A Ranger For The Holidays. Allie Pleiter
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After a third bite, he paused to look at her, his head cocked sideways in analysis. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you being so nice to a complete stranger?” The sad edge he gave those last two words poked Amelia under the ribs.
Amelia had trouble explaining her compulsion to help folks in need to good friends, much less to strangers like Finn. Only he wasn’t a stranger. He was someone she was supposed to help. Someone she didn’t find by accident, but by Providence. She recognized the pull toward his circumstances, the slow burn of burden in her heart that she’d come to know as her unique gift in God’s kingdom. While life had taken away important people—her parents, her grandmother, Rafe—life had given her lots of funds and a generous heart. “I make it a practice to be nice to everybody. And you’re not really a stranger anymore.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he concentrated on a fourth bite of pie until his curiosity evidently got the better of him and he asked, “You’re really nice to everybody?”
“Well—” she dug her fork into the luscious pie again, feeling her face flush that he’d called her on such an exaggeration “—I admit it’s harder with some folks than others, but yes, I try to be.” It was doubly hard with folks like Byron McKay. Byron, the vice president of the Lone Star Cowboy League and so mean that everyone hoped President Carson Thorn never had to step aside, had laid into her but good this afternoon about some silly detail of League business. “Truth is, today I needed this pie as much as you.”
He sat back and looked at her a few heartbeats longer than he ought to have. “I can’t imagine anyone giving you a hard time.”
Amelia squeaked out a laugh, unsettled by his stare. “Oh, you’d be surprised.” She felt the words tumble out of her, rushing against the rise of warmth under the blue scarf she wore. She remembered wiping his face with the white one she’d worn this morning—now stained beyond repair. “Little Horn may be small by big-city standards—” she felt her words speeding up, filling the too-warm space between them “—but there’s no shortage of opinions and ornery personalities here. We’ve had tensions. We’ve got grumps and gossips. It’s been a rough patch these past two months. Try the apple.”
Finn did as requested, nodding his approval. “Tell me about Little Horn,” he asked, then evidently seeing the surprise on her face, added, “Maybe some little detail will spark a memory, and right now your voice is the only one that feels familiar.”
Amelia sat back in her chair. Finn’s admission that he found her voice comforting rose an insistent little hum in her stomach. “Little Horn’s the same as a hundred other small Texas towns, I guess,” she started. He must be feeling the worst kind of lonely, to draw such a complete blank on his home and family and everything the way he had. She wanted to fill in as many details for him as she could, to take at least some of the shadows from the corners of his eyes. “Most folks are ranchers or the like, but—” and here she hoisted her slice of pie “—we’ve got some good cooks, a warm, welcoming church—and of course, very nice doctors. The sheriff, my friend Lucy? She says Little Horn is about as upright a place as can be—that is up until all the rustling that’s been going on. That has everyone on edge.”
“Cattle rustling?” His interest seemed to pick up on that. Amelia wasn’t sure if that should be an important sign of something.
She set down her fork. “Livestock and equipment started going missing from some of the more prosperous ranches around town. Byron McKay—that grouch is the reason for my pie today, if you really want to know—was hit first. Ten head of cattle and a whole bunch of fancy equipment just walked off his ranch. You don’t want to get on Byron’s bad side, let me tell you. He’s barely nice on a good day. Only it didn’t stop there.”
Finn started on the cherry pie. “The rustlers struck again?”
“They hit Carson Thorn’s ranch. He’s the head of our chapter of the Lone Star Cowboy League. That’s a service organization that helps ranchers in these parts. Carson’s as nice as they come, so then we knew it wasn’t just someone sore at Byron. There have been over ten thefts since September alone, all different kinds of things taken from different kinds of ranches. Even the Welcome to Little Horn sign disappeared. It’s got everyone more than a little spooked.”
“So your perpetrators weren’t all about personal retaliation.”
Amelia saw Finn register the same surprise she felt at his choice of words. The technical language he used was the same she’d heard over and over from Lucy and from her ex-fiancé, Rafe. Police language.
So Finn’s interest in the rustling likely wasn’t criminal, it was professional. Her instincts were right, he was a good man. The satisfaction at her insight warred with the residual sting she still carried over men with badges. If that wasn’t enough to warn her off the connection she felt with him—and it was—Finn’s watch had told her someone was waiting for him to come home. Should she mention that?
She decided on a different topic instead. “You talk like you’re with the law, Finn. Are you?”
His eyes squinted, trying the idea on for size. “Could be. Only wouldn’t the force be out looking for me if I was? Dr. Searle says no one has filed a missing-persons report for anyone matching my description.” He said the words with a weary acceptance that made Amelia’s throat tighten.
“Of course someone’s missing you. I’ve no doubt there’s a pretty lady plain out of her mind with worry right now.”
Finn put down his fork, the rest of the cherry pie uneaten. “I don’t think so. I don’t feel any sense that there’s anyone out there missing me.” His eyes lost all their warmth. Amelia had met plenty of people in tight spots but she couldn’t remember ever seeing the kind of lifeless resignation that currently filled Finn’s features. He looked as if it came as no surprise that no one missed him.
“Sure there is.” She said it as much to remind herself as to remind him. “There’s B.”
* * *
“B?” Amelia spoke as if the letter should mean something to him, and Finn had the vaguest sensation that it did.
“Doc Searle didn’t show you the watch?”
Finn looked at his left hand, noticing the now-faint tan line that showed where he wore his watch. Dr. Searle had mentioned an inscribed watch but hadn’t shown it to him. Somewhere from the back of his brain came the fact that where a man wore his watch usually indicated if he was left-or right-handed. It seemed an odd detail for a person to know with the certainty he did and backed up the theory that he was somehow connected with law or security—he seemed used to collecting details as clues. Only if that were true, where was the force that should be out looking for their missing officer? Why wasn’t someone posting departmental notices? APBs?
Finn went to reach for the small drawer in his bedside table, but the action sent jolts of pain through his chest. “Let me look,” Amelia said. “It’s in here.” She pulled out a square gold watch on a black leather band. A nice watch, the kind that got given as a gift. Amelia placed it facedown in Finn’s hand. He ran one finger over the words as he read the inscription. Finn: all my love, B. The sight of those words brought up a bittersweet emotion he couldn’t place. Sorrow? Regret? Loss? Anger? It wasn’t clear enough to name, but it was strong enough to tighten his throat.
“See?” Amelia’s soft, comforting voice came at his shoulder. “There’s at least one person out there who loves you and misses you.” She said it like a blessing, like something that should make him feel better. It didn’t, but he couldn’t explain why. His face must have shown the turmoil, for Amelia’s face lost its encouraging glow and she backed away. “I’m sorry. Maybe there was a reason Dr. Searle waited to show that to you.”
“No,” Finn countered, “I’m glad you did...sort of. Kind of helps to see solid evidence that I’m Finn.” He turned the watch over to stare at the face. It should look familiar, but it was just an object.