A Ranger for the Holidays (Lone Star Cowboy League)

by Allie Pleiter

“I don’t see it as a waste of time. I see it as the best use of my time. And we still have four days until the party—that’s more than enough time to settle the agenda. Besides, it’s the children’s gifts that really matter here, not who gives what speech when.”

  “And are we on schedule with those gifts? Or have your emergencies derailed you on that, as well?”

  Amelia took a long sip of coffee and mentally counted to five. “We’re right on schedule, Byron. Finn’s been helping me, so everything is going very well.”

  “Oh, him. Another one of your charity projects. Honestly Amelia, now you’re taking in strays?”

  “Maybe you ought to leave now.” Finn’s voice came dark and sharp from the kitchen doorway. “I don’t know who you are, but clearly your manners didn’t follow you into the house, so maybe you ought to head back out and find them.”

  Byron puffed up like an angry bull. No one ever talked to him like that—although Amelia could envision half the town of Little Horn standing behind Finn and applauding if they’d heard. “And you are...?”

  Amelia wondered if Byron was truly mean enough to ask an amnesiac patient to state their name—or was Little Horn’s gossip mill fast enough that everyone knew Finn had regained his identity? She hoped, for Finn’s sake, that it wasn’t fast enough to speculate on whatever had broken him down in the middle of the park yesterday.

  Finn looked as if he’d slept no better than she had. “Finn Brannigan. The stray Amelia was kind enough to take in, to use your choice of words.”

  “Finn—” Amelia felt obligated to at least attempt a truce “—this is Byron McKay, vice president of the League we’ve been shopping for.”

  “The Lone Star Cowboy League you generously volunteer your time for?” Finn looked right at Byron when he said generously volunteer.

  No matter how gratifying it was to have Finn say what she’d long been thinking, Amelia was in no shape to referee the fight brewing between these two men. “Well, Byron’s a busy man, what with owning the largest ranch in town and all. He runs a tight ship,” she offered, pasting a “don’t start” smile on her face as she gathered up a copy of the activities list to hand to Byron.

  “A ranch that was robbed again just last night.”

  That explained Byron’s current bad temper. “What now?”

  “Two pieces of very pricey equipment. Not even a year old, either of them. All those fancy security cameras didn’t do me one lick of good with whatever low-life is thieving from this town. What it’s going to take to get Lucy in gear to catch these hoodlums? I don’t aim to wait much longer for action.”

  That caught Finn’s attention. “You’ve got surveillance footage?”

  “For all the good it does me. Half the ranches in Little Horn have installed cameras and systems to try and catch this crook, but things keep disappearing anyways.”

  Amelia was grateful the Finn-Byron standoff had been diverted for now. “And appearing,” she offered. “Like I said, items go missing for some ranchers, while gifts appear for others.”

  “Yes. Items go missing from the prosperous ranchers, while handouts show up for the ones who can’t keep their businesses afloat.”

  Byron grated on her nerves when he made such baseless judgments. “You know very well some of those folks face hardships that aren’t their doing. Ben Moore’s back injury—not laziness—has made times hard for the Moores.” She handed Byron his files. “Those two little boys would be going without any Christmas presents at all if it weren’t for the League and whoever is leaving those gifts.”

  Byron gave a snort even Bug would admire, but at least he didn’t start up an argument again.

  Finn, however, didn’t want to leave it at that. “You should be grateful for folks like Amelia. Seems to me she’s the best thing that ever happened to Little Horn. Sure am glad it’s her who found me and not someone like you.”

  “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Byron rose from the table, his beefy neck going red above the collar.

  “I don’t know—I’ll tell you when it all comes back to me!” Finn snapped back.

  “What’s going on out there?” Gramps called from the den. She could hear him struggling to get out of the recliner at the raised voices.

  Amelia pushed in between the men. “That’s quite enough, you two. I’ve got plenty to handle without you two bulls locking horns in my kitchen.” She took Byron by the elbow and led him toward the door. “Call me if you have any questions, Byron, and I’ll let you know when all the gifts are bought. Finn, there’s coffee in the pot and some cobbler in the fridge.” Amelia had Byron out the door as fast as possible, leaning up against it when it shut.

  “That man...” Gramps grumbled as he came down the hallway.

  “Don’t you start, too,” Amelia chided. “You’re limping again.”

  “I’m eighty-nine years old,” Gramps replied. “Everything hurts. It’s only a matter of which parts on which days.” He brushed her concern off, but he was leaning much more heavily on his cane than he was yesterday. “Besides, I’m thirsty, and I wasn’t sure it was safe to come in the kitchen before now.”

  Amelia checked her watch. “It’s almost nine. I’ll bring you some juice and your pills in a minute.

  Gramps pouted. “I was hoping for more coffee.”

  “I made the coffee extra strong this morning. A second cup would have your belly aching in less than an hour.”

  “Fine.” He waved his hand in surrender as he turned back toward the den. “Grapefruit, then.”

  Amelia let her head fall back against the door. “I didn’t make it to the store yesterday, so I’ve only got orange.”

  Now it was Grandpa’s turn to snort. Amelia looked at her grandfather’s back, at Bug’s indignant face at her feet and toward the kitchen, where Finn was probably snorting, as well.

  I’m outnumbered, she thought. Where’s that Christmas cheer when you need it?

  * * *

  Finn didn’t know how to act around Amelia after yesterday. He’d stayed up in his room long after waking, both out of fatigue and sheer avoidance. He was being such a lout to her and yet she gave him nothing but compassion in return. The constant sense of feeling in her debt, feeling all the different things he was coming to feel about this woman, was tangling him in knots. And he was already in enough knots as it was.

  Then that blowhard Byron started laying into her for not having some silly list done when she’d been in the park trying to put him back together. Even his awkwardness wouldn’t let him stay upstairs while she took a beating for that.

  He stared into the black of his coffee, feeling just as dark. Amelia wanted an explanation, and deserved one, but he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about Belinda until he remembered her, until she was more than a gruesome fact on a sheet of paper. He sheepishly busied himself digging through the fridge for toast or anything normal people ate for breakfast—not apple cobbler—as he heard her steps coming into the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, forcing Finn to look at her even though he didn’t want to. She had this fuzzy, snowy sweater on this morning that made her look like a fluffy cloud, all soft and airy. She always dressed in cheerful colors, and Finn wondered if he was the only person who could see that it did not entirely hide the dark he sometimes glimpsed in her eyes.

  “For what?” As if he didn’t know.

  “For saying what I’ve wanted to say to Byron McKay for three years.”

  He handed her the orange juice from its place in the fridge door. “Why do you let that blowhard push you around like that?”

  “Byron pushes everyone around like that. I learned long ago not to take it personally.”

  Finn shut the fridge door. “All the more reason for someone to put him in his place. You give to the League out of generosity. You help lots of people. You shouldn’t have to cater to his ego.”

  “I’ll admit he tries my patience sometimes. Lots of times. I just wasn’t u
p to his bullying this morning.” She reached for the pill sorter that held Luther’s medications and poured a glass of juice for the old man. She took such tender care of her grandfather. Amelia took care of everyone, it seemed. It galled him that no one seemed to take care of her.

  As if to prove his point, she brushed her weary expression aside and asked, “How are you?”

  How was he? Barely holding it together. Confused, in too much pain, in not enough pain—there wasn’t a simple answer to her question. “I’ll live,” he said.

  “I know whatever happened yesterday was very hard on you. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Thanks.” That was a lousy reply. He was deliberately withholding from her, and she was being so nice about it. He would have liked it better if she’d gotten steamed at him—it wouldn’t add to the mountain of guilt that currently buried him.

  He gulped down the coffee as she left with Luther’s medicine, grateful for the hot, strong brew and a moment to gather himself. He’d managed to read through the whole file last night, the terrible facts of his wife Belinda’s and infant daughter Annie’s death—no, Belinda and Annie’s murder—and it had made him physically ill. Tony Stone had watched the Rangers bring down his entire counterfeiting ring and was near capture himself, with Finn leading the pursuit as part of a Ranger special operations unit. Just as they were closing in on arresting Stone he disappeared, and twenty-four hours later Belinda and Annie Brannigan had been found at the bottom of a ditch with their brake lines cut. They’d been Christmas shopping—a particularly heartless photo showed a trunkful of toys and gifts scattered across the crash site.

  The only shred of good news was that the Rangers had managed to keep the incident out of the press so that Stone and his ring wouldn’t be perceived as having scored a brutal victory. Stone had been killed by gunfire during the apprehension. He was dead before he could even be charged with the double homicide—the only thing stopping Finn from leaving right now to hunt the vile man down.

  Very hard on him? Yes, yesterday was beyond unbearable. The only thing that would make it better—and infinitely worse—was for his memory to return. Belinda and Annie deserved to be remembered. He deserved to feel their loss a dozen times more than the empty hole he carried around this morning. A Ranger protected his own, and he hadn’t done that, had he?

  “I really am grateful for you what you said to Byron,” she said as she came back into the kitchen. “So I’m going to give you a chance to bow out of tonight if you don’t feel up to it.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Oh, that’s right, we never did get around to talking about tonight with all that...happened yesterday.”

  “What’s tonight?” If she was going to make him go Christmas shopping again, he didn’t think he could stomach the sight of wrapped gifts right now. The car-wreck photo was still burned so sharply in his brain that the toast tasted like cardboard.

  “Lizzie and Boone are coming over for dinner tonight to discuss wedding plans.”

  “Hoping to talk her out of the three-ring circus?”

  She laughed softly. “I am hoping to get her to tone things down, yes. But mostly I want to get to know Boone better.”

  Her narrowed eyes gave her doubts away. “You’re not too keen on this guy, are you?”

  “I wish I knew more about him. I wish he were more eager to know us. He seems good at avoiding family gatherings.” She sat back down at the kitchen table before looking up at Finn. “Lizzie and I only have each other. Gramps won’t be with us forever. It’s selfish, I know, but I can’t stand the thought of her being pulled away from me.”

  The fear of being alone in the world was something Finn knew all too well lately. “Maybe she’s just all caught up in the wedding stuff now. Once that calms down, you’ll probably see them for Sunday supper every week.” He couldn’t say if any of that were true, of course, but Finn thought he ought to attempt some of the comfort she was always trying to give him. “I’ll be fine for dinner. Just don’t ask me for circus detail help, okay?”

  That got a genuine laugh from her. “You’ve got a deal.” She looked down at Bug, who was trying to angle himself up enough to beg a piece of toast from Finn. “Stop that, Bug. No begging at the table.”

  Bug sent up a whimpered protest. Sparked by an idea, Finn broke off a piece of the toast and stood up. “You want this? You’re gonna have to work for it. Come here, boy.”

  He walked over to the stairs and made a big show of placing the bit of bread on the second step. “I know you want this. You know you want this. It’s one step. Come on, Bug, show me what you’re made of.”

  Amelia came to stand behind him, coffee cup in hand. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m tired of that dog making sad eyes at me from the bottom of the stairs.”

  “So you bribe the fat dog with bread and jam?”

  Finn pointed at her. “Ha! So you admit he’s fat.”

  Bug looked back and forth between Finn and Amelia, clearly aware the humans were ganging up on him. He put one paw on the first step.

  “There you go,” Finn encouraged. “Smell that bread and those raspberries. It’s waiting for you. Get that other paw up there.”

  Bug sniffed toward the corner of toast, sat back on his haunches and then lobbed his round body forward to plant both paws on the carpeting of the first step.

  Amelia cheered. Finn felt the first smile in what seemed like years cross his lips. The ensuing antics as Bug tried to get his roly-poly belly up over the edge of the stair sent Finn into outright laughter. Over and over the poor dog strove to get his body far enough up the first stair to reach the bit of toast until, at last and with a frantic scramble of back legs, he reached his goal. Finn cheered and patted Bug on the head as the dog squatted, panting and licking raspberry jam off his pudgy black nose.

  “Well done, Bug,” Finn praised, then looked up the flight of stairs. “Only fourteen more to go.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After lunch, Amelia watched from the doorway as Finn and Gramps worked on assembling a toy tractor the model shop had sent over. Finn had still avoided talking about yesterday, but the hilarity with Bug had at least taken the sharp edges off his mood.

  Gramps was another story—he seemed sour, bored and in more pain than usual today. She’d given him the model to occupy his time—he knew he couldn’t help nearly as much with the Christmas gifts this year and it made him sad. Age can be a cruel lesson in humility, she thought. Thank You, Lord, that Gramps is still sharp and still with me.

  She was also thankful how the two men were becoming fast friends. Still, what would happen to that friendship when Finn returned to his former life? Finn had managed to slide into a place in her life—and Gramps’s—that had been empty for a long time. Ah, but B may be mourning the empty space where Finn should be, she reminded herself as the tug in her heart toward this man started up again. Where are you, B? Why haven’t you come looking for this amazing man?

  “That wheel goes there, doesn’t it?” Finn had a way of helping Gramps without making Gramps feel helpless. She was grateful for that—too often people talked down to Gramps even though he still was smart as a whip.

  “It does. That’ll do it.” Gramps chuckled. “We got it together, didn’t we? I used to do models like these all the time when I was a boy.” He narrowed his eyes at Finn. “You got the knack for it—I reckon you did, too.” As he slid the newly assembled tractor into its box, he gave Finn a long stare. “Have you told her?”

  Amelia eased back from the doorway. Tell me what?

  Finn ran his hand down his face the way he did when he was troubled. “Not yet. I’m planning to today.”

  “You go gentle, like I said. She’s had too much pain in that department, and I don’t know how she’ll take it. Rafe gave her good reason to think all Rangers make bad company.”

  “They’re—we’re—not all bad. I mean, I can’t tell you for sure, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person who would fall in wit
h someone like Rafe. But it can cost a man a whole lot to be a Ranger, I know that.”

  Amelia leaned back against the hallway wall. He’s a Ranger. She brought her own hands up to her forehead, at a loss for how to process the fact. Finn knows he’s a Ranger. And he hasn’t told me. That couldn’t be all he knew now, not with whatever had made him so upset at the park yesterday. She hated the thought of Finn keeping things from her, but did she have any right to ask such disclosure from him? They had no real history together.

  He has no history at all, she argued with herself. How can I judge anyone for how they act under that kind of strain?

  “She’s amazing, your granddaughter.” Finn’s compliment caught Amelia up short. “I’ve never met anyone like her. To have so many blows in your life and keep the attitude she has? I don’t know how she does it.”

  “Amelia’s faith is rock solid, son. That’s how she does it. My son and her mama may have left her too soon, but they taught her that God is always, always watching over her. That’s how she keeps the joy. You could learn a thing or two from her, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Amelia had been thinking the same thing since watching Finn’s pain yesterday afternoon. He needs You, Lord. How very like Gramps to come right out and say what she’d been holding back.

  “I don’t have that kind of faith.” The emptiness in Finn’s tone broke her heart.

  “Well, do you have any faith at all? Do you know God is there?”

  Amelia closed her eyes. Say yes. Please let him say yes.

  “I do. But not in the way you and Amelia do.”

  She heard Gramps sit back in his chair. “Well, then, that’s not hard to solve. Ask Him for it.”

  “Ask God for faith? Isn’t that our department?”

  Gramps laughed softly. “You got it all backward, son. Faith is given to us. We don’t scrounge it up for God, you don’t assemble it like this here model. It’s His gift to us. It’s there for the asking. But you’re the one who has to do the asking.”

  Finn didn’t reply. Amelia fought the urge to turn and look, to catch a glimpse of this astounding conversation, but she could not bear to intrude. She shouldn’t even be listening in, but she couldn’t have moved from the hallway for all the world.