It was tedious work that required a lot of concentration to complete the transcription accurately. Which was a good thing. She needed to keep her mind occupied, lest it drift back to her ugly argument with Brice.
At first, hurting and feeling betrayed, she’d been sure that breaking with him was unavoidable. What was crime boss niece Maria Giordano thinking, to get involved with an officer of the law? She’d run all the way to Whiskey River and still been subjected to scrutiny, just as if she’d never left L.A.
But as the week dragged on, as her anger faded and she began to realize how huge a part of her life Brice had become, she started having second thoughts. With her inbred aversion to lawmen, she’d tried to block out of her mind what he did for a living. Since he pursued his cases elsewhere, seldom ever appearing in Whiskey River badged up and working, she’d been able to avoid thinking of him as a law enforcement officer. But if they were to have a future, she needed to face that fact squarely and decide if it were, in fact, possible for Maria Giordano to let go of her innate prejudice against what he did and accept him fully, as a man and a lawman.
Except for that one instance when he investigated her, she had no other indication that he’d ever used his position to intimidate or coerce anyone, or to gain some advantage. And if she were really honest, had their situations been reversed, to make sure Bunny wasn’t in danger, she would have been tempted to do the same thing he had.
Could she reconcile herself to loving a lawman?
Realizing she’d once again lost her place in the document, with a huff of frustration, she was scanning the page, trying to find where she’d left off reading, when the door to the reference room opened with a rush of cool air. She looked up to see Miss Shirley walking toward her, a huge smile on her face and a large vase of long-stem roses in her hand.
“Somebody has an admirer,” Shirley said, beaming. “I’m so pleased for you! Especially if they’re from who I think they are.” She set them down on Mary’s desk and waved a hand. “Not that I’m asking—it’s your business. I didn’t even peek at the card!”
Laughing, Mary said, “I appreciate that. Thanks for bringing them in.”
Shirley lingered another minute, obviously hoping Mary would open the card and reveal the identity of her sender. But when Mary made no move to take it from the holder, not wanting to read the message until she was alone, with no one to view her reaction, Shirley said, “You enjoy them, now,” and walked back out.
They probably were from Brice. She couldn’t imagine who else would send her flowers. Her breath catching in her throat in both thrill and dread, she pulled out the card and opened it.
Red for beauty. Red for passion. Red for the brilliance you bring to my life. I’m sorry we argued. Can we start again? Brice.
She breathed in the deep rose fragrance, letting her finger trace the edge of one velvet petal. She wouldn’t minimize the gulf she’d have to cross to fully accept Brice. Without question, his job and his deep sense of commitment to protect his fellow citizens were an essential part of who he was.
He wouldn’t want to give that up. She couldn’t ask him to.
But when she thought of him, the deep joy she felt being with him, she knew she had to make the effort. To fully become Mary Williams and leave the griefs and prejudices of Maria Giordano behind.
He’d asked for a chance to start again. She could at least promise that.
Picking up her phone, she texted, Got the beautiful flowers. Thanks. Maybe we do need to talk again.
After breathing deeply of the roses’ sweet aroma, she went back to typing, only to have her phone ping with a text almost immediately. As if he’d been waiting for her to get the flowers and know what her response was.
Great. Wrapping up an operation this week, not sure when I’ll be done. I’ll text you. Can’t wait to see you again.
She smiled, feeling her spirits lift. Brice McAllister might wear a Ranger’s star, but he was also the strong, compassionate man who’d held her when she wept over the loss of her child. The encourager who’d advised her to find out for sure whether the doctors’ predictions that her injury would prevent her from carrying a child were still valid. A kind man, infinitely patient with the glacial pace of her slow turn from isolation back to embracing life. And despite his obvious desire, he’d never pressed her for the physical intimacy for which they both burned.
Claiming a man like that was worth getting past a lifetime of hurts.
After work, Mary brought the flowers from the library, wanting to smell their wonderful fragrance throughout her house. As she set them on the island, she remembered with a shudder how her brother had forced his way into her home.
How skillfully Brice had disposed of her problem! Leading her brother to believe, without actually telling him a lie, that he was a wanted man. Even though, with Joey admitting he’d been associated with the shooting, Brice could have taken him in for questioning as a potential witness.
He hadn’t, because of her.
She had to admit, when it came right down to it, she wasn’t sure she would have been as successful at getting Joey to go. He’d survived his shady career thus far by exercising his highly developed instinct for self-preservation. She didn’t have the muscle to have physically thrown him out if he’d refused to leave. Her only other recourse would have been to call the local police, and he’d known she would never do that.
The longer he stayed, the greater the danger that Bunny would come to check on her. Or, coming down from the high of whatever he’d been taking, that Joey would sneak out to try to score more drugs and be caught or injured, leading police back to her.
Her heart ached again, as it did whenever she thought of her baby brother. He’d been such an engaging, funny, active, loving little boy. Much as it hurt to send him away, especially knowing he was in trouble, there was nothing she could do for him now. Nothing but protect her new life and the people in it that she cared about.
She’d changed into casual at-home attire when she heard a knock at the back door. Despite knowing it was unlikely to be Brice, a surge of excitement went through her. But when she hurried to open it, Bunny stood on the doorstep. Holding out a bunch of flowers.
“Mommy said Uncle Brice texted her and asked her to have me bring you some roses from the garden. These deep-pink ones with the yellow centers that are your favorites.”
After debating whether or not to ask, she said, “Did he say why?”
“Mommy said because he wanted you to be happy, and he knows these flowers make you happy.”
“They do. They are beautiful. Thank you for bringing them.”
“Mommy says when someone hurts your feelings, you need to give them a chance to say they’re sorry, and forgive them.”
Had Brice said something to Elaine? Probably not, she concluded. His message—and the fact that he hadn’t been to see her in more than a week, would probably have led Elaine to suspect something had gone wrong between them. “Your mommy is right.”
“So you aren’t going to stay mad at Uncle Brice, are you?”
“What makes you think I’m mad at Uncle Brice?”
“Because he used to visit a lot and I haven’t seen him in forever. And because you come out in the garden and look really sad and stare at the same plant for a long time without picking anything. Every once in a while he teases me too much and I get mad. Then he always says he’s sorry, and I forgive him.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“Not really. I could never stay mad at Uncle Brice. I love him too much and I would miss him if he didn’t come see me. You’ll forgive him, too, won’t you? Cause I really do love cooking and gardening and going for rides with both of you. Please? I promised Mommy I wouldn’t ask to come over all the time and be a pest.”
Looking into the little girl’s earnest eyes, Mary’s heart melted. “You are never a pest, mimmo. We love being with you too.”
She nodded. “Good. Because I think Uncle Brice would be really s
ad if you didn’t forgive him. I know I would be, if I hurt your feelings or made you mad. And I don’t like Uncle Brice to be sad.”
“We’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we, then?” Mary said, smiling.
“So you’ll ask him to come over and make dinner with us?”
“We’ll see. He texted me that he was going to be working out of town for a while and he’d let me know when he was finished.”
“Good!” Bunny said, clapping her hands. “We can make a really special dinner. Then you’ll both be happy again.”
A child’s world was so simple, Mary thought, giving the little girl a hug. A few flowers, a few words of apology, a good dinner, and all would be well again.
It wouldn’t be nearly as easy as that. But she was determined to try.
*
Mary waited a few more days, hoping to get the text from Brice saying he’d wrapped up his case and letting her know when he’d be coming to Whiskey River. Although she waited in vain for that, he sent several other things.
A package from the local bookstore with a volume on Texas legends and proverbs he’d mentioned being his brother’s favorite, with a note that said, “My favorite way to encounter Texas proverbs is to hear you say them.”
A selection of small-potted herbs in a tray to set under her kitchen window, sent from the native plant nursery they’d visited. The card included with them read, “A spicy reminder of our visit here. Hope to make many more.”
Finally, after four days exchanging several texts a day with no mention of his return, making it now almost two weeks since she’d seen last him, after getting home from work, she abandoned the last of her reserve and texted, Missing you. When do you think you’ll be back?
She carried her phone with her into the garden while she picked tomatoes and basil for caprese, then set everything on the kitchen island while she sliced the cheese, assembled the salad, and added the balsamic vinegar. Checking in case she’d somehow missed hearing the ping of a reply, she looked again before she started to prepare the rest of dinner, but nothing yet.
Normally, he responded quickly to a text, but he was working a case. He might be too occupied to be able to reply. But after she’d put the salmon and potatoes into the oven to roast, she texted him again.
By the time she finished her meal and sat at the table, sipping her glass of wine, she was starting to worry.
It was evening now, past time for Brice to be off work. Trying not to feel anxious but too agitated to sit still, she walked back into her garden, deadheaded some flowers, snipped a few herbs, and harvested another tomato for her lunch tomorrow. She checked her phone again; still no response.
Maybe he’d forgotten to recharge his phone and the battery had gone dead. But that wasn’t likely, since he was technically always on call and would make sure he could be reached.
She looked up through the fading twilight to see Elaine and Tom come out on porch, carrying glasses of wine. And found herself walking over to them before she was conscious of what she was doing.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Elaine said. “We just put Bunny to bed. Will you join us for a glass of wine?”
“Sure, I’d love it.”
“Bunny tells me Brice has been sending you gifts,” Tom said as he poured her a glass.
Elaine whacked her husband on his free hand. “You shouldn’t ask her about that! What happens between them is private.”
Tom held up a hand. “Hey, I’m not trying to interfere! Just to say that Brice McAllister is a good man, one of the best. If he’s somehow done something boneheaded, I’d strongly urge you to give him a second chance.”
Mary returned a strained smile. “We did have a . . . disagreement. But I think we’ll manage to work it out.”
“I’m so glad!” Elaine said, her expression delighted. “Bunny has been worried. Us too. None of us want Miss Mary and Uncle Brice to be unhappy if they could be so much happier together.”
That reminder was enough to break through her restraint. “You—you haven’t heard from him today, have you? I texted him hours ago, then a second time, and have had nothing back. Even when we were mad at each other, he responded pretty quickly to my texts.”
To her further alarm, Elaine and Tom exchanged concerned glances. “How long has it been that you’ve not been able to establish any contact?” Tom asked.
“Hours.”
While Elaine swallowed hard and reached over to take her husband’s hand, Tom said, “I think you’d better call Duncan.”
Even more worried now, Mary set her phone on speaker so Elaine and Tom could hear the conversation and dialed Duncan, who answered right away. “Mary, how are you?”
“Fine. Well, actually, I’m worried. I texted Brice several times today and he hasn’t responded. I know he keeps his phone charged, and it’s way past business hours now. I asked Tom Edgerton, who is here on speaker with me and Elaine, and he recommended I call you.”
Duncan sighed. “Okay, this is confidential, but I expect Brice would want you to know. He texted me this morning saying he expected to have his case wrapped up today and would be at the ranch for dinner. Around midafternoon, one of his team called. The suspect they went out to apprehend turned violent, holing himself up in his house with a shotgun. It was a bank fraud case, and apparently the guy they are going to arrest is a prominent man in the financial community. An arrest and conviction will destroy his reputation, and even after he serves his prison time, his life will be ruined.”
“Should have thought of that before he started committing fraud,” Tom muttered.
“Exactly,” Duncan said dryly. “Now it’s an active-shooter incident, which means Brice would have been called in even if he weren’t already working the case.”
Terror went through Mary as she heard again the screech of a car’s tires braking beside her car, the blast of a handgun, the windshield shattering glass over her. The shock of the pain and the blood . . .
“Why . . . why would Brice be there?” she asked, struggling to banish the memories.
“He’s the sharpshooter on the SWAT team. Didn’t you know?”
Dimly, Mary remembered Elaine and Brice talking about Brice’s position. Not wanting to envision him as a police officer, she’d deliberately blocked out that part of the conversation.
“So . . . he might get shot?” she asked, the possibility sending another stab of fear through her. Brice . . . lying on the ground, blood pooling on his shirt . . .
“There’s a negotiator there now. They’ll try to talk the guy down, get him to lay down his weapon and give himself up. Brice is a sharpshooter; he won’t storm the building, if it comes to that. His job is to take up a position where he can watch the exit points and take down the perpetrator if he threatens to shoot the negotiator or any of the other officers. Or to try to wound or disarm the suspect, if he can, if the man tries to shoot himself.”
“But he could be shot.”
The phone went silent for a minute. “There’s always a chance something bad could happen. People are unpredictable. He lost a good friend, a highway patrolman, who was doing a routine traffic stop. Danger’s always out there.”
“When will you know something?”
“He’ll let us know as soon as the situation is resolved. If you’ve texted him, I’m sure he’ll text you back too.”
“When do you think that might be?”
There was another silence. “No idea. It really depends on the suspect.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting us know, Duncan. We won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Please don’t. But don’t worry, Mary. These units train together all the time, and Brice is very, very good at what he does. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Thanks,” she said again, punching off the call. But she didn’t feel much better. A bullet on a killing trajectory didn’t divert because of training or expertise. If it were coming straight at you, it would still be lethal.
“Shall I make
some coffee? It might be a long night,” Elaine said.
“You don’t need to babysit me,” Mary said. “And I didn’t mean to intrude on your evening. I can wait at home.”
“Hey, we’re as concerned as you are,” Tom said, patting her hand. “Having you stay here would be selfish, really. We know you’ll be one of the first people Brice texts once the team stands down.”
“If you’re sure . . .” She really didn’t want to be alone just now. She’d had a hard enough time trying to wrap her head around him being a lawman. She’d resisted even thinking about the implications so effectively that until now, she’d never even considered how often he must be in harm’s way.
Did she really want to turn her heart over to someone who might end up bleeding to death at her feet, as Ian had?
She wouldn’t think about that. She’d just concentrate on thinking of him tired, weary, and ready to come home and shower up after the long standoff was successfully concluded.
She only hoped the negotiator was as good at his job as Duncan said Brice was at his.
Chapter Fifteen
Glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time, Mary noted that it was after midnight. Elaine had fallen into an uneasy sleep on the couch, her head on Tom’s shoulder. Fueled by worry, adrenaline and strong coffee, Mary was not able to doze. She paced the back terrace, trying to keep from thinking of Ian’s body jolting as the bullets struck.
Brice was a pro, Duncan had said. The SWAT teams drill and drill to perfect every movement, every type of infiltration, Tom had assured her. Brice wouldn’t go in with the storming unit anyway; he’d be positioned in an observation post where he could provide cover.
But none of those reassuring words could lessen the sense of dread that sat like a giant bolder in her belly.
When the ping of a text finally came, sometime after one o’clock in the morning, she jumped a foot. Her fingers trembling so could hardly swipe the phone, she saw the text and clicked on it. Op finished. Everyone safe. Sorry you were worried. Talk to you tomorrow.
The Ranger Page 19
