You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (13 page)

“Tec Bragg.”

“Ah. Bragg. A hard man to read or to be ignored.”

“You’ve met him.”

“Through my husband. He’s quiet. Not fond of crowds.”

“Very intense.”

Jo laughed. “An understatement. How did you meet Bragg?”

“They found a man dead on the edge of my property.”

The lightness in Jo’s gaze dimmed. “Really? What happened?”

“The man hanged himself.” Greer didn’t want to delve into the details.

Jo hesitated as if waiting for details but when Greer didn’t offer more, she didn’t push. “How awful.”

“Yes.”

Outside more guests arrived and parked out front. Anxiety crept up Greer’s spine. She did not want to face these people. She did not.

“You okay?” Jo said.

Greer summoned a smile. “I’m about to meet a lot of people I’ve not seen in years.”

Jo studied cars parking outside and the people exiting the vehicles. “They don’t look so scary to me.”

“No?”

Jo leaned forward so only Greer could hear. “Imagine they’re all naked.”

Greer laughed, despite her anxiety. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to hang around?”

“No.” Greer appreciated the offer. “Thanks. But this is something I have to do.” The first guest to arrive at the front door was Mrs. Mark Johnson. She had been a friend of her parents’ and had played doubles tennis with her mother over the years. “Excuse me?”

“Of course.”

Greer moistened her lips, and though she shifted her stance, she did not retreat. “Welcome.”

Mrs. Johnson’s black linen dress set off her tall lean frame, her silver jewelry, and her blond hair. Her ultrasmooth skin was a testimony to her favorite plastic surgeon. “Elizabeth?”

Greer extended her hand. “How are you, Mrs. Johnson?”

Mrs. Johnson studied Greer, boldly absorbing every detail. Cool fingers slipped around Greer’s callused palm. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, a long time.”

“When I saw your name on the invitation I just about fell over. Your mother led me to believe you’d moved to Europe.”

That didn’t surprise her. “No. I’ve been here all the time.”

“I called your mother, but she didn’t get back to me. She’s been traveling.”

Avoiding the questions. “No doubt.”

“I had to do a little digging to find out you’ve been here working with your aunt.”

“That’s right.” More guests were arriving out front and judging by the collection of cars the evening would be a crush. She teetered between cringing and celebrating.

Mrs. Johnson didn’t notice anyone but Greer. “I have so many questions for you. But let’s start with that dead man they found by your property. I heard he was David Edwards’s brother.”

Greer smiled, determined to be calm.
Breathe.
“So they say. Why don’t you come inside and have a glass of wine.”

A line of people formed behind Mrs. Johnson but again she didn’t notice. She caught the gaze of her neighbor Louis. He tossed her a warm grin, and she couldn’t help but relax a little.

Louis moved toward her, his long lean body accentuated by his dark trousers and dark shirt. “You look like you’re holding up well.”

“So far so good.” Not exactly a lie.

He grinned at several older ladies who were staring at her. They looked away. “Keep up the good work. I’m excited to introduce our wines tonight.”

Louis had purchased the property next to Bonneville but also owned other land in the Hill Country where he made the wine using Bonneville grapes. “They should be a huge hit.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m headed in. Holler if you need me.”

Despite nerves chewing at her, she was determined to do this well. “Right.”

She remained at the door greeting guests for at least another hour. With the sound of each new car, she expected her mother, but she never came.

She fielded more questions than she wanted to about herself.
I remember Jeff. Such a handsome man. How old would he be now? And Sydney, such a stunning girl. A perfect couple. You must miss him.

After a while, she found she could distance herself from the story, as if she were recounting another’s life. The wounds weren’t hers. The losses belonged to someone else. Later she imagined there’d be an emotional price to pay when it was quiet and the emotions rushed back over the barriers. But for now she was getting by and that was good enough.

The tasting room was all but filled by seven, the guests laughing and enjoying themselves. She could tell the wines were a hit, and judging by the caterer’s table, so was the food.

She slipped out the front door, needing to get away from subtle and not-so-subtle stares and whispers.
She looks good. Reminds me of her brother more than ever. She was here the whole time? She must think of Jeffrey. Did you notice the scar on her arm? And those bracelets. I think they’re engraved with their names.

The heat, which still tipped the thermometer at ninety-nine, would allow only a quick respite, but a little break was better than none. The night air was fresh, not heavy, and the sky filled with stars. In the distance a coyote howled.

The crunch of tire against gravel had her turning toward a dusty, black SUV. A tall man with a white Stetson climbed out and she immediately recognized Ranger Winchester, Jo’s husband. Not Bragg. Relief rushed over her like a burst of cold air.

The Ranger settled his hat on his head and moved toward the tasting room with a quick impatient stride. She’d noticed the way he watched Jo, lean, hungry, impatient, as if he could barely keep his hands off his wife. He adored her.

She opened the door for him. “Welcome, Ranger Winchester.”

He glanced at her and grinned. “Ms. Templeton. Good evening. I’m guessing my better half has paved the way for me.”

His easy smile had her relaxing as she extended her hand. “She has sung your praises.”

He took her hand. “So I hear you’re the one throwing the party tonight.”

“I’m one of many players.” She glanced inside toward Jo who laughed with a young couple. “Your wife knows everyone.”

“That’s my Jo.” He glanced beyond her as if trying to glimpse his wife.

“I’ve seen her glancing toward the door. I think she’s been waiting for you. Glad you could make it.”

He winked. “She’s the only one slippery enough to rope me into one of these parties. No offense.”

“None taken.” He must be aware of Rory’s murder. The Rangers were a small, elite group. For a moment she stood tense, waiting for a question. When none came to breach the growing silence, she was tempted to ask him about Bragg, but quickly decided that could lead to trouble. “The food is worth the crowd.”

“Well, seeing as I never say no to food, I’ll dive into the hornet’s nest. Wish me luck.”

“Luck.” When he vanished into the building, she thought for a moment the evening would end without any great drama. She might walk away in one piece and sane.

The crunch of boots against gravel had her turning and wondering why she’d not heard another car drive up. She saw Bragg making his way up the drive straight toward her.

 

 

He stood tall, his white Stetson settled squarely on top of his head. He wore dark pants, a white shirt, a string tie, and black snakeskin boots. Whereas Winchester moved with impatience, Bragg’s stride radiated caution.

She rubbed suddenly damp palms together and then forced herself to relax. “Ranger Bragg, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

Surprise, and then a hint of appreciation flickered from his gaze as he reconciled her voice with her appearance. She allowed pride and was glad to know she could still garner appreciation. There’d been a time when she’d lived to turn a man’s head. She’d spent hours primping and pampering. If this had been twelve years ago, she’d have considered herself severely underdressed.

He moved to within inches of her. Soap mingled with a masculine scent. “Ranger Winchester told me about it. I hear his wife was talking this party up.”

“I’m glad you could join us.”

He arched a brow. “Are you?”

“Of course.” Tempted to take a step back, she stood her ground. The scar on his face caught her attention before she wrestled it free. “We’ve a nice Merlot and a Chardonnay at the bar.”

If he sensed her nerves, he wasn’t inclined to ease them. “Afraid I’m more of a beer man.”

His tone was light and easy but the idea of relaxing around him was downright foolish. Even sleeping rattlers were dangerous snakes. “Tell the bartender. We’ve several local beers behind the bar as well.”

“A vineyard owner drinks beer?”

“We can be quite the beer drinkers.” She extended her arm toward the tasting room. She wanted to shoo him into the tasting room far away from her. “The food’s also delicious.”

Instead of leaving, he held his ground, but his gaze moved to the party. “You got a lot of fancy folks in there.”

“They dress up well, but they’re exactly like the rest of us.”

“First time you’ve seen a lot of these folks in a while?”

He’d been asking around about her. “That’s right.”

“How’s it going?”

“About as well as you could expect. I’m sure my ears will be burning for a week or two and then people will forget about me. I’m the flavor of the week.”

“I doubt they’ll forget you.” An edge sharpened his words.

Her heart beat faster. “You overestimate me.”

“Rory Edwards didn’t forget you.”

The statement hit her square in the chest like a one-two punch. “No, he did not. Have you found out what happened to Rory?”

“Still working on it. His brother didn’t have many nice words to say about you.”

“No, I don’t suppose David did.” The last time she’d spoken to David was when she’d shown up at Rory’s house. Her aunt had driven her there right after she’d left Shady Grove. David had answered the door. She couldn’t remember the entire conversation, but it ended along the lines of: they didn’t need her kind of trouble. “I was young and very upset the last time I spoke to him.”

“You made a hell of an impression on him.”

She refused to attach to the anger and frustration building in her. “If you are here to enjoy the party, then please do so. But if you’re here to dig up my past, I’m not going to play tonight. I’ve made a commitment to raise money for the Crisis Center and I won’t be effective if you reduce me to tears.”

His eyes sparked with humor. “You don’t look like you’re about to cry to me.”

“Don’t believe it.”

He shook his head. “You’re one tough gal, Ms. Templeton. I bet you do exactly what needs to be done no matter how tough the job.”

“That good or bad?”

“Suppose that depends on what job needs to be done.” He studied her a beat. And then as if rethinking his line of questioning, he said, “How’s Mitch doing?”

“Quiet. But a hard worker. I like the kid.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “He’s patient and kind with the animals. Beauty is not an easy horse, but he keeps his cool no matter how difficult she can be.”

He rested his hand on his hip inches from his badge. “Tell me why you hired Mitch.”

Insistence underscored his words, and she had the sense he’d not take her standard line of making the world a better place. She shoved out a breath and opted for the pure truth. “He reminds me of myself.”
And my brother.

“How so?”

“I know he served in Iraq and he saw some bad stuff. I know he lost friends. I also know the kind of pain that goes with losing someone you love. I thought I could give him a place to heal.”

“What makes you an expert?”

“In all honesty, I don’t know if what I’m doing is right. But sitting around and isolating himself is not doing him a bit of good. Working with the animals helped me. Spending hours in the vineyard pulling weeds and picking grapes gave me a focus. I thought it might help him.”

He glanced toward the empty corral. “My nephew is not a project to make you feel better about yourself.”

“No. No, he is a young man who needs time to heal.”

“And when he’s better, you’ll cut him loose?” Anger edged the words.

“He may cut me loose. He may wake up one morning and feel like his old self and take off. I have no idea what’s going to happen. Like I said, I don’t have a master plan.”

Bragg didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who had a family. She couldn’t imagine him living in a house with the white picket fence. “You must have been young when Mitch was born.”

“He’s my older sister’s boy. She was nineteen. I was fifteen.”

No elaboration. Mitch had said she’d died three years ago. Her death had left a hole in their lives. As much as Greer wanted to ask, she didn’t. Tec Bragg’s personal life was none of her business, even if it intrigued her. “Mitch is a good kid.”

“He is.” He settled his hands on his hips. “Keep an eye on him. And keep me posted on his progress. Let me know what he’s thinking.”

“We’ve been through this. I already addressed that.”

“Not to my satisfaction.”

She laughed. “Your way or the highway.”

“That’s right.”

She found herself waiting for a smile to soften the words and let her know he wasn’t that black and white. None came. “I can only do what I think is best for Mitch. If he confides in me, I’m not going to go running to you with the information.”

Frown lines deepened. “He’s my family.”

“He’s a man.”

“I know that.” Annoyance flashed. “He had another dream last night.”

“That explains the bruise on your chin.”

“Kid’s got a punch like a jackhammer.”

She shook her head. “The best we can do is give him the opportunity to work through and find his way out of it.”

“
We.
Good. Then we’re a team.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

The door to the tasting room opened and the sounds of conversations and laughter trickled out. “I need to go.”

He frowned but simply nodded. Unsure of what else to say to him, she returned to her party, surprised she was happy to reenter the lion’s den if it meant getting away from Ranger Bragg.

 

Bragg watched Greer disappear back into her party. He didn’t need a guest list to know the people inside were the Who’s Who of Austin society. And though Greer had been born into that world, he recognized she didn’t fit there anymore. She smiled. She moved from couple to couple chatting. She filled wineglasses. But she was the outsider. People stared at her oddly when she walked away. They talked about her.

Twelve years had passed since the accident and her suicide attempt, and yet she remained cut off from her old life. Though he sensed the society crowd could be judgmental and hard, he also realized Greer was as much a party to her isolation as anyone. She’d built a wall around herself: always polite, guarded, and distant.

Greer punished herself with her self-imposed isolation. She hadn’t rejoined the world, choosing purgatory instead.

She’d maintained a distance with him, but that didn’t really surprise him. Most folks didn’t cozy up to Rangers right away, and publicity surrounding his work on the border had changed how people viewed him. Leeriness now simmered under the respect. Some folks were flat-out afraid of him.

Mitch wasn’t afraid nor were the Rangers, but most everyone else kept their distance. Greer met his gaze directly, no hint of fear. If she’d heard about his past, she gave no sign it bothered her. She noticed the scar as well, but didn’t appear put off by it. And he was oddly glad.

Curious, he moved inside and stood in the back of the tasting room. His gaze scanned the room quickly and then settled on Greer. A stunning dark dress hugged her figure just right. Her hair glistened in the soft light. But if he had to choose, he preferred her in her jeans, T-shirt, and hair in a thick braid.

She now stood at the front of the room next to a tall slim man who wore an expensive suit, white shirt, but no tie. Blond hair swept off a face of chiseled features and smooth skin. Appreciation glistened in the man’s eyes as he stared at Greer.

Bragg shifted his stance, annoyance snapping at his heels.

Greer rang a bell and soon the hum of conversation in the room faded. She clenched and unclenched her fingers and then offered a big bright smile. To the casual eye, her smile was radiant but there were subtle cues indicating the opposite. A stiff back, raised chin, and a slight quiver in the corner of her mouth told him the smile was a lovely front.

But judging by the attentive expressions around the room, he wondered if anyone peered beyond the smile.

“Welcome to Bonneville Vineyard’s first annual fund-raiser for Austin’s Crisis Center. Our vineyard has been here for over twenty years and though we don’t make our own wine, we hope to by this time next year. Tonight, I want to introduce you to Philip Louis, who is supplying tonight’s wine from Sun Valley Vineyard in Fredericksburg.” She grinned at Louis. He smiled back at her, his gaze hungry and excited. “Bonneville supplied the grapes to Mr. Louis who, at his winery in Fredericksburg, turned them into several lovely wines.”

“Greer.” Louis’s voice was smooth, even, and deep. His smile was quick and easy. “Thank you for having Sun Valley Vineyard here tonight. It’s a great honor to introduce our wines to such a sophisticated audience.”

People in the crowd responded well to the compliment. Louis coaxed people to follow like a damned pied piper.

Bragg shifted his attention to Greer, curious about her reaction to Louis. She didn’t shy away from him nor did she lean toward him. Her smile was genuine but not flirty. She liked Louis, but he suspected she saw him as a colleague and not a potential lover. Good.

“The winemaker and the wine grower must have a close relationship,” Greer said.

“But great wine begins on the vine,” Louis added. “If not for Greer’s talent for reading the soil, air, and water, I would not have such stunning grapes to put into my winery. We will be sorry to lose Bonneville grapes next season but anticipate tasting their wine. And now that we are neighbors, we hope to grow grapes as rich and succulent.”

An older woman dressed in a sapphire-blue dress raised her hand. “Greer, the soil here looks awful. Why on earth choose such a rocky, hot place as Bonneville?”

Greer relaxed when attention turned to Bonneville. “The vines need to suffer to produce grapes of character. When the roots must burrow into the earth and fight to survive, they develop a wonderful complexity. The struggle is what makes them so flavorful.” She spoke about careful strategizing, of watching the grapes closely, of taste-testing the fruit. “Great art comes from stress and hard work.”

Greer, like her vineyard, was the product of struggle and hardship. If she’d lived a pampered life in Austin, she’d not have been as unique or interesting.

As waiters filled the patrons’ first glasses with a white wine, Greer watched as Louis talked about the first wine, a Viognier. “Tasting is not drinking. You drink with food but you taste the wine naked.” He held the glass high and talked about the color and how it should be admired. He then swirled the wine in the glass and put his nose into the flute.

Louis’s explanation about wines held no interest for Bragg. He found the whole party a foolish dog-and-pony show. You either liked what was in your glass or you didn’t.

However, his interest for Greer remained keen. He watched as she smelled her wine, closed her eyes, and tasted. Her face softened and took on a sensual, seductive quality. Bragg’s body tensed with desire and he imagined peeling the dress from her honeyed skin. Would she show him that same expression as he kissed her?

Unsettled by the veracity of his attraction to Greer, he stepped outside. For a moment he stood with his back to the tasting room, staring at the stars blinking in the black sky.