Texas Ranger Dad (10 page)

Thinking about it now, she couldn't move.

“You could fry bacon on the look in his eyes when he's watching you,” Esther Mae said.

Rose snapped to attention, shook her head. “He just naturally has an intense look in his eyes. Comes from intimidating all those criminals in his job.”

“Shame on you, Rose Vincent.” Norma Sue chuckled. “Your eyes are a whole lot younger than ours and you know good and well that the two of you have something going on between you. Everybody sees it.”

“There
isn't
anything between us.” Anymore. There wasn't and wouldn't be now. Other than Max.

Her tightly wound emotions unraveled as they all studied her, their expressions rapt with intention. The intent to do matchmaking. She knew it well. “Don't,” she snapped, looking sternly at each one of them. “Don't. Don't. Don't. I know what's best for me and what you three are thinking is not it. I'm telling you, it isn't. You have no clue what you're doing here.”

“You think too much,” Norma Sue said.

“That's right,” Esther Mae harrumphed. “Just because you have a past together where you, well…” She blushed slightly. “Okay, where you got things out of God's order. Doesn't mean things can't be put back in order.”

Rose went back to frantically pulling jelly jars out of the box.

“What about Max?”

Adela's soft words drew Rose to look up. “He's fine.”

“Are you sure?”

No.
“He and Zane are building a lovely relationship,” she said, trying hard not to give away the terror she was feeling at the as yet unspoken threat. She yanked the empty box from the shelf and stepped away from the concession trailer. Cars were starting to stream across the cattle guard, lining up in the pasture waiting for Zane to direct them to the right parking spot. He took her breath away—it was true, no way around it. Everything about the man's physical appearance appealed to her. The way he moved, the way he looked, the way that he just stood there and people took notice. As she stared at him he looked across the distance. The ambient temperature rose by leaps in a flash of those golden eyes. She took a deep breath and turned away.

“Honey, that man is in love with you,” Norma Sue said, and her friends echoed her.

Rose groaned. “Stop it. I need to move my car,” she said. “When I come back, no more talk about this. Please. No. Don't look like that. I'm serious. Listen, I know you three have the best of intentions, but you have to promise me you'll back off. Max already stands the chance of getting hurt because he wants so much
for me and Zane to get together. Your encouragement could make things worse. Do you understand?”

The ladies looked at each other and their rapt expressions faded.

“Promise me you won't encourage my son in this,” Rose repeated. She felt a small bit of relief when they nodded. “Okay, good,” she said, and then she hurried to her car, where she collapsed in the front seat. Pulling the door closed, she welcomed the silent interior…but even the silence didn't calm the turmoil inside her. Despite what everyone thought, Zane was not in love with her…he was in love with their son.

R
ose felt hot and tired as she tromped through the field with four buckets of fruit on Monday. She was working overtime because she had prickly pears ripening too fast to pick. And Max, who had planned to help her today, had awakened that morning and told her that Norma Sue had called to get his help with some baby calves. His desertion was surprising, but she knew that he was good for his promise to make it up to her.

She'd just reached Max's torching table, as he liked to call it, when Zane drove up the lane. If she'd assumed her day couldn't get any worse she'd been wrong.

The day before at church, he'd worn a tan-colored sports coat with his jeans, and the red shirt beneath the tan jacket had set his own burnished skin off to perfection. She couldn't help but notice. She and every other single woman in Mule Hollow would be blind if that were the case.

Max had opted to sit with Zane during the service. He and Gil sometimes sat together in the front pew,
so it shouldn't have bothered her so much that he chose to sit with his dad versus her. But it seemed everything about Zane in their lives was bothering her.

That had been yesterday. Today he was dressed casually in a soft chambray long-sleeved shirt that had been washed so much it was as pale as a water-color sky and the formfitting jeans he wore were almost as pale. And she had absolutely
no
business paying so much attention to his appearance.

The man had never confirmed he was going to try to get custody of Max. That was always on her mind…She shouldn't have been ugly to him on Saturday. She should have been on her best behavior when he was around, but it was impossible. She felt like a firecracker ready to explode when he was near. If he was going to try to take Max then he would have a fight on his hands.

“You look like you could use a hand,” he said as he removed his aviator shades, revealing eyes that glinted warmly in the sunlight.

Get a life, Rose!

“No, I'm fine.” She wasn't.

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I can see that. You have ten buckets of fruit there. You look exhausted.”

“What exactly is it with you always telling me I look exhausted. I'm
not
exhausted. And I said I was fine, so I'm fine.”

He raised a brow and took a pair of gloves from his back pocket. “Grumpy, too.”

“Wait just a minute—what are you doing?”

He slipped one glove on. “I'm helping you. I should have been here earlier but I ended up having to go into the office for Brady because Dottie had a doctor's appointment.”

“Yes, she called and told me she had had a few
pains and that Brady had insisted on taking her in. Wait. What do you mean you would have been here sooner?”

“Max asked me to come help you. He said you could really use a hand. That he had something else he had to get done and felt guilty for leaving you stranded. He said that you were going to be ‘working like a dog.' Those were his exact words. How could I refuse?”

Ohhh, that boy! She forced a smile, feeling the strain as she held in a scream of frustration. “I'm perfectly fine. If I'd needed help I would have asked someone.”

He cocked a brow and tugged on the other glove. “Yup. Max said you would deny to your dying breath that you needed the help.”

“Where does he come up with this stuff?” she grumbled. “We have been set up and I, for one, don't intend to fall for this. I am perfectly capable of handling my business and you know it. So please, go back to your day off and do whatever it was that you planned to do before your son pulled a fast one.”

“I knew exactly what he was up to.” His gaze bored into hers with an intensity that sent shivers coursing through her.

“Why are you leading him on?” She plopped a hand to her hip, pinching her side to remind herself to hold firm. “You,” she started, and sucked in a breath as the word broke off on the end. “You cannot encourage this behavior. You know as well as I do that he's trying to push us together. It's been bothering me ever since he invited you to eat with us last week.”

“You noticed that, too. I was wondering if that's what's been upsetting you.” He took a step closer,
bringing him so near she had to tilt her chin up to look at him.

“Y-yes, that was it,” she said. He was so close the wonderful woodsy scent of his aftershave enveloped her. She wanted to run for cover but refused to cede ground.

“Is that all?” he asked as his gaze shifted to her lips.

Standing her ground might have been a very foolish decision…but like a moth to flame her gaze fluttered to his lips.

Oh, no, you don't!

She spun away and snapped her goggles down over her eyes and snatched the small gas torch. She fumbled to get the flame started. “Go away, Zane.” The words came out surprisingly strong considering.

He took the torch from her and instantly had the flame leaping to life. “Hand me a piece of fruit.”

She glared at him, snatched up a pear and dropped it into his gloved hand. “Suit yourself. Now, if you will excuse me, I have more tuna to pick.”

His chuckle followed her into the barn, where she retrieved her last four buckets. If he wanted to work, then work he would, she thought as she marched from the barn.

The tuna in his hand was burned to a crisp. “Don't burn all my profit up while you're helping me,” she snapped. “Oh, and if you're going to insist on this charade, put on a pair of goggles.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” he teased as he reached for Max's goggles.

“Good.” She bobbed her head. “I'll let you work and will finish up out there.”

A slow smile bloomed across his face. “You do that. I'm not going anywhere.”

His words caused her heart to stall. “Okay, then,” she said, turning her back to him and that smile and trying hard to blot out the way those four little words made her feel.

“And, Rose,” he said, drawing her to look over her shoulder at him. “If you need me, just call.”

“I won't,” she said firmly, and marched out into her cactus patch more than determined that she would not need him.

Not ever again.

 

What was he doing? Zane wondered again as he watched Rose sashay madly into the pasture and disappear behind a massive stand of cactus. Coming out here had been a bad idea. But he hadn't been able to convince himself not to come.

He looked down at the pathetic piece of blackened mush in his hand. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing with Rose or with torching this tuna. All he knew was that when Max had asked Zane to help Rose, he'd said yes. Part of it was because she'd looked lost in church the previous morning after Max had chosen to sit with him. Despite feeling pleasure that his son wanted to sit beside him, Zane had felt no joy in seeing Rose sitting alone.

Not that she would welcome his sentiment. Oh, no. The woman wasn't happy having him here. And, he thought with a rueful smile, if he ruined all of her fruit she would run him off the property with a stick. So he wouldn't ruin it, he thought. He dropped the charred tuna to the side and picked up another one. The hairlike stickers were coming off this time—and only the stickers. He'd watched Max take care of business the week before and so he'd had a great teacher. And as he
aimed the flame, he knew working would be much easier without Rose standing near, distracting him with that cute glare of hers.

An hour later when she returned with three buckets filled up and one only half full he had a pile of perfectly toasted tuna. There was plenty still waiting on him, though, so he didn't slow down.

His jaw itched slightly and he rubbed the back of his glove along it and kept on working.

“You're doing good.”

Her compliment was unexpected. “I had a good teacher. I just had to concentrate on what he taught me.”

She'd calmed down, it seemed. He was relieved, watching as she emptied one bucket onto the table and rinsed it out at the hydrant before she started refilling it with his crispy masterpieces. He enjoyed the moment of quiet calm between them. Even though it was clear her mind was working overtime. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her head—it had been that way when he'd first met her. They'd had to spend a lot of time alone and she sat near the fireplace of the safe house and simply watched the fire burn. And he watched her. He'd tried not to, but she'd just drawn him like no other woman he'd ever been around. Before long he'd come to recognize when her thoughts were on her grandmother. She never said she regretted the choice she'd had to make to leave her behind, but he knew it hurt. He wondered, if time were reversed, would she make the same choice knowing what she did now?

He hadn't known the feeling from personal experience until he'd made the decision to leave her, only then did he finally understand exactly what he'd been
asking people to do all those years. Only then did he understand how much it ripped out their hearts to walk away.

“You have a limp.”

At her soft words the torch slipped a little and he singed the end of his glove with the flame. “And here I thought I'd gotten rid of it.” He wasn't sure whether to be irritated that it was still noticeable if someone looked closely enough. Or whether to be encouraged that Rose had just given away the fact that she had looked that closely at him. He'd admitted he'd come here because he couldn't stop thinking about her. But did he want to open up his past to her?

“Was it something from your work?”

“You should know men don't like to talk about their ailments with ladies.”

“Were you hurt badly?”

He cocked his head and frowned. “Take a hint. I'd rather not talk about this. Of all the things we could talk about, this is not it.”

“But this is what I want to talk about.”

“I could leave.”

“Fine with me. I didn't ask you here in the first place.”

She stared unblinking at him.

He shook his head and gave in—to a point. “Yes, it was work. And, yes, it was bad.”

“And?”

“And it took some work to get over. Those twenty steps up to my apartment along with other morning exercises are whipping the final tail end of it.” His face was burning where it had been itching earlier. He wiped it hard with his gloved fingers.

“Oh! What are you doing?” Her eyes flared at the
same time that she grabbed on to his wrist and yanked his fingers from his face.

“I have an itch. I'm scratching it.”

“Put that down,” she demanded, forcing the tuna to fall out of his hand onto the table. “And shut that torch off! Now.”

He did as she said, one-handed, not sure why she was so angry. She tore her goggles off her head and tugged their gloves off as she glared at him.

“What?” he asked, really needing to scratch his face.

“I told you not to touch your face.”

True, they'd moved on from his injury, but this was not good. And his face was really itching. Burning.

“Come to the house. Don't touch anything.”

He followed her as she stormed into the house.

“Sit,” she demanded the moment he entered the kitchen behind her. She had her back to him and was digging through a drawer.

His face was really burning and by now he understood his stupidity. Understood exactly what he'd done. His right jaw was on fire and the culprit was a bunch of tiny cactus stickers.

“Where is it?” Rose growled, slamming one drawer shut and yanking open another. He had no idea what she was looking for, but he was surely hoping she found it and soon.

“Got it!” she exclaimed, spinning around with a roll of silver duct tape held high.

“What is
that
for?”

She pulled a length out, bit it with her teeth to start the tear and then ripped it off. “Believe it or not, this is the best way to get those spines out of your jaw.”

He refused to run but this didn't look good.

“Don't look so terrified.”

“I do not look terrified,” he denied. Turning his jaw away as she came at him with the strip of tape that was well-known for its extra firm contact. His jaw could not take extra firm. It felt raw.

“If you're not terrified, then don't turn away,” she said.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexed and he forced himself to angle it toward her. This was not going to be pleasant. Might even be worse than a trip to the dentist with the way his jaw was sizzling.

She stepped close. “I promise this will help,” she said gently. Her sweet breath feathered across his jaw and soothed his soul. “I believe you,” he murmured, perfectly still as she laid the tape across his skin. His gaze roved over her face as her fingers trembled against his jaw. He sought her eyes with his own. Their stormy-night darkness called to him.

He swallowed hard; automatically his hand found her waist and he tugged her a step closer…she closed her eyes for a second, her fingers stilled—she was thinking about kissing him as much as he was thinking about kissing her. He smiled just as she opened her eyes and
ripped
the tape off his jaw!