At Close Range

She heard his switch from past to present tense. “But—”

The door to the kitchen burst open and a beaming Analissa sailed through, carrying a tray laden with ice cream in paper cups.

“Dessert,” she called, and, taking small, heel-to-toe steps, made her careful progress to Mack.

He looked at her as if surprised she’d returned, as if the little girl, all by herself, was a miracle on this ranch in the middle of nowhere.

He gave one of those half lifts of his lips. The little girl nodded solemnly. “You’re here,” she said. The smile that followed her words could have lit the entire city of Carlsbad.

Mack cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

Little Analissa turned her beaming face to Corrie. “Just like he promised.”

From her place beside Mack, Corrie saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, not as if he were laughing, but as if he were biting back some emotion too bitter to swallow. “Just like,” she said.

“And you’re gonna stay here with us, right?” Analissa asked, leaning forward, tipping the tray dangerously.

Mack caught the tray before the ice cream in the Dixie cups slid to the floor. “I’m here,” he agreed.

Analissa launched herself at him, her baby arms thin and spindly against his broad, rock-hard shoulder. The tray teetered dangerously, but not half as much as Corrie suspected Mack’s emotions might be tipping. “To stay?”

Corrie rescued him. “To stay, sweetie. He’s here to stay,” she said, reaching out to stroke Analissa’s silky hair.

Mack didn’t say anything. He set the tray on the table and gently dislodged Analissa from his arm as he pushed to his feet.

The rest of the children poured through the open doorway, treats in store, and raced around the table, making sure everyone had at least two of the prized biscochitos.

“You’re not leaving, Señor Mack?” Juan Carlos asked.

“Really, you must try one of Rita’s biscochitos. She makes the best anywhere on earth,” Leeza said.

“He’s got to go,” Analissa said, all six of her years showing, and twenty-five more to boot. “But he’s staying here now. Corrie says. He’s going to stay with us.”

A cheer went around the table, with a few I-told-you-so’s from Juan Carlos and nods from Jorge.

Corrie thought Mack’s face would have paled had his scarred skin allowed it to do so. Instead, he only stood above them all, seemingly carved in granite, and as acutely uncomfortable as a man could possibly be.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said.

“It’s not necessary,” he answered. “Thank you all for the wonderful dinner.”

“Food will be here tomorrow morning and again at lunchtime and then again at supper,” Jeannie said. “It’s the Rancho Milagro way.”

“And we’ll talk about classes in the morning,” Leeza said.

“And I’ll show you my new saddle for Dancer,” Juan Carlos said. “I can ride again next week. I’m grounded now.” He made a face that was more grin than grimace. “Because I rode Dancer without permission.”

“And I’ll draw you a picture,” Analissa said, curling her hand into his pant leg and dragging on it. “It will have you in it, and Corrie, and Dancer the horse, and Jeannie, and Chance, and Dulce, and—” she looked around the table, her dark eyes questing “—and Clovis, and Pablo, and Rita and everybody.”

“Thanks,” Mack said, but Corrie thought he looked as if the whole lot of them had stretched a hot bed of coals for him to walk across. He turned to the living room as if made of wood—stiff and resistant. If she hadn’t witnessed for herself his reactions to each of the children, she might have wondered how he might act as a teacher. But she’d seen his smile at Juan Carlos’s joking prayer and his tumbling for Analissa.

“Sleep tight,” Jeannie called gently.

Corrie saw Mack hesitate in his walk. He raised a hand as if in farewell.

Juan Carlos called out, “Be careful, Señor Mack. And watch out for La Dolorosa.”

Mack stopped and half turned back to the group at the table.

“What, you afraid of ghosts, Juan Carlos?” Dulce sneered.

“No way! But Rita said people in Carlsbad have seen her lately. And Jorge said—”

“That’s enough, Juan Carlos,” Jeannie interrupted gently but firmly. “Those are only stories. There are no such things as ghosts.” She looked at Analissa with meaning in her gaze.

“But—”

“No buts. Good night, Mack. I’m glad you’re joining us.”

Mack raised his hand again, not in a wave, but more in a gesture of frustration. He nodded and made for the front door.

“See you tomorrow, Señor Mack,” Analissa called out.

The door slammed behind him before the little girl could hear an answer.

“He’ll be here,” Jeannie assured her, drawing the child to her lap. She ran her hand over the little girl’s hair.

“I think he wants us,” Analissa said, pressing her face into Jeannie’s chest. “I think he needs to be here.”

Corrie thought so, too.

Chapter 3

Mack was grateful for the icy chill of the night. He gulped at the air like a drowning man. He could hear the laughter filtering through the French windows of the veranda and could still feel the impression Analissa’s little hand left behind. He listened as the heavy door opened and closed. And knew without looking around that it was Corrie Stratton who’d followed him outside.

She was the last person on earth he wanted to see at that moment. She made him want to tell her things, hard things, raw things he’d rather keep locked inside.

“It takes some getting used to,” Corrie’s sultry voice said from behind him.

He thought about all the times he’d listened to her voice pouring out of the radio into the dark hospital burn unit during his long recuperation. She’d been a friend telling a late-night bedtime story, a woman who talked with kings and soldiers far away and relayed their stories back to those waiting to hear her voice again.

“Overwhelmed?” she asked, stepping up to join him at the railing surrounding the broad veranda.

For some reason, he didn’t want to lie to her, and he wanted to hear that beautiful voice, so he didn’t answer her directly. “How long have the children been here?”

“Let’s see. José and Dulce were the first and they came the same week about a year ago. I think Jason came next, then Tony, Jenny and Juan Carlos. Then Analissa. She’s been here about three weeks. She’s a doll.”

“Tell me about them,” he said.