by Silver James
“What are you doing, Pamela?”
“Let me go,” the girl screamed. She jerked and flailed. “Let me go. I can’t go back to them. I can’t!”
Pops understood two things—the girl was beyond panicked at the thought of returning to whatever people she had in San Antonio, yet at the same time, she was trying very hard not to hurt the woman latched onto her. Odd.
“It’s okay, chiquita,” Elena soothed. “I’ve got this. I’ll take care of you.”
“This isn’t your case, Ms. Rodriguez.”
What the…? Not her case? The other? Well, they’d worked together three years and she was used to Pamela getting all proper when she was losing an argument. Two could play that game, Elena decided. “She’s not yours either, Ms. Byrd, so let her go.”
“I will do nothing of the sort. She’ll just run again, and I do not feel like chasing down the little bi—”
“Yeah, you will, ma’am.”
The females froze at the sound of the gravelly voice. Three pairs of eyes tracked to the man who stepped up beside Pops. Tall and lanky, his jeans were worn, his boots scuffed, his plaid shirt faded from hundreds of washings, and his black Stetson was a bit dusty. “I’m Jack Riggs. Y’all wanna explain what’s goin’ on here?”
“This is none of your business. Just mosey on down the road, cowboy.” The DFPS woman made a shooing motion with her free hand, while her other continued to grip the girl’s arm.
Pops snorted out a laugh and stared down at his boots. Granted, more than a few women had mistaken Jack for a Hollywood star who made a lot of western movies, and the man could sit a horse with the best of them, but he was most definitely not a cowboy who’d be moseying on down the road.
Jack whipped out his badge and held it at eye level so the woman could read it. “Let me amend that, ma’am. I’m a Texas Ranger and yeah, I do believe whatever’s goin’ on here is my business.”
The DFPS lady paled a bit but she swallowed, lifted her chin, and launched into a loud explanation. She got maybe a sentence out before Ranger Riggs interrupted. “I do believe I told you to release the girl, ma’am.” There was no coaxing in his voice. Only a complete idiot would fail to recognize the order.
Even so, that Byrd woman was slow and very reluctant to remove her hand. When she did, the girl immediately rubbed at the spot. Yeah, the kid would probably have bruises in the morning and that pissed Pops right the hell off. The deputy had the male on his feet and after a hurried explanation to the ranger, made in a low voice, he leaned the guy up against the nearest food truck. Pamela Byrd continued to jabber, the girl continued to look freaked out, but she was also moving closer to Elena. That was good. Pops always had a good sense of people and Elena was good people.
“There’s an easy way to settle all this, Jack,” Pops interjected when the Byrd woman paused for a breath.
The ranger nodded. “Yup, I think we’re on the same page, Pops.”
He smiled. Jack Riggs was nobody’s fool. He might come across as a good ol’ boy, but more than one city slicker who’d made that assumption discovered that doing so often bit them in the ass.
“I don’t think you understand, Ranger Riggs,” the Byrd woman stated.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand perfectly. You might be from DFPS, but you are in my jurisdiction. This little gal has stated that she was kidnapped and that, Ms. Byrd, is a crime. As an officer of the law, it is my duty to investigate.” He tipped his black Stetson to Elena. “Ma’am?”
Elena blinked several times while searching for her voice, found it and introduced herself. “Elena. Elena Rodriguez. I am a case work with DFPS.”
“Pleased, ma’am. Now, I suggest we all load up and take ourselves over t’Bandera to the sheriff’s office.” He glanced over to the deputy and indicated the drunk leaning on the food truck. “You’ll be haulin’ that one’s ass over to the jail?” At the man’s nod, Jack turned back to the women and continued, “We’ll sit down nice and polite and discuss things, starting with this little gal’s story.” He shot Pops a telling look. “You’ll be comin’ along, Pops, just in case we need an emergency placement.”
“I’ll be happy to transport Elena and the girl, Jack.”
That got a low chuckle. “I just bet you would, Pops. Under the circumstances, I think I’m gonna stick close to this little gal until we figure out what’s goin’ on.” He dipped his chin to look down at the girl. “That all right with you, sugar bug?”
Pops was pretty sure Jack also caught the girl’s reaction. She jerked back then went stiff at the endearment, and he’d bet dollars to donuts that glint in her eyes came from tears. Somebody who meant something to her called her sugar bug. He studied the girl, realized she was closer to fourteen than sixteen. Something was so wrong about all of this.
“My car is here.” Elena sounded disappointed and she glanced at Pops. He opened his mouth to offer a ride anyway, but that Byrd woman butted in.
“You’ll ride with me, Elena. We have things to discuss. I’ll bring you back to your car when we are done.”
Both men caught Elena’s eye roll and didn’t miss the hint of dismay in her voice when she said, “Whatever you say, Pamela.”
Pops followed right behind Jack’s SUV. The two women from DFPS followed him. He refused to think about Elena. Except what was she doing in Tarpley? And how could she be as pretty as he remembered? And dreamed her being, dammit. He rubbed at his chest, deliberately turning his thoughts to Rosie.
Rosie of the laughing green eyes and red hair, with freckles she hated until the day she passed. His truck drifted a little toward the centerline when he closed his eyes, and he jerked the steering wheel to put him back in the center of his lane. Yeah, maybe thinking about Rosie wasn’t so smart. But he had to get his mind off Elena. She’d been scared and hurt when he first saw her, but there was a fire in her, a need to help. He’d met a lot of social workers in his life. A few good ones started out like Elena but burned out all too quickly. Too many kids in need. Too many bad parents. Too many foster homes that only cared about state money, not the kids. The Four Points Ranch had housed a bunch of kids, some officially, some not. Tank and his sisters had lived with him and Rosie after a fire. The boy had lost his dad and Pops did the best he could to fill in.
Okay, this was safer territory. Rosie had been his one. They literally were childhood sweethearts. She’d been four when she marched up to him at church, kissed him and announced she was going to marry him. He’d just turned six. He was twenty-one when he stood in the front of that same church and watched her gliding down the aisle on her daddy’s arm. But she’d been gone a long time now. Rambling around the main house made a body lonely. And not just for the feel of a woman’s curves cuddled up next to him in bed.
Rosie’s smile lit up a room. Elena’s went straight to his dick with a detour through his heart. He stabbed the radio and let the sound of Luke Bryan fill the cab. He was nothing but a stubborn old man way too old and ornery for a sweet do-gooder like Elena Rodriguez.
You’re not old, handsome.
“Yeah I am, darlin’.”
You’re still a virile man, David West.
“And I’m old enough to be her father.”
The sounds of Rosie’s laughter filled his head and his gut clenched. He missed that sound like damn and whoa. Before she got sick, she laughed all the time. At the chickens ruffling feathers in the yard. The new-born foal getting his legs under him. The turkey buzzards doing a ballet on the thermal winds generated by a hot summer day. And he’d laughed with her.
You need to do more of that, handsome. And that little gal? No way you could be her daddy. We weren’t married when she was born.
Yeah, Rosie always had to get the last word in. His eyes were moist but his mouth curved into something that resembled a smile.
Sweet man, you need to do that more often too. That gal could make you smile, even if you won’t admit it.
“Damn but I miss you, Rosie mine.” He unwrapped a Tootsie
Pop and stuck it in his mouth instead of reaching for the pack of cigarettes he no longer carried in his pocket.
Elena did not want to be sitting in this car with Pamela. The other woman had said nothing since leaving the parking area. They weren’t too far from Bandera, according to the last highway sign she’d seen.
“Tell me about the girl,” Pamela ordered as they hit the outskirts of the county seat.
“I’ve told you.” Well, that came out far more sullenly than she’d intended. But Elena had. She had to file a report because she’d been injured.
“Enlighten me.”
“I’d been tracking her down on the River Walk for several days. I made an approach the other night. She ran when those outlaw bikers came up to us. They seemed to know—”
“That’s because they do. She belongs to them.”
Elena did not like the way Pamela phrased that, like those bikers owned the girl.
“She’s a runaway, Elena.”
“Then why isn’t there a runaway report on a girl matching her description?”
Pamela flicked a hand at her. “Why do bikers do anything? They think they are above the law, and since they are a gang, they aren’t exactly best friends with law enforcement.”
Which makes me question why they’d come to DFPS. Elena was not about to voice her thoughts out loud.
“Her father is in the gang. He has sole custody. Her mother took off with another biker, abandoning her child. He wants the girl home where she belongs.”
“I just bet he does,” Elena muttered under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. When we get to the sheriff’s office, I’ll talk to Sheriff Anderson about returning her to her custodial parent.”
“He has proof?”
“The sheriff doesn’t need proof, just my say so.”
In the dark, Pamela couldn’t see Elena’s expression nor the fact she rolled her eyes. “The custodial parent, Pamela. He has proof that he’s her guardian?”
“He’s her father.”
“Says who?”
“Really, Elena. Enough. The man came into the office to make a report on you—
“Make a report on me?” Anger surged and leaked into her voice.
“You interfered with a parent—”
“A parent who slugged me!”
Pamela made a disparaging noise. “That wasn’t him. And he says his friend didn’t mean to hit you. He was reaching for the girl and you got in the way.”
She growled, fists clenched, eyes narrowed. As soon as they reached the sheriff’s office, Elena would take Pops and that ranger aside. Maybe the ranger could do something. And Pops. He’d come to her rescue and had been so very kind. And sweet. And…well, sexy. She’d never been into older men but Pops? He definitely had it going on. His calm demeanor belied his command presence. She knew all about that, her own papi being a Marine. She was the youngest and even in his late seventies, he could still take her big brothers—the ones who’d survived the gangs. It felt weird to compare Pops to her dad. Because she didn’t see Pops as anything but a man. A real man. A man she’d like to sit cuddled on a couch with. A man to talk to. A man to do things with, like the things men and women did…when they were alone in the dark.
Elena shifted uncomfortably in the seat and realized they’d passed through Bandera. “Where are we going?”
“To the Sheriff’s office, of course.” Pamela sounded like she was talking to an idiot.
Shifting her gaze so she could watch her supervisor from the corner of her eyes, Elena squashed the sudden flash of fear—a feeling that was totally irrational. “Isn’t it downtown with the county courthouse?”
“No. New facility north of town.”
She relaxed only slightly until a haze of lights appeared up ahead. The lead vehicle in their little caravan flashed a signal blinker and turned into a well-lit parking lot. The one-story building looked brand new. Built in the iconic Texas stone ranch style, it fit right into its surroundings. The ranger pulled up and parked near the front entrance. Pops parked on the truck’s passenger side which sent a rush of relief through her. He was right there to protect the girl. Pamela parked on the driver’s side and Elena waited while the ranger got out. Instead of walking around his SUV to meet up with Pops and the girl, he opened her car door.
“Ma’am,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Yes, there was definitely something fine about the way Texas men aged. Like good whiskey or añejo tequila.
Chapter 7
This meeting wasn’t going well. After the situation, for lack of a better term, at Tarpley, that Texas Ranger had stepped in at a critical time. Driving the few miles between Tarpley and Bandera in Pamela’s car had been an exercise in patience. Elena hoped her tongue wasn’t bleeding from all the times she’d had to bite it to keep from going after her boss. All the parties currently occupied either an interrogation room that was wired with sound and cameras or were taking up space in the bullpen. The ranger and a couple of deputies still hung around, along with Pamela. Ranger Riggs insisted that Pops be allowed to talk to the girl alone, and he’d gone nose-to-nose with Pamela over it.
“I’ve known that man for twenty-five years. I’ve seen a shitload of kids move in and out of his house. Every last one of ’em came out the better for havin’ been there. You just sit your fancy city ass in that chair, Miz Byrd and watch the man work his magic.”
Elena’s supervisor was already up in arms about sending a young girl to live on a ranch with a single man. Except Pops was an experienced foster parent, and he’d housed both boys and girls on an emergency basis before and since his wife had died. She’d called the office and had his records pulled. Nothing but glowing reports. From almost everyone. Law enforcement. Medical personnel. Child advocates. The only people who didn’t love him were certain case workers that he’d locked horns with through the years. Those clashes were well-documented, but he’d won over even the most hard-core detractor. One even called him the delinquent whisperer. She wasn’t sure if she should capitalize that title or put it in italics.
Oh yes, Elena had done fast homework on Mr. David “Pops” West. Thank goodness for smart phones. He was what her friends described as a silver fox. She’d guessed him as being in his late forties, was surprised when she discovered he was over fifty, and decided she didn’t care. Not that she would ever have a chance for a date. She was DFPS. If she had her way, he’d be the caretaker for one of her clients. Stifling the thought that she’d get to see him often if that happened, she glanced around the room.
Pamela and the ranger were arguing off to one side, their voices lowered. She heard Pamela invoke the names of both the sheriff and the county attorney. She didn’t know much about Sheriff Anderson and what she knew about Eric Cross didn’t impress her. He was a smooth operator and Elena didn’t trust him on principles alone. She ignored them, focusing instead on the computer monitor, watching as Pops passed a bottle of water to the girl, who drank with great gulps until it was empty.
“You hungry?” Pops’s voice sounded scratchy on the computer’s speaker. One of the deputies adjusted the sound. The girl lifted one shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. He appeared unfazed. “Want more water?” He didn’t wait for her answer, he just passed her a second bottle after breaking the seal on the top. She sipped it, her eyes darting around the room, not that there was much to see. The area was approximately eight feet square with four metal chairs and a metal table. The walls were painted institutional gray and the floor was a beige and gray speckled linoleum.
Elena had seen hundreds of rooms just like it, had seen tough cops interrogating tougher kids inside them. This was different though. This was a big, tough man with a gentle voice. A patient man looking to soothe a scared girl.
Pops glanced at the mirror in the corner and wondered if Elena was watching. Not that it mattered. This wasn’t about her. Or him. Definitely not about them. This was about the girl
sitting across from him. “My name is David West.” She blinked at this, said nothing. He pulled a Tootsie Pop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. “Most people call me Pops.”
Her eyes riveted to his mouth. He withdrew a second Pop and held it out to her. “I don’t like the red ones. They stain my tongue.”
She snatched it out of his hand. “So do the chocolate ones,” she mumbled as she unwrapped and shoved the Pop into her mouth.
“You know my name now. And you know I’m the fire chief over in Tarpley. I’m also a foster dad.”
She was back to staring at a spot on the table.
He continued. “Miz Rodriguez has been looking for you.”
“I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.” Guilty eyes met his gaze for a flicker.
“We know that, sugar.” He waited, sucking on the Pop. If Rosie had been alive, she would have described this kid as a waif. With short hair, she could play Oliver Twist. Too skinny, too pale, too terrified. Faded bruises circled her wrists and he couldn’t think about what might have been done to her while she was on the streets. Pops didn’t have a daughter, but he had daughters. “You gonna tell me your story?”
The girl’s shoulders hunched and her chin hit her chest as she folded in on herself. He figured in another few minutes, the kiddo would have her feet in the chair, knees up, hugging them as she went full on fetal position while sitting up.
“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s goin’ on.”
She shook her head. The ponytail flipped to one side and then the band holding it broke and her hair tumbled down to hide her face.
“You never did answer my question. You hungry?” She didn’t react. “Things work out, we’ll stop and get burgers on your way home.”
The girl jerked like someone had touched her with a cattle prod. She paled. “I can’t go home.”
“Why not?”
