A Texas Hero

“Maybe take off your bra. It’s restrictive and might rub blisters.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, you want to get me out of my bra?”

“This isn’t personal.” He had to make that clear.

“Oh, no, we don’t want to get personal. That could get messy, messy...” Her head tilted against his chest.

“Abby, stay awake.” He rubbed her face and neck again and she stirred. “Is it a front or back hook?”

“F-ront.”

He slid his hand under her top and unhooked her bra, touching unbelievably smooth, soft skin.

“You did that rather easily,” she said, watching him.

“It’s in my repertoire of skills.”

“I bet.”

“Can you get it off? Or do you need me to help?”

“I can do it.”

Some of her stubbornness was back. She pulled her arms through the sleeveless top and finagled a strap over her arm and then another. Removing it, she threw the lacy beige bra into the leaves. Then she jammed her arms back into the openings.

They both stared at the lacy bra. “Can you imagine the conversation when someone finds that?” she asked.

“Only nocturnal creatures will find it, or birds will use it to make nests.” He looked down at her. “Ready to continue on?”

She reached up and touched his face. He froze. There was that thing again between them. He kept pushing it away and it kept coming back. Describing it was difficult. Attraction? Sexual awareness? Or gratitude?

He was well aware of all three, but their connection hinged on gratitude. He was positive of that.

A snort and a thrashing rumbled through the trees. Before Ethan could move, a big buck came charging out, leaped over them and disappeared just as quickly.

“What was that?” Abby sat up.

“A deer and I’m betting he’s headed for water. We have to follow.”

“Oh, water. Do you think it’s close?”

“We have to go to find out. Can you stand?”

She pushed to her feet and he slipped into his sweaty T-shirt. With his arm around her waist to steady her, they started off. She didn’t stumble or complain so he kept them moving. They stopped as the trees meandered down into a small overgrown valley. In the middle sat an old shack.

“There has to be a creek running by it. Let’s go.” He started off, but she stayed at the top. Glancing back, he called, “C’mon. What are you waiting for?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Ethan. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

What? She was delirious. That was the only answer.

“That’s crazy,” he said before he could stop himself. “C’mon.”

She walked toward him and against every sane objection in his head a delusional thought slipped through. He’d been waiting for her, too.

The heat had finally gotten to him. He was a hard-nosed, badass cop and he was well insulated from silly, romantic nonsense.

Until Abby Bauman.

CHAPTER FIVE

WALT PLACED A glass of iced tea in front of his friend Henry Coyote, Levi’s grandfather. Even though Henry was older by seven years, they were best friends. They were hardworking, hard cussing cowboys who were born and raised in Willow Creek, Texas. Henry had started a family early, while Walt had been thirty-five when Ethan was born. Henry’s son had been killed in a car accident and the son’s wife had moved to Austin with Levi and his sister. But Levi had returned every chance he got and lived here now. Like Ethan, Levi never strayed far from his roots.

Walt and Henry argued like two-bit lawyers and fought like bobcats. That is, they had in their younger days. They’d been there for each other through the bad times, the deaths of both their wives and the death of Henry’s son.

“Sure you don’t want to go to the Rusty Spur, drink some beer and play dominoes?” Henry asked.

“Nope. Not going anywhere until my boy comes home.”

“Levi is on the case and there ain’t nobody better at catching crooks than Levi.”

“Except Ethan.”

“Ah, shit...let’s don’t have this argument again.”

“Then don’t say your grandson is better than my son. And I told you not to cuss in my house.”

Henry shook his gray head. “You’re getting strange, Walt.”

“And you’re a baboon.”

“Stop using them stupid words you made up. If you mean bastard, say bastard.”

“You’re a hairy baboon with no manners.”

Henry slapped the table with one of his big paws. “That’s it. I’m going to the Rusty Spur to drink beer, play dominoes and cuss. Real cuss words that’ll burn your ears. Not some stupid ones I made up.”

“You better go then.”

“I’m going.” Henry shoved his worn hat onto his head and got to his feet. “I don’t understand why not cussing is so important to you.”

“Because Ethan asked me not to. He wants to have a good environment for his daughter.”

Henry leaned in and whispered, “She’s twelve. I know she’s heard cuss words.”

“It’s what Ethan wants and I’m doing it.”

“Well, don’t call me a baboon. That’s insulting. If you can’t say bastard, just call me Henry.”