She sagged into a chair, weak with relief, letting the tears spill over for a minute before she went over to gently shake Tom and Elaine on the shoulder. Rousing immediately, Tom said, “What did you hear?”
“He’s safe. It’s over. He’ll be back in Whiskey River tomorrow.”
“Praise God,” Elaine whispered, hugging her husband.
“Thanks for staying here and letting us know,” Tom said. “You’re welcome to crash in the guest room.”
“No, I think I can make the walk back to my own bed,” Mary said. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Elaine rose and gave her a hug, then she and her husband walked Mary out to the back porch. “We’ll stay here and watch until you’re safely inside,” Elaine said. “Give us a wave after you’ve turned on the lights and checked that everything is okay.”
Now that there were no fugitive brothers hiding within, she was pretty sure her house would be safe. “I will. Thanks again for keeping vigil with me.”
“Our pleasure. Brice is dear to us too. Get some sleep, now,” Elaine said.
“Good night,” she said, then walked down the stairs, crossed the moonlit yard and went back into her cottage. After doing a quick check of all the rooms, she walked back to her porch and waved the “all clear.”
They gave her a wave in return, then turned to go back into their house.
Too tired to shower, Mary threw on her T-shirt and jammie bottoms and climbed into bed. But she didn’t sleep well.
The bad dreams about the incident in L.A. that she’d not had for months returned every time she dozed off. She awoke each time gasping for air, paralyzed with fear, until her brain managed to right itself and return her to the present.
If she moved forward with Brice, would she invite a lifetime of these? It had been hard enough to envision overcoming a lifetime of resentment and suspicion. Worse than the prospect of recurring dreams like these, could she risk loving a man she might lose again to violence?
Tomorrow, Brice would be coming to see her again. She had no idea what she was going to tell him.
Chapter Sixteen
Around noon the next day, Mary got the text she’d been expecting. Stop by after work? Think we need to talk.
They did. If only she knew for sure what she was going to say. Still, delaying was unlikely to make her muddled mind clearer. Blowing out a deep breath, she texted back, Meet me at the cottage.
Good thing the library wasn’t busy. She was able to sit over her computer the entire afternoon, supposedly transcribing another rare text. She’d be lucky if she’d typed even a chapter before closing time arrived and she shut down the machine. As she walked past the head librarian’s desk, Shirley lifted her eyebrows, to which Mary replied with bland smile, unwilling to give a verbal response about her plans. With a sigh, Shirley said, “Have a nice evening, dear.”
Her stomach was tied in knots so tight she could hardly get down a sip of water after she walked into her house. After texting Brice that she was home, ready for him anytime, she set up the espresso machine for coffee she wasn’t sure she’d be able to drink, then paced around the room.
She was so not ready, two halves of her clashing for dominance. The safety, normalcy-craving part of her said that, wonderful as Brice was, she couldn’t handle the uncertainty of loving a man who might be suddenly taken from her like Ian was. She couldn’t handle the possibility that his job would give her nightmares like she’d had last night, night after night after night.
A diametrically opposed part of her, one that craved beauty and love and joy, insisted that accepting the risk and loving him was essential to her happiness. That if she turned him away, she’d be turning back to a life in which she was merely existing.
The ping of her phone made her jump. Be right there, Brice texted back.
Swallowing hard, she went back to pacing.
*
Ten minutes later, a mingling of panic and relief went through her as she heard Brice’s truck pull up outside the cottage. A minute later came the knock at her door. Hands trembling, she walked over and opened it.
Brice stood on the threshold, gazing at her solemnly, a big bouquet of roses in his hand. Before she knew what she was doing, she flung herself at him, clinging to him, while he dumped the flowers and wrapped his arms around her, lifted and carried her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
And then she was sobbing again, the fear and uncertainty and confusion robbing her of control. He hugged her back tightly, whispering “Shh, it’s okay. With you in my arms again, everything’s okay.”
After a few minutes, she pulled herself back together and pushed away. “I was so scared,” she admitted, gazing up into his face. “I was afraid I was going to lose you.”
“No chance, sweetheart. I’m yours, all yours.”
“Brice, I love you. I know I do. But I’m not sure . . . about a future.”
“That’s what we needed to talk about, right? So . . . let’s talk.”
Now that the moment had come, her thoughts still jumbled, she wanted to put it off. She hated herself for being so uncertain, terrified to move forward, unable to face sending him away. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She busied herself making it, hoping the familiar routine would settle her. Then brought the tray over to the coffee table, motioning him to the sofa and taking a seat beside him. “You first.”
“Okay. I admit, I was . . . angry that you accused me of impropriety, then refused to listen to any explanation. For a few days, I thought maybe it would be a good idea to break things off. But once I calmed down and thought carefully about the kind of harassment your family had endured your whole life, I started to understand why you’d overreacted. It wasn’t right, what the authorities did to your father. There have been abuses in the past. I can’t do anything about that, but because we are given such power and authority, because the consequences of making a mistake can be catastrophic, we in law enforcement have to do better. And you were right, I had bent the rules.”
He paused, sipping his coffee before continuing, “But more important, trying to envision returning to life as a bachelor just reinforced what I’ve known for a long time. I love you, Mary Williams . . . Maria Giordano. I want to be with you, only you. I want to protect you and love you for the rest of my life. I know my profession makes that . . . difficult for you. I suppose I could maybe look for some other line of work—”
“No.” She held up a hand, halting him. “Your work is an essential part of who you are. Even I admit that, for the most part, it’s valuable, lifesaving work. I couldn’t ask you to give that up.”
“You’re sure? So you think you could try to adjust to it? I’d do pretty much anything for you, Mary. Even give up the Rangers, if you asked me.”
“I’ve thought a lot about us too. Whether I could try to dismantle a lifetime of negative opinions about the police and truly start fresh. It won’t be easy, but I think I can do that. But there’s something harder.”
“What?” he asked, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips. “Tell me, and I’ll make it go away if I can.”
“The shooter incident. Since I’d tried as much as possible to put out of my mind what you do, it never really struck me until last night that you go into harm’s way. Brice, I still have nightmares about the attack. They came back again last night with a vengeance. Since they come on when I’m sleeping, I don’t know how to fight against that.”
Setting down his coffee cup, he drew her into his arms, and once again, she clung to him, able to stem the tears this time, but still shaking.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know. Do you have the dreams often?”
Being in his arms, she felt so . . . safe. Protected. But his embrace couldn’t protect her from the demons in the night. Demons the danger he worked with might revive all too often.
“At first, almost every night. Less and less as time went on. I hadn’t had a really bad night since I came
to Whiskey River—until last night. In the dreams, I’m in the car again, trapped, seeing the muzzle flash of the handgun, the windshield exploding, Ian jerking as the bullets hit. Blood . . . pain . . . then blackness.”
He stroked her back. “Did you see a therapist after the attack?”
“No. I spent weeks recovering physically, then all my energy went to finding a school, moving out, finishing my studies. I didn’t tell the doctors about the dreams. I didn’t want to admit anything that would have given them an excuse to keep me in L.A. any longer than I needed to heal physically.”
“The dreams sound like classic post-traumatic stress. The department recommends that we see a therapist any time there’s an incident involving loss of life. Even when that possibility is part of your job, having it actually happen is traumatic. Even more so when it happens to someone who never expected to encounter violence. Seeing someone might help. It certainly couldn’t hurt.”
He released her, ran a gentle finger down her face. “I would never want to be responsible for trapping you in a relationship that brings you pain. But I don’t want to let you go, either. I wish I could promise that I’d never be in danger again. But I can’t. I can promise that we reduce the risk as much as possible. Training frequently over a variety of possible scenarios. When there is an incident, analyzing the area and strategizing the best way to approach and neutralize the target before ever setting foot on the scene. Since I’m not usually part of the team that goes in, if we have to go in, I’m at less risk than the others. But the risk is never zero. Does that make any difference?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Until yesterday, I never anticipated having the dreams come back. But I don’t want them to destroy what we have either. I, too, thought long and hard about going back to living without you. But after the joy of sharing the last two months with you, I can’t escape the fact that before I let you into my life, I was simply existing. Coming alive again means being vulnerable to pain, loss, risk—but also anticipation, excitement, joy . . . passion. I don’t want to go back to living without those again. So . . . yes, I’d be ready to see a therapist. See if I can put those dreams back into the past where they belong.”
“That means . . . you’re willing to go forward with me?”
Pushing away the last of the fears that had held her back, she gave him a tremulous smile. “I think . . . I am. I want to embrace life, the future, and you. Forever.”
He wrapped her in another hug, holding her tight, then kissed her passionately, a promise of his desire and devotion. When he broke the kiss at last, she laughed. “The last two weeks—Joey showing up, then then the active-shooter incident—pushed to the background what had been the most important news I’d been waiting to share. Remember I told you I had to go out of town on library business?”
“It wasn’t library business.”
“No. I had an appointment with an OB/GYN specialist in the Med Center in Houston. She’ll have to do more testing, but she said there’s a good possibility they have treatment options now that might enable to me to carry a child to viability. So I might be able to have a baby after all. She said if the tests proved that was not possible, she’d recommend a tubal ligation, but not to give up hope. So . . . either way, I’ll be able to make love to you without fear.”
“That’s wonderful news!”
“The prospect of sharing my life with you, hopefully bearing your child . . . that’s worth therapy and even bad dreams.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I love you, Brice McAllister.”
“I love you too, Mary Williams.” He kissed her again, long, slow and tender. Then sat up, grinning. “I think I might just drop that harp through a cloud. Don’t move—I’ve got something in the truck for you.”
Jumping up from the couch, he loped out the door, then returned a minute later, box in hand. “For you. I didn’t dare hope enough when I arrived to bring it in right away, but now’s the time. Go ahead, open it.”
Unwrapping the heavy box, she found inside the beautiful deep-blue Royal Lace Depression glass cookie jar she’d admired at Old Man Tessel’s. “Brice, it’s beautiful! Thank you.”
“Look closer.”
When she did, she noticed there was another small box inside the jar. After carefully setting aside the glass lid, she lifted out the box and opened it. Inside, a ring with a large center sapphire surrounded with diamonds winked up at her.
While she gasped, admiring it, Brice went down on one knee in front of her. “Will you marry me, Mary Williams . . . Maria Giordano?”
She held out her hand, letting him slip the ring on her finger. “With all my heart, Brice McAllister.”
After giving him a joyful hug, she laughed. “After all, you’re giving me back a single name. Forever in the future, I’ll be just Mary McAllister.”
*
On a crisp fall afternoon three weeks later, Brice stood with his brothers on the back porch of Tom Edgerton’s house. The lawn had been set up in rows of chairs with an aisle down the middle, and garlands of flowers hung on the fences. The guests—his brothers’ wives and children, Abby’s husband’s family, a few other close friends, and Miss Shirley from the library, were mingling about while Katie and Bunny, giggling with excitement in their flower girl dresses, were arranging rose petals in their baskets.
With Mary’s permission, Brice had told his brothers about the trauma of her past, asking their help in reassuring her when he was called out with the SWAT team in future. Mary had agreed to his suggestion and contacted a mental health therapist the day after she accepted his proposal and had already attended several sessions, telling him she thought they were helping.
The sweetest part of the resolution for her, she’d told him, was his pressing her to invite her father to the wedding. For the first time in her new life, she’d be able to have a precious part of the old to carry her into the new.
Brice liked her father, though like his son, Mr. Giordano chuckled at the idea of his daughter marrying a law officer. But he’d given them his blessing and promised to give away the bride.
Elaine scurried onto the porch. “Okay, everything’s ready for the reception. The preacher’s out back in the yard. I’m going to grab Tom and get in our chairs. He’ll give you a nod when the preacher is ready for you three to walk out.”
After Elaine rushed off, Duncan swiped a bottle of water from one of the reception tables and handed it to Brice. “Better take a drink. We’ll need to be able to hear you when you recite your vows.”
“I don’t think I’ll need it, but thanks.” He was too sure that making Mary his wife was the smartest thing he’d ever done to be nervous.
“When are you going to start building that cottage down in the west pasture, by the creek, Brice?” Grant asked.
“Mary has six months to go on her lease in town, so we’ll get started pretty soon. Might see if we can cut a trail from the site to the county road, so I can head back to Austin without having to drive all the way through Whiskey River.”
“Still holding onto the condo in Austin?”
“Yes, I’ll use it when I need to be in the city for a while. Might list it on a short-term rental site when I stay in Whiskey River. With all the festivals in Austin, the university events, the legislature, we’ll have no problem getting rentals.” He paused. “Mary’s going to help me refurnish it.”
Both brothers laughed. “The end of the sterile white box. Woo-hoo,” Grant said. “Sorta like your life. It was sterile and empty. Now you’ve got your own hot, talented, beautiful babe to make it worthwhile.”
“I knew he was goner when he kept showing up in Whiskey River. That first month after he met Mary, he was here more than he’d been in the last two years put together,” Duncan said.
“I was working on a case.”
Both brothers rolled their eyes. “Yeah, work. A five-foot-seven, curly, black hair, beautiful, dark eyes-case,” Grant said.
“The mighty oak fallen at la
st,” Duncan added, making the bauk-bauk-bauk chicken noise.
“He just wised up,” Grant said. “Being the youngest, it took him longer.”
“Not that much longer,” Brice retorted.
“True,” Grant admitted. “Who could have imagined all three of us would get married within a year?”
“Who would have imagined when we went our separate ways after high school that we’d all end up back in Whiskey River?” Brice said.
Duncan looked at his brothers solemnly. “I think Daddy’s smiling down on us today. It’s what he always wanted, for the three of us to stay together on the Triple A.” He raised his water glass. “To Daddy.”
Grant raised his. “To Daddy and the Triple A.”
Just then, there was a stir among the guests, like a breeze rippling through the backyard as they all turned toward Mary’s cottage. The flower girls walked from her garden into the backyard and started down the aisle between the chairs, tossing rose petals.
A minute later, Mary emerged from the cottage on her father’s arm, and Brice caught his breath.
She looked radiant, her dark hair pulled back with a clip. Her long, lacy, white sleeveless dress swept the ground as she walked forward, her smile luminous as her gaze found his.
“The big moment’s arrived,” Duncan said, waving back to answer the signal Tom had sent him. Lifting his glass one more time, he said, “To Mary. The special lady who won my brother’s heart, and to each of our special ladies.”
“To our ladies,” the brothers said.
Duncan gave Brice a brotherly shove. “Come on. Let’s go get you married.”
The End
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If you enjoyed The Ranger, you’ll love the other books in….
The McAllister Brothers series
The Ranger Page 20
