The Texas Ranger

SAM WAS STANDING AT THE SINK shaving when he heard the siren outside his townhouse. He dropped his razor and grabbed his gun as he hurried to the door.

An ambulance had stopped at his elderly neighbor’s home. Two EMTs raced for the house while her maid stood on the porch calling, “Hurry! Hurry!”

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“It’s Mrs. Book. I think she’s had a stroke.” The woman was bug-eyed and wringing her hands.

A small hunk of fur came racing out of Mrs. Book’s place, shot between Sam’s legs and zipped inside his house.

“Oh, that dog! She’ll be the death of me!”

“What can I do to help?”

“Lord, I don’t know. They’ll be taking Mrs. Book to the hospital, and I need to go along with her. Can you see to Pookie?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

In a couple of minutes, the EMTs wheeled out his neighbor, loaded her in the ambulance and took off, siren screaming. The maid slapped a key in Sam’s hand, ran to her car and peeled out behind them.

Sam checked to make sure his neighbor’s door was locked, then went back inside to finish shaving the other half of his face. Slapping on some aftershave, he walked around calling the dog.

Why in the hell would anybody name a dog Pookie?

He was sorry about Mrs. Book’s stroke—if that was the problem. Since he hadn’t lived there long, he didn’t know any of his neighbors very well, mostly just enough to nod to them. He’d met Mrs. Book when she’d pecked on her window one day as he’d walked by. She’d needed a light bulb changed and wondered if he’d mind doing it. She’d seen his Ranger badge and gun and figured he was safe. Since then he’d done another small favor or two for her, and she’d baked him cookies. Good ones, too. Chocolate chip with pecans.

She didn’t have much family except a nephew who never came around. Pookie was her constant companion. The dog was cute, spoiled rotten, and the little rag mop had taken to Sam. Every time he grilled on the patio, she managed to crawl through a little hole in the fence between their places and dance around his feet until he gave her a bite of whatever he was cooking. She was partial to rib eyes.

“Pookie! Where are you?”

Sam heard a faint whimper under his bed and got down to check. He found the dog there, cowed down and shaking like a leaf. “Come on out, girl.” He scooped her from her hiding place, held her in the crook of his arm and stroked her. “It’s all right, darlin’. I know you’re scared. Just calm down.”

He could almost hear the dog sigh as she relaxed, and she rooted closer to him.

In a few minutes, Sam set her on his bed. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He went next door and gathered up Pookie’s stuff, including food and bowls, her toys and bed. He even found a small carrying crate and lugged it back to his house as well. He figured he could handle one small dog for a day or two. At least she liked him. Most animals did. Except for Gus.

Thinking about Gus reminded him of Skye. Then, of course, lots of things reminded him of Skye. She’d been in his thoughts a good deal.

He glanced at his watch. Damn! He was going to be late. He finished dressing and turned to look for Pookie. He couldn’t find her anywhere.

Oh, well, she’d come out sooner or later.

He left out plenty of food and water in the kitchen and left her bed and toys in his bedroom. She’d be fine until he returned.

SAM WAS LATER GETTING HOME than he figured on. And later than Pookie had figured on as well, from what he found on the floor. Honestly, he’d forgotten about the dog, so he didn’t scold her. Instead, he let her out the back door and cleaned up the mess without too many cuss words. He’d try to remember to come by home a couple of times during the day tomorrow to let her out.

When he checked on her a few minutes later, the patio area was empty. As he went outside to search for her, he heard whining and scratching. He climbed up and looked over the fence and saw Pookie crying and clawing on Mrs. Book’s back door.

He felt sorry for the little thing and went and got her.

“How about you and me going to get a hamburger?” he asked her. “I’m hungry.”

She seemed happy enough when she stood in his lap and looked out the window as they went to the fast food place a few blocks away. She hadn’t touched the dry food he’d left in her bowl, but she downed a good portion of his second hamburger—except the pickles and onions.

Pookie even whined her way into his bed that night. He could understand that she was confused and probably slept with Mrs. Book.

The next day he called the hospital to check on his neighbor, but the one he’d assumed she’d been sent to didn’t have any record of a Mrs. Book. He tried a couple of others with the same result. He couldn’t contact the maid; he didn’t even know her name. Nor did he know the name of her nephew. Sonny, she’d called him.

Sam was even more concerned when he came home at noon the next day to let Pookie out and saw a van in front of Mrs. Book’s house with the name of an auction house on its doors. He walked over and spoke to a man who was there, hoping it might be Sonny.

“I’m doing an inventory for the estate sale,” the man said.

“What estate sale?” Sam asked.

“Woman who lived here died. Her nephew said to auction off everything.”

That was fast. Disgusted with Mrs. Book’s family, he managed to get the nephew’s name and phone number. When Sam called Sonny to find out what to do with Pookie, the man said, “I don’t give a damn what happens to that dog. Send it to the pound if you don’t want it.”

Sam slammed down the phone and looked at Pookie, who sat watching him, her head cocked to one side, an imploring look in her eyes.

Hell, he couldn’t have anymore sent her to the pound than he could have sent his own mother.

He called Skye Walker’s clinic in Wimberley and made an appointment for Saturday, then he went to the building supply store and bought the stuff to make a doggy door.

WHEN SAM GOT TO WIMBERLEY and stopped at the gate, he wasn’t sure he had the right place. Why in the world was there a manned guardhouse? He first thought it might be the entrance to a park or something.

Sam rolled down his window. “I’m looking for the veterinary clinic.”

“And your name is?”

“Sam Outlaw. I have an appointment.”

The man checked a list. “Yes, sir. I have you here. Go straight down the road and take a right at the Y. You’ll run into the clinic.” He punched a button and the metal barrier opened.

Must be an upscale place, Sam thought as he drove through. He’d heard of gated communities, but he’d never been to a gated vet’s office. He parked in the lot in front of a white Austin stone building with a red tile roof, retrieved Pookie and attached a leash to her collar. When he got to the front door, he was even more mystified. The door was locked. What the devil? Had they closed already?

He rang the doorbell, then knocked.

He waited. And waited. The door opened a crack. “Mr. Outlaw?” a woman asked.

He started to say, “Joe sent me,” but, instead of smarting off, he answered with a simple, “That’s me.”

The door opened wider. “Please come in and have a seat. Dr. Walker will be with you in a moment.”

Pookie balked at the threshold, and Sam had to pick her up and carry her inside. She was shaking again.

“It’s okay, girl,” he said, stroking her. “Dr. Skye’s one of the good guys. She won’t hurt you.” How was it that animals always knew when they were going to the vet? He’d had to drag Pookie from under the bed this morning when he was ready to leave.

He heard voices at an interior door, then it opened and the mayor walked out with his Doberman. Wouldn’t you know? The dude glanced at Pookie and smiled. “Cute dog.”

“My neighbor’s.”

“I see,” the mayor said. “Sam, isn’t it?” He held out his hand.

“Yes.” Sam stood and shook hands with him.

A guy roughly the size of a tank followed the mayor out of the interior. He checked the peephole in the front door, then flipped a switch on the wall, unlocked and opened the door for the mayor.

“Good to see you again,” the mayor said.

John? Jim? Sam couldn’t remember. He only remembered that he didn’t much care for his toothy smile.

As soon as the lock clicked into place and the switch was flipped back up, the tank turned to Sam. “I’m Napoleon, Dr. Walker’s assistant. Come with me, please.”

Sam didn’t argue. He was meaner looking than any man he’d ever seen on death row, and, although Sam didn’t often meet anyone who made him nervous, the tank put him on guard. This guy didn’t look like he’d go down unless you shot him—a bunch of times.

He was led into a room where Skye waited. Gus lay quietly in a corner. Gus raised his head and glared at Sam—or did something that passed for a dog-glare. His lips twitched back over his teeth.

Dressed in a blue smock, Skye stood by a tall examining table, scanned a chart. She glanced up when he entered and smiled. “Well, hello, Sam. What brings you here?”

He held out the dog. “Pookie.”

Skye took her, and the dog almost went into ecstasy, wiggling and licking Skye. “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”

Pookie arfed. Twice.

Skye cuddled her close. “Somehow I never figured you for the type who’d choose a Lhasa apso named Pookie.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Me, neither.” He told her the story of how he came to be her new owner. “I don’t know anything about her. I didn’t even know what kind of dog she was until you said. She just looks like a dust mop to me. I don’t know about her health or if she’s had her shots. She hides under the bed a lot.”

Skye checked a tag on her collar. “Here’s the number of her vet in San Antonio. Why didn’t you call the office and ask?”

Feeling a little dumb, Sam managed to grin. “Never thought of it. Guess I was looking for an excuse to drop over and ask you to lunch.”

She laughed, took a cell phone from her pocket and punched in a number. She identified herself and asked for information on Pookie. After a few moments, she hung up and told Sam, “All her shots are in order, and she’s a bit overweight but basically healthy. Let me examine her to be sure.”

Skye set the dog on her examining table, whispered something to her, and Pookie’s wiggling stopped. She stood statue-still while Skye looked her over.

After a few minutes, Skye said, “She’s fine, just a little sad about the loss of her mistress. It’s to be expected. She likes you.”

“I feed her hamburgers and steak.”

“Leave off the hamburgers and steak, or she’ll be a real roly-poly.”

She named a dry food that she recommended for small dogs. “She can have a treat occasionally.” She ruffled Pookie’s coat. “Show dogs of this breed really do look like dust mops, and they have to be carefully and frequently groomed. Her coat has been kept clipped, and I’d recommend continuing that for her comfort and your convenience. She needs a haircut and grooming now before she starts getting painful mats.”

“Where do I get that done?”

Skye glanced at Napoleon. He nodded. “Napoleon will get her fixed up. Every few weeks you can take her to any good groomer near you.”

Skye handed Pookie to Napoleon, and the dog went into her wiggling and licking routine again for him. She didn’t seem to mind his looks. The man spoke to her softly as they left the room.

“Sam, I think it’s very sweet of you to take in Pookie.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to take her to the pound. Do you know of anybody who might like to have her?”

Skye looked concerned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to traumatize her further. She’s probably best off with you.”

Sam nodded. Looked like he now had a dog. “How about joining me for lunch?”

“How about you join me at home instead? You and Pookie. Belle is coming over to go swimming this afternoon.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“I’m sure one of Gabe’s will fit.”

“It’s a deal.” The thought of Skye in a bathing suit had him salivating. He’d bet she was a knockout in a bikini.

“You can have a seat in the waiting room until Napoleon is finished with Pookie,” she said. “I have a couple more patients to see yet.”

SKYE FELT AS GIDDY AS A CHILD at Christmas. She was sure that Mrs. Westmoreland thought she was nuts because of the way she kept smiling during the account of Puffy’s numerous hair balls. And certainly nothing was funny about George Bill’s parrot, who had picked out half his feathers, but she could barely keep her mind on her patients. She wanted to break out into song and dance around the examining tables.

Sam Outlaw was here, here in her office. She’d thought about him all week, wondering if she would ever see him again. Gabe had said that Sam wasn’t her type, but she had to disagree. Sam was exactly her type. No man that she’d met in years had made her chest tighten and her stomach do back-flips.

She wanted to kiss little Pookie for bringing him to her office. And she could hardly wait to see Sam in a bathing suit. He was sexy enough with all his clothes on. Bare-chested, she’d bet he was a serious stud-muffin.

She giggled as she hung up her smock. Where were all these thoughts and feelings coming from? It was as if all her pent-up desires were rattling their cages and clamoring to get out. She’d have to watch herself or she’d scare the poor man to death.

Holy smoke.

Chapter Three

When Sam pulled himself out of the pool, looked at her and grinned, Skye nearly melted into a little puddle. Even his teeth were perfect—as perfect as his abs. He could have been a model, except he probably thought models were sissies. And maybe they were. Sam was all man for sure, and she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him since they’d left her office. He was gorgeous, and sexuality oozed from him like honey from a comb. She wanted to run her tongue over his chest to see if he tasted sweet.

Suddenly embarrassed by her thoughts, she forced herself to look away and say something to Belle. But Belle was looking at Gabe as if he were an eclair on a doily and not paying the least bit of attention to Sam and her. Gabe was just as rapt with Belle.

Maybe that’s why Skye had gone so goofy over Sam. She was envious of her brother and Belle, and wanted the same thing they had. Boy, had she picked a doozy for her first foray into romance in years. Why couldn’t she be attracted to somebody sane and simple? Like John.

But no. John didn’t make her heart rev up like a race car.

“Come on in the water,” Sam said.

“I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“It’ll dry. Come on in. Or can’t you swim?”

“Of course I can swim. I’ve got a box full of ribbons somewhere that says I can.”

Sam walked toward her, trailing water. “Guess I’ll just have to toss you in.” He grabbed her.

“No-o-o-o!” she screamed. “Don’t!”

He laughed, hauled her up and jumped into the pool with her in his arms.

Gus barked, Gabe yelled and she hit the water in a panic.

When she surfaced, Gus had Sam by the arm, and both Gabe and Belle were in the pool yelling and splashing. Pandemonium.

“Gus! Release!” Skye shouted.

Gus let go of Sam’s arm, but Gabe grabbed it. “What the hell are you doing?” He drew back his fist.

“Let go of my brother,” Belle yelled at Gabe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Gabe stepped back. “Sorry. Skye, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Gabe. I’m fine. Out, Gus. Sam, are you hurt?”

Sam looked down at his forearm. “I was expecting blood, but he didn’t even break the skin.”

“Thank, God,” Skye said. She heaved herself onto the pool apron and, knees still wobbly, went to talk to Gus, who sat by the chair she’d vacated, looking very pleased with himself. She wasn’t sure whether to praise him or scold him. She settled for ruffling his coat. “Sam’s a friend, Gus. Get that? A friend.”

Why was Gus so wary around Sam? It was as if he really thought Sam would hurt her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gabe said.

“I’m sure.” She wasn’t sure at all, but her brother looked so concerned that she didn’t want to make a big deal of it. She hadn’t felt comfortable in the water for years. Being in the pool made her feel vulnerable—a feeling she avoided in any way possible.

“Don’t be such a mother hen, Gabe,” Belle said.

Skye felt awful for more than Gus’s attack. She didn’t want to be the cause of an argument between her brother and someone she hoped would be her sister-in-law. She stood and pasted a big smile on her face. “Yeah, Gabe. Don’t be such a mother hen. Gus, stay.”

She forced herself to walk to the diving board, mount it and execute what she hoped was a perfect jackknife into the deep end of the pool. Slicing cleanly into the water felt wonderful. A ton of old memories flooded her, good ones, as she pushed up and broke the surface. She hadn’t forgotten how to dive.

Or swim, she thought as she began a slow crawl down the length of the pool. When she got to Sam she stopped.

“I’m really sorry about Gus attacking you. When I screamed, he thought you were hurting me. Is your arm still okay?”

“Not a problem.” He smiled.

She returned his smile. “Good.” She shoved the heel of her hand through the water and splashed him with a face-full of water. Then she laughed and surfaced-dived, heading away from him.

He grabbed her foot. She kicked furiously at him and popped to the surface, anxiety almost overwhelming her. She fought the dreadful clawing in her chest, fought the urge to cry out.

“Please don’t grab me,” she said quietly. “I have a thing about being grabbed. It makes me go a little nuts.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t know. But I understand. With me it’s being tickled. My brothers used to hold me down and do it. J.J. especially. I become a wild man when anybody tickles me in the ribs.”

“Tell you what,” Skye said. “I won’t tickle you if you won’t grab me.”

“It’s a deal. Sorry I upset you and got your hair wet.”

“It’s okay.” She flipped onto her back and sculled along, enjoying the feel of the water against her skin, and, surprisingly, feeling safe with Sam close by. Maybe it was because he was bigger than life or maybe it was because he was a Texas Ranger, but he exuded an aura of power and control that was extremely comforting as he paddled along beside her.

It was a lovely feeling.

For the first time in many years she felt free to relax and enjoy swimming, an activity that had once been an important part of her life. For that alone, she wanted to hug Sam.

But there were others reasons, too. She laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Everything. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

ONCE SHE GOT INTO THE WATER, Skye hated to get out, but she was turning into a prune, so she reluctantly dragged herself from the pool and everybody went inside to change. The guys were going to grill steaks and veggies while she and Belle made salad and dressing.

Maria, the cook, and her husband, Manuel, had the weekend off, and Suki and her husband, Ralph, had gone to visit her sister for the weekend. Only Flora and the two couples were around—except for the guards, who were always on the grounds.

When she came downstairs, Skye found her mother in the kitchen with Pookie and Tiger, her tiny Yorkshire terrier, dancing around her feet.

“I just put the icing on a chocolate sheath cake,” Flora said. “Maxine is picking me up any minute.”

“Aren’t you going to stay for dinner?” Skye asked.

“No, dear. Maxine and Bess and I are driving over to San Marcos for dinner. It’s Bess’s birthday. Didn’t I tell you?”

“It must have slipped my mind. The cake looks scrumptious.”

“Mmm,” said Belle as she joined them. “I adore chocolate.” She bent and scooped up Pookie, who had taken an immediate liking to Belle. “You are such a cutie pie, Pookie. I can’t believe you belong to Sam.”

“I’d be willing to part with her if you want her,” Sam said as he joined them.

“Sorry. Animals aren’t allowed in my townhouse.”

Gabe walked in. “Move back here, and you can have all the animals you want.”

Belle merely rolled her eyes at him.

The doorbell rang, and Flora said, “That must be Maxine. I’ll be going now. I should be back by nine.”

“I’ll walk you to the door and get the alarm,” Gabe said.

Skye kissed her mother’s cheek, and Sam followed suit. Flora looked extremely pleased by his gesture.

“Don’t you ladies get into any trouble now,” Sam said.

Flora laughed and patted his cheek. “I can’t make any promises, dear boy.”

Gabe and Belle walked out with Flora, leaving Skye and Sam alone in the kitchen with the dogs.

“My mother likes you,” Skye said.

“Good. I like her, too. And I like her daughter.”

For a moment Skye couldn’t make herself look up from the ears of corn she’d taken from the fridge. Then she told herself she was being as silly as a teenager. She smiled. “Do you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” He touched her chin with his knuckle.

Gus growled.

Sam sighed and moved his hand. “Need any help with that corn?”

“Sure. We usually grill it in the shucks, but we have to remove the silks.”

Sam picked up an ear and skinned back the shuck. “Like that?”

“Exactly. But let me get some newspaper to catch the mess.”

“Wonder what happened to Gabe and Belle?”

Skye laughed. “Bet they’re making out in the entryway.”

“I wouldn’t cover that bet.”

By the time Gabe and Belle rejoined them, the corn was ready for the grill. The guys tended to the steaks while Belle and Skye handled the rest of the meal, including skewering an assortment of marinated vegetables for the barbecue.

In no time, their meal was done, and they were sitting around the table enjoying the food they’d prepared.

“I can’t believe that you’re not eating a single piece of this rib eye,” Sam said. “It’s fantastic.”

“Ugh!” Skye said. “Looks gross to me. Sure you won’t have more grilled zucchini?”

“Point taken.”

Skye glanced at Gus and smiled. She caught Sam’s attention and motioned toward her dog. Pookie was cuddled up next to Gus, sleeping.

“Looks like Gus has a new admirer,” Gabe said.

“He’s been awfully patient with her nipping and tumbling over him,” Belle added.

“With Tiger around, he’s used to it,” Skye said. “Plus he’s around rambunctious animals all the time at the clinic.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “It’s only me he doesn’t like.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened at the pool today,” Skye said.

“No harm done.”

After dinner, everybody pitched in to clean up, then Gabe found an old Trivial Pursuit game, and they played until Flora came home.

“I need to get going,” Sam said, standing. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Not much chance of that,” Gabe said.

“I don’t know,” Belle said. “He eats a lot.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Belle laughed. “I need to get going myself. A publisher’s job is never done, and I have paperwork that I’ve ignored too long.”

Sam scooped up Pookie, and everybody moved toward the front door except Skye. As was her custom, she hung back a bit. Sam hung back with her. “I’ve really enjoyed the day. Could we get together next weekend?”

“Sure,” Skye said, her anticipation almost palpable. “I’m almost always here or at the clinic.”

“I’ll give you a call.”

Skye wanted to touch him, to brush her fingers over the rough stubble beginning to show on his face, but she settled for stroking Pookie. “I enjoyed the day, too. Good night.”

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, not too long after he arrived at work, Sam’s lieutenant, Heck Pruitt, called him into his office. He had a fat stack of files on his desk.

“Have a seat, Sam,” Heck said. “I wanted to talk to you about this case that’s been referred to us. Rather, it’s a series of cases. Didn’t I hear you say that you and Gabe Burrell over in Wimberley are friends?”