Texas Grit

by Barb Han

  The quiet neighbor didn’t respond as he eyed Dade up and down. A glint of metal in his hand reflected in the light as he turned to face her. For the first time, she noticed that Samuel was hiding a knife. She appreciated that he was trying to help her and, sadly, they might’ve needed the weapon to fight off Nash. Between Samuel’s knife and her pepper spray, they might’ve had a prayer. But the festival worker seemed to know better than to try to take on Dade.

  “Everything all right?” Dade’s brow arched as he seemed to process Samuel’s resistance to leave.

  Samuel still seemed to be looking at everyone as a potential threat.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine now. Dade’s a friend of mine,” Carrie said to Samuel. These were probably the most words she and Samuel had exchanged, and she was grateful he’d appeared when he did. It was probably adrenaline that had him still tense and ready to defend. He was somewhat awkward, and she figured he’d most likely dealt with his fair share of bullies in his lifetime, being on the scrawny side. The thought made her feel sorry for him. She knew what it was like to be pushed around and unable to defend herself. An angry riptide pulled at her thinking about it, about a past that had left her helpless. She dismissed thoughts that brought her back to that place where she was an innocent girl, fighting off someone who was supposed to be protecting her.

  She shook off the reverie, focusing on Samuel. He nodded and seemed like he wanted to say something, but whatever it was died on his tongue. He settled on, “Good night, Carrie.”

  He seemed so sad, and she wanted to do something to thank him. From the way he carried himself, she doubted he’d stood up for himself or anyone else for most of his life and it had taken a lot of courage for him to do what he’d done. “Stop by the shop tomorrow for an ice cream on the house, okay?”

  “Thanks.” He smiled and she noticed his lip twitching—a nervous tic? Poor guy. He really was distressed, and she was even more grateful he’d tried to help. She’d send him home with a gallon of her signature ice cream blend for his aunt, too.

  “’Bye, Samuel.” She stepped into a friendly hug with Dade, ignoring the shivers racing through her body with contact.

  “What was up with him?” Dade pulled Carrie against his chest, and she felt how truly muscled he was. His sandy-blond hair and serious blue eyes made for one seriously hot package. And those were all things former friends weren’t supposed to think about each other. Notice, maybe, but not have a visceral reaction to.

  “I really appreciate what you did after all these...” She diverted her gaze. In his arms, it was a little too easy to forget the awkwardness she’d felt toward him since high school. She pulled back, because thinking clearly while being barraged with his clean and spicy male scent made her pulse erratic.

  Carrie was tall—not Dade tall, but tall—with midnight-black hair and tight curls that had minds of their own on humid days. She’d tamed them today with a straightening iron and had no idea why she was thinking about what her hair looked like after what had just happened. Stress caused her thoughts to bounce around, she reasoned.

  “Are you shaking?” Dade asked.

  “I guess so. That whole situation was stressful, but I’m fine now,” she said a little too quickly. She wasn’t okay. Recent events with Brett had her off-balance, and Nash had really done a number on her insides. “Nash has been hanging around the shop and tonight he had alcohol on his breath.”

  Dade’s hand found hers, like they were still kids and running across the playground—which was as much as the action probably meant to him. It caused her heart to beat wildly against her chest. She chalked her out-of-control reaction up to the stressful encounter with Nash; his eyes had told her everything she needed to know about his intentions.

  “What was going down a few minutes ago?” With Dade next to her, she should be able to relax, and she could in some ways, because he’d just saved her from what could’ve turned out to be a very bad situation. One that brought a few harsh memories threatening to crash down around her and reduce her to tears.

  She couldn’t help but shudder when she thought about how close she’d been to history repeating itself. Well, now she was twenty-seven, not fourteen.

  Dodging those heavy thoughts, she looked at Dade instead.

  “That festival worker cornered me, and it got awkward. He’s been asking me out all week, but I refused, so I guess he decided to take matters into his own hands before he left town.” Hearing the words brought on another wave of anger.

  A grunt tore from Dade’s throat, but he didn’t immediately speak, even though his jaw muscle ticked. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “He surprised me in the parking lot when I was closing up the shop. Things got a little weird and, luckily, one of my neighbors happened to be near. Samuel must’ve heard my voice or something, because he showed up just in time to distract Nash. I’m so glad the festival’s over so I won’t have to deal with that guy again. He’ll be long gone by morning.”

  A dark look crossed Dade’s features and for a split second she thought she’d imagined it. “If I’d known, I would’ve been less friendly.”

  That was him being friendly? She’d hate to see someone on his bad side. “I’m just relieved it’s over.”

  His eyes darkened anyway, and that jaw muscle bulged again. “Only because I showed up. What if I hadn’t?”

  She almost pointed out that Samuel had, too, but she knew he couldn’t have held Nash off for long.

  “It’s my fault. I should’ve parked out front. Out of habit, I parked in back. I don’t usually close up the store after dark.” Thinking just how close the call had been caused her to shudder again.

  “Don’t blame yourself for being harassed by a jerk.” Dade’s free hand fisted. Tension radiated from him in waves. “Did he physically threaten you?”

  “He had me trapped against the wall before Samuel arrived.” The whole experience had tipped her off-balance, and she wasn’t thinking straight. She should be angry, not scared. Too many memories haunted her, bringing her back to that defenseless fourteen-year-old girl she’d been when her foster father had abused her. Well, she was a woman now and could stand up for herself, and she sure as hell didn’t need to make excuses for Nash or blame herself.

  “I think it’s best if I take you to the sheriff’s office to give a statement,” he said with calmness to his tone and something else... Possessiveness?

  She really was imagining things now.

  Shock was wearing off, and the adrenaline rush was making her hands shake. “I appreciate the offer.”

  “I don’t trust Nash.” Dade’s jaw clenched as he scanned the area.

  He was right. She glanced around. Nash could be anywhere, hiding, biding his time in order to make another move.

  * * *

  DADE RAKED HIS hand through his hair. He’d seen the look in the festival worker’s eyes, and he hadn’t liked it. Thankfully, Carrie’s neighbor had been there to serve as a distraction until Dade could get things under control. The neighbor registered as a little odd, but Dade was grateful Samuel had been there to slow Nash down. Dade and Carrie went way back, and the thought of anything happening to her sat like a hot poker in his gut.

  Seeing her shell-shocked and pale was like a physical punch, and his past shame roared to the surface. He hadn’t helped her in high school like he should’ve, but there was nothing stopping him now. Besides, she wasn’t thinking straight or she would’ve already come up with the idea of filing a complaint. Another reason leaving her alone wasn’t a good idea.

  “My truck is parked this way.” He motioned toward the end of the alley.

  She glanced at her sedan and then at him. “I don’t know, Dade. I’m tired. Part of me thinks I should just go home and try to forget this night ever happened.”

  “This guy could harass a woman in the next town he’s in. We don’t know any
thing about his background or if the festival vetted him out before he was hired. He could have a record and he might escalate if we don’t nip this in the bud.”

  Carrie stayed quiet, standing in the back alley. The thought of a man forcing himself on her hit Dade in a very dark place.

  Finally, she nodded and took in a sharp breath. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  Dade ignored the fact that holding her hand felt different now. Of course it would—they weren’t nine-year-olds playing tag at school. Her hand was softer and more delicate, especially in comparison to his. He spent most of his time outdoors, first in the military and now on the family ranch, where he’d always been hands-on. His showed the long hours he spent in the elements. She didn’t seem to mind.

  Electricity pulsed through him at the point of contact, but it couldn’t be more misplaced. She needed a friend, and the last thing he needed was another complication in his life. Besides, how many times had he vowed to explain himself to Carrie if he got the chance? Years had gone by and he hadn’t seen her. He’d been back for a few weeks now, and he’d come up with a million excuses for not telling her what he’d really want to say to her all those years ago when he’d been a jerk instead.

  There were some wounds that ran so deep not even time could heal.

  Chapter Two

  All the words Dade had wanted to say to Carrie since high school died on his tongue. Too many years had passed and, his own guilt aside, she might not want to think about what had happened anymore. Besides, she’d escaped an assault tonight and he could clearly see how rattled she was. This wasn’t a good time to bring up more pain.

  “I completely forgot to ask what you were doing in the alley,” Carrie said, stretching her legs in his truck as she fastened her seat belt.

  “Trying to stay away from the media while I picked up the bronze statue my family donates to the festival.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine hummed to life.

  “Oh, right. The cattle run kicks the festival off.” Her shoulders were still tense, her posture defensive.

  “And is part of the closing ceremony, which is why I’m here carrying on the family tradition,” he added. Being a Butler came with a price.

  “I heard you left town for a few days after news of your father broke.” Carrie gave him the most sincere look of compassion. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dade.”

  Those words spoken with such sincerity threatened to crack the casing in his chest. Dade couldn’t afford to go there, so he focused on Carrie instead. Her lime-green shorts and cream-colored halter highlighted soft-looking pale skin. Taupe ankle boots—at least that’s what they’d called that same color of paint when he’d had his house redone—showed off her calf muscles, and Dade reminded himself that he shouldn’t be noticing any of those things about his friend.

  “The Mav and I weren’t the closest, but his being gone leaves a huge hole at the ranch.” Dade thanked her for her sympathy. He gripped the steering wheel and navigated his truck away from the back street and onto Main. For the first time it struck him at how odd it must seem that he called his father Mav instead of Dad or Father like everyone else. But then, nothing about being a Butler made his life normal.

  “When did you get back?” She pushed a few curling tendrils of hair from her face as she crossed those long legs.

  “A few days ago,” he said, adding, “Seemed like I was needed here with the attempt on my older sister’s life and then finding out about having a sister we never knew existed.”

  “I read about what’s been happening with your family. Finding out you have another sister must’ve been a shock. And then her life was in jeopardy. Right?” she asked.

  “Madelyn had an ex-boyfriend with a violent streak who tracked her down and attempted to kill her,” he said. “We’re damn grateful the criminals in both cases have been caught.”

  “Neither was connected to your father’s murder?” Carrie asked.

  “We thought Ella’s might have been at first. Now, we know different. The Mav’s killer is still at large. Every new threat against the family has more reporters descending on Cattle Barge.”

  “How’s everyone doing?” Carrie asked.

  “It’s been rough.”

  “I can imagine.” The note of compassion in her voice struck him, threatening to shed light in a dark place hidden behind layers of anger, frustration and regret.

  “But we’re finding a new normal. Everyone’s looking out for each other.” Dade needed to armor up, and the best way to do that was to redirect the conversation. “The sheriff will need a description and the name of the guy from the alley.”

  “That’s not a problem. Unless... Actually, I don’t know his last name. He introduced himself as Nash, and I never asked for his last name.” Her voice was still shaky. “He gave me the creeps every time he came into the shop.”

  “A first name and description will go a long way toward helping the sheriff find him. If memory serves, the workers usually leave town early in the morning. Sheriff Sawmill or one of his deputies should have no problem locating this guy tonight.” How many men by the name of Nash could be employed by the festival?

  Carrie’s cell buzzed inside her purse, and the unexpected noise caused her to jump.

  “Sorry.” She stuck her hand inside the bag and came up with her phone. After checking the screen, she refused to take the call.

  “Does Nash have your number?” Dade doubted it, but the question had to be asked.

  “I wouldn’t give personal information to a stranger.” Her indignant tone said he’d offended her.

  “He might’ve gotten it from someone else or the internet,” he offered by way of explanation.

  “The phone call was my ex-boyfriend,” she stated with the kind of emphasis on the ex that said there was a story there.

  Dade hadn’t thought to ask if there was someone special in her life. It made sense there would be, with her looks. A burst of light zapped his chest at the thought that she was single.

  “We broke up recently, and he didn’t take it well.” Her cheeks flushed, and he wondered if he was making her feel uncomfortable talking about her relationships. He tried not to think about his, although the wounds were still fresh.

  “How bad was it?” he asked.

  “He said things I know he didn’t mean. He just needs time to cool off.” She shrugged it off, like it didn’t bother her, but he could tell by her tone that it did.

  “That’s nothing to take lightly.” Considering one of his siblings had just been targeted by a murderous ex-boyfriend, Dade figured he owed Carrie a warning. “What happened?”

  “Brett said a few things he didn’t mean. He was hurt and it came out as anger,” she defended. “He’s most likely trying to apologize. Things got a little heated.”

  “It’s none of my business, but I wasn’t kidding. Take his threats seriously.” He pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office and found a good spot. There was a flurry of activity. A news reporter spotted them and made a beeline toward his truck. Damn. He hadn’t anticipated this, but he should’ve. Seeing Carrie again threw him off-balance. “We could drive around the block a few times until the swarm calms down.”

  “It’ll be fine.” Her voice sounded anything but.

  Flashes started going off through the truck windows, blinding Dade.

  Carrie’s arm came up to shield her eyes.

  “I’d understand if you didn’t want to be seen with me right now,” he offered.

  She touched his hand, and the contact sent electricity rocketing through him, searching for an outlet. “This is awful.”

  “Yep,” he agreed. “They’re camped out everywhere. I take a breath and it’s on the news with some shrink or expert analyzing it.”

  “I’ve seen some of the coverage. No one should have to go through this.” Carrie took in
the kind of breath meant to fortify someone. Dade should know. It was a little too familiar. He’d done the same countless times since this whole ordeal began.

  From the outside, their family probably did look perfect. No one knew the real truth. And it was too late to change the past.

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” she stated with a squeeze.

  “Keep your face down and feet moving. I’ll meet you around the back of the truck.” He shoved his door open, pushing back the swarm, and then hopped out. Making his way to the back of the truck proved a challenge with all the cameras in his face, but he took his own advice. The brim of his Stetson blocked out some of the shocking blasts of lights that had the effect of fireworks being lit inches from his face.

  A sense of calm settled over him when he looked up and saw Carrie moving toward him. Something felt very right in that moment. He chalked it up to nostalgia. Losing his father had him wishing he could go back. Change the past. He couldn’t. So, it wouldn’t do any good to make useless wishes.

  Dade ignored the stirring in his chest that tried to convince him being around her again was a good idea.

  “Take my arm.” He held it out, and she took it. More of those frustrating zings of electricity coursed through him. Way to keep the hormones in check around a beautiful woman, Butler.

  Reporters tried to follow him and Carrie inside the lobby, but a deputy quickly reacted, forcing them outside.

  In the next minute, he and Carrie were being ushered into a hallway. He recognized the building all too well. He’d been there countless times since his father’s murder. Always with the same result—no solid leads. A conference room had been converted into a makeshift command center where volunteers took shifts answering phones, jotting down leads. At least a dozen intake spots were set up around the long mahogany conference table. The room sounded like a Jerry Lewis telethon with the constantly ringing phones, hushed voices and volunteers with their heads hunkered down, speaking quietly into receivers.

  The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There was a huge desk, also mahogany, with an executive chair and two flags on poles standing sentinel on either side. A picture of the governor was centered in between the poles. Two smaller-scale leather chairs nestled near the desk. A sofa and table with a bronze statue of a bull with rider sitting astride it—commissioned by Dade’s father—sat to one side of the room. Dade had been surprised to see the statue in the sheriff’s office. But then, Mike Butler always had a few cards up his sleeve, and he’d been a complicated man.