Her Texas Rebel. LeAnne Bristow
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“I walk out of here with you and you arrest me as soon as I’m out the door. No thanks.”
“You walk out of here with me right now, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” He shot Mr. Chan a glance.
Mr. Chan nodded at him.
Time stood still as the young man considered his options. The tension in his thin frame melted and his trembling hands lowered the gun. The pressure around Tony’s middle eased and he stepped to the side so Mr. Chan could see that Adolfo’s weapon was lowered. As he stepped away, he held his hands in the air, so Adolfo wouldn’t feel threatened.
A sudden movement from the clerk drew Tony’s attention and made him realize his mistake. By stepping in front of Adolfo, he’d cut off Mr. Chan’s view of the boy’s hands. Now all Mr. Chan noticed were Tony’s own hands in the air. He must’ve thought Adolfo had pointed the weapon at Tony.
“No!” Tony whirled around to face Mr. Chan and jumped in front of Adolfo, shielding him just as the clerk’s gun went off. A searing pain ripped through his chest.
The room swayed and Tony sank to the ground. Adolfo tried to catch him, but Tony’s weight was too much and they both ended up in a heap on the floor.
Adolfo stared as blood poured out of Tony’s chest. “Oh, man! You’re hit!”
“I’m okay,” Tony muttered, the smell of rust and salt filling his nostrils. “I just need to sit for a minute.”
In a flash, the boy rolled Tony off him and sprinted out the door. Mr. Chan rushed over. “Mr. Tony, I’m so sorry! The ambulance is coming! I’m so sorry!” The frantic man pushed a towel into Tony’s wound. “I thought he was about to shoot.”
Tony shook his head, trying to dispel the faintness quickly taking over. An image floated in front of his eyes. Long blond hair, so blond it was almost white. “Bree.” Her dark brown eyes blinked and then she was gone.
* * *
SABRINA DAVIS KICKED the covers off and stretched. She opened her eyes and blinked. Bright morning light jolted her out of bed. If the sun was already up, she was late for work. Her pulse thundered in her ears and her gaze danced around the room. She let out a deep sigh and fell back on her pillow as she glanced at her bedside clock. Seven in the morning and for the first time in years, she didn’t need to jump out of bed and race to work or get her son ready for school. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the open window and she closed her eyes, reveling in the silence. No hum of Houston traffic, no horns blaring. Somewhere in the pasture behind the house, a meadowlark began to sing, and she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. It was good to be home.
She rolled over in bed, listening for the crowing of the rooster that had been her alarm clock growing up. Nothing. What else had changed in the ten years she’d been gone?
Since a yelling match with her father had escalated into her storming off to live with her Aunt Patty and Uncle Troy in Houston.
At the time she’d thought her relationship with her father was beyond repair. Amazing what ten years and the love of a grandchild could do. It had been so late when she’d arrived at her father’s the night before that she’d fallen into bed without even turning on the light. She propped herself up on her elbows and examined the room she’d grown up in. Her breath caught. Everything was exactly the same. So much for change.
Her rose-colored bedspread, now faded to such a light pink it was almost white, lay clean and crisp on her double bed. The dresser across the room showcased her trophies and ribbons. Pictures of her high school activities and friends were still pinned on the corkboard next to the dresser.
Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the threadbare carpet as she padded across the room to the closet. She steeled herself and opened the door. The clothes she hadn’t taken with her all those years ago were still on their hangers. Shoes lay scattered across the closet floor. With shaking hands, she reached up to the top shelf and her fingers brushed a small wooden box. She didn’t need to lift the lid to know what was inside. As happy as she was to be home, some memories were just too painful. She left the box in its place and went to the kitchen to make coffee.
“Already made.” Her father saw where she was headed and handed her a full mug.
“You should’ve woken me up. I don’t normally sleep this late.” She added sugar to her coffee.
“Figured you needed the rest.” Dad took a sip from his own cup. He nodded toward the alcove that had been added to the end of the large country kitchen. “What do you think of the addition?”
“It was so late when we got here, I didn’t get a chance to see it. I still can’t believe you finished it.” The gesture had been the final straw in convincing her to come back to Salt Creek.
Her parents had dreamed of a big family, so her father had started building onto the small two-bedroom farmhouse when Sabrina was two years old. Four years and three miscarriages later, the cement foundation and wooden frame only served to remind Sabrina’s mother of the family that would never be. When she hadn’t been able to bear looking at the wood-framed walls another minute, Dad had taken a sledgehammer and torn it down, piece by piece.
“When did you start on it again?” It must have taken months for him to finish the addition all by himself, and goodness knew how much money. How long had he been hoping she would come home?
“I started working on it right after Patty decided to move to Florida.”
Sabrina choked on her coffee. “That was seven years ago.”
“Yeah, well, I thought maybe you’d want to move back home when she left.”
Her heart leaped in her chest. “You never said anything.”
“I was waiting for the right time.”
She pushed down the butterflies swarming in her stomach. Her father cared much more than he ever said out loud. What was it her mother used to say? Actions spoke louder than words.
“I’ll be out by the pond if you need me. Water pump broke again.” He sat his cup in the sink. “We’ll finish unloading your furniture as soon as I get done.”
“Okay.” She suppressed a smile. The farm came first. It always did. The 160-acre homestead had been granted to her great-grandfather over 150 years ago. Not large enough to be considered a ranch, it was just enough to sustain a family. How had he managed by himself for the past ten years?
“No rush. The only furniture I brought was Levi’s bed and dresser. The rest of it is just boxes, and Levi and I can unload those.”
She tiptoed across the kitchen and paused outside the finished addition. She swung the door open silently and looked for her son. Levi was curled up inside the sleeping bag her father had left out for him. He looked so peaceful, his curly brown hair framing his cherub face. She doubted his teachers would use the word cherub to describe Levi.
His less-than-angelic behavior had been what finally drove her to return home. Levi shared more than physical looks with his father. They had the same quick temper and nose for trouble. Despite her best efforts, he was becoming more like Tony every day. Levi tended to get bored quickly, and boredom led to trouble. For the second time in her life, she was putting college on hold for the good of her child.
Country life was ingrained in her bones, but even so, moving back to Salt Creek was hard. Almost like admitting that she was a failure—the valedictorian, National Honor Society president and Best All-Around Student returning home a single mother with no education and no job.
Two things gave her the courage to face her conservative hometown. The first was the knowledge that Levi needed a change of environment to keep him out of trouble and possibly out of juvie. Her son was way more important than her pride. The second was knowing that no one, not even her father, knew who Levi’s father really was.
She topped up her coffee and carried it into the sparsely decorated living room. It was just large