A Ranger for the Holidays (Lone Star Cowboy League)

by Allie Pleiter

  Amelia hadn’t thought of that. “I can see that all of his memories aren’t happy ones. There’s something dark just beyond his reach—he’s even said as much—but it can’t be criminal. He uses phrases you do, which makes me think he’s in law enforcement.”

  Lucy stopped walking and halted Amelia with a hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason for you to steer clear. I get that he’s handsome and in distress and all, but haven’t you sworn off us badge types since Rafe?”

  “I’m helping him, not dating him, Lucy.”

  “And what if one turns into the other?”

  “Believe me, I won’t let it.” Bug pulled on the leash, in no mood to stand still on such a chilly night. “I trust the nudges I get to help somebody.” Amelia started walking again. “God’s never sent me astray yet, and I don’t think He’s gonna start now. Finn needs a whopping load of grace and a safe place to work everything through. I don’t think it’s any surprise to God that I’m the one who found him—I’m the one who was supposed to find him. I can help, so I’m going to help.”

  “I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying don’t take him in.”

  “He needs taking in most of all. You said it yourself—there’s no one looking for him. Can you imagine how that feels? He’s the worst kind of lonely. I can’t let him go through that in some hotel two towns over, not when Gramps and I are here and we’ve got the room and I’m the one who found him.”

  “Well, I’ve been your friend long enough to know you’re gonna do this no matter what I say.” This wasn’t the first time Amelia had listened to a lecture from Lucy on overextending her helpful nature. She reminded herself that a friend who spoke the truth in love was a good friend to have, even when it felt exasperating. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, and you’ll listen if I have to come to you with information you don’t like.”

  “Fair enough. And if Finn remembers anything I think you should hear, I promise I’ll tell you. Even if it proves my hunch is wrong.” She narrowed an eye at Lucy. “But it never is.”

  “Yet,” Lucy corrected, wagging a finger at Amelia.

  “Yet,” Amelia conceded. She was glad to feel the tension leave the conversation. “But really, have you got any leads at all?”

  Lucy squared her shoulders. “The League Rustling Investigation Team and I have a theory or two.”

  “Any you can share?” Amelia tried to be sensitive to Lucy’s official capacity and the sensitive information that often went with it.

  “There’s a ranch hand, someone with a sketchy past who worked at three of the big ranches that got hit. He’d know the layout enough to get in and pull off the burglaries.”

  “That seems like a strong lead.” Amelia loved to watch Lucy work on a case. She was an amazing strategist, a talented puzzle-solver who could see connections others missed. Little Horn was blessed to have her.

  “There’s more,” Lucy went on. “This same guy just won a handful in the state lottery. That would puff him up enough to dare taking revenge on any ranch that let him go.”

  “And it would mean he’d have the funds to give gifts to the struggling ranchers,” Amelia added. “I know you were wondering how our thief was turning all that livestock and equipment into cash for those other purchases so quickly.” It wasn’t as if a saddle went missing from one ranch only to appear on another—the taken items seemed to disappear, while different gifted items showed up out of nowhere.

  “Only, I can’t connect him to the folks who’ve gotten gifts yet, only the folks who were robbed.”

  “You’ll find the connection. You always do. And you’ve got the ‘Posse’ helping you.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes at the nickname some of the townspeople had given the Rustling Investigation Team. “‘Helping’ isn’t always helpful. I had to make Tom Horton give me his gun on our stakeout the other night—he’s a little too eager to play ‘cops and robbers’ if you ask me. I’m glad to have Doc Grainger and Carson join the team, but we’re still not getting anywhere solid. Byron’s demanding answers, and he’s not alone.”

  Byron McKay had been the first and hardest hit, so he had cause to be concerned. Only, Byron was tough to like under even the best of circumstances. He’d been mean to everyone lately, so Amelia could just imagine the kind of grief Byron must be giving Lucy for the fact that the identity of Little Horn’s ranch brand of Robin Hood remained unsolved. “Byron making your life miserable?”

  “More than usual, and that’s saying something.” Lucy let out a weary sigh. “If we don’t solve this soon it’s going to be a hard, mean Christmas in Little Horn.”

  Her friend’s words brought the ice from Finn’s eyes back to Amelia’s memory. Had Finn known nothing but hard, mean Christmases? Surely Little Horn could change that. Surely she, of all people, could change that.

  Chapter Four

  Monday while Finn was back at Dr. Searle’s for more tests and treatments, Amelia went to visit her younger sister, Lizzie, to go over plans for Lizzie’s upcoming wedding. As she watched her sister slump onto the couch, Amelia would be hard-pressed to say who was having the more trying afternoon—her or Finn. “I’m tired of all this,” Lizzie moaned, hand on her forehead “Why do we have to plan everything so far in advance?”

  Lizzie’s wedding plans couldn’t be classified as ‘far in advance’ by any stretch of the imagination. As much as she loved putting together events, and Lizzie really was the only family she had other than Gramps, Amelia was starting to regret her role as stand-in mother of the bride/wedding planner. “You want it to come off well, don’t you? You keep telling me you want the perfect wedding.”

  “I do.” Lizzie sighed, gesturing to the stack of wedding magazines and notes scattered across the coffee table. “I want Boone and my wedding to be spectacular.”

  “Well—” Amelia tried to keep the frustration from her voice “—spectacular can’t really be done at the last minute. It’s December, and you want to get married the first weekend in April. You’ve got a whole lot of great ideas here. You just need to make a few decisions.” She leaned in and gave Lizzie a supportive nudge. “Settling on a color scheme would go a long way to getting us organized.”

  Lizzie sunk her face in her hands. “Ugh. I can’t decide. You choose.”

  Amelia pulled out the three color schemes. It had taken her two weeks just to get Lizzie to narrow it down to three. “I am not choosing your color scheme for you. I’ll happily implement it down to the last detail, but honey, this is your and Boone’s wedding. You and Boone need to make some of the decisions.” Secretly, Amelia knew which she was rooting for—and it wasn’t the purple and sage. And the red and gold was just too bold no matter how she looked at it. No, the mint and cream was by far the best for Lizzie’s skin tone and the early-spring timing. It’s not my place to choose, she reminded herself even as her hand rested on the mint-and-cream palette. Don’t over-help. This needs to be Lizzie’s choice.

  “Boone told me I could do whatever I wanted.”

  Amelia had heard enough do-whatever-you-wants from Rafe to recognize such disinterest as a red flag between couples. Still, she could just as easily suspect Boone to be nothing more than frustrated with Lizzie’s indecision. “Well, then, it really is up to you. They’re all fine choices, Lizzie, just pick one.”

  Lizzie straightened on the couch. Amelia wished she believed in mental telepathy so she could send Mint, mint, mint! messages to her sister. As it was, she just said a prayer for wisdom on Lizzie’s part and grace for herself.

  “I want the red and gold. I want lots of shiny gold details so my wedding sparkles.”

  Not exactly a spring palette—more holiday, to tell the truth—but at least Lizzie had chosen. “Excellent choice. You’ll have the sparkliest wedding in the county. I can see red roses and gold ribbons in your bouquet already, can’t you?”

  Lizzie’s eyes fairly glowed as she picked up the paper with all the red-gold color variations on it. “You know what I was think
ing, Lia?” Lizzie often used the nickname she’d given her sister when as a youngster she couldn’t quite pronounce Amelia.

  “I was thinking I’d love to walk down the aisle in sparkly gold shoes. I’d feel like a princess in glittery shoes. And Boone’s vest could be gold lamé, couldn’t it?”

  Amelia swallowed the disco ball remark tickling the tip of her tongue and smiled. “There’s all kinds of things we can do now that you’ve made your choice.” She slid the elegant mint-and-cream pages back into her file alongside the purple and sage. If Lizzie wanted to shout her color scheme to the world, that was a bride’s choice. She’d just have to do a big sister’s best to ensure the wedding guests didn’t feel as if they’d run off to the circus. Amelia hid the grin such a thought gave her behind a sip of iced tea.

  “Can we rent a tent?” Lizzie asked, shifting the gold fabric on the paper this way and that to catch the sunshine coming in through the windows.

  The circus-tent connection was a bit too striking, and Amelia nearly choked on her tea. “Pardon?”

  “Do you think we can have the wedding outside under a tent?”

  “April can be a bit unpredictable weather-wise, Lizzie. We might want to stick with the League banquet hall to keep things from becoming a circus.” She cringed at the word choice, fighting the urge to whack her own forehead.

  “A circus!” Lizzie’s eyes went wide. “That’s it!”

  That is not it. Oh, please, don’t let that be it. “Oh, Lizzie, I’m not so sure that’s a...”

  Lizzie had already shot up off the couch, circling the room with animated gestures. “Can’t you see it? A circus wedding? No one would ever forget it!”

  I can guarantee you that, Amelia thought. “Lizzie, honey...”

  “Couldn’t you just see Boone in one of those red coats? The ones with the black lapels? And a top hat? Just like one of those—” she whirled a hand, trying to pick the word out of the air “—what are they called?”

  Amelia began to feel slightly ill. “Ringmaster?” Her voice took on an unfortunate squeak with the word.

  Lizzie spread her hands in delight, oblivious to Amelia’s alarm. “Exactly. Oh, Lia, you’re right—it is the perfect choice. You’re so good at this. I’m so glad you’re my sister.” She bent over Amelia and hugged her tight. “If anyone can give me a circus wedding, it’s you!”

  “Sure.” Amelia winced inside her sister’s hug. “You know me and parties.”

  Lizzie released her and began pushing papers around on the coffee table in search of her cell phone. “I’ve just got to tell Boone right away!” She punched in a few numbers and then practically skipped off to the kitchen to leave Amelia staring at the red-and-gold carnage scattered across the table. “Guess what, Pookie?” Lizzie shouted from the other room, using the ridiculous nickname she and Boone continually used. Amelia put a finger to the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. You wanted her to choose. At least everything red and gold should be on sale right after Christmas.

  She would swallow the cringe she suspected would permanently settle in her stomach and give Lizzie a wonderful wedding, because she was the only one who could. Mama’s illness had taken her from Amelia and Lizzie when they were teenagers, so there was no mother of the bride to step in and help. Daddy had made sure she and Lizzie were very well provided for before his liver disease finally took him, but Amelia had always suspected Daddy died more of a broken heart than a sick liver. She had memories—good ones—of what Mama and Daddy had been like as a happy couple, but she could easily recall the light that never came back to Daddy’s eyes once Mama was gone. Lizzie, being younger, maybe didn’t have as many memories of their parents’ marital bliss. That could be what was driving Lizzie’s urges for a nuptial spectacular.

  Or—and Amelia felt a shudder at the thought—the urge to prove that at least one Klondike could make it to the altar.

  And really, was it such a chore to give her baby sister the wedding of her dreams? More like saving Lizzie from herself, Amelia mused, picturing what Lizzie’s unrestrained imagination could dream up. Left to her own devices, Lizzie might rent an elephant to give rides on the League front lawn. Oh, Lord, I’m gonna need a heap of grace and patience for this. And you know I don’t have much of either on this particular subject.

  “Boone just loved the idea!” Lizzie came back into the room to plop down on the couch, arms and legs skewed at dramatic angles. “People will be talking about this wedding for years, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I completely agree.” One thing was sure—Lizzie’s “circus” wedding would give Little Horn’s wagging tongues something else to talk about than her own broken engagement. Amelia came over to sit next to Lizzie on the couch. “Just promise me one thing, baby sister.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  Amelia took Lizzie’s hand. “Promise me you’ll put as much work into the marriage as you do into the wedding.”

  Lizzie pulled away the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you and Boone are young. You haven’t known each other all that long, and I haven’t seen either of you in church for weeks. A marriage is a lot more than just a fabulous party. If Daddy were here, he’d tell you a happy marriage takes hard work. I want you and Boone to have a happy marriage.”

  Lizzie pulled her hand from Amelia’s. “You don’t really like him, do you?”

  Amelia sighed. They’d had some version of this discussion so many times. “I don’t really know him. I want to get to know him, but I can hardly find ten minutes together with the two of you. He stayed all of thirty minutes at Thanksgiving.”

  “Boone had to be somewhere. Why are you coming down so hard on him?”

  She’d never heard Boone talk of any nearby family—who had “places to be” on Thanksgiving? Places that didn’t welcome the woman he intended to marry? “I’m not saying he’s a bad choice, Lizzie. I’m just saying...”

  “Oh, I get loud and clear what you’re saying.” Lizzie stood up. “Look, just because your fiancé left you high and dry doesn’t mean every man is a louse.”

  “That’s not at all what I mean.”

  Lizzie spun to turn on Amelia with sharp, narrow eyes. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?”

  “I do want you to be happy, Lizzie. And the right man will make you happy. Just give me a chance to get to know Boone as the right man.”

  “Boone is the right man for me. And if you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be helping with my wedding.” Lizzie began stuffing all the notes back into the bag until Amelia put a hand out to stop her.

  “I’m sorry. I trust you to choose the right man for you. But I wouldn’t be your sister if I didn’t try to counsel you toward a good marriage. Just promise me you and Boone will do the premarital program at church between now and April. Their isn’t a soul on earth who doesn’t need God’s help to make a strong marriage. Even Daddy and Gramps would tell you that.”

  “Well—” Amelia was glad to see Lizzie sink back down onto the couch “—I have heard good things about Pastor Mathers’s program. And I know Boone says he’s okay with church.”

  Okay with church? Amelia wondered. What kind of commitment is that? “Then why don’t you and Boone come to supper some night next week?”

  “We’ll see,” Lizzie replied, holding the shiny gold fabric up to the light again.

  We will indeed, Amelia thought to herself.

  * * *

  Dr. Searle waved the annoying flashlight again, peering too close at Finn. The bright light hurt. “So,” the doctor said, trying too hard to sound casual, “anything new come back to you?”

  “Vague impressions, but nothing useful. Nothing like my name, or my address, or what I do, or why I’m here.” The list was depressing.

  “Well, now, it hasn’t been that long.” Searle cued Finn to go through the silly-feeling exercises he had done at every visit—things like pushing and pulling against the doctor’s grip. Physically, he was healing
as well as could be expected. His brain wasn’t being nearly as cooperative. “Still dizzy?” the doctor asked.

  “Only if I stand up too fast or move my head too quickly. And when I’m tired. Which seems to be a lot.” Finn was no fan of having to recite his current weaknesses. It was good to be out of the hospital, but he still felt like an invalid.

  “All to be expected.” Searle made some notations on a chart. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a smart choice to be at Amelia’s. You ought not to be on your own for the next few days, given that you’re a fall risk.”

  That pronouncement sank into Finn’s gut. Old people were fall risks, not him.

  Searle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to end up back here, do you?”

  Had he been that irritable in the hospital? “No, sir.” Searle’s expression told Finn he hadn’t been a dream patient.

  Searle took off his glasses. “And I realize this may seem like asking a lot, but I’d like you to stay off the internet. We have Lucy and the sheriff’s office working on your identity. You fishing around cyberspace for clues isn’t the best use of your energies right now. The last thing you need is some false piece of information sending you down a stressful rabbit hole.”

  That seemed unreasonable. “But...”

  Searle cut him off. “I understand this is uncomfortable for you. But, son, you’re going to have to trust the healing process. Think of it this way—right now, your brain knows more than you do. It’s going to give up secrets at a pace we can’t determine. Force things, and you may end up making it worse for yourself. You’re in no danger, you’ve got Amelia helping you—which means you’ve got all of Little Horn in your corner—so I see no reason to rush this.”

  Can an amnesiac fire his neurologist? Finn didn’t much care for the advice he was getting, but even he knew there weren’t other options at the moment. He was stuck in the here and now whether he liked it or not. “I hate this,” he pointed out, petulant as it sounded.

  “I can understand how you do. But the sooner you make peace with it, the better off you’ll be.”