From Here to Texas

by Stella Bagwell

  As he started toward the exit Quito jerked his thumb back at Clementine’s booth. “Treat her right, Betty. She’s used to the best.”

  Clementine tried not to look at the man as he left the café, but her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own and she watched his tall, solidly built body ease past the glass door and out of sight.

  “Good mornin’, miss. You havin’ breakfast this mornin’?”

  Sighing with a sadness she dared not examine, Clementine turned back to the waitress hovering at the edge of her table.

  “Just coffee and toast. And maybe a little jam—any kind will do,” she told the waitress.

  Betty quickly scribbled the order down then cast a faint grin at Clementine. “You must be new around town. I’d remember someone as pretty as you.”

  Clementine flushed at Betty’s compliment. “Thank you. I used to live in this area for a while. I’m just back for a short visit.”

  Curiosity raised Betty’s eyebrows. “Oh. You lived here in town? I live on Fourth. Little yellow house with a mesquite tree in the front yard.”

  Clementine shook her head as she told herself she was going to have to get used to this. People were naturally going to be asking her why she was here, how long she planned to stay and where she’d been. The best thing she could do was to be honest.

  “I didn’t live here in town. My parents owned the house south of town—the white stucco with the red tile roof. It’s on the mountain.”

  Since there was only one house that fit that description, Betty’s mouth formed a silent O. “You mean the Jones house?”

  Clementine nodded. “I didn’t know if anyone would remember. It’s been a long time since we were here.”

  Betty was flat out amazed. “Remember? Why, honey, everyone remembers you Joneses.”

  “Hey, Betty! Are you gonna talk all day over there or are you gonna pour me some coffee?”

  The waitress glanced over at the man sitting on a bar stool. Even though his griping appeared to be good-natured, she stuck her pencil behind her ear and said, “Gotta go, miss. I’ll bring that toast right out.”

  After Clementine ate breakfast she drove down main street and parked her black sports car in front of a log structure with a sign hanging over the door that read Neil Rankin, Attorney at Law.

  Small sprinklers were dampening the patches of grass in front of the building. To the right-hand side of the steps stood a huge blue spruce tree. The pungent scent from its boughs was fresh and crisp to Clementine’s nostrils and she could only think how different this little corner of the world was from Houston and many of the poverty-stricken places she’d visited in the past couple of years. The sky was clean and sharply blue. The scents of evergreen, juniper and sage laced the dry air. And the men were just as rough and tough as any Texan on the streets of Houston. Especially one, she thought. The one with a badge on his shirt and a gun on his hips.

  Feeling as though every last bit of air had drained from her lungs, she slumped back against the seat and passed a trembling hand across her forehead.

  Why are you so upset, Clementine? You knew you were going to run into the man sometime during this stay. You knew you were going to have to look upon his face again.

  Drawing in a ragged breath, she tried to push the voice away and gather her shaken senses.

  She turned her gaze on the passenger window and stared out at the town where she’d once walked and shopped. Above the roofs of the buildings, in the far, far distance, the peaks of the San Juan Mountains were capped with snow and as she studied their majestic beauty, her thoughts turned backward to a time when she and Quito had walked along a quiet mountain path. Even though it had been summer, patches of snow had lain in the shadows and in the meadows dandelions as big as saucers had bobbed in the warm sun. She and Quito had lain down in the grass and the wildflowers and made love. The trees and the sky had been their canopy and the earth had been their bed. She’d fallen in love with him that day and her life had never been the same since.

  Several minutes passed before Clementine was composed enough to leave the car and enter the lawyer’s office. The front area of the building was modestly decorated with plastic chairs and a coffee table loaded with magazines. In the center of the room, close to a door marked Private, was a wide desk with an Hispanic woman seated behind it. A nameplate on the corner said her name was Connie Jimenez.

  As Clementine approached the desk, the woman continued to chat on the telephone. After two long minutes, she hung up and quickly apologized.

  “Sorry about that. Some people think they can butt their way into anything.” The middle-aged woman had black, slightly graying hair and she smiled at Clementine with a sincerity that was real, not like the phony lip movement she saw back in the city. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Clementine Jones. Neil told me to drop by this morning. Is he busy?”

  Connie rolled her eyes as if to say Neil Rankin wouldn’t know what real work was. “He’s probably in there throwing darts.”

  Clementine’s brows arched upward. “Why? Is he angry?”

  Connie laughed. “Angry? Are you kidding? I’ve never seen that man even raise his voice. He’s practicing his dart game for a tournament down at Indian Wells. That’s a local bar and grill. First prize gets you free beer for a year.”

  She motioned toward the door marked Private. “Go on in. I just made him a fresh pot of coffee. And there’re doughnuts, too.”

  “Thanks,” Clementine told her and knocked lightly before she opened the door to Neil Rankin’s office.

  As Connie had predicted, the lawyer was drinking coffee and throwing darts at a board on the wall.

  “Come in,” he called as he walked over to the dart board and plucked one from the center of the target. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “It’s only me, Neil.”

  The sound of her voice caused him to jerk with surprise and he quickly turned and hurried over. The smile on his face said he was truly glad to see her and she was relieved. It was no secret that the relationship between Neil and Quito had been a long, close one. She couldn’t blame Neil if he hated her for hurting his friend.

  “Clementine! How great to see you!”

  Neil was a tall man with a handsomely chiseled face. Compared to Quito’s rugged build, he was slender, but well put together and his dark blond hair was naturally streaked and fell across his forehead in a boyish fashion. He’d been single when she’d been living here and from the looks of his empty ring finger he was still that way. It was hard to believe some woman hadn’t snared him before now, she thought. But then, maybe he’d been burned as she’d been burned. Maybe he never wanted to think about the word love.

  He took both her hands and gave them a warm squeeze. Clementine couldn’t help but smile at him. “Hello, Neil.”

  Neil positioned a cushioned chair in front of his desk and helped her into it. “I was just drinking my morning coffee. Let me get you a cup,” he said.

  She’d already had two cups at the Wagon Wheel, but now that she was here she wanted to appear sociable. “That would be nice. Thank you,” she told him.

  He walked over to the coffeemaker and picked up a glass cup. “I’ll give you good china,” he said with a wink. “Connie says I shouldn’t give a lady a cup of coffee in a foam cup. Cream or sugar?”

  “Cream please.”

  The lawyer carried it over to her and she smiled wryly as she accepted the cup and saucer. “At least you think I’m a lady,” she said.

  Frowning, he rested his hips on the front of the desk. “Now why would you say that? I’ve always considered you a lady.”

  A blush crept across her face. “Well, I don’t imagine you’ve had too many good thoughts of me since I left Aztec. You and Quito were such good friends.”

  He shrugged. “And we still are. I don’t put the entire blame on your breakup with you. You were very young then, Clementine. Quito should have realized that and—well, let’s not get into all that. Tell
me what you’re doing with the house?”

  Neil walked around the desk and eased down in a leather chair. Clementine sipped her coffee and tried to get comfortable. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it first. I knew you’d be honest with me. As to whether I should sell or rent.”

  Thoughtful, he rubbed a thumb and forefinger across his dented chin. “The place has been empty for a long time. Years, in fact. Why have you suddenly decided to do something with it?”

  Clementine breathed deeply. “Believe me, Neil, my decision isn’t sudden. I’ve had the place on my mind for a long while. But I—” She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t admit to this old friend that she’d been afraid to return to Aztec, afraid of facing Quito and all that had happened between them. “I’ve been busy with one thing and another,” she finished.

  He smiled understandingly. “Well, the years have certainly been kind to you, Clementine. You haven’t aged a day. You’re still just as pretty as ever.”

  “And it sounds like you’re still the flirt and flatterer that I remember,” she teased.

  Neil chuckled and then his expression turned serious. “I thought that you might have come back because of Quito. You must have heard he nearly died.”

  The news was such a slam to her stomach she actually pressed her hand against her midsection. Incredulous, she stared at him. “Nearly died? But how? Why?”

  “Someone tried to murder him. It happened out on highway 544. Someone drove up beside him and pumped three nine millimeter slugs into the side of his vehicle. Two of the bullets hit Quito and did a lot of damage. He only got released from the hospital about two or three weeks ago.”

  So that’s why he’d looked a little pale, she thought. And all the time he’d been standing beside her table, she’d been thinking his ashen color had been a result of seeing her again. Clementine should have known better than to think she’d had that much effect on the man.

  Still stunned, she slowly shook her head. “No—I—I hadn’t heard about Quito. In fact, I just saw him over at the Wagon Wheel. He stopped by my table to say hello.” A pained expression crossed her face. “He didn’t say anything about being shot!”

  Neil shrugged. “No. Quito wouldn’t say anything. He’s not the sort to go around talking about himself.”

  Or to her, she thought, sadly.

  “I noticed he was still wearing his badge and gun. So apparently he’s not giving up the job of sheriff,” she said to Neil.

  Leaning back in his chair, Neil folded his arms across his chest and thoughtfully eyed her troubled face. “Why, Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.”

  Trying to keep any sort of emotion from her face, Clementine reached down and pulled a set of thick papers from the briefcase she’d carried in with her handbag.

  “Here’s the abstract and deed for the house and land,” she said stiffly. “Once you have a chance to read it over you can contact me at the Apache Junction.”

  Clementine rose to her feet and walked out before the lawyer collected himself enough to make any sort of reply.

  Once she was outside and sitting in her car, she finally let her guard down. With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

  Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.

  What made Neil think she still had feelings for Quito Perez, she wondered bitterly. Eleven years was a long time. Love didn’t last that long. Not for anybody.

  Chapter Two

  After Clementine drove away from Neil Rankin’s office, she decided at the last moment to turn the car onto the highway and drive out to the Jones house.

  She’d only arrived in Aztec last night after a long drive up from Houston. Her mother, Delta, had pronounced her crazy for wanting to drive eleven hundred miles rather than fly to northern New Mexico. But Clementine hadn’t wanted the trip to be short. She’d wanted the extra time to think about the past and ponder her future.

  Nothing had turned out as she’d once planned and a tiny part of her hoped and believed that making this trip, and doing away with the house her parents had willed her, would finally put an end to her restless heart.

  The car topped out on a small grade and Clementine automatically began to brake as she noticed a patrol car parked on the side of the road. It would be just her luck to get a speeding ticket, she thought dourly. Quito would surely get a laugh out of that.

  On closer inspection, she noticed the car was empty and just as she was about to pass, she caught sight of a man’s figure standing out among a stand of twisted juniper trees.

  It was Quito!

  Without bothering to wonder why, she steered her car onto the shoulder of the highway and parked in front of the patrol car. In a matter of seconds she was out of the car and walking toward him.

  He noticed her immediately, but he didn’t bother walking to meet her. Instead he stood his ground and waited for her to come to him.

  She was still dressed in the slim white skirt and peach silk blouse she’d been wearing at the Wagon Wheel. The four-inch spiked heels on her feet were sinking into the loamy red soil and he cursed under his breath as she awkwardly covered the rough ground between them.

  “What are you doing out here, Clementine?”

  She licked her lips and smoothed her skirt. “I saw the car and then I spotted you. I thought something might be wrong.” She hadn’t exactly thought he was having trouble, but it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. Apparently from the dry expression on Quito’s face, he considered it pretty lame, too.

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong. And you’re going to kill yourself wearing those heels out here like this.”

  A smile tilted the corners of her lips. “Still the ever practical Quito, I see.”

  Her blue eyes slid covertly down his six-foot-three-inch body. He was thick with muscle, much more so than he’d been eleven years ago. His thighs had his jeans stretched tight and the expanse across his chest and shoulders seemed to go on forever. He was wearing a white oxford shirt and the color contrasted starkly against his dark skin.

  As her eyes returned to his face, she felt another kick in the stomach. Quito wasn’t handsome. His features were far too rough for that. But the chiseled nose and mouth and dark hooded eyes all combined to make the most masculine face she’d ever seen. And one that, for her, had been unforgettable.

  “I could think of worse things to be called,” he said.

  She smiled again while inside she sighed softly at the thought of stepping forward and laying her cheek against his broad chest. Quito was the strongest, bravest man she’d ever known. No one had ever made her feel as safe as he had.

  “This morning—you didn’t ask me why I was here in Aztec,” she said. “How come?”

  Her question sounded so much like the young nineteen-year-old woman he’d fallen in love with that he couldn’t stop the corner of his lip from curling upward.

  “Because it’s none of my business why you’re here.”

  She looked disappointed. Which didn’t make an iota of sense to Quito. The woman had walked out of his life years ago. Granted, she’d said she was doing it all in the name of love. But she’d never come back to his little corner of the world. And for Quito that had pretty much exposed the truth of her feelings.

  “Oh,” she said and then a frown marred her pretty face. “Well, why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?”

  So she’d heard about that already, he thought grimly. But hell, what did that matter, he reasoned. He wasn’t trying to be a superhero in her eyes anymore.

  “Look, Clementine, I just stopped by your table to say hello. That’s all. What in hell do you expect from me, anyway?”

  Her eyes were suddenly stricken with dark shadows and he couldn’t miss the slight quiver of her lips as she murmured huskily, “I don’t know, Quito.”

  Damn it, he was going to have to tell the doctor that something inside his chest
had ripped open. Some of that sewing they’d done on him must have pulled apart because there was a pain between his lungs like he’d never felt before.

  A hot westerly breeze picked up her long hair and she caught the shiny strands with her hand as she turned and walked away from him.

  Torn with all sorts of emotions, Quito watched her for a few seconds, then cursed under his breath and hurried to catch up with her.

  By the time his hand closed around her upper arm, his breathing was rapid and labored. Clementine stopped her forward motion and turned to study him with concern.

  “Quito, are you all right?”

  No, he was far from all right, he wanted to tell her. He’d had enough trouble this past month without the only woman he’d ever loved showing up to bring back all sorts of pain and misery.

  “One of my lungs collapsed and two of my ribs were shattered from the gunfire. I’m not totally well yet,” he admitted.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She looked both sincere and concerned but Quito wasn’t going to be sucker enough to believe her this time.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” he muttered.

  She drew in a long, bracing breath as she continued to hold her blond hair away from her face. “Look, Quito, for what it’s worth I didn’t come up here to cause you any sort of problems. My parents willed the house to me and I’ve come up to see about putting it on the market. That’s all.”

  He forced the tension in his body to relax and only then did he realize his fingers were still gripping her upper arm. He dropped his hand and said, “I didn’t really think you were here because of me. All of that was a long time ago. No sense in rehashing it.”

  Except that loving her still continued to affect his life. All the days and months and years that had spanned between them should have erased her from his mind, he thought helplessly. Yet the time hadn’t done anything to dull the light of joy she brought to his heart.

  She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m glad you feel that way, Quito.” She glanced thoughtfully toward her car, then back at him. “I’m on my way to the house. Why don’t you come with me? I haven’t been there in years and I’m almost afraid of what I’ll find.”