Her Texas Rebel. LeAnne Bristow
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Did Salt Creek still have a small section on Wednesdays?
She flicked the newspaper open to the middle and settled back to read. A local high school girl was competing in the Miss Texas pageant. An engagement picture of a young couple. She frowned at the names. Was that the same little boy she used to babysit? Another break-in at a construction yard. It didn’t take long to read the one-page section. She closed the paper to read from the beginning and her blood turned to ice.
The headline read “Hero Cop Has Roots in Lampasas County.” One name jumped out at her and sent her heart into overdrive. Tony Montoya. It couldn’t be. She scanned the article again.
Her hands shook and she laid the paper on the sofa. All the town had ever seen in Tony was a rebellious teenager looking for trouble. He’d certainly proven them wrong. A decorated police officer who put his life on the line by jumping in front of a bullet to save a young man’s life in the middle of an attempted robbery?
According to the paper, he was at home with his grandparents, where he was recovering from a fractured rib and a bruised lung. He was expected to return to work by the end of June. How was she going to avoid running into him in a town of fewer than seven hundred people?
* * *
TONY RUBBED HIS EYES. There was someone standing next to his bed. His gaze finally focused as an imposing figure with gray hair hovered over him, making him jump. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, jolting him back to reality. He wasn’t at his apartment in San Antonio. He wasn’t at the hospital. He was in the one place he’d sworn he’d never return to. Salt Creek.
“Papa. What are you doing? It’s two in the morning.” He rubbed a hand across his face.
“You were moaning in your sleep,” his grandfather said. “Your grandmother was worried.”
Abuela wasn’t the only one. Tony rolled his shoulder and winced. The nurses at the hospital had warned him that the pain would get worse. Still, he’d rather suffer a little than risk relying on medicine. He’d have to do a better job of masking the pain. The thought of his grandmother losing sleep over him pierced his heart.
Papa fumbled through Tony’s things on the dresser. “Where are your pain pills? Didn’t you take them before you went to bed?”
“I don’t need them.” Tony stood up, fighting a wave of lightheadedness.
Papa pulled the empty prescription bottle from the top drawer of the dresser. “Where are they?”
Guilt pricked him. Did his grandfather think he’d already taken them all? Was Papa worried he’d end up like his mother? Pain medication was the first of many drugs his mother had been hooked on.
“I flushed them down the toilet after Abuela brought them home from the pharmacy.” Tony didn’t voluntarily take narcotics of any kind. Not even the helpful ones. Ever. The ones given to him immediately after his surgery didn’t count.
“Why?”
Tony noticed the lines around Papa’s eyes. He looked tired. He looked...old. “I’ve read that children of addicts are much more likely to become addicts themselves. I’m not willing to take that chance.”
Papa stiffened. “So you didn’t take the pain medicine?”
“No, Papa. I’ll take some ibuprofen when it bothers me too much, but I won’t take anything stronger than that. Please don’t ask me to.”
“You’re not like your mother, mijo.” Papa placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “Abuela will make an icepack for that shoulder. Perhaps that’ll help.”
Papa walked out of the room and Tony sank back onto the edge of the bed. Where would he be today if social services hadn’t discovered the grandparents he hadn’t known existed? Would he have been holding up convenience stores and pushing drugs like Adolfo? No. Not drugs. Never that.
Before his mother died, he’d joined a small street gang in his neighborhood. Until he’d found out they were the ones pushing drugs at his school and his own mother was one of their best customers. Getting out had meant risking his life. The beating he’d taken would’ve been more than worth it if he could’ve saved his mom.
At the soft knock on the door, he gritted his teeth, determined not to let any pain show on his face. “Come in.”
“I brought you some ice for that shoulder.” Abuela placed the pack on the nightstand and sat next to him. “You will tell me if you need anything?”
“Of course,” he lied. He’d been here one night and already he was interrupting their lives. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Abuela took one of his hands in hers, her calloused fingers running over his knuckles. “You try to get some sleep.”
Outside the window, an owl hooted in the darkness. He peered out the window. He didn’t feel at all tired, but he lay down on the bed, anyway. Placing the ice on his shoulder, he closed his eyes.
He’d spent much of his life trying to control the chaos around him. But here, in this small town, things moved at their own pace. His teenaged self had hated it. Now it was exactly what he needed. Too bad he couldn’t stay.
The rattle of dishes woke him up. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The rich aroma of warm bread drifted down the hall. Abuela must be making tortillas.
He slipped a pair of sweatpants on and made his way to the living room. Nothing had changed since the first time he saw it all those years ago. The flower pattern on the sofa had faded, but his grandmother’s afghans and doilies covered up the worn places. Papa’s recliner sat in the corner, facing the ancient cabinet television taking up most of the space on the far wall.
He smiled. “Does that thing still work?”
Papa looked up from the newspaper. “Yes. Do you want to watch something? We still only get the three channels.”
No cable TV. No satellite. No cell phones. Yep. It was like he’d stepped back in history. If only he could go back in time. So many things would be different now. Starting with Sabrina.
“No, thanks.” The crumpling sound of the newspaper page being turned drew his attention. And he froze. From across the room, he could clearly read the headline on the front page of the open paper. “Hero Cop Has Roots in Lampasas County.”
“Can I see the paper for a minute?” Tony crossed the room and sat on the couch across from his grandfather.
Without waiting for a reply, he took the paper and scanned through the article. His name jumped out at him, followed by a story hailing him as a hero for jumping in front of a bullet to save a young man’s life. It failed to mention that the young man he’d taken a bullet for was the same one trying to rob the store. “How did the newspaper get this information?”
Abuela appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Me. A reporter came by and wanted to know if you were the cop.”
“So you gave them a story?” He rubbed his hands on his legs. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” She lifted her chin. “I’m proud of my grandson and I don’t care who knows it.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t her fault. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her, but she had to know. “Abuela, sometimes I work with dangerous people. If they ever wanted to retaliate for any reason, this article could lead them right to you two.”
Her mouth opened but nothing came out. After a moment, she turned to her husband. “Did you know about this, Antonio?”
Papa shrugged and stood up. “No. Not until I got to San Antonio and talked to his captain.”
“How dangerous?” Her eyes darted back and forth between Papa and Tony. “Should we be worried?”
This was exactly what Tony wanted to avoid. He set the paper down. “I chase drug dealers and I work with