A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3)

by Justine Davis

  And she realized then she’d never really answered his invitation for Marcos to visit the Highwater Ranch. At first she thought she would talk to her son, discover if he truly wanted to go. But in the next second she changed her mind; he should go. He needed exposure to different ways of living, and the kind that had turned out a man like Sean would clearly be a good choice.

  They were greeted just inside the door by the promised, freestanding cutout of the reptilian monster from Marcos’s favorite game. Marcos crowed happily and ran over to stare at it.

  “I’ve always thought that if a T-rex and a dragon had a baby, this would be him,” Sean said.

  Elena looked at the fire-breathing mouth and the rather short forelegs on the creature and burst out laughing. “Exactly that!”

  She looked at him in time to catch a pleased grin. Then a young woman in a store shirt, a pretty blonde who looked quite young to her, maybe early twenties at most, was greeting Sean rather effusively. “Hey, look who’s here, TexasFlood himself!”

  Elena blinked, trying to remember where she’d heard that nickname, as Sean looked merely embarrassed and said, “Hey, Nina.”

  But Marcos had whirled around. “Wait, you’re TexasFlood? The video guy?”

  It hit her then. The person who had posted those videos carefully showing only the next single step at difficult points of any number of popular games.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said to Marcos.

  “But they’re still so cool,” the boy protested. And by the way her son was looking at him now, Sean had gone from merely cool status to exalted hero worship. She didn’t really mind; if he was going to have an idol, he could do a lot worse.

  “They are,” the woman wearing the name tag that said Nina Lenz agreed. “A lot of us wish he was still doing it for the newer stuff.”

  Elena had investigated this video channel rather carefully before allowing Marcos to utilize it. But it was as Sean had explained that day, only the single step or trick needed to get past a sticking point. He’d just left out the little detail that the poster was him.

  There were dozens of the videos, and with each one his following had grown, into the tens of thousands. She’d also read the post from the day TexasFlood had announced he was done, although he’d leave the videos up until nobody wanted them anymore. That, it seemed, had yet to happen.

  “TexasFlood?” she asked, staring at him.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “I was fourteen when I started. It seemed funny at the time.”

  “And more anonymous than Texas Highwater?”

  “Yes.”

  Something in the way he said it made her wonder if it had been the well-known name he’d wanted to avoid, or the name’s connection with law enforcement. But then she noticed the way the young woman was looking at him as he bent to talk to Marcos about whether the creature had the same number of spikes on its back as fangs in its jaws, and her heart ached from the longing she saw there.

  I know how you feel, Nina.

  Once more she tried to guess at the woman’s age. Twenty-five, maximum, she thought. Which would make her five years younger, just as she was five years older than him.

  Old-school.

  That’s what he’d called it. And in that moment she decided he was right. If it didn’t matter that this woman was five years younger, it shouldn’t matter if she was five years older. Sometimes she thought she only felt that way because of that awful image she carried, of him at eighteen, standing in the street where his father had died, while she had already been married and dealing with a soldier’s life.

  Of course, it only mattered at all if she had some crazy idea about getting involved with him.

  And in her mind the word had a capital “I”.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was worth the time and expense and then some to see the unflappable Spencer McBride do a double take when they went by to drop off the gifts for the toy drive. He’d seen Sean and smiled, waving. He’d noticed Marcos running forward, and looked puzzled.

  And then he’d seen Elena and gone utterly blank. The man had come as close to gaping as he ever could.

  Sean had bundled the handheld he’d chosen and the games Marcos had picked out together with a snap tie—which Marcos had been delighted to tell his mother could double as makeshift handcuffs, as they had that day when the bullies had cornered him—and given it to the boy to put in the bin. Elena had followed with the big, soft, stuffed elephant she had finally settled on.

  And now he met his friend’s curious gaze with a bland, uplifted brow. He was only able to pull it off because Spencer had no idea how he’d felt about Elena for twelve years.

  “Your friend said the girl paramedic’s name is Georgie,” Marcos said when he came back from dropping their donation into the bin. “And the lady at the library is named Joey. Why does making it end in ie or y make it a girl’s name?”

  Sean had no idea how to answer that, so he just said, “It doesn’t, always. I mean, Sean-ie or Marcos-y sounds pretty silly, doesn’t it?”

  That sent the boy off into gales of laughter, which made the woman named Georgie look over and smile.

  “So,” Elena said as they walked back to his car, “your friend and the ‘ie’ named paramedic?”

  Sean glanced back. “His new partner? What about them?”

  “Did you not see the way he was looking at her when she was looking at Marcos?”

  “I…no. What?”

  Elena smiled widely. “There is more than a working relationship there, I believe. Or he wishes there to be.”

  Sean blinked. “Spencer? No. No way. He’s the flirt to end all flirts. All the ladies fall for him, not the other way around.”

  “Even flirts can fall,” she said with a smile. “And I have that on very good authority.”

  He opened both doors on the passenger side, but as Marcos scrambled into the car he kept his gaze on her, working out what she was hinting at.

  “Your husband was…?”

  “A flirt of the highest order. He was handsome, charming, witty—”

  “And a hero. Don’t forget that.” And how the hell does anyone else ever compete with that?

  “I never forget. I have a weakness for heroes, it seems.” Sean blinked. What did that mean? And why the hell was he standing here second-guessing everything she was saying? “As with your friend, he had any number of women trailing after him. I’m afraid I made him work quite hard to convince me he had left all that behind.”

  “Any man would leave more than that behind for you.” Damn, just shut up, Highwater.

  “But I would not wish for just any man,” she said softly.

  She was looking at him in a way that made him nervous. Edgy. Almost like he felt when he had to wade into a crowd, but different. More like heading into something he knew would be overwhelming, yet knowing he had no choice but to do it.

  And that old feeling swept over him again, that he was in over his head, that he didn’t belong. Didn’t belong in the normal world. Didn’t belong in this world where most people thought in similar ways, not following or even understanding the odd, down-the-rabbit-hole paths his mind took.

  Didn’t belong with her.

  Elena de la Cova was far too much for the likes of him. It would take a man such as Enrique de la Cova had been to be a match for her. A full-on hero.

  And he was most definitely not that.

  *

  Elena tried again to rein in her unruly thoughts. With about as much luck as she’d been having since yesterday. Even preparing for the hectic pace at the restaurant, usually busy on a Friday anyway but always chaos on the day of the Christmas Parade and the tree lighting, hadn’t been enough to keep her from dwelling on what had happened yesterday.

  She had read too much into what Sean had said, about what any man would do for her. And she’d been too honest, had told him of her instinctive attraction to heroes, and that she would not wish for an ordinary man. Which he
was not, not by any stretch.

  Face it, Elena. You scared him off.

  There was no mistaking the look that had come into his eyes in that moment. The retreat. He had dodged away so quickly, both physically and mentally, that she could not possibly misunderstand.

  And thus ends a foolish woman’s foolish flight of fancy.

  She’d read that somewhere. Had ended up reading it aloud, as she frequently did with any string of alliteration. She’d laughed at it at the time. She wasn’t laughing now.

  “We’ll see Sean, won’t we?” Marcos asked as he looked toward the front windows of the restaurant, clearly eager to see his favorite person in life just now.

  “He will be there,” she said. “But remember he will be working, so we cannot bother him.”

  “Oh.” Downcast, the boy sighed. “But we can at least say hi, can’t we?”

  We? Doubtful. “I’m sure you can say hello to him. Now go make sure your grandmother has a seat for the parade.”

  Her mother insisted she was fully recovered, but that didn’t mean she wanted to stand for the entire parade. They had, as they usually did, placed some chairs outside by the curb, for their older or disabled customers to use for the passing display of riders, wagons, the high school band, and of course Santa.

  “A large turnout this year,” her mother observed when Elena walked outside with her.

  “Yes.”

  And Elena was cravenly glad of it; it made it less likely she would encounter Sean Highwater. He, and the rest of the Last Stand officers, would likely have their hands full dealing with the crowd. Nothing serious ever happened, but she had a feeling that was probably in large part because of their presence.

  Even as she had the thought her mother spoke again, and this time in a tone of great satisfaction. “And there’s your young man.”

  Elena went still, refused to look where her mother was indicating, scrambling in her mind for a way out of this. “Marcos? He’s right here.”

  “Do not play dumb with me, Maria Elena. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

  “Was that your strict teacher voice?” she asked wryly, surrendering and turning.

  “It never worked particularly well on you.”

  “Perhaps because you passed your stubborn along to me,” she said sweetly.

  Usually that earned her a comment on parental respect, but tonight it only got her a rather knowing smile. “I hope so,” her mother said.

  “Hey! It’s Sean!” Marcos yelped and was gone before she could move. If she lost track of him in this crowd…

  Before she could even begin to panic she spotted them, Sean ushering Marcos back toward them. Even over the chattering of the people in between them she could pick out his voice, telling the boy he should stick with his mom and grandmother in this crowd.

  “They might need you,” he was saying in all seriousness, and she saw Marcos look at her wide-eyed, as if that idea had never occurred to him. For someone who thought he had no parenting skills, the man certainly seemed to always find the right thing to say to her son.

  She realized, as he walked toward them, that he wasn’t in his usual unrelieved black. That he’d changed to a white western shirt with red piping, and a red string tie. A nod to the season, she guessed, and found it oddly endearing. She’d seen a few other officers she recognized on their way here, some in uniform, but more in plain clothes as Sean had said. None of them had taken that extra step with any kind of seasonal attire. Was that indicative of how he felt about the season, or just a whim?

  And when have you ever spent so much time analyzing every detail of what a man says, does, and wears? Oh, and how he looks, moves, and smells deliciously like the sage his sister was named for?

  Only once. And when that man had died, she’d thought that would be the end of it, for her.

  And then he was there, and she felt…she wasn’t sure what she felt. He nodded respectfully to her mother first. “Mrs. Valencia. I’m glad you’re well again, and outside to enjoy the evening.”

  “You truly must call me Maria,” her mother said, smiling widely. “But I am now right as rain, as your father used to say. Thank you.”

  If Sean was startled by the reference he didn’t show it, he just smiled. And only then did he look at her. “Elena,” he said, and she felt silly for being relieved; she’d been half-afraid he’d revert to formality.

  “Sean,” she returned.

  “Might want to stay together,” he said with a look at Marcos. “We’ve got a lot of out-of-towners here.”

  “And they might not be as well behaved as we are?” she asked, managing a smile.

  “Or as afraid of my brother.” She saw a flash of a grin. And felt another burst of relief; whatever had happened yesterday, he apparently wasn’t holding on to it.

  “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “His internet fame is rather widespread.”

  She got the full grin then, and it warmed her. “Much to his disgust,” he said.

  She grinned back, feeling so much lighter than when she’d left the house it was almost dizzying. “Were you behind that leaked video, by chance?”

  He threw up his hands in mock horror. “Not me.” Then, with an even better grin, he added, “But only because I didn’t think of it first.”

  She laughed at the admission. “I like the red, by the way,” she said, gesturing at his shirt and tie.

  “Sage bought them for me. Said she was tired of me looking like an old black and white western movie.”

  She laughed again. “I like your sister. She’s always so funny when she comes into the restaurant.”

  He looked oddly as if he were about to say something but then thought better of it and said nothing. She wondered what it had been. She was still studying his face—a habit she had gotten into with frightening ease—when someone jostled her from behind, and for an instant irritation flashed in his eyes. She saw him tamp it down as if it were a physical effort.

  “Is this…difficult? The crowd?”

  He shrugged. “Just annoying. It’s different when I’m working. I can focus on the job that needs to be done.”

  And then he was excusing himself to do just that, continue on his reconnaissance disguised as a casual stroll amidst the throng.

  He’d acted as if nothing had happened, as if there had never been that intense moment yesterday. They’d slid back into their easy conversation, and he’d laughed and grinned. Surely that should make her feel better?

  So why was she standing here feeling as if she’d lost the chance at something rare and precious?

  Chapter Sixteen

  He’d gotten through it.

  Sean sucked in a deep breath as he kept walking. He actually thought he’d done pretty well, all things considered.

  He’d told himself before he’d come out here that he should go back to avoiding her. It had done the job for twelve years, hadn’t it? Just not seeing her kept a lid on it most of the time. And he needed to put that lid back on. Because it had become clear to him he wasn’t quite…sane around her. No one had ever had the effect on him that she had. She dragged out emotions in him he’d spent a lot of his life doubting he was even capable of. He, who was so adept at puzzles, utterly sucked when emotions tangled up the issue.

  You don’t even know how to deal with your own, let alone someone else’s.

  Especially hers.

  The bottom line he needed to remember was that she was still mourning her dead husband. The constant black proved that, didn’t it?

  Well, you wear it too.

  He stopped abruptly. Heard someone behind him mutter as they nearly ran into him. But he’d had a sudden memory flash through his mind, and it had stopped him in his tracks. It was vivid and sharp, of the day at the Fourth of July rodeo when he’d torn his favorite shirt during the kids’ goat-tying event.

  He stepped out of the crowd to stand near the doors of Last Stand Expeditions, the outdoor store, as the images flooded him. His favorite, bright
red shirt. The one his father had bought for him that day when he was fourteen, and they’d gone to San Antonio so he could see the Alamo. Just him and Dad—something his father had done regularly, spending a day alone with one of his kids—and it produced some of his best memories.

  Memories he rarely looked at now, because of the impossible pain of knowing that less than four years later that man who had been the rock of his life would be dead.

  He hadn’t made a conscious decision then, about the color. But he remembered it had started with a black shirt of his father’s that he had taken to wearing after the funeral. And it felt…right. Not good, nothing felt good then, but right.

  Gradually it had become a habit, one he justified by saying it made choosing what to wear so much easier; if everything was black, it all matched. And when the folly of wearing black, long-sleeved shirts in a Texas summer became obvious, he’d shifted to the white, for survival.

  But now he was wondering if maybe he was just…stuck.

  Nothing wrong with staying put, son. Unless you’re staying because you’re afraid to move.

  He felt a rush of longing he hadn’t experienced in a long time, a swelling wish that he could turn to the man whose wisdom had made sense of so much to him. The man who, even though he hadn’t quite understood the way Sean’s mind worked, had always acknowledged it and given it as much respect as the rest of his children. Maybe Dad could make sense of what he was feeling now. Hadn’t he spent his life in love with a problematical woman? But then he felt a rush of remorse that he’d compared Elena to his mother in any way. Elena was strong, competent, steady, and brave, while his mother had been the opposite of all those things.

  Love, he thought for at least the millionth time in his life, made no sense at all. How could a man like his father be so in love with someone like his mother that he put up with all her flaws?