A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3)

by Justine Davis

  “Do you know why I went there last week, Marcos?” he asked, indicating the picture. The boy shook his head. “To…talk to your dad. To tell him I understood he would always be your father, but that…I really cared about you and hoped it would be okay with him if I tried to do what he couldn’t anymore.” Marcos stared at him. Sean shrugged. “I know, crazy, but I felt like I had to, you know? He’s your dad.”

  “But he couldn’t answer you.”

  “Not in words, no. But…it felt like he did. It felt like he was…there.”

  Marcos’s eyes widened. “Sometimes, at night, I dream about him. And when I wake up, it feels like he was really there.”

  “I know that feeling,” Sean said. “And yeah, it was kind of like that.”

  “Then it must be okay with him,” Marcos said simply. And gobbled down his last bite of pie.

  Sean felt ridiculously light as he walked Marcos to the door of the house. Even the sight of multiple cars parked in the driveway and on the street didn’t faze him, not now.

  “What is this…gathering?”

  “It’s the tamalada,” Marcos said. “I go hide in my room, ’cuz they get really noisy.”

  Sean grinned. He’d heard of tamale-making parties, but he’d never seen one in person. And just as the front door Marcos was reaching for swung open from the inside, he was saying, “I love tamales.”

  “Then you must come in and observe the process.” Elena’s voice sent a shiver down his spine that somehow turned into heat when it hit him low and deep.

  And suddenly a gang of noisy, chattering women—he could hear them from the kitchen—didn’t seem so intimidating at all, because Elena was there, and he’d walk through fire to be with her.

  “Mom, Sean went to talk to Dad.”

  He hadn’t expected the boy to blurt it out like that, and felt himself flush slightly.

  “I see,” Elena said, looking at Marcos. He hadn’t heard the phrase in a while, but instead of irritating him it gave him a qualm. Had he trespassed? Had it been a stupid idea? Was she offended? Maybe he shouldn’t have—

  “Show her the picture. He left a flag and everything.”

  She shifted her gaze to him then. And he still couldn’t read it. She said nothing, and he realized she was waiting for him to do as Marcos had said. His jaw a little tight he pulled out the phone and showed her the photo.

  “Why?” she asked, and now she was looking at him so intently he knew how important his answer would be. And then Marcos answered for him.

  “He wanted to talk to him about him and me and you tryin’ to be a family, but how he’ll always be my dad and Sean knows that.”

  She looked back at her son. “I see,” she said again. And then, without looking at him, said, “Then you must meet the ladies, and Marcos, you must say hello before you retreat. Come along, both of you.”

  She turned and headed for the kitchen. Sean swallowed, told himself it was because he hadn’t expected this, but knew it was just as much because walking behind her, and seeing the way she moved, reminded him of that red dress. Her in that dress was emblazoned in his mind almost as much as her out of it, standing before him like some perfect statue of a goddess. And he’d done his best to show her the proper worship, and—

  He yanked his mind off that path before he had to walk into that kitchen and have every woman in there see what he’d been thinking about, because his body was already responding to just the thought. In a flurry he was introduced to cousins, aunts, great-aunts, and nieces. Some part of his mind registered that, as usual, once his last name was given he was neatly slotted into the Last Stand pecking order, and thanks to Shane, his father, and his fathers before, it was fairly high. Nowhere near Elena’s, but respectable.

  More as a defense than anything, Sean focused on the process, marveling at the efficiency of the assembly line of sorts they’d set up: one woman to remove and dry the corn husks, the next to spread the dough, next the filling, to Elena’s mother, who expertly folded the husks—sides to the center, then bottom up, he noted—and then handed them to…Aunt Delores, he thought, to place them in the steamer. He found himself fascinated most with the wrapping process, and the next thing he knew he was not just being shown but had been teased into trying it himself. It took him a couple of tries to get the hang of it, but he gained a nod of approval when he put them in the steamer the right way, on end.

  “And that is the sign of a true man,” Elena said to Marcos as he watched. The boy had been looking on rather doubtfully as Sean stepped into this process he guessed he had only ever seen women do. “He will take on any necessary task, and tolerate such teasing to do it.”

  “And with a smile,” Elena’s mother pronounced with approval that gave him even more hope that they could indeed make this work.

  “That chicken in green salsa looks great. Do you ever make sweet tamales?” Sean asked. “I really love those things.”

  “We shall, just for you then,” Elena’s mother declared. “Perhaps with some of my homemade strawberry jam.”

  It was much later, when the tamales were finished and the ladies had departed, each with their family portion of the day’s efforts, that he and Elena had a quiet moment while her mother went to check on Marcos.

  “Happy nochebuena,” he said, and she smiled.

  “And you, as well.”

  “Can you still leave? Come to the ranch with me?”

  “I would not miss it.” And then, suddenly, she was kissing him. Fiercely, with so much feeling behind it that it nearly overwhelmed him.

  “Thank you,” she said when at last she drew back.

  It was a moment before he had enough air to suggest, “I think you have that backwards.”

  She shook her head. “For how you handled Marcos. Acknowledging his father. For being the kind of man who would think to go to his grave, for the sake of his son.”

  “I…it felt right.”

  “Still, it is a very difficult place to visit. As you know, from your own father, and I’m sure that got through to Marcos.”

  Sean shrugged. Then gave a rueful chuckle. “When I was a kid and we’d go out to the Last Stand cemetery on my grandfather’s birthday, I used to picture all the Highwaters there talking, and think about how they’d welcome new arrivals. I figured they’d throw a big party.”

  She smiled at him. “There are much worse things to imagine. Sometimes I think we focus too much on the death day.”

  “It’s a good way to get through it, and better than moping around all day.”

  “Why are you speaking of moping on Christmas Eve?” came a cheerful voice from the doorway. Maria Valencia stood there smiling at them.

  Sean resisted the urge to let go of Elena and step back. Not even for her mother would he do that. And then he realized Elena was smiling brilliantly at him, as if she’d realized exactly what he was not doing and why.

  “I assume I will see you tomorrow, Sean?”

  He blinked. “I…yes.”

  “Good, good. And Elena, you are going with him tonight? Then I shall see you both in the morning.” She sounded more than accepting—especially since Elena would be missing the traditional midnight mass tonight—she sounded happy. They must have gaped at her, because she laughed. “Truly, do you think I am blind?”

  “No,” Elena said, “but I did not expect you to be so…encouraging.”

  “Why not? If he is anything like his father, he is a good man.”

  “Thank you,” Sean said, although that had clearly been aimed at Elena. “That’s always been my goal.”

  “See?” her mother said. Then, her tone changing to one much more serious, she said softly to her daughter, “Do not do what I did, mija. Do not pass up a second chance at love. You will regret it.”

  Elena went still. “What you did? You…I did not know you even considered another man after Father died.”

  This time her mother’s smile was sad and regretful. Her gaze flicked to Sean, then back to her daughter befor
e she said, very softly, “As I said, his father was a very good man.”

  Sean heard Elena gasp, and he stared at the older woman as she turned and left them alone. Slowly, they both turned their heads until they were staring at each other.

  “My mother…”

  “And my father?”

  Elena let out a breath. “It makes…sense, I suppose. They had that love of history in common.”

  “Yes. And a love of Last Stand.”

  “And,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully, “he was still a very handsome man. As you will be.”

  “And she’s a beautiful woman. As you will be.”

  He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around this; he’d had no more clue than Elena. And then she spoke, in mock horror.

  “Dear heaven, we could have been step-siblings.”

  There was one long, silent moment, until Sean couldn’t hold it back any longer and he burst out laughing. And then so did she, and they practically fell into each other’s arms.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was a lovely drive through Last Stand, down Main Street with all the Christmas lights and decorations. But it was a clear night, and once they were out of town the stars seemed almost as glorious to her.

  “There is nothing like the Texas stars at night.”

  “I think someone wrote that song,” he said with a grin.

  She laughed. “They are big and bright.”

  “And I’ll be kind and not try and sing it.”

  They grinned at each other, and Elena resisted the urge to at least hum the famous tune under her breath.

  “You can still escape, even after tonight you know,” Sean said as they neared the ranch.

  Elena paused, shifting the pot of sweet tamales she was holding. “I can?”

  He nodded. “In the Highwater clan, it’s that Sunday dinner that…makes things official.”

  She arched a brow at him. “So you’ve said.”

  “It kind of involves breakfast the next morning, too.” He was looking straight ahead, as if the road he drove daily was completely unfamiliar. “They figure if you’re serious enough to…spend the night at the ranch, they’d better know you.”

  “I would hope so.”

  He finally gave her a sideways glance as he slowed. Ahead she could see the wide gate with the Lone Star in the center, and the Lone Star flag still flew, properly lit of course.

  “We’ve each got a wing of the house to ourselves, and Sage has the upstairs. We usually only collide in the kitchen or great room. Or the media room.”

  “Is this your way of telling me there is privacy?”

  He stopped the vehicle, making no move yet to open the gate. “Yes. As much as you want.”

  “Something sadly lacking in my mother’s house,” she said ruefully.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” he answered, very circumspectly. She waited. He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. She saw him lower his gaze from the gate to the dashboard, as if he’d never seen it before. “Too soon? Or just no?”

  She adored this man, truly she did, but sometimes… “What, exactly, are you saying?”

  His head snapped around. “I…what do you think…?”

  “I don’t know. I never heard the actual words.”

  He went back to studying the dashboard. “Damn, I suck at this.”

  “I see.”

  “And I hate that phrase!” Then he sucked in a deep breath and let it out audibly. She saw his shoulders, those broad shoulders that she had admired, caressed, and trailed her mouth over, slump slightly.

  “Then I shall try to make sure you never hear it again.”

  His head snapped around again. For a moment he just stared at her, then, with a look of resignation, he said quietly, “I’ll take you home, then.”

  Only then did she realize how he had taken her answer, that he thought she’d meant he wouldn’t hear it because she wouldn’t be with him. Logic told her it was the boy he’d once been speaking at the moment, the one who had always thought of her as out of his reach, but that didn’t stop it from wrenching at her heart.

  “That is not what I meant.” She hesitated, then went on. “It is a defense mechanism, you know.”

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “That phrase. It is…a habit, when I do not know exactly what to say.”

  “I can’t imagine you not knowing exactly what to say.” He grimaced. “I thought…it was you being amused at something stupid, or silly.”

  Meaning, in this case, him. She drew back slightly. “Truly? That’s what you thought?”

  He nodded. “Maybe it’s just me.”

  “And how many times in your life, Sean, have you made that assumption?”

  “A lot.”

  “Let’s make a bargain. I will break my habit, if you will break yours. I will discard that phrase forever, and you will never again assume you are anything less than the amazing man that you are.”

  He swallowed visibly. “Wow.”

  “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  It was so heartfelt she laughed. “Then tell me, querido, are you going to get around to that invitation?”

  He turned in the seat and put his hands over hers on the pot of tamales. “I was trying to be careful. Because I never in my life, in all the years I thought you the most beautiful, most elegant, most amazing woman I’d ever seen, thought I would have a chance to ask.”

  “Dios mio,” she breathed. This was the man who thought himself strange, out of step with most people? “That is the most beautiful, elegant and amazing thing I’ve ever heard, Sean Highwater.”

  He looked relieved. “I know it hasn’t been that long, only a month, but—”

  “Has it not been years?” she asked quietly.

  His mouth quirked. “Yeah. Yeah, it has. Is that a yes?”

  “It is indeed. But for now, lead on,” she said. “As intimidating as your family is—”

  “My family?” he nearly yelped. “How about yours? You have more cousins than I have teeth.”

  “And to think they could have been combined,” she said with a teasing smile, although she was still a little shocked that she hadn’t known about her mother and his father.

  “It would have been awesome. Terrifying, but awesome.” He went quiet for a moment before, his fingers tightening over hers, he said softly, “And maybe, if we don’t drive you crazy…if I don’t drive you crazy…”

  She clasped his hands in return. Because she knew what he was saying. That it might still happen, that combining of families. But she also heard the tension, the nervousness in his voice. “I have a very high tolerance for crazy.”

  A grin, that brilliant, wonderful Sean grin flashed for a moment. “Obviously,” he said.

  It turned into a delightful Christmas Eve. Sage was happily buzzing about, organizing food and drink. She took one look at what Elena held and lit up. “If you tell me those are sweet tamales, I will dance at your wedding.”

  “They are, and I will hold you to that,” she answered, quite seriously. Sage’s gaze flicked to Sean, who was apparently taking some ribbing from Slater, judging by his expression. But then she looked back at Elena.

  “I’m glad,” she said simply. And Elena saw all the love this young woman had for her brother in that declaration, before she took the pot and vanished into the kitchen.

  Slater greeted her warmly. Joey, whom she hadn’t seen since the ball and took aside to thank her for the rousing—and arousing—success of the red dress, then introduced her parents. She recognized them from their regular visits to the restaurant. And then Lily to her mom, a veterinarian who was up from San Antonio for the holiday, accompanied by a man named Travis she gathered was a police captain from San Antonio who was an acquaintance of Shane’s.

  And then Shane himself, the man she had always admired for the way he had stepped up for his younger siblings. The man who had so much presence he could be beyond intimidating.

 
“So,” he said, holding her gaze with his dark blue eyes, “fate had the next generation in mind.”

  Her eyes widened as she realized what he meant. “You knew? About my mother and…your father?”

  “Suspected,” he said. “I saw them together the day I left for college, and they looked…” He couldn’t seem to find the word so just went on. “They were arguing about some fine point of history, and I remember thinking there were sparks flying. I didn’t realize until much later what kind.”

  “I always knew how much she liked and respected him, but I never guessed her feelings went beyond that. She still regrets that she hesitated too long,” Elena said.

  “But you won’t, will you?”

  “I believe, as they say, Chief Highwater, that ship has already sailed.”

  Shane burst out laughing, and then gave her a fierce hug that was all she could have wished for from the man who had become the young patriarch of the Highwater clan.

  After a much more rollicking Christmas Eve than she was used to, Sean spirited her away via the back door of the house. He led her down a stone walkway, and around a corner to a covered patio and another door, which she guessed led to the separate living area he’d mentioned.

  “Dad thought ahead,” he said now. “He wanted to be sure we’d all stay.”

  “He wanted his family under one roof. I can understand that.”

  He led her into his wing of the house, which turned out to be as large as a good-sized apartment in town. They stepped into an expansive sitting room with comfortable-looking furniture, an entire wall of nearly full bookcases, and a flat screen on the other main wall. There was a separate office with the rather impressive computer set up she’d expected, an alcove with cupboards, a small sink, under-counter refrigerator, a microwave, and a table with a couple of chairs—“Midnight snacks,” he told her with a grin—and toward the back a spacious, modern bathroom. All of which were tidy, which did not surprise her. It was also homey, and felt rather welcoming to her.

  Or perhaps that was just Sean.

  “I stole some cookies, and hot chocolate, earlier,” he said, walking over to the table, where there was also a gift-wrapped box. “And I wanted to give you this. And hope you don’t…”