” Striker gave his mom a quick hug.
Angela’s smile reflected her appreciation. “We arrived to find Tony and some of the hands trying to haul this huge tree limb off the cellar doors.”
“Naturally I pitched in,” his dad said.
Striker nodded. “Of course. A Marine never stands around waiting for others to get things done.”
“I was wondering if you’d remember that, or if being a Texas oilman had changed your views.” His father’s voice reflected his disapproval.
“I am not a Texas oilman. I’m a Marine,” Striker stated. “First and foremost.”
“Then what the Sam Hill are you doing down here?” his dad demanded angrily.
“Avoiding a twister,” Striker drawled.
“I didn’t mean down there in the storm cellar, I meant down here in Texas and you know it.”
“Can we hold off on this discussion until later, please?” his mom said. Focusing on Kate, she said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Angela Kozlowski and this stubborn jarhead is my husband, Stan.”
“I’m glad to meet you. I’m Kate Bradley.”
“You’re Jack’s daughter?” Angela asked.
“That’s right.” Kate nodded. “He said you two practically grew up together.”
“That’s not all they practically did together,” Stan growled. “He’s an old beau of hers.”
“You’re exaggerating. Besides, that was a lifetime ago,” Angela put a reassuring hand on her husband’s muscular arm.
Striker’s dad did not appear to be greatly appeased by her words.
“I really need to get over there and make sure my parents are okay,” Kate said. She also wanted to escape this embarrassing situation of getting caught by Striker’s parents making out with their son in the storm cellar.
“Call them on your cell phone,” Striker said. “See if you can reach them that way.”
“I have a feeling you won’t be needing to do that,” Tony said, tipping his head toward the long one-lane drive leading to the ranch. “That looks like them now.”
Sure enough, their silver Lexus SUV was fast approaching the ranch house.
Kate’s stomach tightened as she prayed that nothing was wrong, that her father hadn’t sent over a ranch hand in the family SUV because her father’s heart had given out. She held her breath until she saw him get out of the driver’s seat. “We wanted to make sure everyone over here was okay after that twister,” Jack said.
Kate hurried to his side, longing to hug her dad but knowing he wouldn’t welcome such a public display. Instead she tried to stay calm. “I’m glad to see you both. Did the storm do any damage at our place?”
Jack shook his head. “No. It veered away, heading farther north.” His eyes were on Angela. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“We just arrived,” Angela replied. “How are you, Jack?”
“Can’t complain,” he said. “I’m sorry about your loss, Angela. I know you and your dad had your differences, but all the same, Hank loved you.”
“The old man had a funny way of showing it,” Stan growled.
“I can’t deny that,” Jack said.
“This is my husband.” Angela made the introductions.
Jack nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
The two men shook hands as if they were participants in a contest to see who was the most strong willed.
Kate wasn’t sure who the winner was, but she did know that her mother was losing her temper. “Since my husband seems to have lost his manners, I apparently am left to introduce myself. I’m Elizabeth Bradley.”
Even in the aftermath of the terrible storm, with broken windows, cracked trees and downed branches all around them, Elizabeth still managed to maintain that elegant composure that was her trademark. The black linen slacks she wore contrasted strikingly with the red silk shirt she’d paired with it.
“Let’s go inside,” Angela suggested. “Before it starts raining again.”
They all turned to look at the house, which had several broken windows but no other apparent structural problems.
“You were lucky the damage wasn’t worse,” Jack said.
When Angela slipped in the mud, Jack was the first one by her side, putting his hand on her arm to prevent her from falling.
“The damage is bad enough.” Elizabeth’s voice was icy.
“I agree.” By contrast, Stan’s voice was hot with disapproval.
“Jack, we really should get back home and leave these folks to get on with their family reunion,” Elizabeth stated.
Stan didn’t say anything, just joined Angela and placed a possessive arm around her shoulders.
“How long are you staying?” Jack asked, his hand returning to his side.
“I’m not sure,” Angela replied.
“Listen, why don’t we all go out for dinner tomorrow evening?” Jack suggested. “I know a place down by the River Walk that serves the best margaritas in all of Texas. What do you say?”
“That sounds lovely,” Angela said. “Thank you.”
“Great.” Jack smiled. “I’ll make the reservations at Denada’s. Seven sound okay?”
“Just ducky,” Stan growled. “We’ll meet you there.”
“We could all go in my SUV.” Jack nodded toward the Lexus.
“We’ll go in our own vehicle.”
Jack lifted a brow at the RV. “Parking space downtown is limited.”
“Don’t worry about us, we’ll manage,” Stan said.
“Yes, dear, don’t worry about them.” Elizabeth’s displeasure was becoming more evident although her smile, the one that won her the title of Miss Texas, remained bright. “Come along, Jack.” She put a possessive hand on his arm and tugged.
“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Jack said. “Are you coming, Kate?”
She nodded, still surprised by the undertones between her parents and Striker’s.
“Then you’d better come with us,” Jack said. “It appears that silly little car of yours met its match.”
For the first time, Kate glanced over to the area where her car was parked at the far side of the house. The roof of her spunky-yellow VW was crushed like a bug beneath the weight of the tree that had fallen on it.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Angela patted Kate’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you weren’t out driving in it when the storm hit.”
“I’ll drive you back to the city,” Striker said.
Jack frowned, clearly not a fan of that idea. “Electricity is out all over the city. The roads are blocked with downed trees. The authorities are asking that people stay off them unless it’s an emergency. There’s no need for you to drive Kate anywhere. She can come home with us.”
“Of course she can,” Elizabeth said. “Come along, Kate.”
Kate felt as though she were between a rock and a hard place. In her current vulnerable state, she knew spending more time with Striker would be a dangerous thing. Yet she also feared that going with her parents had its hazards as well.
She was feeling emotionally exposed, her usual barriers swept away. Which meant her customary protective measures weren’t in place to block her parents’ unintentional but frequently hurtful comments.
The fact that it had been left to Angela, a relative stranger, to comfort her upon the discovery that her car had been crushed was no surprise. But it was a sad statement on the state of affairs between Kate and her parents. It would never have occurred to them to reach out to her.
Not that they didn’t love her in their own way. They did. But their way was defined by expectations and responsibilities and not by hugs and reassurances.
In the end, Kate went with her parents, considering it the lesser of two evils.
Striker watched Kate go, wishing he knew what to say to make her feel better.
“She’ll be okay,” his mom said.
“I hope so.” Striker watched her get into the luxury SUV. Her white petticoat had mud on it now. He remembered seeing a glimpse of her legs earlier in the day, vividly recalled the ruffles flowing over his hands as he held her body intimately close to his.
“I’m going to stay out here and supervise the cleanup,” Tony said, tilting his head toward the men who were already bringing sheets of plywood from the barn to board up the broken windows in the house.
“I’ll help you,” Striker and Stan said in unison.
“No, you both go with Señora Angela.”
“It’s good to see you again after all these years.” Angela smiled at Tony. “I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
Tony nodded before turning his attention to the men doing the cleanup.
It was only now hitting Striker that this was the house where his mom had grown up. It felt weird for him to be standing on the porch, trying to act like a host. Not knowing what to say, the best he could come up with was, “Consuela has the day off.”
“Who’s Consuela?” Stan asked.
“The housekeeper.” Striker opened the front door and ushered them in.
“Of course.” Stan nodded mockingly. “The housekeeper. What about the maid and butlers? They have the day off, too?”
Striker faced his dad. “You want to tell me what you’re so bummed out about?”
“I don’t approve of you being here.”
“I’m just following—”
“—orders. Yeah, I know. Those orders stink. Your C.O. had no right making you come down here.”
“Actually it wasn’t my C.O.’s idea. It came from higher up the chain of command.”
“I don’t care if it came from the president himself. I don’t think these are lawful orders and I say we take your case to JAG headquarters.”
“Whoa.” Striker held up his hands, surprised by his dad’s outburst. “Hold on a second now.”
“You’re even starting to pick up a Texas accent. I fought Hank all those years, trying to keep hold of my sons and now that he’s gone he still manages to…”
“To do what, Dad?” Striker challenged him to say what he really meant.
Stan did. Sort of. “I’d say you’re enjoying yourself too much.”
Striker’s expression tightened. “Want do you want from me?”
“For you to do me proud.”
His words stung. “I thought I’d already done that.”
Growling under his breath, his dad pivoted on his heel and walked back out.
“Let him go,” Angela said. “He didn’t mean that. You know he’s proud of you, Striker. Terribly proud.”
“Then what’s his problem?”
“I didn’t realize how strongly Stan felt that Hank was competing with him, trying to take you away from us. I didn’t realize how much he resented the fact that I had you and your brothers each come down here for one summer. He never said anything at the time, but then that’s not his way. Instead he lets it build up over the years and then he blows up.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. He’s not ready to listen to what I have to say yet. His anger would block out any explanation I make. I’ll talk to him when he calms down.”
Striker suddenly recalled Kate’s comment earlier in the week about nothing going wrong…and his warning that saying nothing could go wrong was an invitation for trouble.
That had sure turned out to be the case. In the space of an hour he’d avoided being flattened by a tornado, made out with Kate, gotten caught by his mom, watched his parents fight over he still wasn’t sure what and had his dad tell him that he was enjoying himself too much.
Yeah, right. Any more enjoyment like this and he’d be a dead man.
“You know, I never imagined my first time back in this house would turn out like this,” his mom said.
Striker didn’t know how to answer that so he stayed quiet.
“I haven’t returned since I walked out to elope with your father.” Her expression turned melancholy. “The last time I talked to my father was this past Christmas, when I called him to wish him happy holidays.”
Her comment surprised him. “I didn’t know you’d talked to him that recently. I hadn’t had any contact with him at all since I joined the Marines. Every so often, I’d hear how he’d tried to lasso some general or other high-ranking official to complain about how the Marine Corps had brainwashed me into abandoning the oil business.”
“My father hated to lose. You know how Marines hate to lose?”
Striker nodded.
“Well, multiply that by ten and you have how much my father hated to lose. I don’t know.” She shoved her short brown hair off her forehead. “Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to allow you to come down to the ranch before you joined the Marines. Maybe it would have been better to have cut off all contact entirely. But I just couldn’t do that. I always thought that if the door was left open, maybe my father would walk through and meet me halfway. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.” She stared up at the large portrait of Hank that hung in the two-story-high foyer.
“Sometimes it feels as if he’s watching over my shoulder,” Striker admitted.
“Maybe he directed that twister our way as a little reminder for us to stay on our toes, hmm?” His mom’s smile was a little unsteady.
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He had his good moments,” Angela said softly. “Just not enough of them. And after my mother died when I was nine, he became even more caught up with King Oil. It was as if his spending time there meant that he didn’t have to deal with my mother’s death at all. As long as he stayed busy with work, there was no time to think about personal loss.”
Striker could understand that. “But what about later, after you’d married? He shouldn’t have been so hard on you all those years.”
“I’d disobeyed him. That was pretty much an unforgivable crime in his book.”
“Yet you talked to him on the phone, called him to wish him happy holidays.”
�
��Like I said, I’d hoped we could get over the past and move on. In the end there wasn’t enough time to do that.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’d told himself that there would always be time to make things right with the old man, but it hadn’t turned out that way. As usual, Hank had thrown a monkey wrench in the works.
“So how are you settling in at King Oil?” Angela asked him.
“I haven’t blown anyone up yet.”
His mom smiled. “That’s a good thing.”
“I suppose.”
She tucked a hand in the crook of his arm. “Tell me about Kate.”
“She was Hank’s attorney and she’s the executor of Hank’s will.”
“I know that much. I don’t know why you were kissing her down in the storm cellar.”
So his mother had seen more than he’d thought. “We’d just survived a tornado.”
Angela appeared to be disappointed with his answer. “So kissing her was just a way of appreciating the fact that you were both still alive? Nothing more?”
“Why the inquisition?” Striker shifted restlessly. “You’ve never questioned me like this about my romantic history before.”
“She seems like a nice young woman. I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt. You do have a reputation with women, Striker. I may be your mother, but I know that you can be quite the charmer when you want to be.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I also know that your duty as a Force Recon Marine comes first for you. And that there are dark places in your heart that you won’t share with anyone and perhaps never will.”
This conversation was making him very uncomfortable. “Hey, how about something to drink? Lemonade maybe? Consuela always has a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge.”
He led his mom into the kitchen, where he belatedly remembered that the electricity was off. There was enough daylight left that it wasn’t a problem yet, but it would be soon.
“I wonder if they still keep the candles….” His mom opened the pantry door and bent down to the lower shelf. “Yes, here they are.” She pulled out several packs of candles of various sizes. “The storms here in Texas can be pretty vicious. It’s always a good idea to be prepared.”
Striker set her glass of lemonade on the large pine table and took a swig of the long-neck bottle of imported Mexican beer he’d gotten out of the huge Sub-Zero fridge for himself.