Hawk's Way (14 page)

Dallas walked into the Bluebird Café as though he had just stopped by on his way home from Hondo for a cup of coffee and a piece of butter
milk pie. He let the waitress, Mary Jo Williams, seat him by the window in front and pour his coffee. Angel was sitting at the rear of the café with a man whose back was to Dallas, but whom he had already identified as Ray Collinsworth.

Angel saw Dallas the moment he came in and knew he had seen her, as well. Why hadn't he come back to greet her? Why was he sitting by the window, pretending she didn't exist?

“So my wife and I decided to get a divorce,” Ray Collinsworth said.

Angel knew from reading how prevalent divorce was in the late 1900s, but it still shocked her. “Wasn't there any way you could work out your problems?”

He shrugged. “Bobbie Sue wanted to live in the big city. Uvalde's growing, but it's still a small town compared to Dallas.”

“Why didn't you just go with her?” Angel asked.

“My roots are here. So's my family. There's nothing in Dallas I want.”

“Except Bobbie Sue,” Angel said.

“Yeah, well, she's history now,” Ray said. “I want to move on with my life. Start dating again. Which is one of the reasons I asked you to have coffee with me. I admire your talent, Angel. Whatever does or doesn't happen between us, I'll
do whatever I can to make sure you get a gallery showing in Houston. But I'd like to see you outside of class, if you'd be interested.”

“She wouldn't.”

Ray Collinsworth looked over his shoulder and froze at the forbidding sight that greeted him. “What are you doing here, Dallas?”

“Angel lives with me.”

Ray swallowed hard. “I didn't know.”

“Now you do.”

“I was just leaving,” Ray said. “Good night, Angel, uh, Ms. Taylor.” He grabbed the check and started to edge past Dallas.

Dallas took the check from between Ray's fingers. “I take care of Angel.”

Ray gulped, nodded and fled.

The instant the other man was gone, Dallas slid into the booth across from Angel.

Angel had watched Dallas's performance with astonishment first and then with growing anger. “Nobody takes care of me, Ranger,” she said in a voice that shook. “I take care of myself!”

“I could see how well you were taking care of yourself,” Dallas retorted. “Another second and Ray Collinsworth would have had you agreeing to anything he suggested—and we both know what he'd suggest.”

“That's my choice to make,” she insisted. “Not yours.”

“Ray's wife left him with three kids,” Dallas said. “He's spent the past year looking for someone to be a mother for them.”

“He told me about his children. They sounded delightful.”

Dallas snorted. “Yeah. Delightful little monsters.”

“Children are what you expect them to be,” she said.

“Are you speaking with the voice of experience?”

“Belinda had a daughter, Penny. Before Penny died of pneumonia, I used to take care of her when Belinda was…busy. Children don't ask for much. And we give them too little.”

“If you like kids so much, maybe I can talk you into going with me tomorrow to visit Cale's widow and his two sons.”

Dallas didn't hear the anguish in his voice when he mentioned Cale's family. Angel did. There could be no question of her response. “I'll be glad to go with you. Do they live nearby?”

“Cale's ranch is south of Uvalde. It's been in his family for generations. His wife, Honey, is having a hard time holding things together. I
thought I'd go by and see if there's anything I can do to help out.”

“What time do we leave?”

“Early. We'd best be getting home. I'll follow you.”

“What if I'm not ready to leave?” Angel said, irked that he was ordering her around again.

“I'll wait until you are,” he said flatly.

Angel made a face. “Of all the hickory-headed—”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names—”

Angel laughed. “All right. Let's go!” As she rose, Dallas put a hand under her elbow to lead her out of the cafe. Even that little touch was enough to sensitize her to his presence—and remind her that while he might want her in bed, he didn't want any kind of permanent relationship with her.

When they reached the register, she slipped the check out of his hand and said, “I'll pay.”

“But—”

She raised a brow and said, “Do you, or don't you want me to be a twentieth-century woman?”

“Pay the check,” he said.

Dallas shook his head at the smug look on Angel's face as she pulled the necessary money out of her pocket—money she'd won from him play
ing poker—and slapped it on the counter. She didn't wait for him, simply got into his car and took off toward home.

By the time he parked his pickup in the driveway and got inside the house, she was already in her bedroom.

“What time should I set my alarm?” Angel called to him through the door.

“How about 7:00 a.m.?”

“Fine. I—”

The jarring ring of the phone interrupted Angel. She let Dallas answer it, since no one she knew would be calling her.

“It's for you,” he said a second later. “Adam Philips.”

Now that Adam had called, Dallas was having all kinds of second thoughts. Maybe he was making a mistake trying to rush Angel into a relationship. Maybe he ought to let things happen in their own good time. He recognized the source of his problem when Angel stepped out of his bedroom wearing one of the shapeless T-shirts he'd bought for her. Jealousy. In fact, he was feeling green as buffalo grass.

“Here.” He thrust the phone into her hands, anxious to be away from her before he did something he would regret. Like hanging up the damned phone and pulling her into his arms and
kissing her the way he'd been wanting to for the past two hours since he'd first seen her sitting across from Ray Collinsworth.

Angel had no idea why Dallas was so upset. She took the phone, expecting some sort of bad news. “Hello?”

“Hi, Angel,” Adam said. He laughed. “That has a nice sound to it. Hi, Angel,” he said again. “I wondered if you'd like to go tubing on the Frio River with me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” She looked up and saw Dallas glaring at her from the kitchen. “I'm afraid not. I have plans tomorrow.”

“How about Sunday, then?”

“Sunday would be fine. What time?”

“I'll pick you up about nine. I'll bring a picnic and we'll make a day of it. See you Sunday.”

Angel held the phone to her ear for a moment before she hung up. “Adam wants to take me tubing on the Frio.”

“I heard.”

“I'm going.”

“I heard.”

“You don't have any objections?”

“Adam Philips is a fine man. You could do worse.”

“I wonder why he suddenly called up out of the blue like that?”

“I wouldn't know,” Dallas said.

The look on his face said otherwise. “Did you say anything to Adam about asking me out?” she asked in a calm, controlled voice.

“What if I did? You weren't making any progress meeting men on your own.”

Angel was outraged. “How could you? What if I hadn't wanted to go out with Adam Philips?”

“You would have told him so.”

“Since I said yes, is there any advice you'd like to give me before I go out with him?”

Don't kiss him. Don't touch him. Don't let him touch you!
“No.”

D
espite what Dallas had said about kids being monsters, he seemed to be enjoying himself with Jack and Jonathan Farrell. From where Angel stood in the vegetable garden behind the Farrell house, she could see that all three had their shirts off and were working to repair the corral together. Seven-year-old Jonathan barely reached Dallas's waist. Twelve-year-old Jack had sprouted high enough to reach the Ranger's shoulders.

Pictured before Angel were a rib-thin child, a gangling youth and a mature man. The child made her long for one of her own; the youth reminded her of a fledgling bird, not quite ready to leave the nest. And the man made her throat go dry as she imagined herself enfolded in the strength revealed by his muscular torso, with its pelt of black hair arrowing down into his jeans. She wished she could stop hoeing long enough to preserve the scene on paper.

“They look good together, don't they?”

Angel started and looked at Honey Farrell, who
was hoeing weeds one row over from her. “Yes, they do.”

Honey wiped her brow with a bandanna, then stuck it in the back pocket of her short, cutoff jeans and started working again. “The boys miss Cale. The four of them—Cale, Dallas, Jack, and Jonathan—used to spend the day together sometimes, working on the ranch like this. I remember one time—”

Angel looked up to see why Honey had stopped speaking and saw the woman standing frozen, her throat working to hold back sobs, her eyes brimmed with tears. Angel's first impulse was to leap over the row of lettuce and comfort Honey. Before she could act, however, the young woman had smeared the tears away with her shirtsleeve and was viciously hoeing the ground again.

“I asked Cale to quit the Rangers,” she said angrily. “Do you know what he told me?”

It was a rhetorical question. Honey didn't pause long enough for Angel to answer.

“He told me that being a Texas Ranger made him feel alive—that it constantly tested his courage. Rangers are different, you know, from ordinary men. Most of them aren't just brave—they don't know what fear is. Cale loved danger. If it hadn't been a constant part of his job, he would have sought it somewhere else. I told him his
work was too chancy, that I couldn't bear to lose him. I even threatened to leave him once.”

She paused and sighed. “I never could have done it. I loved him and he knew it. He promised to be careful. I know he tried, but sometimes…sometimes he was too impetuous, too impatient for his own good. It cost him his life.”

Angel had never considered the dangers Dallas faced as a Texas Ranger. In the world she had come from, violence and death were an inescapable part of life. In this century, men could choose to live peacefully, without a gun at hand. Yet Dallas had risked his life without a qualm to rescue her at the cave. He had responded with cold, calculating action to the biker who threatened her. She realized suddenly that his boldness, his fearlessness, were part of what made him attractive to her. She recognized Dallas as a man who could have survived in her world as capably as he did in his own.

Honey ended the thoughtful silence between them by saying, “Jack worshipped his father. He wants to be a Texas Ranger like his dad.”

“Have you tried talking him out of it?” Angel asked.

“
Yes
, I
have
,” Honey said emphatically, punctuating her words with stabs at the earth. She
smiled bitterly. “A lot of good it's done me. Jack has inherited some of his father's stubbornness.”

Honey had reached the end of her row. “Shall we take a break and make iced tea for everybody?”

“I have another couple of feet to go to finish this row. I'll join you in a few minutes,” Angel said.

Angel took advantage of the opportunity to watch Dallas at work. The three males were pulling out a rotting corral post, and Angel watched the ropey muscles bunch in Dallas's shoulders as he strained to break the post free. His skin was shiny with sweat, and beads of moisture clung like crystals to the hair on his chest.

Dallas had tied a bandanna around his forehead to keep the moisture out of his eyes; the smaller boy had copied him and looked adorable. When the post finally came free, Dallas ruffled Jonathan's hair. The older boy, Jack, shied away from Dallas's congratulatory slap on the shoulder and slanted a look—of loathing?—at the Ranger.

Honey was already on her way to the corral with a tray of iced tea by the time Angel finished hoeing. She took a second to lean on the hoe and watch as Dallas slipped his shirt on, the sort of courtesy she might have expected from a gentleman in her day. She didn't miss the way Dallas
gave Honey's legs a quick once-over. Honey's shirt was tied in a knot at the waist in front, emphasizing her breasts. All in all, Angel had to admit the woman was a feast for male eyes.

What surprised her was that on Honey the exposed skin didn't look lurid, it looked natural. To be honest, although Dallas looked at and enjoyed the view, he didn't treat Honey any less respectfully because of the way she was dressed. Angel realized she might have to revise her opinion of women who dressed in scanty clothing.

The two boys quickly gulped down their iced tea and wandered off toward the barn. Angel watched Dallas's face as Honey followed the progress of her sons and saw the concern there. He had told Angel he felt responsible for Cale's family. Would he consider taking Cale's place? Marrying Honey? Being a father to Cale's sons?

Angel dropped the hoe and headed for the corral. As she approached, she heard Honey say, “You don't know how much I appreciate your help, Dallas. I would have gotten to that post eventually, but it was threatening to collapse any day.”

“I only wish you'd let me do more,” he answered.

“You've got your own life,” Honey said. “We'll manage.”

“Cale asked me to—”

“Cale is dead.” Honey's voice was brittle with pain. She took a deep breath, searching for and finding control of her tumultuous emotions. “You've been a good friend, Dallas. You don't owe Cale—or us—any more than that.”

She turned and was gone before Dallas or Angel could say a word to stop her.

“She's right, you know.”

Dallas turned to look at Angel over his shoulder. “I'm not so sure.”

Angel climbed up and sat facing Dallas on the top rail of a sturdy section of the corral. “She has to carve out a new life for herself that doesn't include her man. The more you help, the less likely she is to shoulder the burden herself. The sooner she does, the better for her and her sons.”

“It's too much for her,” Dallas said flatly.

“I think you're underestimating her,” Angel said. “She'll manage.”

“Through good old self-sufficiency and self-reliance, huh?”

Angel shrugged. “I saw a lot of women lose their husbands to violent, premature deaths in the War Between the States. It was either crawl into the grave with them or keep on living. Most of them chose to keep on living. I'd say Honey has, too.”

Dallas rubbed at the wrinkles of concern on his brow. “I feel so responsible somehow. Those boys of hers—they need a father.”

“Are you volunteering for the job?” Angel could have bitten off her tongue. Why put ideas into his head?

“I've thought about it,” he admitted.

“What's stopping you?”

“For one thing, Honey isn't about to let another Texas Ranger into her life.”

Angel pursed her lips. “I think I have to agree with you there. Maybe the best thing is to be a friend, like she asked.”

Excited cries from the two boys in the barn interrupted their conversation.

“Sounds like a small riot going on in there,” Angel said.

“I'd better go check on them.”

Angel tagged along. She was stunned when she entered the barn with Dallas to see the two boys fighting on the straw-covered floor. Arms and legs were tangled, teeth were bared, hands were fisted. Angel stepped back out of the way as Dallas grabbed hold of one boy with each hand and yanked them to their feet. He held them at arm's distance from each other, so their fists and feet flailed ineffectually.

“Settle down,” Dallas said in a steely voice.

The two boys immediately dropped their fists and stood glaring at each other, sullen and defiant.

“What's this all about?” he demanded.

“He started it,” the older boy said.

The younger one retorted, “Jack said Dad was stupid! He said Dad got himself killed trying to be a hero!”

Dallas's face blanched. “Your father saved my life,” he said. “It cost him his own. That doesn't make him any more or less than what he was—a brave man who saw his duty and did it.”

By now Angel saw that the older boy was hanging his head. The younger one was looking up at Dallas and asked, “Were you there when my dad died?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything to you about me and Jack before he…uh…died?”

Dallas released both boys and knelt down in front of Jonathan. Angel noticed that although Jack's head was still down, his eyes were focused on Dallas.

Dallas straightened the younger boy's shirt, feeling the need for some sort of physical contact with him. “Your father said he loved you both,” Dallas said. “He asked me to come see you when I could. He said he knew you would take care of
your mother and be a help to her. He hoped you would grow up to be good men.”

“He should have saved himself,” Jack blurted. “You should have been the one to die!”

Dallas rose and faced Jack, man to man. “I've thought the same thing,” he admitted quietly. “Your father could have saved himself. He could have let me die. I know he must have considered the risk—that he might not be coming back to you boys and your mother. But you knew your dad, Jack. Could he have lived with himself if he hadn't tried his best to save me?”

Angel watched Jack swallow over a painful knot in his throat. The twelve-year-old boy's mouth opened, then closed. He clenched his jaws and it was clear he was fighting unmanly tears.

At last he lifted his eyes and met Dallas's gaze. “I…I'm sorry for what I said to you just now.”

Dallas laid a hand on Jack's shoulder, and though the boy flinched, he didn't jerk away. “Your father was a man to be proud of,” Dallas said. “I owe him my life. If you ever need me for anything, anything at all, I want you to call me. Do you understand?”

Jack nodded.

“Does that go for me, too?” Jonathan piped up.

Dallas laid a hand on Jonathan's shoulder as
well. “That definitely goes for you, too. Now, how about if we get back to work?”

Dallas led the two boys past Angel, a hand on each of their shoulders. He was talking earnestly to Jack about what ranch jobs the boy could manage on his own over the upcoming summer vacation and what he would need help doing. Meanwhile Jonathan wanted Dallas to help him choose a horse to buy for his very own.

“Mom wants me to get a pony, but Dad said I could get a
horse
. Don't you think I ought to have a
horse
, Dallas?”

Angel took her time getting to the house. It was clear there was a lot more to Dallas Masterson than met the eye. He hadn't pulled any punches with the two youths. He had told them the truth—that their father had died saving another man's life. But he also had made it clear that their father had done the right thing—the only thing he could do and still look himself in the mirror. He had shown them that their father's sacrifice was appreciated. If they needed help, Dallas was there for them.

Angel wished her own children could have a father like Dallas. She imagined what her children—with Dallas as their father—might look like. The boys would be tall and brown-haired like their father; the girls would be tall, too, but
with blond hair like hers. She pictured them sitting gathered around the porch of Dallas's Victorian home—

Suddenly Angel realized that she wanted the picture she was sketching in her mind to be real. The never-admitted longing she had felt for a hearth and home of her own had crystalized in one man. The truth hit her in the face like a mule kick.

She was in love with Dallas Masterson!

* * *

Angel didn't remember much about the rest of the day with the Farrell family. She had been lost in a fog of euphoria over her revelation. She spent the day planning ways to convince Dallas that they belonged together and that she would make him a good wife. It was at dusk, as they were leaving, that her imaginary bubble burst.

Honey and her two sons had come outside to the truck to bid her and Dallas farewell. She couldn't believe her ears when she heard Dallas say, “You're sure you don't want me to come by tomorrow morning and pick you up?”

“No. The boys and I will be at your place to go tubing by nine sharp. Never fear. And thanks, Dallas. I didn't realize until you suggested it just how much we need to get away from the ranch for a day.”