Coming Home To Texas
Allie Pleiter
Ellie and the LawmanLeaving behind her big city life, Ellie Buckton can’t wait to return to Blue Thorn Ranch—the place she’s always considered home—and the perfect place to mend her wounded heart. But she’s unprepared for the instant sparks she feels with the town's new lawman, Nash Larson. Strong and steady Nash doesn't want any attachments in his temporary posting. Not with the troubled teens he and Ellie are drafted to work with. And especially not with Ellie or the undeniable feelings she inspires within him. Nash likes to play by the book. But law and order can't always rule when love is concerned…Blue Thorn Ranch: New beginnings, Texas style
Ellie and the Lawman
Leaving behind her big city life, Ellie Buckton can’t wait to return to Blue Thorn Ranch—the place she’s always considered home, and the perfect place to mend her wounded heart. But she’s unprepared for the instant sparks she feels with the town’s new lawman, Nash Larson. Strong and steady Nash doesn’t want any attachments in his temporary posting. Not with the troubled teens he and Ellie are drafted to work with. And especially not with Ellie or the undeniable feelings she inspires within him. Nash likes to play by the book. But law and order can’t always rule when love is concerned…
“Are you sure you need to say no? Maybe you’re just scared to say yes.
Gran always says scared isn’t a good enough reason to say no to something that might be good.”
“Then your grandmother is a stronger person than I am.”
What Nash did, helping those kids in LA, must have taken so much courage and compassion. It couldn’t all be gone just because one kid betrayed him. Then again, wasn’t she hiding out here in Martins Gap because of betrayal, too? “What if what you really need is to prove to yourself you still can see the good in kids like that? What’s the worst that could happen?”
He shook his head and gave a dark, low laugh. “I could get shot again. And this time the kid may not miss.”
“Cowboys and Indians,” she said, remembering his earlier comment that now had such a different edge to it.
“Cops and robbers,” he said, his features showing a hint of humor.
“Cars and knitting. It’s an idea so crazy it just might work.”
“It probably won’t work,” Nash said. “But maybe I ought to try anyway.”
ALLIE PLEITER, an award-winning author and RITA® Award finalist, writes both fiction and nonfiction. Her passion for knitting shows up in many of her books and all over her life. Entirely too fond of French macarons and lemon meringue pie, Allie spends her days writing books and avoiding housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in speech from Northwestern University and lives near Chicago, Illinois.
Coming Home to Texas
Allie Pleiter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
—Isaiah 61:1–3
For Amanda
For all she is becoming
Acknowledgments (#ulink_85489140-ff31-50c6-a7a2-8812983ff5e1)
Special thanks again to Beverly Brown
and Donnis Baggett, the owners of the
Lucky B Bison Ranch in Bryan, Texas, who
continue to support me with information,
hospitality and friendship. Thanks also
to Ron and Theresa Miskin at the
Buffalo Wool Company for explaining to me
all about bison fiber.
Contents
Cover (#uace80eff-948b-5124-85db-a6c62e83a8e1)
Back Cover Text (#u2a23bcd4-61e4-5155-87a6-68a18b8d7f4e)
Introduction (#u5884fc97-d7c2-53a3-bcab-c974cc45256b)
About the Author (#u8728c2f0-1207-5f45-ab11-da52af51ddb7)
Title Page (#ub9d33d16-c523-5d99-8003-2dfb5297d352)
Bible Verse (#u3d307f48-6977-5e46-a8c8-cf38b87d702f)
Dedication (#uda198a67-ca2e-5fa9-9c83-34859e60523f)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_e3087ef5-d91d-5779-819d-e2bf90700634)
Chapter One (#ulink_9c179dda-8bb2-55ad-942c-9508510942c2)
Chapter Two (#ulink_83f79a58-d8a7-5392-a262-a475d2afc45e)
Chapter Three (#ulink_6067e0de-9ebf-5f5e-8e7a-3eaf4359f201)
Chapter Four (#ulink_d5c7f87d-538b-5d3b-9191-5976a3c54d10)
Chapter Five (#ulink_5ac02a96-302e-5139-bc75-e2b1b5f928d4)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_2e6056b1-0eba-58b5-ab7a-97bbf6e33574)
Deputy sheriff Nash Larson walked up to the small red car with Georgia plates and waited for the woman to roll down her car window. “License and registration, please.”
The woman gave a loud sniff as she fumbled through her handbag and glove compartment. “Sure,” she gulped out in a wobbly voice. A cryer. Why did women always think crying was the way to ditch a speeding ticket?
Why? The lead weight in Nash’s stomach told him it was because it worked. This woman was driving too fast for a rainy night in the middle of nowhere, with out-of-state plates, way too late at night, and he still felt the compulsion to be nice rather than read her the riot act, the way she probably deserved. At least she was smart enough to keep her doors locked and not roll down her window until he showed her his badge. Alone on a Texas back road at 11:45 p.m. was no time for Southern hospitality. “Do you know how fast you were going?” he inquired.
“I should have been paying attention.” The lilt of her Southern drawl, combined with that thing that happened to women’s voices when they cried, pulled even more reluctant sympathy from him. “I was upset,” she added, as if that needed explaining.
Nash looked at the license. Ellen Buckton took a nice photo and had a pretty smile—in other words, her photo looked nothing like her current disheveled and tearful appearance. “Maybe tonight wasn’t the best night to drive so late, Ms. Buckton.”
“Miss,” she corrected, her eyes brimming over with tears. “I’m sorry.” She reached for a tissue from the nearly empty box on the seat next to her—a seat mounded with used, crumpled tissues. She’d been crying for the past hundred miles from the looks of it. “I just wanted to get home.” That last word trailed off in a small sob.
The plates and license were from Georgia. “You’re a long way from home, Miss Buckton. Everything okay?”
Nash wanted to whack his own forehead. Well, that was a foolish question. The woman is far from home crying and you ask if everything’s okay?
“I just...” She pulled in shuddering breaths in an attempt to stem the tears. “I just broke off my engagement.” She wiggled her naked left ring finger as Exhibit A. “I’m only about a half hour from my gran’s house, where I grew up. I guess I just wanted to get there as fast as I could.” She shut her eyes and held out her hand while visibly bracing herself, as if whatever ticket he was about to give her would sting. “Go ahead. I deserve it. It’s not like you’d be ruining a lovely day or anything.”
Nash had never been the kind of man who could kick a soul when they were down. People were supposed to be friendly in Texas, right? That was part of the reason he’d left LA—that, and the two bullet holes in his shoulder and thigh. Being hunted down tended to make a man rethink his zip code. And yearn to play nice, at least once in a while.
“I’m sorry for your troubles. But driving 80 in a 65 zone won’t make anything better. I expect you already knew that.”
She looked up at him with wet, wide eyes. They were a brilliant light blue—like pool water or a turquoise gemstone—something her license photo hadn’t captured in the slightest. “I should have been more careful.” She sighed. “I should have been a lot of things.”
He couldn’t bring himself to give her a ticket. Not when he had the chance to make her day just a bit less horrible. Instead, he decided tonight was his chance to show Ellen Buckton that not every man on planet Earth was a heartless creep. Nash handed back her license and paperwork, bringing the most tender, astonished look to her face. “Will you be more careful for the rest of your drive?”
She nodded like a schoolchild. “Oh, yes, absolutely. I promise.”
“You know where you’re going?”
“Like the back of my hand.” She wiped her eyes. “Although that’s no excuse for speeding, Officer. I know that. But I grew up around here, and I could find my way home with my eyes closed—not that I’m going to, of course.” Now that he’d “pardoned” her, the words were tumbling out in grateful puddles. “I’ll be extra careful, and I’m only about thirty minutes away.” She fumbled under the pile of tissues to produce a large ziplock bag filled with dark oblong objects. “Do you like biscotti, Officer—” she peered at his name tag “—Larson?”
Cookies? “Um, I do, but you can understand why it might not be such a smart idea for me to be accepting goodies from you.”
Her eyes went wide again. “I’ve eaten a dozen already, so I really do need to get them out of the car. But you’re right. I mean, I didn’t mean to imply you could be bribed with cookies or anything, because I’m sure you can’t. And I wouldn’t. It was just a thank-you for being so nice and all.”
She was babbling, and he could tell that she knew it. Poor thing. She really needed just to get wherever she was going and put herself to bed. “Drive safe, Miss Buckton, and stay under the speed limit.” Then, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he added, “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your engagement.”
He was worried that would start the waterworks again, but instead it brought the strangest look to her face. “You know, you’re the first person to say ‘I’m sorry’ to me about this whole thing. Kind of tells you something, doesn’t it?”
Nash wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to answer that question. Instead he tipped his hat in a way that felt absurdly nouveau-Texan and said, “Good night.”
“Good night, Officer Larson. And thank you. You’re the first nice thing that’s happened to me today.”
Well, thought Nash as he walked back to his cruiser. Cookies and compliments. Maybe Texas won’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Funny how a life can blow up in an instant.
Ellie Buckton looked out the kitchen window and stared at the pastures that made up the Blue Thorn Ranch. She’d grown up in this house, Gran’s home, the Buckton family homestead, where her oldest brother’s new family now lived. The place where her parents had lived until her mother died when Ellie was thirteen, and where Daddy had bravely held down the fort until his own death three years ago. These walls held so much—almost too much—history. But for now, this would be the place where she hid until she could figure out what to do next.
Almost everything about the place felt the same. That stuck-in-time atmosphere was partly why it had been years since Ellie had felt any yearning to come back here. Then again, she couldn’t remember ever not knowing what to do next.
She heard Gran’s slippered feet shuffle into the kitchen. As she turned to meet those wise turquoise eyes, Ellie’s chest filled with warmth instead of the tightrope tension that had lived there since her heartbreaking discovery three days ago.
“How are you, sweetheart?” Gran stood beside her, leaning her white-tufted head on Ellie’s shoulder. Gran always smelled of lavender soap and peace. The familiar scents reminded Ellie why she had run here. “Better?”
She wasn’t, really. Still, relief at being anywhere but Atlanta might be classified as “better.”
“In a way,” Ellie sighed in reply. “I don’t think ‘better’ is on the menu for a while yet.”
Gran sighed, too. In her eighty-five years, she’d known her share of heartbreak and hard times, as well. “A broken heart is a hard fence to jump. And you had yours broke but good.” She gave Ellie a hug. “I meant what I said yesterday—you stay here as long as you like.” Her eyes grew sharp, her frown sour. “That Derek fellow is a low-down swine for cheating on you the way he did.” She placed her thin hand over Ellie’s own. “But coming home was the right thing to do. I’m glad you’re here for however long I’ve got you. I plan to pamper you eight ways to Sunday, and then some more on top of that.”
Derek.
Her now ex-fiancé had left three text messages and two voice mails on her phone since Tuesday. Ellie had deleted all of them without reading or listening.
Gran put the kettle on the burner while Ellie took a long sip of coffee. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Gran said as she reached for the little china canister that held all her tea bags. “Did you keep the ring after you found that good-for-nothing chef cozying up to your best friend? Or did you give it back?”
Ellie managed a smile. “Actually, I thought about putting it in the blender. But I like my blender too much.”
Gran raised a gray eyebrow. “I’ve got a meat grinder in here somewhere. We could mangle it but good, take photos with that snazzy phone of yours and email them to him.”
Ellie loved that her grandmother had embraced the digital age, even if the old woman did crash her computer twice a week and still hadn’t quite mastered the intricacies of texting. Gran had sent her a “come home” email practically every hour since St. Patrick’s Day night when Ellie found her fiancé planting passionate kisses on her best friend and would-have-been maid of honor, Katie.
Derek and Katie. She still couldn’t get the sight of them with their arms wrapped around each other out of her head. She’d discovered the pair necking like teenagers in the pantry of the restaurant where they were all working on a company-wide St. Patrick’s Day event. Having an engagement destroyed was one thing, but having it self-destruct in front of her boss and most of her friends was a new level of torture. Going back to work when her leave of absence was over would be no picnic.
“No thanks, Gran.” Ellie sat down at the table, feeling tired despite the early hour. She hadn’t slept especially well last night, despite the exhaustion she’d felt after hoisting two suitcases into the trunk of her car and driving the fourteen hours to Blue Thorn Ranch. “I don’t want to send Derek anything at all, not even hate mail.”
“I hope they yank his television spot when they find out what he did to you.” With a warm curl of delight, Ellie realized Gran was getting out the makings for pancakes. Gran’s pancakes were the cure for just about every hurt life had to offer, and Ellie hadn’t tasted them in months. Today she wanted them more than anything.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if an escapade like that made him even more popular,” Ellie admitted as she reached into the cabinet behind her to hand Gran the flour. “He’d use it, too, if I know him. Derek loves getting attention from the press, even if it’s negative, and the whole bad-boy-chef persona is hot right now.”
Gran held up a spatula like a battle sword. “Not with me, it ain’t.” Adele Buckton was no one to mess with.
Ellie loved the “nobody hurts my grandbaby” glare in Gran’s eyes. After losing her best friend and fiancé in one heartbreaking revelation, it bothered her immensely that no one she’d told in Atlanta had seemed surprised that Derek would cheat on her. And very few seemed ready to rise to her defense. Had no one really expected them to work out? Had everyone hid their doubts or, worse yet, their suspicions as to Derek’s ability to be faithful? “I guess the bride-to-be’s always the last to know.”
“It ain’t fine with your brother, neither,” Gran added. “Gunner would be on his way over there right now to tan his hide if it weren’t for all this trouble with the herd.”
Ellie’s big brother, Gunner, was just the type to drive fourteen hours to pummel Derek for what he’d done. Like their grandmother, Gunner never swallowed threats or insults with any grace. Having been in her shoes—finding the love of his life in the arms of another—not too many years ago, Ellie could see how Gunner wouldn’t hesitate to make Derek pay for his infidelity.
Things were a bit different now. Gunner had found love and had married a wonderful woman, gaining a sweet young stepdaughter in the process. Even though he was the oldest, Ellie would never have guessed Gunner would marry before herself or their younger twin siblings, Luke and Tess. Married life clearly suited him, but Ellie just couldn’t decide if Gunner’s newlywed happiness gave her hope or rubbed salt in the wound of her own romantic failure.
“What’s going on with the herd?” Blue Thorn Ranch had been reborn from her father’s failing cattle operation into a thriving bison ranch thanks to Gunner, but the transition was still recent enough to produce new challenges all the time.
“We think someone’s been taking potshots at our animals,” Gran explained as she poured the tea into the pot to steep and then flicked a spray of water onto the griddle. It sizzled and popped, indicating the griddle was hot and ready for pancake batter. “The herd is edgy, and we’ve heard rifles at night. Gunner has a meeting with the sheriff’s office this morning to coordinate the investigation.”
Ellie’s ears picked up on the sound of little feet galloping down the stairs. “Pancake Saturday!” little Audie cried as she burst into the room clad in bright pink pajamas. The girl stopped in front of Ellie. “Aunt Ellie? When did you get here?” Ellie found her waist encircled in pink arms that squeezed deliciously tight.
“Long after your bedtime, Audie. How’s my favorite niece liking the fourth grade?”
Audie looked up at Ellie, making a face. “Fractions are awful, but I love science and art. Gunnerdad says math is useful, but I mostly think it’s complicated and boring.”
Gunnerdad. Audie’s invented Gunner-and-Dad combination never failed to put a smile on Ellie’s face. He made a big show out of tolerating the name, but the way that man looked at his stepdaughter told everyone how much he loved his new role as Audie’s “Gunnerdad.”
“Where’s your mother?” Gran asked the girl as she handed plates to Ellie to set the breakfast table.
Audie replied by squinting her eyes shut and sticking out her tongue.
“Sick again?” Gran asked. “I’d guess you’re getting a baby brother, then. Only baby boys give their mamas that much trouble.”
Gunner was going to be a father. And despite the morning sickness, Ellie knew how thrilled the loving couple was about their upcoming arrival. How smart an idea was it to run away to a house so full of happiness? Ellie’s coffee turned bitter in her mouth, as if her own life soured all the more by comparison.
Just as the pancakes were dished up, Gunner walked in from the barn. Ellie had seen him last night when she’d arrived, but in the light of day, he looked so different from the rebellious big brother she’d once known. Here was a “bad boy” who’d grown into a fine, upstanding—but admittedly still stubborn—man. The kind of man she’d once thought Derek was becoming. Evidently some bad boys never outgrew their bad. “Hi, Els,” he said, giving her an extra-tight hug before sitting down at the table. Ellie reeled with a sudden and deep gratitude to feel her big brother by her side. Sure, all the love-and-marriage happiness in this house stung a bit—a lot, actually—but Gran was right; this was the best place to hide and heal.
At least that was what she hoped.
“Don’s bringing out the new deputy when he comes today,” Gunner said as he accepted a large helping of pancakes. “This guy’s from California. He’s worked with vandalism cases.”
“Vandalism?” Ellie questioned. “Is someone spray-painting graffiti on your bison?”
Audie giggled.
“Do you remember that internet video I sent you, Audie? The one with the Irish sheepherder who dyes his flock colors like Easter eggs every spring?” Ever since she’d met her new niece, Ellie had snuck in time to amuse the little girl with videos and playful messages as a break from her day job of amusing food critics and reporters as a public relations specialist for Atlanta’s largest chain of restaurants.
Audie nodded and she turned to her stepdad. “Can we do that? Dye the bison? Maybe just the babies? We could make a video just like the shepherd man!”
Gunner shot Ellie a “thanks for nothing” look before issuing a declarative “No, we can’t.” For a new dad, Gunner had the authoritative father tone down pat. It shouldn’t surprise her—their father had been a master of such tones, but never with the touch of amusement and affection that softened Gunner’s words.
“But Ellie told me you can make yarn out of bison fur the same way you make it out of sheep fur, so why can’t we?”
“That’s true,” Ellie said, smiling at Gunner. She and Audie had been emailing fun facts to each other for months now, and evidently her new niece had been paying attention. “I can see it now—the blue bison of Blue Thorn Ranch.”
Gunner’s frown predicted a few words for his little sister after breakfast. “I run a ranch, not a circus,” he growled, digging into his pancakes.
Ellie winked at her niece. Yes, this was a good place to run and hide after all.
Chapter Two (#ulink_d0a9b1ae-48c6-5e22-ba98-2881b959efba)
“‘Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam...’”
Nash turned to look at his boss, County Sheriff Don Mellows. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Don stopped his singing and chuckled. “I am. No deer and antelope playing here. These here are American bison, anyways, so don’t you be calling them buffalo in front of Gunner Buckton.”
Buckton? Wasn’t that the name from the traffic stop last night? “Bison not buffalo—got it.” The leap from LAPD to this local County Sheriff Department seemed to grow longer and wider with each new day.
And stranger. Nash was still getting accustomed to his deputy position in this small town and its rural surroundings. Don was about as down-home cowboy as anyone Nash had ever seen, right down to the boots and y’alls. For a city cop used to dealing with gangs and criminals, this was new territory.
“Why are we here again?”
“Buckton thinks someone may be taking shots at his animals.” Don pulled up to the ranch’s large entrance gate. Nash tried to calculate the distance from this place to where he’d stopped Ellen Buckton last night—the geography just about fit. “He’s worried there may be some foul play involved,” Don continued. “I figured your background might be useful while we take a look-see.”
“Has Buckton got enemies?” Nash surveyed the rolling pasture, spying a few of the large brown animals milling about. Tall green grass, wide blue sky, livestock roaming—the whole thing looked like something out of a travel brochure. If this was the home Ellen was running to, Nash had to agree it looked like a good, big place to hide. After all, the sprawling space of the region had drawn him for much the reason.
“Enemies? He’s got ’em. Most men do. The family’s been around for ages—everybody knows the Bucktons—but they got in a row with a big real estate developer last year. Could be someone’s not too happy about the spiffy condo development that got stalled on account of it. Of course, could be just stupid kids. Not likely rustlers, though—they would’ve taken the animals, not tried to scare ’em.” Don punched the button on the gate’s intercom. “Howdy, y’all. It’s Don from the sheriff’s office.”
A far cry from standing in a Kevlar vest yelling “LAPD! Open up!” Texas really was its own world. And now—at least for now—it was Nash’s, too. He looked down at his steel-toed shoes and wondered what his feet would look like in fancy cowboy boots like Don wore. Or whether Don’s wide hat would suit him. He couldn’t mesh the images in his mind. Did you have to be a cowboy if you lived in Texas? Austin was a world-class metropolitan city, admittedly a bit of a quirky one, but parts of LA were downright strange, so that was no clue.
“Well, hello there, Don,” a female voice drawled over the crackly intercom speaker. “Gunner’s in the barn, so pull right on up. I’ll put some coffee on for afterward. And there’s blueberry pie.”
Don smiled. “Blueberry pie. Miss Adele, you do know how to make a man’s day.” Don waggled an eyebrow at Nash. “That’d be Miss Adele, Gunner’s grandma. Was a time she and her husband ran this place.” Then he added, “Anybody ever feed you pie back in California?”
Nash thought about the offer of cookies late last night. This had to be the place. If he saw Ellen Buckton, this morning would get a whole lot more interesting. “No.”
“Well, then, you ought to be glad you’re in Texas, Larson. A sheriff eats good in Martins Gap.”
The gate rolled open to let the cruiser head up the curving lane. The gravel road bent through the tall grasses to end at a cluster of buildings. Large low barns surrounded a sprawling stone ranch house with a wide front porch. A sizable fenced-in corral off one barn held a pair of bison, one large, one smaller. “Nice folks, the Bucktons,” Don went on. “Been on this land for ages. Miss Adele’s husband and son raised cattle. Gunner Jr.—that’s who you’ll meet today—turned the operation over to bison a few years back, right after his dad died. Good people.” Don turned to Nash. “But even good people can collect some bad enemies, ain’t that the truth.”
“It is.” Nash could easily agree, having been a good cop who had made nasty enemies by putting away a gang lord or two in LA. After several months on high alert as the top target of two gang hit lists, his rehabilitation for a pair of close-call gunshot wounds had been enough to make him want to get out of that city. A friend had passed along the opening here in the sheriff’s department, and Nash had felt as if God had opened up the escape hatch for which he’d been praying.
As they got out of the cruiser, an elderly woman with a cane made her way down the porch steps. The resemblance was enough to confirm Nash’s guess—this was where Ellen had been heading.
Don smiled and waved. “One of these days we’ve got to meet up for good reasons, Miss Adele.”
“I hear you, Don. Let’s have you and Linda out for dinner one of these days.” Miss Adele raised a gray eyebrow at Nash. “So this is your new deputy?”
“Nash Larson,” Don introduced. “Brought him on all the way from California last month.”
She walked over, extending a friendly hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Nash. Welcome to Martins Gap. How are you liking it so far?”
The screen door opened behind Miss Adele and out walked Ellen Buckton, eyes startled wide and mouth open. “It’s you.”
She was much prettier in the daylight—in fact, she looked almost nothing like the tearful mess of a woman who’d offered him biscotti last night. “Good afternoon, Miss Buckton. Glad to see you made it safe and sound.”
Don looked at Nash while Miss Adele looked at her granddaughter. Nash kept silent—the explanation ought to be Ellen’s territory, given the circumstances.
“Ellie?” Miss Adele clearly wasn’t going to wait.
Ellie. That suited her much more than Ellen, Nash thought. Her tawny blond hair—pulled up into a mess on the top of her head last night—hung in loose curves over her shoulders. The eyes—remarkably blue last night—were breathtaking in the full light of day.
Only right now they looked mortified. “Um...well...” She thrust her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and shifted her weight. “I got pulled over for speeding last night, Gran. I guess I was in too much of a hurry to get here.”
Don shot Nash a surprised look. Nash hadn’t entered the stop in his official records. He just shrugged, unsure what he was supposed to do or say.
Miss Adele moved over to wrap an arm around Ellie. “Of course you were, sweetheart, but a speeding ticket? Really?”
“No ticket, ma’am,” Nash offered. “I could see how upset she was, so I just let her off with a warning and her promise to take it slower the rest of the way here.”
“Thanks for that again, really,” Ellie offered with a small smile. “You were the only good spot in a horrible day.”
That set a small glow in Nash’s stomach. Law enforcement didn’t offer a man a lot of reasons to be the good part of someone’s day—more often just the opposite. A large part of him hoped that balance would change out here. “Glad to help.”
“Well—” Don pulled a notebook from his shirt pocket “—now that we’re all friendly like, how about you tell me what’s been going on?”
“Here comes my brother now,” Ellie said, nodding at a tall man with the same tawny hair walking toward them, wiping his hands on a bright blue bandanna. “He can fill you in better than Gran or I.”
Nash and Don spent the next half hour listening to Gunner Buckton’s account of finding fences messed with, hearing rifle fire near the animals and the general edginess of the herd.
“Any idea why someone would want to scare or harm your herd?” Nash asked as Gunner showed photographs he’d printed from his smartphone of clipped fence wires.
“That’s what has me stumped, frankly.” Gunner pushed his hat back on his head, revealing the brilliant blue eyes Nash had now realized were a family trait. “Bison aren’t people-friendly. And an agitated cow or bull can be downright dangerous. Whoever’s doing this is really brave, really quick or just too stupid to recognize the danger.”
“Kids,” Don pronounced. Nash had to admit, it made the most sense. Anyone wanting to truly hurt the Bucktons could pick a dozen safer ways to do damage. Still, bragging rights for trying to nick or free a bison sounded like a pretty far-fetched stunt, even for kids.
“They’ll be hurt or worse if this keeps up. It’s making the herd anxious. We’re just coming into calving season. I’ve got my hands full as it is.”
“We’ll do our best to find the ones responsible, Gunner.” Don clasped the rancher on the shoulder. “I’ll have a chat with a few of the likely suspects and see if I can dig anything up. Hopefully, this’ll all die down on its own soon enough. Now how ’bout that pie your gran was offering? I want to show Nash here what down-home cooking really tastes like.”
* * *
“Thanks again. For last night, I mean,” Ellie offered as she refilled Nash Larson’s coffee cup. They were standing by the coffeemaker while Sheriff Don, Gunner and Gran sat around the kitchen table. “I meant what I said about you being the only nice thing that happened that day.” Not to mention the nicest thing she’d had to look at in nearly a thousand miles. He had brownish-red hair with a ruddy coloring that would have made him look boyish were it not for the severe features that made up his face. She got the impression he was a tough guy squelching a soft edge—or a caring man who’d had the tough shell forced upon him. Given his profession, it could easily be either.
“You really drove all the way here from Atlanta in one day?”
“Yeah, well, that’s how badly I wanted to get out of town. After my little...discovery...I stumbled around for the rest of the week claiming ‘sick days,’ but by Friday I knew I didn’t want to spend another hour listening to my friends whisper about how my fiancé had gotten caught snuggled up against the croutons with someone I thought was my best friend.” Ellie shrugged off the lingering sting of that statement. “Two emails, three suitcases and a triple-shot latte later, I was on the road.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “Croutons?”
“Derek is a chef. Katie works for the same restaurant chain I do—did. I’m not entirely sure I’ll want the job waiting for me when I go back. The big breakup was alarmingly...public at a St. Patrick’s Day event involving the whole company.”
“Ouch. And no one could muster up an ‘I’m sorry’?”
He’d remembered what she’d said last night. That stuck somewhere deep—she’d felt so dismissed and invisible since that whole drama. How she could feel so overlooked after such a public scene still stumped her.
“The St. Patrick’s Day Fest is a big event involving all our restaurants, so there were rushing people and chaos and even cameras everywhere—Derek is a bit of a celebrity. Thankfully, there weren’t any cameras nearby at that particular moment. I would have thought he was swamped with work—he certainly didn’t seem to have time for me that day—but clearly he had time for...other people. When I confronted him, he just sort of shut down into chef mode, shouting about food details and telling me there just wasn’t time for personal drama.”
Nash’s jaw worked. It was gratifying to see a perfect stranger horrified by Derek’s behavior—proof she wasn’t some oversensitive victim. “No time? Really? I hope you gave it to him anyway.”
Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering the “it couldn’t be helped” shrug Derek had given her as he wiped the last of Katie’s lipstick from his chin. The lack of shock or even regret stung worst of all. How could she have so blind to the growing indifference Derek had been showing her? She’d put his distance down to stress, but his cooling toward her had been only because Derek was heating it up with her so-called best friend. Who knew “lukewarm” could burn so much?
“I told him—” she didn’t bite back the bitter edge she gave the words “—that if he had time to cheat on me with my best friend, he could make the time to man up and apologize for it.”
Nash took a swallow of coffee and nodded. “I wouldn’t have been half that kind.”
“Thanks.” She meant it. Ellie needed people to take her side. The number of people at GoodEats who had looked at her with a sad sort of “didn’t you see this coming?” expression was one of the reasons she’d packed her car and fled to the ranch.
“What are you going to do now?”
She didn’t have a real answer. “Eat. Bake. Knit. Restore my faith in human nature. Maybe make yarn.”
“Knit?”
“It’s what I do to calm down or feel...” She reached for a way to explain what the steady click of the needles over the yarn did for her soul. “Oh, I don’t know, comfort, I suppose? I don’t cook—not well, not like Derek or Katie—so I express my creativity with yarn.” She looked out the window over the kitchen sink. “You can make really good yarn from bison hair, you know. We’ve never done it here, but I’ve always wanted to try it.”
Nash seemed to have caught her hesitant tone. “But?”
“But I’m pretty sure Gunner finds the idea far-fetched. Not the artistic type, my brother. But he has a good head for business, so if I make a practical case for it...” She ran her hands through her hair, wondering if she was boring the guy with her oddball ideas. “It’s just a dumb idea I had. I don’t know if it will go anywhere, but it will give me something to do until I figure out what’s next.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Gran said I could stay as long as I wanted, though I’ll have to go back eventually. I’ve got an apartment and supposedly still a job in Atlanta. If I’m smart, I’ll be back before the wedding and gala season, but those months can be brutal in the restaurant business. I’m not sure I’ve got the strength for brutal left in me, if you know what I mean.”
Nash frowned at her strangely, as if the choice of words had touched a raw nerve. “Yeah, believe it or not, I do know.”
She wasn’t sure it was safe to ask. “How?”
A flash shot through his moss-green eyes. “Let’s just say LA specializes in brutal, and I was done with it, too.”
“Are you hoping here will be less brutal? I’m pretty sure you’ll get your wish as long as you stay outside of Austin. Martins Gap can come close to boring.”
He managed a slip of a smile. “Nobody calls the sheriff out because they’re bored.”
She felt a smile—the first in what felt like ages—turn up the corners of her lips as she sipped her coffee. “Oh, I guess that’s true. Bison Crimes Unit, huh?”
Now he genuinely laughed. “It’s a far cry from vice and vandalism, I’ll give you that. Gang members can be big, but they don’t come in thousand-pound hairy versions with big horns. At least not yet.”
Ellie returned her gaze to the pastures. Blue Thorn Ranch had seen its share of challenges over the years, but it was hard to imagine anyone seeking to do the family or its animals harm, even for a thrill. “Why would someone want to harm the herd?”
“Maybe they’re not trying to harm the herd. Maybe they’re just proving something to buddies. For a thrill or a dare. To join some gangs in LA, you had to shoot someone. It didn’t matter who, just that you shot to kill.”
Ellie felt the same distaste that drew his jaw tight. “That’s awful. We don’t have gangs out here.”
Nash shrugged. “Maybe not like in LA or even Atlanta or Austin, but kids anywhere will try to prove their worth in bad ways if no one shows them their worth in good ways.”
It should have made it better—to consider the attacks might not be deliberate and personal—but it still sent a shudder down Ellie’s spine. “But to an animal? It’s cruel. And even if you forget the compassion part—it’s frightening when a big, dangerous animal could turn around and kill you.”
“All the more reason to think it’s kids who aren’t thinking through the consequences, wouldn’t you say?”
Ellie wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, suddenly craving its warmth. “I don’t know.” She caught Nash’s eyes. “I didn’t know I was coming home to an episode of cops and robbers.”
He grinned ever so slightly. “That’s okay. I didn’t know I was moving here to an episode of cowboys and Indians.”
“Then I guess we’re both in for a surprise.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_85140732-a0c8-5c58-b4c0-f91e455f0ae5)
“That’s one of them foreign sports cars, isn’t it?”
Nash looked up from under the hood of his 1980 Datsun 280ZX to find Theo Kennedy, the local pastor, standing in his garage doorway. Kennedy was twice Nash’s age—graying at the temples and a bit thick around the middle—but he was a likable guy, and it was clear people in town loved him dearly.
Nash had been to church once or twice since coming to town, liked the local congregation, but hadn’t realized he’d drawn enough attention to warrant a pastoral visit. Evidently what Don kept telling him about small towns like Martins Gap was true—nothing ever truly went unnoticed.
“It’s an import, yes. Japanese, to be exact.” Nash wiped his palms on a nearby towel and offered a hand to the pastor.
“Don’t see too many of those around here. Looks fast,” the man said, peering at the array of tubes and parts under the vehicle’s long, sleek hood.
It was true. Nash had seen nothing but domestic cars in his travels around the small town. He’d also noticed his share of glares that clearly translated to “Why ain’t you drivin’ an American car?” when he’d taken the Z out for drives. Some days the stares didn’t bother him. Other days they made him feel about as foreign and shunned as the import. “She is fast. When she runs right, that is. She threw a fan belt on the highway two days ago and is currently giving me a hard time.”
“We got a hardware store and a garage in town. Both of them carry car parts.”
Nash laughed. “Not these. This little lady has very exclusive taste in accessories. I didn’t bring all my spare parts in the move from LA, and now I’m regretting it.” At least the Z was reasonable compared to other foreign cars. Some of the Italian models could cost his yearly salary in parts and labor, but the Z sucked up only a slightly painful portion of his spare cash. “Still,” he continued as he dropped the hood down and heard it latch with a satisfying click, “I don’t mind tinkering with a few things while I wait for parts to ship.”
“Like to get grease under your fingernails, do you?” Pastor Kennedy asked.
“It’s a good stress release from law enforcement. And a nice change to be making things run instead of stepping in when they don’t.” Nash moved his toolbox from one of the two metal stools beside his workbench and motioned for the pastor to sit down. “Something I can do for you, Pastor Kennedy?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Nash realized that was probably a dangerous thing to ask a pastor. Yes, he ought to get better connected in the community, but he didn’t exactly feel ready to set down roots or open himself up to relationships.
“Please, just Theo or Pastor Theo if you like, since I am here on church business. There is something I’m hoping you might help with.” The man picked up an air filter from Nash’s workbench and examined it. “Don told me you worked with at-risk youth in LA. I think we have some trouble brewing with ours.”
Nash’s stomach tightened. He’d always found “at risk” a sanitized and clinical term for hoodlums and gangbangers who seemed closer to savages than humans some days. He often could glimpse the person hiding under the animal, and he knew the value of that sight. But what he’d told Ellie was true; he wasn’t ready to go back to that kind of brutal. He returned a wrench to its place in the toolbox rather than respond.
“Don also tells me you agree with him that whoever’s making trouble over at the Blue Thorn is most likely young folk,” Theo went on.
Nash sat down opposite the man. “Seems like it, yes. Only it’s too early to say for sure.”
“Kids need something good to do, or they find something not-so-good to do, don’t you think?”
Nash tried to calculate polite ways out of this conversation, regretting that he’d sat down. “That’s been my experience.”
Theo shifted on the stool. “Our boys need something good to do. Something new and interesting.”
The pastor was staring at the car. It wasn’t hard to see where this was heading. Nash snapped the lid of the toolbox closed with what he hoped was finality. “There’s always auto shop at the high school.”
Theo chuckled. “If you met Clive Tyler, you’d know why I might be lookin’ for someone with a bit more...appeal.”
Nash remembered Mr. Smith, the bug-eyed, odd little man who’d been his own auto-shop teacher in high school. “Smitty” was as uncool as could be and no one Nash had ever wanted to spend his free time with at that age. “I guarantee you, a deputy has probably just as little appeal to boys that age.”
“Well, a sheriff like Don, maybe. But you’re different. They’d take to you.”
They do take to me. And I take to them. And then they shoot me and I end up in Texas. “Not so much, Pastor.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Our boys who play sports—they’ve got places to go and coaches looking after them. The boys who don’t, well, I feel like they’re falling through the cracks.”
“It happens.” How like a pastor to find and hit Nash’s soft spot: kids who fell through the cracks. Kids who didn’t fit the mold, who either didn’t stand out or stood out in all the wrong ways. A knack is not an obligation. I moved here to get away from all that.
“The thing is, Nash, I want to start an after-school program for them at the church. Someplace positive for them to go. Something constructive for them to do, even if only for one day a week. I need something that catches their interest. Something like that car over there.”
To Kennedy’s credit and Nash’s growing regret, the pastor was dead-on in his thinking. To a high school boy, was there anything more attractive—other than a high school girl—than a cool car? A year ago Nash would have jumped at this opportunity. Building relationships with the local teens was always a good idea in law enforcement. It was just that the past six months had trampled Nash’s desire to do anything with teens, at least for now.
Nash wiped his hands down his face. “Look, Theo, your idea’s a good one, but I don’t think I’m your guy.”
“Why not? No one around here drives anything like this. It’s a head turner of a vehicle. Are you afraid a foreign car won’t—” Theo searched for the word, obviously not a man who spent time under the hood “—translate to the beat-up domestic cars they drive? Folks out here pretty much divide between Ford and Chevy and that’s it.”
Nash laughed. It was the most absurd version of giving a guy the benefit of the doubt he’d heard in months. “No, I know how to work on American cars. Most of it ‘translates,’ but I’m still not your guy.”
“Why? Don told me you worked with inner-city youth for years at your last post.”
Pastors must take a course in persistence at seminary. “Did he tell you why I left?”
“No.”
There was no way around it now. “I left because one of those inner-city youth I worked with put two bullets in me. I’m only here now because he missed what he was aiming at and hit my shoulder and my leg. So you can see why I’m not your guy.”
Theo looked down for a moment, and Nash rose off the stool to close the rest of his workbench drawers. That wasn’t so bad. His gut didn’t knot up at the words like it usually did.
“Actually, I still think you are the right guy,” Theo said. “We got a saying around these parts about getting back up on the horse that threw you.”
Nash sent him as dark a look as he dared. “That particular horse shot me. With intent to kill. So believe me when I tell you I’m in no hurry to mount up again, Pastor. There isn’t an ‘it’ll do you good’ version of this.”
“You’re what those boys need. Half the boys I want to reach have cars, and the other half are saving up for one. We have an old garage in the back of the church parking lot. It’s been used for storage in the past but it’s mostly empty now. I got Willie down at the garage to say he’d donate a junker for them to learn on, only Willie doesn’t have the time to do the teaching. I was hoping you would help.”
“What those boys need is someone who will believe in them. And right now, that isn’t me.”
“Don told me the sheriff’s department would be in favor of anything that built connections with the local youth. He’d let you have the time to run the program and even kick in toward expenses if there are any.”
Pastor Theo had done his advance work. Where was the slow drag of big-city bureaucracy when you needed it? “Don should know this isn’t something I can say yes to right now.”
“You don’t have to agree this minute. Just say you’ll think about it.” Theo held out a hand for a shake.
Nash was cornered. Don was on board, Theo was standing right in front of him and Nash would look like a jerk if he turned the pastor down cold for such a worthwhile program. The best he could hope for now was to say he’d consider it and start up a search for a better candidate. He tried not to grimace when he shook the pastor’s hand. “I’ll give it some thought. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”
“You’ll forgive my saying so, but it’ll be my prayer that you will. Remember, the place we least want to go is often where God brings the most fruit.”
Nash gave him an “I doubt that” look as he snapped off the garage light.
Theo sighed as they walked out of the garage. “I’m glad that’s settled. Now all I need to do is figure out a class for the girls and we’ll be all set.”
Nash’s memory swung back to Ellie’s description of her knitting. “I may have an idea for you there.”
* * *
Ellie held up her cell-phone screen to Gran as they sat on the porch swing. “Two messages—one from Katie and one from Derek.”
Gran squinted at the notifications. “What do they say?”
Ellie exhaled as she placed the phone facedown on the porch table. “I don’t know. I haven’t listened to them. I’m ticked that it took Katie this long to call, actually. I think this is Derek’s seventh message.”
Gran’s eyes held a gentle reproach. “You’re not going to hear what either of them has to say?”
“What is there for them to say, Gran?” Ellie felt her chest pinch the way it did every time that painful image resurfaced. Derek and Katie had looked completely enthralled with each other. Derek was supposed to feel that way about me. “Part of me wants the apology he couldn’t manage to choke out when I found them. Another part of me doesn’t want to let him sweet talk me out of ending it.” She let her head fall against Gran’s shoulder. “Or worse yet, not bother even trying.”
“I know it hurts bad, darlin’.” Gran’s arms wrapped around her—something Ellie had ached for every moment since getting her heart broken. Since she’d arrived, she’d spent hours just sitting near Gran, trying to let the pain work itself out. On the outside, she’d been sitting still staring at the pastures, but inside she’d been churning through all kinds of emotions.
Gran gave a tender laugh. “And I know it hurts extra bad because you’re not knitting.”
It was true. Ellie worked out most of her problems with yarn and needles. The repetitive stitches gave her time to think and process and even unwind. “Do you know what I had been knitting? A shawl for Katie to wear in the wedding. She was acting like she was my best friend. We picked out the yarn together.” Ellie felt her voice catch—it seemed as if she’d cried five times a day since then. “How could she do that to me, Gran? I tell you, right now I never want to see that shawl again.”
Gran shook her head. “I can’t say I blame you. Seems a waste of good yarn, though. I say rip the shawl out, and enjoy doing it, but then save the yarn for something else.”
Rip it out. Undo it all. Disassemble the memory and the pain. Why not? Ellie looked up. “You know what? You’re right. It’s even in the back of my car.” She hadn’t even realized until just this moment the project had made the trip with her, sitting in the backseat of her car since before she’d decided to leave town. Suddenly dismantling the beautiful, intricate shawl seemed like the most satisfying thing she could do. “Want to help me?”
In a matter of minutes Ellie was seated back on the swing with her knitting bag and the mound of delicate sky-blue yarn that in another dozen rows would have been Katie’s wedding shawl.
“Oh, honey, it’s lovely,” Gran cooed as she held up the nearly finished project.
It was. Ellie prided herself on the quality of her lacework—the shawl would have been stunning with the periwinkle dress she and Katie had picked out as her maid-of-honor gown. Now no one would see it. No one except Gran, that was. Ellie’s heart both stung and glowed at her grandmother’s praise. “Thanks for saying so. I wanted it to be special. Now it’s anything but.”
Gran ran her hands across the stitches. Ellie liked that Gran took time to admire the piece. It struck her just how much she needed someone to know this had been in the works. The shawl needed a witness before its demise—if so strange a thought made any sense. It felt just right when, after a few minutes, Gran handed the cloud of soft blue lace back to her and said, “Let’s take this apart so it can become something new someday.”
A perfect metaphor for her current life. Ellie meant it when she said, “I’m ready.” She pulled the long needle from the work with a flourish, feeling weight slide off her shoulders as the stitches slid free. Finding the loose strand of yarn, she handed the ball to Gran. “I’ll rip, you wind.”
A tiny piece of her began to heal as she pulled the shawl apart row by row. So you can become something new, she told herself and the yarn. This was the wonder of Gran—she always knew just what to do to make someone feel better. Ellie couldn’t yet knit with this yarn—couldn’t yet create something new from such a painful memory—but she could rip out what needed to go away. She knew that tonight she would pack away the beautiful sky-blue yarn in one of Gran’s trunks, and tomorrow she would start some other project. Whether or not she would listen to Katie’s or Derek’s phone messages would be a problem for another day.
It took almost half an hour before Ellie saw the final stitches of the big, intricate shawl disappear under her fingers. The healing relief of it unwound the knot she’d been carrying in her stomach for days. As the last stitch came undone, Ellie took what felt like her first deep breath in forever.
She’d even managed a small giggle at one of Gran’s jokes when she caught sight of a sheriff’s car coming up the drive.
“Well, look,” Gran said. “Here comes that nice young man from the sheriff’s office. Handsome fellow, don’t you think?”
Ellie scowled. “After what we just did, I’d think you’d know I’m no fan of the male population right now.”
Gran slid the last of the pale blue balls into Ellie’s bag. “Well, maybe I can just hope you’ll be reminded that not every member of the male population is a cheating swine.”
Ellie looked at Nash’s tall, lean form as he got out of the car. “Nash could be just as cheating a swine as Derek, Gran. Clearly, I’m no good judge of these things. I’m off the market until further notice, and I mean it.”
Gran nodded. “And you should be. You need time to heal, to sort out what happened. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have friends. I have no intention of you spending your entire visit cooped up in the house with me.”
Ellie started to say I have friends, but bit back the words. In truth, she hadn’t kept up with people back here in Martins Gap after moving away to business school in the big city. Her good friends from high school had taken such a different path from hers that Ellie worried they wouldn’t find anything to talk about. Two of them were already married with children. She adored her new niece, Audie, liked kids and had been planning to start a family with Derek, but motherhood felt a long way off right now. Ellie settled for “I was planning to call Dottie sometime soon.” It was true—as of this moment—but hadn’t been a minute ago.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Gran eased herself slowly up off the swing. “But right now, why don’t you see to our company while I go tell Gunner the deputy’s here.”
Ellie stood and waved at the officer. “Nice to see you again, Deputy Larson.”
He flashed her the strangest grin—almost sheepish. “Call me Nash. I’m not quite used to being called ‘deputy’ yet.” He stepped closer. “I may have an interesting prospect for you.”
“Well, now you certainly have my attention. What’s up?”
“Pastor Theo came to see me yesterday.”
That wasn’t news. Pastor Theo was always paying calls on folks all over Martins Gap. She expected he’d show up on the ranch by the end of the week to say hello to her now that word was surely out she’d come back to the Blue Thorn. “Well, you clearly have settled in fine if Pastor Theo is paying calls on you.”
“He asked me to spend some time teaching the high school boys about cars.”
So Nash was a churchgoing man and a car guy. Interesting.
Nash shrugged. “I can’t really help him out there.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rested one foot on the porch stair. “But Theo was looking for someone to teach something after school to the girls.”
“And?”
“And I got the idea you ought to teaching them knitting. I mean, you were talking about convincing your brother there was a market for that sort of thing, so why not create a little band of customers right here? Theo thought it was a great idea, but I promise, I didn’t commit you to anything.”
Sitting back in the swing, Ellie tried to decide how she felt about that. While half of her wondered where on earth he’d gotten the idea to nominate her out of the blue like that, the other half actually liked the idea. “Well.” She sighed. “I suppose I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. You can always say no. I did.”
Ellie laughed. “That’s what you think. Gran calls it getting ‘voluntold.’ You may be the only person ever to tell Pastor Theo ‘no’ when he asks. And he won’t stop asking.”
“Well, I admit he negotiated me down to ‘I’ll think about it.’ But no matter how long I think it over, my answer is still going to have to be no.”
Ellie stood as she saw Gunner coming over from the barn. “My sister-in-law was asking me if I’d teach her how to knit booties and such for the baby. And my niece, Audie, wants to learn to make a scarf. So, believe it or not, this isn’t my first request this week.” She liked how the idea felt as she tried it on. “I was thinking I needed a project. But then again, so do you.”
“No, I don’t.”
Ellie looked at him. “You need to get plugged in to this community. This seems like a pretty good way to do that. Tell you what—I’ll say yes if you do, too.”
His face went dark. “Then you’ll be saying no. Which you shouldn’t. But I won’t be saying yes.”
“Why? Seems like a perfectly good plan to me.”
Nash scowled. “I have my reasons.”
“Well, your recruitment skills leave a lot to be desired, Deputy Larson,” she countered. “You can’t very well tell me I ought to be saying yes when you intend to say no.”
“Fine!” Nash threw up his hands and walked toward the barn. “Do whatever you want. I was just trying to help.”
Doesn’t sound like that to me, Ellie thought as she watched him skulk toward the barn. What on earth was that all about?
Chapter Four (#ulink_2975527b-52a9-587c-a909-543abca9dc2e)
Nash climbed out of the rugged little ATV Gunner had driven out to one of the ranch’s far fences. “Big place you’ve got here.”
“Not so much,” Gunner said. “There are a lot bigger. We used to be bigger, too, but my dad hit on hard times back before he passed and had to sell off some of the land.”
Nash remembered Don saying something about Gunner taking over the ranch after losing his father a few years before, and changing operations from cattle to bison. And no one had yet mentioned a mother. Had Ellie lost both parents?
Nash and Gunner began walking the fence, looking for any sign of someone being there. “Your dad raised cattle, right?”
“That’s right. The bison herd was my idea.” Gunner opened a gate and the two of them walked along the grass just outside the fence. “We needed something different, some way to turn the ranch back into a working operation.”
“Anyone not like that idea?” Different wasn’t always a welcome notion, especially in a place like this.
Gunner squatted to inspect a tamped-down clump of tall grass. “Most were curious, doubtful maybe, but nothing I’d call mean-spirited. Except for my neighbor Larkey.” The rancher nodded toward the northwest side of the property, where fences marked the start of another ranch. “But that was more about real estate than livestock. He was in favor of a housing project nearby, and I got in the way by refusing to cooperate when they wanted some of my land. He did threaten one of my animals, though. We were having an argument at the time.”
Nash filed that away under “useful details” in the back of his mind. “Anyone hear about it?”
Gunner gave a sour laugh. “Oh, lots of people heard about it.”
“Well, it’s been my experience that kids copy publicized crimes. For your sake, I hope it’s only dumb kids showing off here and not someone out to harm you or your animals.”
“Hey, look.” Gunner rose with a sizable metal cylinder in his hand. “Rifle shell. Pretty big one at that.”
Gunner had already touched it, but hopefully that wouldn’t mess with ballistics. Nash reached into his pocket for an evidence bag and carefully picked it out of Gunner’s palm using the bag as a glove before sealing it up. “That ought to help narrow things down.” He looked up at the rancher. “I’m glad we’re not picking a round out of a dead animal.”
“We lose one or two a year to injury or illness before we harvest off the heard, but outside of Larkey’s threats, no one’s ever tried to kill one of mine. I hope no one’s thinking about it now.”
Nash tried to view the grassy ridge as a crime scene. It was a far cry from a Los Angeles street corner. That was certain. “How would a group of kids get out here?”
Gunner looked around. “Same as us, I suppose. ATVs, dirt bikes, maybe on horseback. This part’s too far from the road to come on foot, I expect.” Gunner gave him an analytical look. “You ride?”
“We did have mounted police in LA.” Nash kept kicking clumps of grass aside in search of more clues. “But no, I’m a car guy.”
“Like big truck or like shiny sports car?”
This was truck country, clearly. The way Gunner said shiny sounded as though it stood in for “fussy city car.” Nash turned over a crushed can with his toe. “Am I gonna have to git me a truck to fit in around here?”
Gunner gave a small laugh. “Well, now, that depends. You want to fit in or stand out? My brother, Luke, never owned a truck in his life. My dad owned nothing but whatever was the biggest, fanciest truck on the market. My wife, Brooke, owned one of them bitty hatchback things when we first met, and we just bought ourselves a genuine suburban minivan seeing as we’ll have two little ones soon. Fancy car might make you popular with the high school boys, now that I think of it, but then again so would a good truck.”
Nash’s sports car had been an asset in LA, earning him “street cred” with teens. It seemed only to earn him stares here—and not often stares of admiration. Another reason to decline Pastor Theo. “Ellie drives a hatchback, too. Anybody give her grief over it?”
Gunner laughed outright. “Well, Ellie’s a city girl now. Still, it goes fast enough to earn a speeding ticket, huh?” He scratched his chin and narrowed one eye at Nash. “What made a city guy like you come all the way out here anyhow?”
“We’re forty minutes from Austin, one of the fastest-developing tech centers in the country. I hardly think that qualifies as ‘all the way out here.’”
Gunner spread his hands. “Look around, buddy. Martins Gap is a whole other world from Austin.” The rancher fiddled with a bracket on a nearby fencepost. “One that’s disappearing too fast, if you ask me.”
Nash found himself again considering the easiest way to relate the chain of events that led him to Martins Gap. “I worked juvenile and street crimes in LA. Kids in gangs, vandalism, the occasional drug bust, that sort of thing. Every once in a while I’d turn a kid from a wrong choice, and each victory kept me going. I’d feel like I’d made a difference, like God was giving me a chance to put some good back in a place where most people could only see bad.”
Gunner leaned against the fencepost. “That doesn’t sound like a reason to leave.”
“It isn’t. But then one of those kids—one of the ones I thought I’d helped the most, actually—he turned on me. Went back to everything I thought he’d left behind. By the time I found him, he was in even deeper than he’d been before.”
“But you found him?”
Nash swallowed. He still hadn’t found an easy way to talk about that night. “More like he found me first. Hunted me down, actually. I ended up with two bullet holes that seemed to puncture all my faith in the good I used to be able to see. I knew it was time to leave.”
“It’s not perfect here, but I’d like to think we’ve got more good than an LA street.” Gunner looked out over the land, and Nash could watch the determination straighten the man’s shoulders. People liked LA, but people loved this land in a way he hadn’t thought possible. As if the grass and hills were an inseparable part of them, connected and deep-rooted. After all, Ellie had made a life in Atlanta, but she’d rushed back here at top speed when that life fell apart, certain she’d find sanctuary. He’d never had that kind of home, but he understood the appeal.
“What about Ellie’s fiancé? Did you think he was a good man before all this business?”
“Derek?” Gunner returned to looking through the grass. “Only met him once, at my wedding. He’s famous—one of them television-show chefs or something. I thought he was kind of full of himself, but I figured that just went with the territory.” He looked up at Nash. “If I ever do get the chance to see him again, I’d like to punch his lights out for cheating on my baby sister.”
He said it with such a twang that it sounded like something out of a cowboy movie, but Nash could appreciate the sentiment. Anyone who had seen the tearful hurt in Ellie’s eyes would want to sock the guy who’d done that to her. “Good riddance, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir. And it’s nice to have her back on the ranch, even though I know it’s not for keeps. She’ll fiddle around here for a while, maybe get a start on that cockamamy bison-yarn idea, but soon enough it’ll peter out. She’ll get tired of Martins Gap and head on back to Atlanta. Ellie grew up here, but she doesn’t belong in this life. She’s fast-paced. Always needs to be busy, always needs a project. Organizing her wedding was the biggest project of them all, you know? She’ll be fine once she finds something to replace it.”
“So you think the yarn thing is just a distraction?”
“Oh, she doesn’t think so, I know. But you’ve got to know Ellie. She’s only home to lick her wounds. I’m happy to have her—don’t get me wrong—but I’m not too worried we’ll be adding scarves and mittens to our inventory of bison burgers and steaks.”
Half of Nash was glad Ellie was a temporary resident of Martins Gap. He liked her. He’d liked her that first night they met, and while he hated to admit it, the idea of working with her on Pastor Theo’s high school project appealed to him. And that was a problem, because women on the rebound were vulnerable and impulsive. One of his many botched LA relationships had been a heartbroken woman, and it had ended in a very messy way. The last thing Ellie Buckton needed was more mess. Besides, part of this relocation had been a promise to God to steer clear of emotional entanglements until he got his head on straight.
Nash wasn’t in the habit of breaking promises to God, nor did he want to give Gunner Buckton any reason to punch his lights out. Ellie Buckton could be a friend, maybe a teaching partner, but Nash would be wise to make sure it came to nothing more.
* * *
“So you’ll do it, then?”
Be careful what you pray for. The words rang true in Ellie’s head as she caught the enthusiasm in Pastor Theo’s eyes as they sat on the ranch front porch talking about the program. How had she become old enough to mentor high schoolers? The same way you got old enough to get married, her heart reminded her. Or almost get married.
“Sure, I will. It will be fun.” She meant that—mostly. She taught people to knit all the time in Atlanta, eagerly sharing her favorite pastime with anyone who showed an interest. Restaurant people were creative folks and often glommed on to crafty pursuits for their downtime. She’d spent many lunch hours—when the hectic setting permitted them to take a lunch break—on the deck behind the GoodEats offices above Derek’s restaurant knitting and laughing with the corporate and food service staff.
Ellie looked around to make sure Gunner wasn’t close enough to overhear. “Pastor Theo, I’d like to impose one condition, if that’s okay with you.”
The pastor smiled. “I can’t imagine I’d say no to any request you make.”
She really did like this guy, especially after all the restaurant’s oversize egos. “In addition to learning knitting, I’d like the girls help me with an effort to make bison yarn from the Blue Thorn animals. Maybe they can even end up spinning their own hanks. Is that okay?”
“Bison yarn?” Pastor Theo asked. “There is such a thing?”
And there would be the Blue Thorn Fibers’ first marketing challenge—most people didn’t even know bison yarn existed, much less all the excellent properties of the fiber. She scooted her chair closer to the pastor’s. “You can make a marvelous yarn from a bison’s undercoat. It’s very strong, warm and lightweight—much more so than sheep’s wool. I’ve been dying to give it a try on the ranch, but it’ll take more than just me to get it launched, and I think you’ve just handed me the perfect opportunity to get some help.”
Now Gunner would have no reason to refuse. He’d never put up any resistance to helping church kids, and she wouldn’t be taking any time from the ranch’s working hands to collect the fibers. It all fit together. The welcome buzzing in the pit of her stomach dispelled the fear that had hung over her the past few days—a fear she wouldn’t feel excited about anything again. That was silly, of course—she was only twenty-five and life was far from over—but the bombed-out feeling she’d carried around since finding Derek with Katie was finally starting to disappear.
“Well, then, this is starting to feel like a win-win for everybody.” Pastor Theo looked up to see the ATV carrying Gunner and Nash pull up next to the barn. “Now we just have to ask God to work on Nash so that he’ll do the boys’ car class. I feel like God is pulling a plan together.”
Was that what God was doing? It was a welcome thought for someone whose life felt as though it had been blown apart. Ellie wasn’t ready to embrace her broken engagement as part of God’s perfect plan—everything hurt too much for that just yet—but Pastor Theo was right. She’d see the whole of things someday, even if she couldn’t see it yet. Her life was just like Katie’s shawl—taken apart to become something new—and like Katie’s shawl yarn, it had to lie in wait for whatever it was going to be next.
“So did she say yes?” Nash asked Pastor Theo as he walked up to the porch. He caught Ellie’s eye. “She’s perfect for the job.”
Theo looked between Nash and Ellie. “I’d say the same of you. How do you two know each other exactly?”
Ellie gulped, not eager to recount her close call with a speeding ticket to the local pastor.
“With all due respect, Pastor, we’ll have to agree to disagree about that job. As for Ellie, we met on the ranch the other day,” Nash said, flashing her a quick look. Ellie made a mental note to figure out what was behind Nash’s bristling refusal to help Pastor Theo. Right after she whipped the deputy up some more biscotti—or maybe a nice warm scarf—to thank him for covering for her yet again.
Pastor Theo rose. “I’m excited. And once you give in, Nash, I think you two will make a perfect team for the after-school program.”
Gunner had come up onto the porch. “Nash is teaching at church? Really?”
“No, not really,” Nash replied with growing exasperation. “But Ellie is.”
“What are you teaching?” Gunner asked with a disbelieving look that irked Ellie to no end. She was perfectly capable of mentoring girls. She had the same skills and intellect she’d had before she’d yanked Derek’s ring off her finger. She smiled, now more than ready to prove it. “Knitting, of course.”
“Well, that’s nice.” Gunner’s lack of interest stuck in her craw. Time to up the stakes.
“With Blue Thorn bison yarn that the girls are going to help make.” She watched her brother’s eyebrow rise. “Crafts and community awareness all in one. I know how you’re all about community awareness, Gunner.”
Gunner narrowed his eyes. “So they keep telling me.” He turned toward the barn. “Nash, you’ve got all you need? I’ve got some things to check on in the barn.” He threw Ellie one last dark look. “We’ll talk more about this later, Els.”
Ellie couldn’t stifle a victorious grin. “I’m sure we will, brother dear. I’ve got all kinds of plans.”
“You always do,” Gunner called, not looking back.
Pastor Theo said his goodbyes, but Nash stared at the barn. “Why do I get the feeling I just saw the opening salvo in a sibling war?”
Ellie laughed. “Oh, not open combat. More like high-level negotiations. Gunner thinks my idea to have Blue Thorn produce bison yarn is silly. You and Pastor Theo just handed me the perfect way to convince him otherwise.”
Nash looked bemused. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Only, you might have to duck now and then to stay out of the line of fire.” She’d thought it a witty remark, but Nash’s face changed completely—and not in a good way. “Bad joke to make to a deputy?”
“Just this deputy.” The tone of his voice tightened up.
Ellie came up to stand beside him. She wanted to smooth over whatever had just happened, but wasn’t exactly sure how. “Have you...have you been shot? Is that it? Is that why you won’t teach the boys?” It seemed a prying question, but by the way his shoulders tensed, the answer seemed obvious. She moved in front of him, wanting to see his face. “You have, haven’t you? Whoa. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s okay,” Nash replied, although it was clear it wasn’t.
“It doesn’t look okay. Really, it’s none of my business. I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut sometimes.”
“It’s why I’m here.” His words were quick and quiet, like ripping off a bandage. If a flinch had a sound, it was his tone. “Well, part of why I’m here. And, yes, it’s why I won’t teach the class.”
“I’m so sorry. What happened?”
He turned to look at her, pain and memory and a bit of bewilderment in his eyes. There was something different about Nash’s eyes, some subtle distinction she couldn’t quite name but saw all the same. “The short version is that I used to work with teens. One of them, someone I had come to trust, turned on me. With a gun. I was shot once in the shoulder and once in the thigh. So you can see why I’m in no hurry to hang out with teenage boys right now.”
“I didn’t know. And here I’ve been egging you on like an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“It could have been a lot worse. I try to thank God every day I’m still here. But the truth was, after that I couldn’t stay in LA.” He leaned against the porch railing as if the mere mention of the wound made his leg hurt. “I used to be able to see the good in some of the worst kids. I thought of it as my gift—cutting past all the trash talk and tough-guy tattoos to connect with guys before they went all the way bad.”
“That does sound like a gift,” Ellie said, meaning it.
“Yeah, well, two weeks in a hospital can knock the gift right out of a guy, I suppose.”
For all her betrayed feelings, Ellie couldn’t say Derek had actually set out to hurt her. To have someone seek to harm you, hunt you down at gunpoint? To fire at you with a mind to end your life? If she’d wanted to run from Atlanta, who wouldn’t want to run all the way from California to get away from something like that?
Teens had hurt him. Of course he’d say no to working with them again. “I can see why you won’t help Pastor Theo with those boys.”
Nash shook his head. “‘Why I won’t help.’ Why do those words bug me so much, making me feel petty for refusing to step up and lend a hand when I have every good reason to say no?”
Maybe Theo was right and God really was putting a plan together. “Are you sure you need to say no? Maybe you’re just scared to say yes. Gran always says scared isn’t a good enough reason to say no to something that might be good.”
“Then your grandmother is a stronger person than I am.”
What Nash did, helping those kids in LA, must have taken so much courage and compassion. It couldn’t all be gone just because one kid betrayed him. Then again, wasn’t she hiding here in Martins Gap because of betrayal, too? “What if what you really need is to prove to yourself you still can see the good in kids like that? What’s the worst that could happen?”
He shook his head and gave a dark, low laugh. “I could get shot again. And this time the kid may not miss.”
“Cowboys and Indians,” she said, remembering his earlier comment that now had such a different edge to it.
“Cops and robbers,” he said, his features showing a hint of humor.
“Cars and knitting.” A plate of biscotti was on the porch table from her meeting with Pastor Theo. Ellie took one and held it in front of her like a mustache, doing a pathetic Groucho Marx impersonation. “It’s an idea so crazy it just might work.”
“It probably won’t work.” Nash took the cookie from her hands and took a big bite out of it. “But maybe I ought to try anyway.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_a8f9416d-1ce8-54f2-b94e-a841a33add17)
“Why, Ellie Buckton!”
Ellie smiled at the young woman behind the church office desk Thursday morning. With the exception of a few additional pounds and the switch from a perky ponytail to a more “adult” hairstyle, Dottie hadn’t really changed. Frozen in time like half of Martins Gap, she presented a slightly older version of the high school friend she had been to Ellie. Of course, she was Dottie Howe now that she’d married Ted Howe, her high school sweetheart. Dottie was the mom of twins, but Ellie was embarrassed she couldn’t remember their names or how old they were. She should have kept closer ties.
“Hi, Dottie.”
“I heard you were back in town.” Dottie shook her head and waved a hand adorned with bright pink fingernails. “Sorry to hear things didn’t work out between you and the chef guy. So sad. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
So word was out. That was to be expected—this was prime, juicy gossip for the likes of Martins Gap. “Thanks.” She still hadn’t come up with a suitable reply for people’s condolences. Ellie tried to tell herself that letting word spread through the rumor mill was better than having to rehash the painful details over and over, but her heart wasn’t buying it. Dramatic as it sounded, these days she felt like emotional roadkill, forced to lie there in splatters while the rest of the world drove by and gawked. This won’t last forever, she told herself. Just for now. And everyone here is on your side. Remember that.
“You remember the great big wedding Ted and I had. I can’t imagine all that’d be involved in calling one off.”
Ted and Dottie had married two weeks after high school graduation in a big affair by Martins Gap standards. Ellie had been a starry-eyed bridesmaid in the ceremony. Of course, after working in the Atlanta food industry, her idea of a big wedding was now a lot more elaborate than Ted and Dottie’s VFW Hall reception. To Martins Gap, Derek’s and her plans would have felt slick and sophisticated. Ellie put on her “I’m making the best of it” face and sighed. “Well, at least the invitations hadn’t gone out yet.” Those were sitting in a box back in her Atlanta apartment awaiting a stuffing-and-stamping-and-pizza-and-movie night that would have been next month with Katie, Derek, and Derek’s brother and best man, Clark. Another casualty lying by the side of the road waiting to be cleaned up.
For a startled second she wondered if GoodEats had issued a press release. What an odd field public relations was in the restaurant world, where people were promoted as much as the food or the decor. “It’s kind of a big mess right now.”
“I am sorry. Must feel good to come back home for a spell.”
Ellie could only shrug. “I’ll let you know.” Being on the ranch was one thing. Being out and about in Martins Gap felt like quite another. Everyone was friendly, but she couldn’t help feeling on display knowing she was the object of whispers. Ellie changed the subject. “How are Ted and the kids?”
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