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“I—” He swallowed a sharp reply, suddenly tired of being defensive. Tired of the whole damned deal that had jerked him out of active service and into a world of surgery and pain, and empty promises from docs who didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth. “I do need some refills. Can a Texas P.A. write prescriptions?” he asked, more roughly than he’d intended.
“Yes, after you’ve established a relationship with that clinic.”
Damn. “So I have to wait until I can see the doc?”
He stifled a sigh. He could get along without most of his medications just fine, but the Skelaxin helped him keep moving during a bad day. And now and then, the Percocet was his only relief when the burning, throbbing pain in his shoulder or knee kept him awake until three in the morning.
When he finally fell into troubled sleep on those nights, the nightmares would return, and then he’d lie there wishing that he’d died in that godforsaken place instead of Tony and Dave and all the others. He rarely gave in and took the meds. But when he truly needed them…
She must’ve read his thoughts, because she touched his arm and smiled. “I can take care of this, easily.”
She handed him a clipboard from the counter. “Fill out this health history. If you don’t have your medical records, you’ll need to sign a release so we can request them by fax.”
He wished he’d just walked out the door. Confidentiality of medical records was mandated by federal law. But sharing personal information—having anyone read about the injuries that made him weak and useless now—still rankled.
And though there was nothing between them any longer, revealing those details of his life to Kristin Cantrell was a thousand times worse.
“I…have a folder of photocopies out in my truck.”
“Good, then. I’ll start a chart while you get it. After you fill out this form, I’ll take your vitals and you’ll be set.” She lifted a brow. “Are you game?”
There was a distinct challenge in her voice and her businesslike manner. She’d been such a sweet, shy little thing in college, wide-eyed at the world around her. Now she wore a much tougher veneer, and he could almost imagine her taking over a platoon.
In a few minutes he was back inside. He handed her the paperwork, then followed her down the empty hallway to an exam room. “Are you the only person here?”
“Our clinic nurse starts Tuesday.” She motioned him to the exam table, then flipped open the folder. “Oh, my God. You were at Walter Reed?”
He nodded.
“So this was no little bar fight, then.” She took a deep breath, clearly stunned. “You should go down to the Kerrville VA Medical Center. It would cost you a lot less, and—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I saw the doctor at Reed just last week. I don’t need to see anyone else.” His feisty doc back at the hospital had been sure Ryan would refuse to seek ongoing medical care, so the man had provided just enough capsules for the trip west, along with printed orders on what had to be represcribed by a local doctor. “Look, my dad’s outside talking to Arlen Enfield, but he won’t want to wait long.”
“Enfield…the former mayor?” She glanced up at Ryan, then started jotting something on the margins of the medical report. “Nice guy. I met him last winter, when I visited here.”
Enfield was tall, sophisticated. Urbane, with a propensity for saying just the right thing, but nice wasn’t the word Ryan would’ve used.
Who could forget the subtle animosity between the two men? Both wealthy ranchers, they’d been political rivals over the years. Intelligent, driven and competitive, they reminded him of two old dogs circling each other with hackles raised. “Can we make this quick?”
“Fine.” She took his blood pressure, weight and listened to his lungs, asking questions and jotting notes in a chart as she went.
She was pure, cool professionalism. But with every touch of her delicate hands, he had to force himself to be still, to betray no reaction. He hoped she didn’t sense his tension.
Only after he’d walked out the door of the clinic was he finally able to haul his thoughts back to the present.
Trevor would definitely need to bring Dad into the clinic on Tuesday, because seeing Kristin again was the last thing Ryan wanted.
No Ranger with a 60mm mortar could have done a better job of destroying his heart.
KRISTIN WAITED until she heard the door of the clinic close behind Ryan, then leaned her forehead against the cool, smooth wall of the waiting room. His new patient chart still in her arms, she willed away the tears burning behind her eyelids.
She’d expected challenges when she decided to move back to Homestead, with a new career. A new home. A nine-year-old son who considered Central Texas the last place on earth he wanted to live. And a town that held bad memories from her early childhood.
But she certainly hadn’t expected to run into Ryan Gallagher on her second day here.
For years, she’d known he was a Ranger, involved in highly dangerous operations in the Middle East. Last year, when she’d been back in town for her dad’s funeral, she’d overheard someone mention that he was still there, and that he rarely ever showed up in Texas.
There was nothing between them, not anymore. But discovering that he’d been airlifted out of Iraq as a “Critical 4”—on the verge of death—just months ago, had filled her with sadness.
Scanning the grim surgical reports in his medical folder had made her feel worse. His well-muscled, six-foot-two body had suffered multiple, serious injuries that time would never totally heal.
His lean, darkly handsome face was the same. The nearly black hair she’d once loved to touch. The piercing blue eyes and strong masculine jaw.
But the sexy twinkle in his eyes had died, along with his quick wit and his born-and-bred Texas cowboy manners, leaving behind a stranger. A hardened and dangerous soldier, one who’d survived all those years.
With luck, Ryan hadn’t seen the sorrow and sympathy in her eyes over all he’d sacrificed in the line of duty, or noticed how his arrival had thrown her off balance.
But no matter what he thought, no matter what she’d once prayed for, there was no going back. She had too much at stake during the next six months to even think about old loves or new beginnings. Cody’s future depended on it.
CHAPTER THREE
“SO…WHAT DO YOU THINK of your new place?” Miranda Wright, Homestead’s mayor, climbed out of her blue GMC pickup and pulled an overflowing welcome basket from across the seat, then closed the door.
Her dog—some sort of golden Lab mix—hung its head out the window and watched sorrowfully as Miranda flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder and handed the wicker basket to Kristin with a flourish. “Dusty really wanted my mom’s Texas Pecan Kisses—there’s a dozen of ’em in here—and I swear that dog will do anything for a cookie.”
Kristin grinned at her over the huge red bow tied at the top of the handle. “Thanks. Want to come in and see what I’ve done so far?”
The tall, leggy brunette checked her wristwatch and frowned. “Just a few minutes. I’ve got to get home, load up and deliver hay to a sheep farmer near Llano by five.”
“The guy down at Tanner’s grocery tells me you raise the best peaches in the entire area.” Kristin shook her head in amazement as she pulled open the yard gate set in the low limestone wall encircling the house and ushered the other woman through. “You must be the busiest person in Loveless County.”
Miranda laughed. “I don’t handle it all alone. My mother, Nan, takes a very active part, and we usually have at least one family working for us.” She stopped in front of the small two-story house and propped her hands on her hips. “I think this is one of my favorite old houses in this area. A little paint, replace some windows on the ground floor, and this place will be lovely, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. I already have a lot of plans, for when I have the money and the time.” Kristin led the way up onto the wraparound porch and into the front room. “We’ve just unboxed the living-room things and still need curtains, but it’s starting to feel like home.”
Just minutes ago she and her son, Cody, had shoved their old leather couch and love seat into position, with the couch facing the fieldstone fireplace and the love seat at a right angle to it, flanked by oak end tables. A lacy white afghan over the back of the love seat covered the worst of the scuffs, and a pile of pillows on the couch covered a couple of old stains.
Miranda brushed a hand across one of the stained glass lamps on the end tables, admiring the deep jewel tones. “These are so pretty. Family heirlooms?”
Kristin felt herself blush. “A consignment store in Austin, I’m afraid. There weren’t many things to pass down in my family.”
“Lovely all the same.” Miranda nodded in approval. “It’s great finding treasures like these and being able to save money while you’re at it.”
She moved over to a wall and peered at the thermostat. “Have you checked the heating system? The water and appliances? We sent a handyman out here to look at everything before you arrived this week, but I always want to make sure.”
“Perfect, far as I can tell.” Kristin bit her lip. “I owe you all so much. I never thought I’d be able to afford a place of my own. Not like this one…and especially not in my hometown.”
“Life comes full circle, doesn’t it?” Miranda smiled kindly. “The town is delighted to welcome young families to the area. The homesteading program is a two-way street, really. We offer people a chance for new beginnings. In turn, we bring in new life for our community and our schools. With your medical skills you’ll be a great asset here.”
“Can I offer you tea? Coffee? A soda?”
Kristin moved toward the kitchen, but Miranda shook her head. “I have to be going, but don’t forget those cookies.” She winked. “Best on the planet.”
“Thanks so much. I know we’ll love them.”
“If you catch her at a good moment, my mom might even share her secret recipe.” Miranda chuckled. “Is there anything you need before I go—any questions?”
“Not right now, I guess. The contract is pretty straightforward.” Kristin hesitated. “I love this isolated setting. The view is incredible, and the peace and quiet is wonderful. Neighbors would be fine, too, though. Will there be any more people coming out this way?”
“Eventually. We’ve got around twenty-five thousand acres to work with, but we don’t want to rush. Finding the right people is more important to us than just giving it all away.” She tapped a fingertip against her lips and thought for a moment. “You and your son are the third family to arrive, but we’ll have more arriving nearly every month for a while. Most of the parcels in this area are between twenty and a hundred acres. You share a property line with a remote part of a privately owned ranch, though, so that will help you maintain your privacy.”
Kristin grinned. “That’s perfect. I promise, I’ll meet every stipulation to the letter.”
“I’m not sure if you knew, but this place was called Cedar Grove Farm. The man who lived here before raised goats, had a few horses and did a little truck farming—vegetables and peaches, mostly.”
From the doorway leading to one of the main-floor bedrooms, Kristin caught a flash of movement. “Cody?”
He dutifully came back around the corner, all gangly nine-year-old shyness, the blush on his fair cheeks nearly matching his bright auburn hair. He held one hand behind his back.
Something to check on as soon as Miranda leaves. “This is Miranda Wright. She’s the mayor, and she heads up the committee that brought us here. Can you tell her thanks?”
He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with either of them, mumbled something that might have been a thank-you, then raced around the corner.
“I’m sorry, he’s usually much—”
“No problem.” Miranda waved away the apology as she started out the door. “I’m sure this move has worn him out, and most little guys are shy with strangers, anyway. We’ll meet again soon.”
Kristin leaned a shoulder against the door frame and watched Miranda stride to her truck and drive away, feeling suddenly melancholy.
“New beginnings,” she said softly to herself. “Something I’ve needed for a long, long time.”
Though those new beginnings weren’t going to be entirely smooth. Cody had been acting out a lot more over the past few weeks. And her bank balance was close to zero.
On top of that, some people in town who’d started to welcome her, had stopped when she’d introduced herself. It was as if they’d recognized her, and their smiles had faded.
She’d been just a child when she and her mother had fled this town over twenty years ago, but her father had stayed…and obviously there were still people who remembered the Cantrell name.
And that, she realized with a heavy heart, could make living here more difficult than she’d imagined.
CODY GLARED at the TV in the corner of the living room, wishing he could kick in the snowy haze on the screen and throw the whole thing out the window.
There were a million places they could’ve moved to, but Mom had chosen this one—an old house surrounded by high, rocky hills in the middle of nowhere. A place where exactly one channel came in clearly, but only if a guy stood with a hand on the top of the TV and thumped it now and then.
What did kids do around here? No sidewalks. No playgrounds, unless you drove all the way into town, and that was a good ten miles. No neighbors with kids and dogs and tree houses.
The only good thing about moving was that he’d gotten out of Mrs. Morgan’s class back in Austin. She’d been mean. Always blaming him for the whispering at the back of the class, or for the spitballs thrown at the kids in the front row. He’d had a timeout almost every day, and that totally sucked.
At least his new teacher seemed nice. She smiled a lot, and came over to ask him if he needed help, because she said he’d have to catch up to everyone else. She smelled pretty good, too…. not like Morgan, who must’ve taken a bath in perfume every morning and had breath worse than Ben’s old dog next door.
Cody listened to the thumping and scraping coming from upstairs, where Mom was unpacking more boxes and pushing furniture around, then he went out onto the porch and leaned over to brace his elbows on the railing. Dropping his chin into his hands, he stared out at the hills that seemed to roll on forever, clear over to where the sun was starting to drop lower in the sky.
There were supposed to be big snakes out here. Big, big rattlesnakes, and coyotes and even armadillos—like the ones in his favorite Jan Brett story-book. Maybe there was even a mama armadillo parading through the low cedar bushes and sagebrush right now, followed by a train of little armadillos.
Dad called armadillos “speed bumps” because you always saw them flattened along the Texas highways, but the possibility of seeing a live one sent Cody off the porch in two big leaps.
With a last glance over his shoulder at the house, he hopped over the low stone wall and jogged past Mom’s Tacoma pickup, stopping to survey the possibilities. Where, exactly, did armadillos like to go?
To the right of the house he could see the tops of a big stand of trees growing past the next hill. They were probably those huge, shady old live oaks that Mom was always admiring, because she said they could be hundreds of years old.
Surely, with a hot sun overhead all day—even though it was almost the beginning of September—an armadillo would like a shady place to rest.
Grinning, he broke into a run.
NOT AGAIN. Kristin frantically raced through the house one more time, checking the closet and even beneath the beds.
Since the divorce, Cody had been unpredictable—clinging one minute, rebellious the next. He sometimes hid from her when he was upset, apparently finding some sort of satisfaction in crying quietly by himself and ignoring her pleas to come out.
But this time, she sensed the emptiness of the house. Where could he have gone? The western sky was deepening from lavender into purple and indigo. The sun had set. And already, the chilly night air was settling in.
“Cody!” she called out, searching around the yard for any sign of him. In exasperation, she widened her search to include the old, empty barn and the small, one-car garage too narrow for her modern vehicle.
The lane leading out to the highway was empty, the powdery caliche limestone revealing only tire tracks. But Cody could’ve skirted the lane and gone across country on some adventure without regard for the temperature, approach of nightfall or the fact that he had absolutely no knowledge of the area.
And just within the boundaries of her own twenty acres, he could so easily be lost. Running, now, she shouted his name as she searched farther and farther from the house.
Only a distant owl returned her calls.
Her heart pounding, she slowly turned in a full circle, watching for any sort of movement.
Nothing.
With a cry of frustration, she ran back to the house to grab her cell phone and call for help. Did 911 even work out here? Surely there’d be local police, or a county sheriff, and maybe even a dog that tracked.
She lunged up the steps and breathlessly pawed through the packing materials on the kitchen counter until her fingers curled around the familiar shape of her cell phone.
She flipped it open to punch in the numbers, then stared in disbelief at the faint message blinking on the screen.
Low battery.
Her hand at her throat, she slumped against the counter, her lungs raw from the exertion. Then she hunted through the clutter again until she found her truck keys. Please, God, let me find my little boy!
At a sharp knock at the door she froze. She was a woman alone in an unfamiliar, isolated place…though that barely registered.
I don’t have time for this! I’ve got to find my son.
