Lone Star Diary

FRANKIE MCBRIDE inhaled a bracing dose of icy January air as her numb fingers worked the key in the lock of her sister’s craft shop. It was cold enough in the Hill Country to freeze a Yankee’s behind this morning, but Frankie felt full of unaccountable excitement and purpose. The littlest things seemed to make her happy lately. Her baby niece. This store. Fresh coffee in the morning. It all seemed so vital, so far removed from the sterile life she’d left behind.

She glanced up and down Main Street. Except for a half dozen antique stores, a handful of upscale art galleries and a general spiffing up for the ever-increasing tourist trade, the main street of Five Points, Texas, had not changed since Frankie’s high school days.

The store sat nestled where the narrow brick avenue made a gentle S half-way through town, visible to tourists who left the beaten path where five highways converged. Frankie’s dad and Zack Trueblood had done an excellent job of making the shop stand out, with its turned posts and gingerbread trim, painted in authentic Victorian shades of pumpkin, teal and cream. Robbie had insisted that the front door be painted true Texas red, and had carried the signature color over in a stenciled Lone Star design high on the front window and again on the doors of the antique display cabinets.

Frankie loved this place. She took a second to delight in the familiar—the lavender curves of the Texas Hill Country touched by a golden sunrise, the aroma of Parson’s pancakes wafting from the Hungry Aggie, where a cluster of pickups gathered like cattle at a trough, the whine of the school bus engine, the firefighters raising the single door on the old limestone firehouse that sat in the other curve of the S.

She jiggled the key as she wondered if Zack was on duty today. Ah. Here he was now, headed for the tiny bakery where the fluorescent lights were glaring and the pastries were hot.

Zack waved. He was a handsome man, virile and fit. And genuinely kind. Her sister Robbie was so lucky.

Which reminded Frankie that she was…not so lucky.

Right on the heels of that deflating thought came guilt. How could she envy her sisters for the love they’d found? Her problems were nothing compared to theirs. Robbie’s husband had been killed in a tragic barn fire only a year earlier. Markie had endured the pain of giving a child up for adoption when she was a mere teenager. She admired the way her sisters had triumphed, had found happiness despite their setbacks.

Still, Frankie couldn’t help but think that at least Robbie had her children, whereas Frankie had lost all her babies, one after another. Four wrenching miscarriages. She studied Zack’s back and decided it was easier to think about the contrast between solid, generous-hearted firefighter and her own tightly wound, bone-selfish husband. Immediately on the heels of that thought came the memory of meeting that other man, the Texas Ranger, the one with the broad shoulders and piercing eyes. This memory had been deviling her, off and on, for weeks. Her attraction to the man had been immediate, electric, and, to Frankie, thoroughly shocking.

At first she’d thought it was some kind of rebound thing, being drawn to an attractive man out of sheer loneliness. But her preoccupation with him persisted, and she began to wonder if there had been something special about him after all. Mercifully, the memory faded over the weeks, as if the whole meeting had been some kind of fantasy, and ultimately she was back to her sad reality—divorcing herself from an unfaithful husband.

Tears stung her eyes, as they did every time she thought about Kyle’s betrayal, but Frankie was quickly learning to shake off self-pity. Work, she had decided, was the answer to her woes. Her sister needed her help, and even with a substantial settlement in the offing, Frankie knew she couldn’t live on Kyle’s money forever. Getting this store up and running was going to solve both of their problems.

The lock finally clicked open and she bent to pick up the plastic storage tub she’d carried from the trunk of her Mercedes.

“The Rising Star is looking real good,” a chiming female voice called out. It was Ardella Brown, the proprietor of the flower shop down the walk. “Getting things all organized over there, are you, Frankie?” Ardella nodded at the plastic bin.

Frankie smiled. “Trying to.”

“Good girl!” Ardella’s smile was as bright as the eastern sun that glinted off her spectacles. Ever since Ardella and Frankie’s mother had been young women, they had passed each other bits of juicy gossip as if trading sticks of gum. Ardella made no secret of her feelings about the McBride sisters. She liked Robbie, didn’t like Markie, and was carefully respectful, even a tad admiring, of Frankie.

But Frankie didn’t know how to take Ardella’s new attitude about Robbie’s shop. Marynell had reported back every sniping thing Ardella had said about the beginnings of their enterprise. But recent events made Frankie wonder if Ardella had actually said those things or if Marynell had conveniently inserted words into someone else’s mouth. It was going to be hard to trust their mother ever again.

One thing was sure, her sister Robbie had been much warmer toward Ardella since Ardella had been alert enough to report smoke on the night of the shop’s fire, saving baby Danielle’s life.

“Have a good day!” Frankie shot Ardella a smile, scooted inside, plunked the bin down with a thud and hurried back out. She was reaching into the trunk to pull out the short stepladder they’d borrowed from Zack when she had a sensation of being watched. She straightened and noted two paunchy old guys in overalls looking her way. “Morning!” she called.

Living in Five Points was going to take some getting used to. In a big city like Austin, even a woman of her social standing could be anonymous. But here, everybody and everything got noticed.

She wrestled the ladder inside, turned the deadbolt, fastened the chain. Bright morning sun backlit the frosted oval glass that had graced the entrance since territorial days. Thank God the front half of the store, with its antique charm, hadn’t been damaged by the fire. On a sideboard where Robbie had set up a charming coffee service, she started a carafe of her favorite blend. Frankie had convinced Robbie that elegant touches like candy dishes and demitasse-sized cups of flavored coffee would encourage shoppers to linger.

With the coffee dripping, she hurried to the storeroom. She was pulling out rolls of wallpaper when a loud rapping on the front glass made her jump.

She frowned. Had Robbie misplaced her keys to the store yet again? Living with Robbie was starting to tax her patience.

“Coming!” she snapped, trying not to be annoyed at the scattered ways of her sister.

The flotsam and jetsam of moving lay everywhere, as it did at Robbie’s house. Frankie determined anew to help her sister get more organized. Starting with her keys, she thought as the rapping ricocheted through the store again.

She came up short when she saw, framed in the oval frosted window, the silhouette of a tall man in a cowboy hat. Her stomach plunged when she recognized Luke Driscoll’s profile. Memories rushed back. His handsome face, piercing eyes, laconic manner, broad-shouldered physique. She even remembered the sound of his voice—low, gravelly, emotionless.

“Mrs. Hostler?” that very voice now caused a flutter at her core.

She opened the door a crack, kept the chain lock on.

He actually touched the brim of his Stetson. “It’s me, Mrs. Hostler. Luke Driscoll.”

She hated the very sound of Kyle’s last name now, but that was not the Ranger’s problem.

“Mr. Driscoll. Of course I remember you.” She undid the chain and opened the door wider. You didn’t forget a man you’d shot at with a revolver, though she had certainly never expected to see, much less speak to, this one again.

“Just Luke. Remember?”

“Yes. I do…remember. What…what are you doing here?” Despite the cold air, she could actually feel her cheeks heating up.

“I saw you unloading the car while I was in there getting her something to eat,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the Aggie.

Her? Only then did Frankie notice a painfully thin girl with dark Hispanic looks, cowering behind Driscoll’s big shoulder. The teenager was wearing filthy sneakers, threadbare jeans, a baggy denim jacket and a thin shawl clutched tightly about her head. Probably an illegal. There were plenty of them around here.

But before Frankie addressed the girl, she had to ask, “You…you were watching me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said unapologetically. “Um…” He looked around. “Can we get in off the street? Yolonda’s a little skittish.”

The young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, did indeed look frightened. She mumbled something in Spanish while her wide black eyes pleaded with Frankie in a way that needed no interpretation.

“Of course.” Frankie stepped back to allow them in. Driscoll’s boots clumped loudly on the hardwood floor. “This your sister’s shop?” he asked as he steered the girl inside.

“Yes,” Frankie said as she closed the door. Although she had developed proprietary feelings about the place lately. “I work here.”

“Oh?” He gave her a curious frown. “I thought you said you were just visiting. Remember? A while back? When we met out at your parents’ farm?”

How could she forget? Frankie felt her color rising higher. She’d pointed a gun at a Texas Ranger, shot a snake, then gotten all flustered and teary. She did recall saying something about going back to Austin. But now she had no intention of reconciling with her husband. She sighed. One day she said one thing, the next she did another.

Why she cared what this man thought of her was a mystery. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her—as if he cared. Or maybe it was because he came across so…pulled together. From the top of his tan Stetson to the muscular, relaxed way he moved, the man exuded an air of strength and competence.

“I…uh…” she stammered, realizing he was still waiting for her answer. “I never went back to, uh, to Austin. I stayed on to help my sister.” Not strictly true. She’d stayed to sort out her messy life.

“As you can see—” she swept around in front of his imposing frame, leading the way through the piles of clutter on the floor “—we’re still getting organized. We had a rather unfortunate fire. We’ve fixed the damage, but…” She looked back and he was regarding her patiently. “We can sit down back here in the storage room.”

“I know about the fire,” Driscoll’s voice came calmly from behind her. “I interviewed the arsonist.”

Frankie spun around, surprised. “Really?”

“Old guy named Mestor. Interrogated him at the jail.”

The day they’d met, Frankie thought this Texas Ranger had told her he was looking for some Mexican Coyotes. Was this related? “Why ever did you question him?”

“I’m working on a string of events. But that’s not why I came over here this morning.” He pushed his Stetson back on his head. “I need to take Yolonda here out to the Light at Five Points.”

“My sister and brother-in-law’s place. You need directions?”