A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3) Page 17

  “Whoa, there, my friend. If I’d realized that was such a complicated question I wouldn’t have asked so bluntly.”

  He let out a breath, exasperated at himself.

  “A woman, I’m guessing?” Lark said. He nodded. “That narrows the options,” she said briskly, as if they were discussing a dinner menu. Like the multi-page Valencia’s menu. And he reeled himself in before he could go down that rabbit hole.

  “Business or personal?”

  “Personal.” He managed to get it out fairly evenly.

  “How personal?”

  “I…” He had no idea.

  Lark studied him for a moment. “Maybe…this is new so I have to be careful but I want it to be more so it has to be special?”

  He blinked. “I…exactly. Exactly that.”

  She smiled, widely this time. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. You’re a great guy, Sean, and it would make me beyond happy to see you happy.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he resorted to a muttered, “Thanks.”

  “So, shall we work on Christmas, too, while we’re at it?” Panic stabbed through him. He hadn’t even thought about that yet. “It’s only twelve days away, better start now.” And then she burst out laughing. “If you could see your face!”

  He couldn’t help it, he started laughing too. Sometimes, it was all he could do. And as Shane had told him when they were kids, in one of what Sage called his Shane-isms, best to laugh at yourself before anyone else did.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It had already been a remarkable evening, for Elena anyway. Just watching the way Sean interacted with both her mother, with that almost old-world respect, and Marcos, with that sense of understanding would have been enough, but then she had caught him stealing glances at her, warm glances that reminded her of the fire they struck together when they kissed.

  When she found herself wondering if it really counted as having just connected when they’d known each other for over a decade—and when she dithered over what to wear and for the first time in years wished she had something other than black and white—she knew just how deeply she had fallen.

  She settled on simplicity, her hair pulled back as usual, a silky white blouse that was piped in black with embroidery in a delicate design on the shawl-style collar, a slim black skirt, and a pair of ankle boots with a higher heel than she normally wore. But that would certainly not be an issue with Sean being a solid six feet tall.

  She rolled her eyes at herself; she was thinking of them as a couple, when in fact they’d never really even been on a date. Not like normal people, anyway. They seemed to have been thrown together by chance, then by his willingness to help with Marcos, but he’d never actually asked her out formally. She didn’t even know if he wanted to. If she got down to it, Marcos had done most of the asking. Of course it had only been… Her breath caught. Had it really only been two weeks since that day after Thanksgiving?

  She took a couple of minutes to settle herself before she went downstairs. Her mother had been in the kitchen most of the day, and since she knew this was one of the ways her mother expressed her love, she had not quibbled.

  He was dressed in his customary black as well, although he’d added a string tie tonight, which made her smile. No man wore the monochromatic scheme better than he did, and the black made those ice-blue eyes of his fairly pop. She doubted he realized that. Or would have cared if he did.

  She knew her mother already liked Sean, but he charmed her even more with his first bite of the dinner she had prepared. He stopped, his eyes wide, and muttered an awed, “Whoa.”

  “Tacos de Suadero,” her mother had said proudly. “Elena’s favorite dish, but she refuses to allow it very often because it is cooked in lard.”

  “As much because it is so much work for you, salting the brisket overnight, then cooking it for hours,” Elena said. “That is why we do not serve it at the restaurant.”

  Sean swallowed, looked down at his plate, then up at her mother. “Is that why you don’t even have to chew it? Why it just…melts? And whatever sauce this is, with the…is that chili morita? And then the avocado and cilantro on top… Just wow.”

  “I do like a man of discerning taste,” her mother said.

  Sean’s gaze shot to Elena, and she felt a little zing.

  “What does that mean?” Marcos asked.

  “It means,” Sean said, never taking his eyes off Elena, “that I know when something’s really good.”

  Elena felt her cheeks heat. But Marcos only nodded and said, “Oh. Yeah, it’s good,” then dug into his own plateful. He didn’t speak again until he out of the blue asked, apparently referring to things he’d heard yesterday, “Why is Friday the thirteenth s’pposed to be unlucky?”

  “Many reasons,” her mother answered, and proceeded to list all the myths and traditions, including Judas Iscariot, that led to the superstitions.

  “Personally,” Sean said with a grin at the boy, “I watch out for Martes Trece. Seems to me there’s a lot more solid history behind Tuesday the thirteenth. Fall of Constantinople and all.”

  Marcos looked blank, but her mother laughed out loud, and Elena knew if he hadn’t won her over before, he certainly would have now with this easy knowledge of both history and what was the “unlucky day” tradition in another culture.

  “And here I thought it was simply because Tuesday was named after Mars, the god of war,” Elena teased.

  “You must bring him here more often, Elena,” the fearsome Maria Valencia declared.

  She would love to. She would love even better having a more…private place to bring him. She had never felt less than loved and welcome here, but this was still her mother’s home.

  After the meal Sean began to help clear the table. At least until her mother shooed them out of what she said she was claiming tonight as “her” kitchen, and that the cleanup could wait. It was, after all, Elena’s birthday.

  When she said that Sean seemed to hesitate, then walked over to where he’d hung up his jacket and took a long, slender, gift-wrapped box out of a pocket. He’d brought her a gift? Elena felt a little speed-up of her pulse, and she wondered if her eyes had lit up like a child’s at the prospect of opening a present. He’d already given her so much, but she couldn’t deny she was immensely curious.

  “I told you this was not necessary,” she said as he handed her the small package.

  “I know. It’s better anyway when it’s entirely voluntary, isn’t it?”

  They gathered in the living room, where Elena had turned on the gas fire, since it was a chilly night and rain was threatening. Her mother brought out glasses of ponche, theirs with the piquete—a bit of local Outlaw Tequila—the one for Marcos without. Elena sat on the sofa, very aware that Sean had taken a seat next to her. Close, but not too close.

  Close, but not close enough.

  For a moment she hesitated, looking at the package. It was about the size of a jewelry box that would hold some sort of necklace. She didn’t ordinarily wear jewelry other than earrings and sometimes, when she was missing him the most, the charm bracelet that Enrique had built for her, adding a charm that had significance to them each year. There were, sadly, only five of them.

  And she realized she hadn’t even thought about wearing it lately. She should feel guilty about that, shouldn’t she? But she didn’t. Not right now. Although deep down, she would have expected Sean to come up with something more unique than jewelry. She hoped he hadn’t spent too much.

  “Open it, Mom!” Marcos yelped, clearly out of patience.

  She carefully undid the bow and the paper. And when she lifted the hinged lid of the box, her breath caught.

  Elena stared at the beautiful rose-gold, etched fountain pen she had just unwrapped. She hadn’t expected him to arrive with a gift at all, but that it was this amazed her.

  “Do you like it?” Marcos asked almost anxiously.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, and thought
she heard Sean let out a relieved breath.

  “Sean said I helped him decide.”

  She looked at her son, because she could not quite meet Sean’s eyes yet. “Did you?”

  He nodded happily. “He asked what you liked. I told him about the bracelet things that Dad used to get you, but he said that was a very special thing and it should stay that way, just between you and Dad.”

  Her gaze shot to Sean then. He was studying the glass in his hand as if the ponche con piquete was actually capable of stinging him. It was as well he was not looking at her, for she could think of nothing to say that would be enough for how that made her feel. That he seemed to want her, yet held such respect for her late husband and their marriage, was a combination she had never expected to encounter.

  She looked back at the open box in her hands. “What is the design?” she asked as she lifted out the pen that felt wonderfully balanced in her fingers. The etched design was clearly a tree, and there was a leaf emblazoned on the top end. “Oh, I can see it is a maple by the leaf here.”

  Sean looked up then. “It’s an Acer grandidentatum. Bigtooth maple. It grows here, because of the limestone soil. It likes the Edwards Plateau.”

  Which, she knew, encompassed the Hill Country. “It is truly beautiful. It is a strong tree, yet the design is elegant.”

  “Like you.”

  She blinked. “I will take that as the highest of compliments.”

  “How it was meant,” Sean said. He hesitated, then said, “It grows some other places, too. Mostly north of here. Except it does grow in a few places to the south. But no further than Coahuila.”

  Again her breath caught, and she stared at him. Coahuila, the Mexican state that bordered Texas along the Rio Grande was where her ancestors, criollo people, had come from over two centuries ago. And he’d said it with the slightest bit of emphasis that told her he knew that. And his next words proved it.

  “It flourishes in Coahuila, and in Texas. It belongs to both. As do you.”

  It was, in a very Sean way, the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

  *

  “We will be fine. Marcos can play his game, and I have reading to do. You children go on. Have a slice of pie for me.”

  Sean wasn’t sure what Mrs. Valencia had said to Marcos, who had clearly had every intention of coming along when Elena suggested they visit Char-Pie to pick up dessert, but he was glad of it. Time alone with her was at a premium, but it was hard to complain when the reason for it was that she was a devoted mother. He had zero experience with that, but he could imagine how different his life would have been if his own mother had given a damn about anything except her next drink.

  He’d always vowed if he ever had kids of his own, it would be with a woman who would be a real mother, who wanted and would love her children, not see them as an impediment to her chosen lifestyle.

  And the fact that he was thinking about that now, with Elena beside him in the car, barely rattled him anymore.

  “Back again?” Audrey Stockton said when she saw Sean. “Can’t get enough of that pecan pie, huh?”

  He laughed. “Didn’t think you’d be here on Saturday night.”

  “It’s been busy. Because Charlie’s off with her beau,” the redhead said with an exaggerated sigh. “I swear, the two of them are enough to make me swear off sugar.”

  “Please do not,” Elena said. “I cannot imagine these delectable pies without it.”

  Audrey laughed, and nodded. “It would be worse than making your queso without that secret ingredient.”

  A few minutes later they were seated at a small table for two near the front window, the only one open. Sean dug into his favored pecan pie, but he watched Elena savoring her lemon meringue. “It is,” she said, “the perfect combination of sweet and tart. I don’t bake much, so I’m here often.”

  That surprised him. “Baking is simple. It’s just chemistry. Measure the stuff and follow instructions and it mostly works. It’s the stuff you’re good at—cooking, with a dash of this and let’s try this spice that isn’t in the recipe because I know it will be good that makes me crazy.”

  She paused with her fork mid-pie. “I have never thought about it quite like that. But I see your point.”

  For some reason that was much more gratifying to him than he suspected it should be. But not nearly as gratifying as when she offered him a bite of her lemon meringue, on her own fork. He leaned in to take it, imagining he could taste her as well, and savoring it perhaps a bit too long. But she did the same with his offered bite of pecan, and he had the weirdest feeling something had just been declared between them.

  “I have to go to Fort Worth next week.” It came out rather abruptly, but he didn’t want her to think he’d just gone without telling her.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m driving up Tuesday night, and I’ll head back Friday.” Further explanation seemed necessary, so he added, “The PD there wants me to tell them how I found one of their suspects last year.” He grimaced. “They’re calling it a seminar. Which is silly, since I could tell them in three words over the phone.”

  Her arched brows rose. “Is that the man who killed those people in the bank robbery, the one who tried to spend the marked bill at the saloon, and you tracked him down?”

  He blinked. “I…yes.”

  She smiled at him. “I do read The Defender, you know.”

  He’d almost forgotten the front-page story in the local town newspaper. As those things did, it made it sound more impressive than it was, at least to him. He’d just been…persistent, and done a lot of legwork until he’d finally found the guy holed up with a buddy in a run-down rental over on the east side.

  “I’m just surprised you remembered it.”

  “I was impressed.”

  “Slater was the one who caught the marked fifty.”

  “But you found the man, even after weeks had gone by. What made you stick with it for so long?”

  Sean gave a half shrug. “It ticked me off that he thought he could hide out here. That we’d be too stupid to find him.”

  She smiled at him then. “Serves him right that you caught him here, then.” He smiled back. “What would be the three words?”

  “I didn’t quit.”

  Her smile widened. “A good philosophy. Did you ever want to?”

  “No. I never do, on a case.” It’s only personal things that make me want to run and hide. That send me so far down the rabbit hole sometimes I think I’ll never find my way back.

  “I admire that,” she said, and that simple compliment nailed him to this moment. And then she took his breath away. “I will miss you.”

  He wondered if there was some graceful, tactful way to say he was so hot for her he could barely stand it. Not likely. Or not likely that he’d find it. “I already miss you.” He took a breath. “I’d ask you to come with me, so we could…have some time alone, but…”

  “This is work,” she said with a shake of her head. “And you deserve every bit of the praise you’ll no doubt be basking in.”

  He nearly rolled his eyes. “I’ll feel more like an animal in a zoo, some strange species they aren’t familiar with.”

  She laughed. “That is their loss, if they are too blind to see you have much you could teach them.”

  Her easy confidence in him made him suddenly feel as if he could sail through this thing, and some of his dread about it faded away. And he suddenly realized that she hadn’t said she wouldn’t come with him if it had been something else and he’d asked.

  “Where will you be staying? I know of a nice place, although it is near the national cemetery.”

  He went still. “Is that…where he is?”

  She nodded. “He grew up in Dallas.” He struggled to think of something to say, anything, but could not. “It is all right, Sean,” she said softly. “I do not dwell on it any longer, but neither will I pretend it never happened or he never existed.”

  “I would never expect you to. O
r Marcos.”

  “And that is why I will miss you, Sean. Because of who you are.” She smiled at him then, so beautifully it eased his tension.

  “I…they’re putting me up somewhere.”

  She nodded, and he watched with some discomfort as she took another slow, savoring bite of her pie. He realized he was staring at her mouth again, and looked away.

  Since he’d been so focused on her, he only now realized that the poster on the wall behind her was for the big Christmas Ball next weekend. The fundraiser for the rodeo scholarship program was one of the biggest seasonal events in Last Stand, and usually something he avoided at all costs. He bought tickets, because he believed in the program, but he had never, ever actually gone to the thing. A big room full of mostly strangers in formal clothes was close to his worst nightmare. And so he had no idea what had possessed him when the next words came out of his mouth.

  “Are you going to the Christmas Ball?”

  And what if she says yes, with a date, you idiot?

  “I wasn’t. I haven’t for years.”

  “I never have.”

  She studied him for a moment. “I imagine that kind of thing would not be your idea of fun.”

  “True. But I believe in the cause. So I was thinking of going this year. If…I could get a date. I mean if you…would you…”

  She set down her fork and looked at him steadily. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

  He clamped down on his nerves. “Yes. Would you?”

  She gave him a smile then that made every butterfly careening around in his gut vanish. “I would very much like that.”

  Sean figured he must be grinning like an idiot. And he didn’t even care.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  By the time they’d finished their pie the place was full, with several customers commenting on how the promised rainstorm was arriving. They stepped outside and found it had indeed begun, with big, heavy drops that splattered loudly. Sean felt the usual little jab of anticipation he felt at such times; for all the damage that they occasionally did, he loved the energy and excitement of a good storm. As long as they didn’t turn into a tornado-spawning or flood-causing monster.