The Ranger's Texas Proposal

by Jessica Keller

  Gabe propped himself up so he was sitting on top of the table. His demeanor said he wasn’t bothered at all by what Heath had said. Or he was very good at holding his emotions in check.

  “I don’t think you know, but when I was young I used to be a resident at this boys ranch.”

  “You?” Heath stumbled over the short word. Gabe was capable and prosperous, the president of the area’s Lone Star Cowboy League—and he’d been a troubled kid? The two facts didn’t seem to fit, but Gabe had no reason to lie about such a thing.

  “Me.” Gabe nodded. “I turned out better for it, just like the current residents will.”

  “What years?” Heath licked his lips. “How long ago were you here?”

  “Not—” Gabe scooped off his hat and tapped it on his leg “—when your father was murdered. That was a good seven years after I left. I know it was a long time ago, but I’m sorry for your loss. It’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

  “Originally, yes.”

  Gabe studied him for a moment before saying, “But not now?”

  “I’m just on vacation.” Heath held his hands up in a stop motion.

  “Watch out, Ranger.” Gabe hopped down from the table. “You might find you don’t want to leave. This place has a way of healing people.” He stopped beside Heath.

  “Funny.” Heath shook his head. “Josie said the same thing.”

  Gabe pointed at him. “Smart lady, that Josie.” Then he headed toward the ranch house.

  And Heath went to search out the woman he’d spent half the night awake thinking about.

  Chapter Eight

  The sweet smell of banana bread flooded Josie’s senses. She swallowed. Hungry. Wasn’t that always the case these days?

  Then again, it could be because she’d skipped the larger breakfast she’d grown accustomed to. Leaving the ranch before the usual time Heath arrived meant she hadn’t whipped up a hot meal. No matter. Josie had never enjoyed cooking for one. When Macy offered to pick her up for the day, Josie couldn’t turn her down. Not when she wasn’t sure if Heath would be stopping by.

  You could have called him.

  Absolutely not. She wasn’t desperate. She had friends outside of Heath Grayson she could depend on. And she definitely didn’t need that man.

  She stretched and pressed her hand against her lower back as she adjusted how she was sitting. Abby, one of the housemothers, sat beside her, and Marnie, the ranch cook, occupied the other side of the table. The three women had spent the past hour decorating mason jars so they could be used as lanterns on the tables at the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. Each one was covered in a strip of lace and then a Bible verse on linen was affixed on top of that. Twine circled the rim to form a rustic bow. Complete with flickering votive candles, scattered across the outdoor tables at the event as the sun sank lower, they’d be beautiful.

  The rough wooden chair creaked under Josie’s movements.

  “Why don’t you take a break?” Abby urged. “At least let me grab you another pillow to pad that seat. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable crouching over all this small stuff is for you.”

  “I’m fine.” Josie flexed her fingers and then reached for the next jar. “Let’s get this done so we can cross it off the list.”

  “We have a week.” Abby sighed. She snagged two more jars and the hot-glue gun.

  Josie cut a length of lace to fit around the outside of the jar. “Only a week. I saw the list. It’s long.”

  Marnie opened a second bag of votive candles and spread them along the center of the table, where they’d be easy to grab. “Speaking of lists, I’m finalizing the menu and compiling what I need for the final grocery run this weekend. Can I still count on your Ranger to be there?”

  He’ll never be my Ranger. Even though it was true, the words lodged themselves in Josie’s throat. She looked down and fiddled with the strip of lace in her hand. So beautiful. So delicate. So easily destroyed if it was handled incorrectly or glued on wrong.

  She ran the slightly frayed edge back and forth over her fingertips. “I’m...I’m not certain. I think so. He said he was, but...” She shrugged.

  When she and Heath had met with Gabe to relay the story about Avery, Josie’s heart had swelled. They were a team—a good one. Hope had surged through her veins like a galloping horse set free in a new pasture. He’d taken her hand when she was upset. Reached over and had known that was what she needed without her even looking his way.

  Dale had never acted like that.

  For more than two weeks, Heath had done the chores around her ranch, shared her breakfast table and acted as her personal chauffeur. He’d sat beside her for the long haul in the waiting room yesterday.

  Then disappeared last night after they talked to Gabe.

  Why?

  The piece of lace trembled in her hands.

  It didn’t matter. Heath didn’t matter.

  How had she let herself get so involved? So attached? When push came to shove, what did she really know about that man? Not much, other than his role in law enforcement, which was enough to make the achy feeling over his absence yesterday completely irrational. Also, he was great with kids, kind, patient and honorable.

  Josie blinked away the heat of tears.

  Marnie pressed her lips together and watched Josie for a moment. “Oh, honey. You’re allowed to care about him,” she whispered.

  Marnie was known to fancy herself a matchmaker when it came to the ranch staff and volunteers. The woman wouldn’t be happy until all the singles were paired off. She could often be found bending the ears of the ranch hands, urging them to have some courage and ask one of the women on a date. Lately a mysterious matchmaker had been leaving notes and gifts. Whoever it was had successfully paired up the librarian, Macy, and the vice president of their chapter of the Lone Star Cowboy League, Tanner. They’d also had a hand in breaking up Tanner’s sister’s engagement and finding her a more deserving man. There was a rumor that Marnie was behind some of the obvious matchmaking attempts, but Josie wasn’t so sure the cook would go as far as writing fake love notes or splitting up couples.

  Then again, who knew?

  If the woman was behind the hoopla, Josie would make sure Marnie understood she shouldn’t involve her at all.

  She took a deep breath.

  “No, actually.” Josie let the lace flutter to the ground, where it would end up covered in dust. Unusable. She fisted her hands and pressed them into her thighs. “I don’t care about him. I won’t let that happen.”

  Abby laid her hand over one of Josie’s fists.

  The cook jerked back in disbelief. “Why ever not?”

  Because a good wife would still be devastated over the loss of her husband. Because Heath was a Texas Ranger, which meant every single day spelled danger for him. Because already her heart throbbed with deep pain when she thought about him leaving.

  “A million reasons.”

  Marnie shook her head real fast a few times. “Child, do you honestly believe you’re not allowed to be happy in this life?” She ducked her head to catch Josie’s gaze. “That God wants you to only know suffering? That you’re allotted one go around at love and once that’s done you’re put on some back shelf for the rest of your life? ’Cause if you believe that, you’re wrong.”

  “My husband was killed.” Josie usually tried not to say that out loud because it sounded like she was asking for pity, but sometimes there was no way around it.

  “I know, honey. I’m so sorry you had to live through that. But—living—that’s the point. Despite what has happened, God is not done working in your life.” She tapped the table a few times as she spoke. “Praise Him for that, honey. He’s still doing a work in you. Don’t make the mistake of punishing yourself for what happened, or holding back the growth God wants
to bring into your life because you somehow believe you’re undeserving of it.” Marnie leaned over the table. “Don’t go missing the blessings and opportunities He’s laying out before you. They don’t always come around again after we ignore them.”

  Josie cradled her stomach. “It was only six months ago.”

  The oven pinged. Marnie pressed up from the table and hustled over to pull the banana bread out. “There’s no time stamp on these things. No rule books.”

  The baby moved. A foot or elbow pressed against Josie’s hand. Hope and responsibility declared war on each other in her heart. She had to make wise choices for her child’s future.

  She took a shaky breath. “If I do end up falling in love again, it won’t be with a Texas Ranger. That’s for sure. I’m not risking my heart or my baby’s future like that.”

  “Well, now.” Marnie eased the steaming bread from the pan and set it to cool on a wide cutting board. “The Lord does often choose to work in mysterious ways. His ways aren’t ours. Not ever.”

  Abby sorted through the stack of verses she’d carefully been writing on the linen sheets in her calligraphy-like handwriting. “Here it is. I think this is the one you need on your next jar.” She handed over a verse.

  Josie stared down at the strip of fabric.

  The joy of the Lord is my strength.

  Could that be true? Lately, Josie felt more beaten down than strong. What if her feelings were a result of her lack of joy? But no, it was natural to feel as she did after what she’d been through. Of course it was.

  Josie set down the verse and slid back from the table. Her chair scraped along the ground. “You know, I think I do need to take a break and will stretch my legs a little after all.”

  Knowing she probably couldn’t bend to pick it up anyway, she sidestepped the ruined piece of lace on the ground and tried to ignore the worried glance that passed between Marnie and Abby as she walked out the back door.

  * * *

  Heath poked his head through the opening in the barn door in search of Josie, but he spotted a lanky teen instead.

  “Stephen?” Heath stepped into the room.

  The teen startled and spun around to face him, a book clutched in his hands. “Wow. Okay. It’s just you.” Stephen gave a nervous laugh. “You scared me.”

  Heath scanned the area. Alone in the calf barn, Stephen had one of the pens unlatched. He’d been inside with the littlest calf, the one Josie liked to baby. The animal had markings that made it look like it had a white heart on its forehead. Everyone called it Honey.

  What was Stephen up to? Simply reading? Heath hoped so. After spending time with the teenager, Heath’s gut said Stephen was a good kid. But his police training demanded that he question the young man anyway.

  “Where’s Josie?”

  Stephen gave Honey one last pat on the head and then stepped out of the pen. “Don’t know.” He checked the latch, making sure it was secure.

  “She wasn’t in here with you?”

  “Just me.” Stephen slipped the small paperback he carried into one of the back pockets of his jeans and then brushed his hands off on his thighs.

  Heath strode forward, eating up the distance between them. “I never did get to ask you about the night someone set the calves free.”

  Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “What would you need to ask me?”

  Heath crossed his arms and widened his stance. “How I hear it, you were the only person unaccounted for that night. No alibi means you’re the most likely suspect. At least, that’s what it usually means.”

  The teen shoved his hands into the pocket on the front of his black hooded sweatshirt. “You’ve taught us enough in detection class—I know there has to be a motive. So, Officer...or whatever it is I should call you...what’s my supposed motive? Why would I do something like that?”

  “Because you...” Heath’s eyes locked with the lanky teenager’s and his tongue went dry. Anger, confusion, frustration, desperation—all there. Louder than all of it, though: Believe in me.

  “Just say it. You know you want to.” Stephen stalked forward. “I’m a bad person. I wouldn’t be at this ranch if I wasn’t. Right? And people like me will always do bad things. Since I got the label now, that’s all I can be for the rest of my life. This is a place for bad seeds.” He made finger quotes around the last words.

  “Who told you that?” Heath asked gently.

  “My stepfather.” He jammed his hands back into the front pocket of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter. You think it, too. Everyone thinks it.” He jostled past Heath in the narrow area between the calf pens, shoulder checking him. Well...as hard as a scrawny teen could shoulder check a fit, thirty-year-old man.

  With quick reflexes from ten years of needing them, Heath caught Stephen’s arm and turned him back around before Stephen could take off. “Hey, listen. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

  Stephen looked up at the ceiling, toward the wall, down at the floor, back up at the ceiling, anywhere in an attempt to hide the fact that he was about to cry. “Then what’s my motive?” he ground out. “Why would I put our calves in danger? Huh?”

  Heath laid his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “People do things when they’re upset. Sometimes we’re hurting and the pain takes over and we make choices we wish we hadn’t. Because we’re struggling and because life is hard. If that’s what happened—it doesn’t make you bad, okay?”

  “How would you know anything?”

  Heath hadn’t been around for Nell or Flint when they needed him, and he had spent fifteen years closing off from everyone around him so they couldn’t know the intimate parts of his life. From knowing him at all. But he could do this for Stephen. He could be there for him because opening up would be the brave thing to do.

  And Heath didn’t fancy himself a coward.

  “My father died when I was fifteen. My mom remarried pretty quickly and my stepfather and I locked horns from day one.” He dropped his hand from Stephen’s shoulder. “He told me to buck up and stop moping about my dad.”

  Even fifteen years later, his stepfather’s rejection still stung.

  Heath leaned in. “Between you and me...I might have done some things to him that didn’t help the situation. Nails in his tires, salt in his coffee when he asked for sugar, that sort of thing. I had a lot of anger and I just didn’t know what to do with it.” He straightened back up.

  Might as well tell everything.

  “In the end, he gave my mom an ultimatum—me or him. She chose him and I got shipped off to live at my uncle’s ranch until I was old enough to join the army.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “So that’s how I know. I made some choices fueled by hurt that I wish I hadn’t. Things I can’t explain the rationale behind, even now.”

  Stephen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you and him—your stepfather—are you two friends now?”

  Heath shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ll never be friends, but we can tolerate each other if we have to. So we do for my mother’s sake. I wish I had a better picture to paint for you.”

  The teen toed at the ground. “My stepfather hates me.”

  “Hate’s a strong word.” Heath sighed as he searched for the right way to explain things. “Men feel like a failure when they can’t automatically fix something. A lot of men—we don’t know how to connect and we’re more afraid of failing than anything, so we don’t try to work at a relationship, because walking away feels like a choice, whereas working at it and struggling feels like failing. It’s not logical. But we men seldom are when it comes to relationships.”

  “So you’re saying they point at us and say we’re the problem so they don’t have to invest and then feel like they can’t fix us? It all comes down to pride?”

  Heath nodded slowly. “I believe that’s the case, and I’d be lying if I
said I wasn’t guilty of doing the same thing with people in my life.”

  Stephen finally made eye contact again. “Do you think the boys here are bad seeds?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I didn’t set the calves free that night. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m supposed to go home next month, for good.” He fiddled with the cuff on his sleeve. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to live with him.”

  “Does your stepfather—does anyone lay a hand on you?” The muscles in Heath’s back bunched up, tense. He’d fight tooth and nail to protect Stephen if he found out his stepfather was abusive.

  “It’s not like that. He doesn’t hit me. He just makes it very obvious that he doesn’t like me and doesn’t think I’ll measure up to anything.”

  “You’re seventeen, son. One year.” Heath held up a finger. He wished he could promise the teen that life would be wonderful when he went home to his parents. That they’d all get along great and make a ton of memories and his stepfather would be supportive. But Heath couldn’t promise those things. False hope caused more pain in the world than outright punches. “You only have to stay for one year and then you’ll be considered an adult and can strike out on your own if you have to. That’s what I did.”

  “Will you... It’s probably too much to ask.” Stephen studied the toes of his gym shoes.

  “Ask anyway.”

  “Would you help me? Mentor me, kind of...even after this month?”

  A burning sensation filled Heath’s chest, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was more of an ache than anything. A pain that had always been there but he hadn’t recognized until that moment. Heath wanted to be a part of something—something more than just his career. He wanted to be actively involved in someone’s life.

  Heath coughed a little, clearing his throat. “Yeah, son. If you want me to, of course. I’ll be in your life as long as you want me to be.”