A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3) Read online

  When she finally found him, in a shadowy corner of the library, ignoring all the activities over by the Christmas tree, it was clear he was sulking. When she finally got out of him what it was about, she was more than a little taken aback.

  “You asked…Detective Highwater to teach you to fight?”

  Just what she needed, her son getting into even more trouble, and adding physicality into it.

  “He said to defend myself,” Marcos corrected, although it sounded reluctant. “But it’s the same thing, kind of.”

  “Not quite,” she said.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Marcos glared at her mutinously. “I wanted it to be secret but he said we had to ask you. I told him you’d say no, ’cuz you always do. But he said he wouldn’t do it without you knowing.”

  For the moment she set aside her concern that he would hide something like that from her. “He said that?”

  The boy nodded. Elena let out a sigh at her son’s continuing mood, but inwardly her opinion of Detective Sean Highwater went up yet another notch.

  “Stay here,” she said. “I’m going to go find the detective.”

  Marcos looked alarmed. “You’re not going to yell at him, are you? It’s my fault, I asked him. He said I needed a real teacher, but I wanted him.”

  Elena wasn’t certain what rattled her more, the vehemence in her son’s voice—he had obviously quite taken to the young detective, to be so willing to take the blame—or the idea of her yelling at the man as if he were her son as well. She wasn’t that much older than he was.

  “I will not yell at him. I wish to thank him, for not allowing you to break one of the most important rules. Do you know which one?”

  “I didn’t lie,” he said quickly.

  “But you would have.”

  He said nothing, but she saw by the way he avoided looking at her that he understood. And she knew he would stay put until she came for him. Perhaps he would even at least watch the activities as Emma Corbyn, the town librarian, supervised children decorating the library tree between numerous breaks for Christmas cookies.

  It took Elena a while to work her way through the main room. So many people stopped her to ask after her mother, whose absence had been noted. As she spoke to them she continued to scan the room, but saw no sign of the tall young man in black. She liked that, the way he dressed, she thought. Not only because black was her own preferred choice—not always for the reasons she knew everyone thought—but because it looked very good on him. She especially liked the shirts he wore, black with the white pearl snaps and sometimes white piping in the western style.

  She felt a flush of heat as she belatedly wondered when on earth she’d begun paying so much attention to what the man wore. After that awful, bloody day she’d never spoken to him, had barely seen him. If he had been avoiding her he couldn’t have been scarcer. And she wouldn’t blame him if he had been, with those ugly memories burned into his mind.

  But she had on occasion seen him, usually from a distance. It seemed he spent a lot of time out of the detective office at the police station, and when she had seen him it appeared he was just walking the streets of Last Stand, lost in thought. She supposed it must be part of the process for him—odd perhaps, but no one could argue with a success rate that had become a bit of a legend in not just Last Stand, but the entire county, if not the state.

  As she passed she made her goodbyes to her hosts and turned to continue her search. And practically collided with her quarry’s younger sister.

  “Mrs. de la Cova, hello!” Sage Highwater said. “Everything all right with your son?”

  “It will be,” she said with a smile. “Thanks to your brother.”

  Sage smiled, widely. “He’s something, Sean is. A unique, wonderful guy.”

  “Actually, I was looking for him,” she said, gesturing at the growing gathering. “Have you seen him?”

  “You’re looking for Sean?” The young woman looked oddly pleased.

  For some reason Elena felt compelled to explain. “He apparently had an encounter with Marcos a while ago. I need to speak to him about it.”

  Sage’s expression changed to a frown. “Problem?”

  “Quite the opposite,” Elena assured her, noting her own certainty that this girl would vehemently defend her brother if there were a problem. Steven Highwater had clearly gotten the job done before his death; even his youngest had that fierce family loyalty.

  “In that case, he’s out in the garden.”

  She thanked Sage and headed outside. It was a clear night, and she glanced up to see the array of her beloved stars, a sight that always made her smile. She went down the porch steps to continue her search. And found him standing with a teenage boy who was watching a video on his phone.

  “That’s so cool!” the boy exclaimed, looking up at Sean. “Thanks! Now I can get to level twenty-three.”

  “Helping again?” she asked as she came up beside him. He didn’t jump, so she knew she hadn’t startled him, but he did go very still.

  “Just with an old game. He was stuck on a really tricky level, and—” was there a slight hesitation there before he went on? “—I knew there was a video that showed how to get past that point.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?”

  He turned to look at her then. There was something oddly intense in his gaze. “It would be, if the video showed how to win the whole game. But it only shows how to get past one point, the first step toward the right path. He’ll have to work out the rest himself.”

  “I see.” She considered his answer a moment before saying, “Pointing a child in the right direction is indeed different from cheating.” She turned to face him. “I gather it was a game you were familiar with?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a smile that seemed rather surface, after that intense look. “Made by the same company as Marcos’s favorite.”

  “So you are more than just familiar with them.”

  He shrugged. “If you’re asking if I was one of those kids tethered to a screen, yeah, I was.”

  “Are there more videos like that one, for other games, that don’t give it all away? Marcos gets stuck—and very frustrated—sometimes.” She grimaced slightly. “As do I, over how much time he spends playing them.”

  “You can control that,” he said.

  For a moment she thought he was critiquing her parenting. But that didn’t fit with what he’d joked about earlier, that he was slow on the subject. So she didn’t speak, just lifted a brow in query.

  “You can set a timer on the system, if he plays on a console.”

  “I can?” She grimaced. “I’m afraid I’ve had no time to learn the system, beyond limiting access to him spending money, and not allowing strangers to contact him via messaging.”

  “That’s more than some parents do,” he said. “But you can also control how long he can play, either at one time, or for the week, so if he blows through it in two days, he’s stuck for five without being able to play at all. Teaches you to ration real quick.”

  She’d had no idea. “I can see how it would.”

  “And you can either give him a warning his time’s up, or if that doesn’t work you can set it to actually shut down on him.” He gave her a wry smile. “If he’s at a crucial point in a game, you’ll hear about that one. Makes a heck of a bargaining chip.”

  “I can only imagine,” she said. “And how does one do this?”

  “It’s in the settings. It’s not too hard,” he assured her.

  “Define ‘not too hard’,” she said wryly.

  He got the inference from her tone. “Well, if you know the system.”

  “And if I don’t, I presume I have to find someone who does?”

  He seemed to hesitate again before saying, “No.” He shrugged. “You already have.”

  She blinked. Realized what he meant. “You?”

  “I could. If you wanted.” He sounded awkward, as if he wasn’t sure he should be doing this. “And if you trust me,” he a
dded.

  “Do not think I don’t know the name Highwater is practically a trust guarantee in Last Stand,” she said.

  He met her gaze levelly then, all hesitation gone. “Yes. It is.”

  His certainty warmed her. She was glad to see someone who took pride in family, who knew what it was worth.

  “I would be immensely grateful if you would. Although I doubt Marcos will feel the same.”

  A brief grin flashed across his face. It hit her as if it had been lightning in one of the storms she loved to watch, stealing her breath for a moment. “He’ll probably feel I’ve betrayed the gamer brotherhood.”

  She somehow found the air to laugh. But then, seriously, she said, “Perhaps it is not worth the risk. He likes you, and…he does not like many.” She glanced around at the gathering that had become sizeable. “He especially doesn’t like many at once,” she added wryly.

  Yet again he hesitated. She wondered if it was because he felt unqualified to comment because he was not a parent himself, or if it was…her. If something about her made him so uncertain. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It would depend, she supposed, on the reason for it.

  Finally, he spoke. “I think I understand that, Mrs. de la Cova. Because…I’m the same way. I get tense in big groups.”

  She stared at him. This was the simple answer to his apparent nervousness? She laughed inwardly at herself for thinking it had anything to do with her. Self-centered much, Elena?

  “Elena, please,” she said, as she had at the police station. “Is it the numbers, or the interaction?” she asked.

  He looked startled. That she had guessed the reasons? “Both.”

  “Does it matter if it is people you know?” She thought of her huge family. “Or if you have at least met them before, perhaps one at a time?”

  “That makes a difference. But I still have to seriously recharge, after.”

  “With…alone time?” He nodded. “That is very like Marcos.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like people, and small groups are fine, I just don’t like large herds of them,” he said. “I think of it this way. Some people need people around them for energy. Like that’s what they draw from—other people. If they’re alone too long, they lose energy. For me—and maybe Marcos—it’s the opposite. Being alone is when I charge up, and being with a lot of people, and dealing with them, draws energy out of me.”

  He stopped, looking rather wary, as if afraid he’d talked too much. She hastened to reassure him. “This makes sense to me. It explains much I have wondered—and worried—about my son. I must thank you yet again, Detective Highwater.”

  “If you really want to thank me, call me Sean.” He looked then as if he wished he could slap a hand over his own mouth. She did not know why he felt so uncomfortable with her, unless it was simply that she brought back memories of a day he’d like to forget.

  She gave him a wide, reassuring smile. “Only if you agree to call me Elena.”

  He smiled back. “I think I can do that. If I practice.”

  She laughed, delighted by his tone. And she found the almost sheepish way he looked at her charming.

  She found a great deal about Sean Highwater charming.

  Chapter Six

  Sean couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this. That he’d offered to do something that would require him setting foot in her home.

  Hell, he couldn’t believe he was carrying on an almost normal conversation with her. Of course, it was mainly about her son, and he’d found almost any parent willing to talk about their kids.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts. She’d already thanked him yesterday, so he hastened to say it wasn’t necessary. “I did not mean for yesterday. I meant for today. Here.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “You refused to help my son do something behind my back.”

  “Oh. That.”

  So Marcos had told her. And she’d come looking for him about it. This hadn’t been some casual encounter resulting in that almost normal conversation; she’d had a purpose, and it only coincidentally had to do with him. He should have known.

  “Yes, that,” she said, and her tone was surprisingly light, almost teasing.

  “I tried to explain to him. I don’t think he bought it, though. He ran off pretty pi—angry,” he said, catching the cruder word before he got it completely out. She had that effect on him.

  “You understand my reluctance to have my son learn to fight.”

  “There’s a difference between fighting to fight, and knowing how to fight to defend yourself.”

  “I see.”

  He sucked in a breath, ordered his brain to focus, and chose his words carefully. “I learned for the same reason I suggested it to Marcos. My brother knew I would need it. I understand reality. The world isn’t always kind, especially to those of us a half-step off.”

  She tilted her head slightly, looking at him curiously. “Is that how you see yourself?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s how the world sees me. If I hadn’t had my father and Shane, if Shane hadn’t given me a shot at detective, I don’t know where I’d be. Still at the mercy of those who can’t accept that not everybody thinks the way they do. Like Marcos feels.”

  “I see.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. Did that mean she understood, or that she saw his weirdness just as she saw her son’s? He shoved the thought aside.

  “And there’s more to it than just the goal, him being able to stop things like what happened yesterday before they start. Which might not have even started in the first place, because knowing you can defend yourself gives you…a confidence that shows. Shane always says if people know you can defend yourself, chances are you won’t have to.”

  “Your brother is very wise.”

  “Yes, he is.” He sucked in another breath and kept going. “And besides that, there’s another benefit.”

  “Which is?”

  “It will take some time. He’ll need to get fit, and there would be workouts and training sessions.” He gave her a sidelong look. “All of which is time he would not be in front of a screen.”

  For a moment she just looked at him, but then the sweetest of smiles curved her mouth. That beautiful mouth. And Sean’s pulse kicked into overdrive.

  “I see,” she said yet again, but this time there was no doubt how she meant it. “And you would be willing to do this?”

  “That’s up to you. I told him he needed a real teacher, a pro, but…”

  “He wanted you.”

  “Yes. The connection from yesterday, I guess.”

  “Or simply that he can sense you are a good man, Sean Highwater.” For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even remember how. He just stared at her. “And he is right,” she added softly.

  “I…try.” Well, that could have sounded more inane, but he’d have had to work at it.

  “We must make this worth your while,” she said. “I do not know how much such lessons cost, but—”

  He threw up his hands immediately. “No. This is not something I need to be paid for.”

  “But it is above and beyond your duties,” she said. “As is your offer to set the timer. Although given my son is not used to such activity, it seems these lessons might accomplish that goal on their own.” Her smile then seemed almost…impish. An expression he never would have thought to see on this aristocratic woman’s face. Then she gave him that head-tilted, curious look again. “What was it you got out of those games that made them so…imperative?”

  He hadn’t expected that one. And suddenly, belatedly, a correlation he should have seen long ago hit him. It was not something he easily talked about, and he especially didn’t want to bring it up with her, given the past.

  “Never mind, Sean,” she said gently, and the sound of his name in her voice broke the dam.

  “Escape,” he said abruptly, aware he was staring at his boots but unable to meet those bottomless
dark eyes. “The game world was something I could control. If things went sour there it was something I did or didn’t do. And it wasn’t the end. I just had to earn another life and then I could go on.” He lifted his head then, made himself hold her gaze. “And when someone died in the game…it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real.”

  He heard her breath catch. Saw her eyes widen. “Dios mio,” she whispered. “I am such a fool. I did not even think of that.” She reached out, laid a hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through him so fierce it was all he could do not to jump. “And yet again I must thank you.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  “But I do. I should have realized this was a way for him to deal with his father’s death, as it was for you.”

  She removed her hand, and he steadied himself. “You only have a real problem if he starts to confuse the two.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but I was eighteen when my dad died.”

  “But much younger when your mother did.”

  It was as if the jolt of heat had never happened as the chill he always felt when this subject arose wiped it away. And when he spoke, the cold crept into his voice.

  “My mother was barely a part of my life when she was here. She was only sober when she was pregnant. My father essentially raised us. Her dying didn’t change much.” He immediately regretted the words; this was not something he talked about. Ever.

  She opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. She gave a shake of her head that made the strand of black, silken hair that had escaped the knot at the back of her head brush her cheek. “I was going to say some people should simply not have children, but Last Stand—and I personally—would be much poorer if she had not. But I am still sorry you had that burden to bear.”

  He met her gaze then. Held it. “I told Marcos it was much better to have a mother who cared enough to worry. I think it registered.”

  And again she gave him that soft, warm smile. “For someone who thinks he is slow on the parental uptake, you have quite a knack.” And before he could think of anything to say—assuming he could have—her tone changed and she said briskly, “If you are truly willing to do this, we must plan.”