A Ranger for the Holidays (Lone Star Cowboy League)

by Allie Pleiter

  “‘Brannigan,’” Finn said, reading the title of the movie. “Brannigan.”

  “Brannigan what?”

  He blinked and looked up at her. “That’s my name. Finn Brannigan. My name is Frank Brannigan.”

  He looked a little unsteady, as if he would fall over if he didn’t sit down, so Amelia stepped up close and held his shoulder. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes wide. “I just know. Like it slipped back into my head just now. Frank Michael Brannigan. Finn’s a nickname. I’m thirty-four years old.” He grabbed her hand as it clasped his shoulder. “Amelia, I’m Finn Brannigan.”

  He was so desperately relieved that Amelia’s throat turned to knots. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Finn Brannigan.” His blue eyes were wide with wonder, as if the weight of the past days slid right off his shoulders with the memory. There was a little bit of fear in those eyes, too, and she understood why. Finn had never spoken it aloud, but she could tell he wasn’t sure he liked the life he’d forgotten. While the fact he was Finn Brannigan opened dozens of important doors, not even Finn could say if good or bad news was behind them.

  She was pleased to meet him. The man who wasn’t yet Finn Brannigan had shown himself to be charming, earnest and steadily less sad. Would the return of his identity clarify that? Or could it tangle it further?

  Finn looked around the store, gauging whether the world had shifted with his discovery. The rush of Christmas shoppers around them simply went about their hectic lives, oblivious to the huge moment that had just happened. “Wow,” he said, one hand running nervously through his hair. He looked happy but lost, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with the information he now had. Who would have words for finally remembering who you are?

  “Maybe we really should sit down with those fries. Or cupcakes—this deserves a celebration of some kind and I saw some of those food trucks just down the street.” He looked a little unsteady on his feet and Amelia wanted someplace more private than the movie section to help him deal with this new memory.

  “Cupcakes or french fries?” His tone told her he found tiny cakes too dainty an option for a celebration. “Isn’t there a third choice? Don’t food trucks usually come in bunches around here?”

  There were at least four trucks, but she’d only noticed the cupcake one. “It’s a safe guess at least one of the ones back there offers barbecue.” She looked at the cart. It seemed wrong to keep shopping when such a momentous thing had just happened.

  He gave her a boyishly excited look. “I’ll buy you cupcakes, but I need some real food.”

  “Your credit card from the hospital is for basic living expenses, not celebrating.” They’d bought him clothes earlier this week, including the green shirt he now wore. It set off his eyes in a way that flipped her stomach whenever she looked at him.

  He grinned. She shouldn’t have laughed at his exuberance, but his kid-on-Christmas-morning excitement made it impossible. “Food is a basic living expense.”

  “But, Finn...”

  He held up a finger, energy practically sparking from his features. “No buts. I can’t stand another minute of shopping. Not now.” It was the most declarative she’d seen him, so she silently followed as he turned the cart toward the checkout lines.

  He was Finn Brannigan now. He’d taken a huge step toward resuming his life, and that was a good thing. Wasn’t it? As they stood in the checkout line, enduring a terribly ordinary task under highly unusual circumstances, a nervousness rose up between them.

  She felt as if she had to ask. “Do you want to call Dr. Searle right now?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t want to page him on a Friday night. It can wait until morning—I’m not sure he can do much until then anyhow.” It made Amelia wonder if Finn had come to the same conclusion: resuming his life would most likely pull him out of hers. That’s probably for the best, she told herself. Finn’s anonymity had created a bubble around their time together. He needed her, and his dependence—his companionship, really—struck a chord so deep she hadn’t even realized it until just now when it might disappear.

  He could change—he would have to change—once he knew who he was.

  * * *

  He was Finn Brannigan. The fact—at once fresh and familiar—hummed through his bones as he settled himself down on a picnic table beside a fire pit. The night air was pleasantly cool, crisp without being uncomfortable; perfect for a table near the roaring fire under the strings of Christmas lights that decorated the tables inside the circle of five food trucks. He was the closest thing to happy he’d been since this whole craziness started. It was a precarious kind of happy, a waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop cheer, but he’d actually had fun tonight. He’d had fun doing something Christmassy, and the dark of the evening felt close and comfortable rather than eerie and lurking.

  Amelia sat with three decadent cupcakes and a foam cup of hot chocolate. She’d been ridiculously gleeful about picking them out, grinning and thanking him as if he’d given her the moon instead of just a surefire sugar rush. He, on the other hand, had opted for a monster of a pulled-pork sandwich and a root beer. Evidently memory made him hungry.

  “Was that fun?” Amelia asked. When the teenage girl behind the counter had asked him for a name for his order, he’d said “Brannigan” with so much enthusiasm that he earned a few stares.

  “I guess it was. I don’t think I’ll ever take my name for granted again. The whole thing is so odd—I feel like everything’s changed.”

  She peeled the bakery wrapper from the small mountain of frosting that passed for a cupcake. “Everything has changed, hasn’t it?”

  Finn heard the same catch in her tone that he felt in his own chest. He knew he was Finn Brannigan, but didn’t know enough to deem that good news. The dark, heavy sense that the life he’d forgotten wasn’t a happy one still pressed against him. After all, he was a Ranger—he must have seen his share of Texas’s underbelly.

  He hadn’t yet told her. After Luther’s warning and the wounded way she talked about her ex-fiancé, he’d resisted.

  “So it’s just your name? That’s all you remember?”

  “And my age.” Tell her you’re a Ranger, the honorable side of him scolded the other part that foolishly refused to confess. It felt as if everything would slam back into place once tomorrow dawned, so would it be terrible to just keep this one night as the happy victory it was? She’d be perfectly entitled to refuse his friendship once all the facts came to light.

  Despite the fact that he hadn’t voiced any of those thoughts, Amelia picked up on his worry—this woman had more intuition than anyone he’d ever known. It was probably what made her so good at helping people. She laid her hand on his arm and he felt that surge of connection he had each time Amelia touched him. As if she needed him, even though he was acutely aware it was the other way around. The bonfire lit her eyes and cheeks with a cheery glow. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

  She’d recognized the return of his memory was a double-edged sword. Would he ever be able to tell her what a gift her understanding was? “There’s a lot floating out there—fuzzy impressions I can’t quite get a fix on, but the name... I can’t tell you what it means to know my whole name.” He hesitated for a moment before admitting, “For a while there I was terrified it wouldn’t come back. That I’d end up one of those freak stories you read about in checkout-counter tabloids.”

  She laughed. “I can’t imagine you up there with the celebrity tragedies and alien babies. You’re far too normal.”

  Normal? Nothing about him felt normal. The scary part was the constant sense that his normal wasn’t anywhere near as nice as right now was, sitting out under the stars near a roaring fire hearing...

  Christmas carols. A group of high school students had gathered in the corner of the picnic area and began to sing “Away in a Manger.” Finn felt his stomach tighten.

  “Oh,” Amelia said, turning to look a
t the group, “this is my favorite.”

  Finn waited for the slam of pain that had almost made him ask her to take the kitchen clock down, waited for his unnamed aversion to all things Christmas to wash over him. It came, but more softly. More like regret than flat-out hate. Finn closed his eyes and tried to hear it the way Amelia did: reverent and quiet instead of slow and mournful. Why couldn’t he grasp the big dark thing lurking just out of his reach? What made him react to Christmas the way he did?

  He opened his eyes as everyone in the place joined in the carol, a cozy little scene straight out of a TV holiday special. Amelia glanced back at him. “Do you remember the words?” she teased, half in jest, half in encouragement. She raised her voice with the others, a sweet, light soprano that wound its way around Finn’s heart as he simply listened to the verse fill the dark sky.

  Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay

  Beside me forever and love me always

  Bless all the dear children in thy tender care

  From out of nowhere, that phrase cut through him with a bolt of grief he could neither stop nor explain.

  And fit us for heaven to live with thee there

  Something horrible and ugly roared up in his chest, clutching at his throat so that he had to gulp for breath. The sound drew Amelia’s attention, her eyes growing wide at whatever horror showed on his face. “Finn?”

  “Get me out of here,” he gasped, fumbling to pull his long legs from under the picnic table.

  “What?” She stood, worry replacing the joy he’d tried to bask in just seconds ago.

  “That song. I can’t...” Can’t stand it? Can’t explain it? No words would come, just a scraping sensation in his lungs that made it feel as if he was gulping down broken glass. It physically hurt, and it was more than just bruised ribs. He was dizzy again and nearly fell in his rush to exit the table. The stumble strained his side and made the pain that much worse. He’d have run if he could, anything to get away from the sweet voices singing that song.

  He beat her to the car, falling against the side as if he’d run ten miles instead of the twenty-or-so feet it was. Even though he faced the car, he could feel the stares of everyone behind him, imagine their murmurs about the lout who made a scene right in the middle of the choir’s charming performance. You don’t know what’s happened to me! he wanted to turn and yell—the exact opposite of the I know my name shout he’d given the counter clerk. Even I don’t know what’s happened to me.

  “What’s wrong?” Amelia caught up to him, grabbing at his shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” he growled. How he loathed those three words. “The song. It hit me like a wall. That song means something bad to me. Something awful I just—” he rammed his fists up against his forehead as if he could knock the memory loose “—don’t know.”

  She took his hands and pulled them down, holding them tight. “Finn, my heart is breaking. What happened to you that Christmas is such a horrible thing for you? What could be so awful?”

  He started to say I wish I knew, but the truth was he didn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  “It was heartbreaking,” Amelia told Ruby Donovan as they sat in Amelia’s kitchen Saturday morning. Amelia had brought over three dollhouse kits that were to be assembled for girls to receive at the League Christmas party. Finn had taken Bug for a walk, and Amelia took the opportunity to share this new worry with her friend. “His reaction was so awful and so strong—like it physically hurt him.”

  Ruby stirred her tea. “It sounds terrible. I can’t imagine what it’s like to go through something like that. Is he getting better?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think he knows, either. Doc Searle says he’s progressing fine, but this hardly seems like fine to me.” Amelia cupped her hands around the red-and-green mug. “They talked on the phone this morning when Finn told him his name, and Doc told him to come right over to the medical center Monday.”

  “That must feel like a million years from now if the doctor can tell him anything new. You said Searle is working with Lucy to dig through official records, right? Is there anything we can do to help?” Ruby asked. “He should come to service tomorrow. Carson would invite him to the church men’s group if you think Finn would come.”

  “I actually think Carson and Finn would like each other, but church with all those Christmas carols and bible stories might be a bit much for now.” Amelia saw the ring sparkling on Ruby’s left hand and tamped down the little curl of envy that unwound in her stomach. Rafe had tried to make her keep the engagement ring he’d given her, but Amelia didn’t want to have it anywhere near. “Have you and Carson set a date?”

  “It’s getting harder and harder for Iva to get around, so we’ll need to make it sooner rather than later. I couldn’t bear for her not to be there.” Ruby’s grandmother Iva was battling Parkinson’s disease, and the past few months her symptoms had clearly worsened.

  “Of course Iva has to be there. You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need for her, won’t you?”

  “You know I will. And speaking of weddings, did I really hear that Lizzie and Boone are going to have a circus wedding?”

  Amelia leaned back. “So word’s gotten out, has it?”

  “Miss Winters was having breakfast at Maggie’s Coffee Shop the other day.”

  The retired schoolteacher was the hub of Little Horn’s gossip wheel. Amelia sighed. “I can only imagine what Miss Winters thought of that.”

  “No one has to imagine,” Ruby commiserated. “She told us all plain and simple that Lizzie was crazy.”

  “I prefer the term unusual myself,” Amelia chose to laugh rather than give in to the moan growing in the pit of her stomach. “Lizzie wants everyone to remember her wedding for a long time. Just think how elegant your wedding will look by comparison.”

  “Carson wants Brandon to serve as ring bearer. That tiny tornado couldn’t be elegant if his life depended on it.” Carson’s five-year-old nephew, Brandon, was a bit of a handful.

  “Weddings should be family affairs. And that boy is so cute he could fall flat on his face on his way up the aisle and everyone will still adore it.”

  “I sure hope so.” Ruby nudged Amelia. “Hey, maybe everyone will feel the same way about Lizzie’s circus.”

  “It’d be nice,” Amelia mused, “but I’ll just be happy if there are no elephants.”

  Ruby checked her watch and stood up. “If she wants pony rides, tell her to give me a call. I’ve got lessons starting in an hour. Some of the girls want to groom Louie—is that okay? That horse is great with kids.” Ruby ran a riding school as well as boarding horses, including Amelia’s horse, Louie.

  “Fine by me. Louie loves children.”

  Finn and Bug walked in the door just as Ruby was leaving. “Hi there, Finn,” Ruby called amicably as the pair enter the house. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

  “We have a mutual understanding,” Finn said. Amelia was glad to see a smile on Finn’s face when he said it.

  “That means Finn takes him for walks and Bug lets him. Finn is of the impression that Bug is overweight.”

  Ruby leaned down and scratched Bug under the chin. “Of course you are, you tubby little thing. You’re cute that way.”

  Finn shot Amelia a “see, I’m not the only one” look. Maybe Finn making friends in Little Horn was going to have some disadvantages.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Finn caught Bug staring at him as he sat at the kitchen table trying to assemble one of the dollhouse kits Ruby had dropped off. “I already took you for a walk,” he said to the pug, who watched him with too much interest. “There’s nothing to eat here.”

  “Be careful how you phrase that,” Amelia said from her place beside him as she squinted at a tiny toy dresser. She was trying to glue together the furniture pieces as Finn handled the architecture. “Bug would gladly snack on several of these bitty pieces. That dog’s definition of food is very broad.”

&nbs
p; Finn sat back in satisfaction after snapping the chimney in place. “How many of these do we have to do?”

  Amelia cringed. “Three. I’m hoping the next two will be easier after we figure out how all these work.” She was gluing tiny cushions onto a set of kitchen chairs. “They’re darling, but they’re an awful lot of work. And rather beyond Gramps’s abilities—I sure am glad you’re here or I’d be up all night.”

  “Feels good to problem solve, even if it’s on a miniature level.” Finn fit the second part of the roof in place. “Look okay?”

  “Little Amy Callister will simply swoon when she sees it. She was very sick at Thanksgiving, and this looks just like that old house up on the hill where her parents lived when they first moved here.”

  Finn adjusted a loose shingle. “Did you grow up in Little Horn?”

  Amelia got a faraway look in her eyes, the kind a person got when they reached back for a pleasant memory. It made him the tiniest bit jealous. “Mama and Daddy had a ranch just east of town. It was a wonderful place to grow up—all that space and sunshine. Daddy made some very smart investments after Mama died, but our early years were lean ones. Still, they were always full of love.” She set the chair at its place next to the tiny table, her eyes sparkling with happy recollections. “Mama did Christmas like you wouldn’t believe. Daddy used to say she went ‘all out in a dozen directions.’” She looked up at him. “It’s where I get my holiday spirit.”

  He found himself smiling as well, caught up for just a moment in her joy. “So Luther says.” Then, to his surprise, he found himself asking, “Tell me a Christmas memory.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “It won’t bother you?”

  “Seems I need to borrow a few until I get back my own.” It was an awkward thing to say, given the hunch that his holiday memories were far from bright, but part of him truly did want to borrow her joy for a moment.

  “The year I got my dog Sparks was the best Christmas. Mama and Daddy hid that puppy in the barn until Christmas morning. After we’d opened our few presents, they made Lizzie and I so mad by telling us we still had chores to do even on a holiday. We were spitting mad as we walked to the barn until this brown fluff ball in a big red ribbon came bounding out with Mama and Daddy right behind.” Amelia patted her lap, which sent Bug waddling over to her, tail wagging. “Next to you, Bug, Sparks was the best dog I ever had.” She leaned down to pick up Bug and snuggled him in her lap. Bug rewarded her with a sloppy kiss followed by a sneaky attempt to snack on some of the doll furniture, a mission she thwarted with a hearty laugh and a gentle swat on Bug’s nose. “Bug is marvelous company, and Sparks was, too. He was a big, gentle mutt as loyal as they come. Lizzie and I fought over who got to sleep with him when Mama died, even though we were in our teens.”