You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers 3)

“A bad attitude,” Mac said as he led the black horse out. “She’ll kick and bite if you don’t keep an eye on her.”

Kind of like me. “Did the farmer send feed like he promised?”

“In the back of the truck.” He handed the reins of the second horse to Greer.

The black horse snorted.

Greer couldn’t resist a smile. “Don’t worry, old lady, we’re gonna do just fine. I bet before summer’s end the vineyard guests will be spoiling you rotten.”

Like any vineyard, Bonneville’s survival depended on many factors beyond growing grapes. One of the reasons she’d built the tasting room was to earn income from hosting weddings, festivals, and tastings. It was about marketing. It would be a year or two before she held actual Bonneville wine tastings, but the facility itself was already booked for several events this fall. Perhaps the horse rescue would also add a hook that would draw customers.

She met Mac’s gaze as he came around toward her. “Do I owe you any money?”

“Nope, the seller paid all as agreed. But if you change your mind right now, I’d run these two back to where they came from, and you can just forget all this foolishness.”

The dapple horse nudged her shoulder and snorted. The black horse ignored her. “No, the girls are staying with me.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She rubbed the dapple on the snout. “I’ve been duly warned.”

“Well, I always did like your aunt Lydia. She was good to me, always treated me with respect. Was real sorry to hear she passed this winter. Always good and fair.” He cleared his throat as if emotion got the better of him.

Lydia had literally saved Greer’s life. As her release date from Shady Grove had approached, her parents had made it clear they couldn’t have her around as they worked through their grief for Jeff. She’d tried to reach out to Rory because he’d been such a good friend to her at the clinic. But he’d not answered her letters and then his brother had driven out to Shady Grove and told her to leave Rory alone. He’s a good kid. He doesn’t need your kind of trouble.

As she’d left the facility, she really did not know where to go and questioned again if she was meant to live. And then she’d spotted the old red truck with the rusted bumper sporting a faded tie-dyed peace sign sticker. Behind the wheel sat her aunt Lydia, her riot of gray curls framing her smiling face. She’d been waving as she climbed out of the truck.

Greer had stood and stared at the woman as she had approached. Lydia had wrapped Greer in a warm embrace, hugging her tight. Her aunt had smelled of grapes, earth, and sunshine. Greer had been stiff and fearful, but instead of letting go, Lydia had squeezed harder until Greer had wept and melted into her arms. Her aunt had offered her a home, a job, and a sanctuary she’d accepted gratefully.

“Lydia was real special,” Greer said softly.

“Well, you let me know if there’s something I can do for you and those nags. Name it and I’m your man.”

“Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it. Oh, what are their names?” As she reached out to shake his hand she caught a glimpse of Bragg in her side vision. For an instant, the horses had made her forget him. An achievement, she thought. He wasn’t someone easily forgotten.

Mac took her hand and clasped it firmly before he released it. “The horses? I don’t rightly know. I should have asked.”

“I’ll give the former owner a call.”

“Just give ’em a new name. It don’t matter so much.”

“Names do matter. But perhaps new names are a good idea. Signals their fresh start.” She had dropped her first name after leaving Shady Grove, opting to become Greer. In many ways, Elizabeth had died on that stretch of road with Jeff and Sydney.

Mac glanced at Bragg, touched the brim of his hat, and moved to the truck’s tailgate. “Where should I unload the feed?”

“See that storage shed over there?” She pointed to a small wood building that held all the extra tables, chairs, and props she would use for receptions. “Leave it by the door, and I’ll put it inside.”

“Okay.”

As she stood next to the horses and watched the farrier drive off toward the shed, the crunch of the Ranger’s boots against gravel had her back straightening and her breath slowing. She wanted to absorb more positive energy from the horses to ward off Bragg but suspected there wasn’t enough energy in the universe to fend him off.

“You going into the horse trading business?” He came up beside the black horse and petted her on the side of her neck. She jerked and nipped at him.

Greer already liked the horse. “No. Just offering a home to a couple of old horses.”

Bragg, not put off by the black mare, scratched her behind the ear. The horse shook her head as if to say, no. “You take in stray horses?”

When the black mare jerked her snout away from his hand, she swallowed a smile. “Not before today.”

Bragg eyed the mare but dropped his hand as if conceding this round. “You know how to handle a horse?”

“Not a lot. Some.” The dapple nudged her again and she wondered if the mare was trying to send her a message. Maybe she was hungry?

As if reading her mind, the Ranger rubbed the dapple horse’s neck. “Don’t feed them right away. Water’s okay, but feed right now will unsettle their stomachs.”

The old mare leaned into his strong fingers, clearly reveling in the attention. The black mare, not to be ignored, snorted. However, Bragg ignored the horse, letting her know right away he’d not tolerate any bad behavior. The Ranger expected to be met on his own terms or not at all.

Not at all suited her just fine.

He took the reins of the horses and led them to the corral. When they were both settled inside the gate, he met her gaze. “Ready for that tour.”

“Sure. Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”

“A general tour will do for now.”

For now. As if he’d return. Great.

She nodded toward a house made of rough brick and stone. “That is the original ranch house. It belonged to my aunt and now is my home.”

He studied the wide front porch, the twin rockers, and the half wine barrels filled with dirt and wildflowers. “How old is the house?”

“At least a hundred years old. The family originally settling the land raised cattle. Lydia bought the house and land from the original settler’s great-grandson twenty years ago.”

He listened with a keen interest, not missing a word.

Unsettled, she nodded toward the dirt path leading to the tasting room. Without asking she started toward it. “The new building here will be the tasting room when we have wine, but for now we’ll be renting it out for parties. Steady income is always welcome. That clear plot of land behind it will be the new winery. It should be finished by spring.”

“Looks like Italy.”

“My aunt spent a good bit of her early twenties in Italy. When she returned to Texas and saw this land it reminded her of Italy.” She pushed through the front door of the tasting room and strolled toward the large bar made of gray granite, so polished light reflected back. Behind the counter stood ceiling-high shelves waiting to be stocked with wines. The floor was clay tile and the walls a stucco. Brick-lined arches hung above the tasting counter, windows, and doorways. Throughout the large room were round tables made from wine casks. “We own a total of five hundred acres and right now have vines planted on most of it.”

Her mind flashed to the new one thousand acres she’d once hoped to clear and cultivate. Rory had been found on that land.

He walked to the French doors opening out onto a brick patio that offered a stunning view of the rolling green landscape and the vineyards. “Impressive operation.”

Judgment and a hint of approval rolled off the statement. But she wasn’t swayed, too accustomed to being judged and found lacking. “Do you know much about wines?”

“Not a bit.”

She

appreciated the honesty. Too many folks tried to pretend they understood wines, and it always led to confusion. “We grow grapes for Zinfandel, Chablis, and Viognier wines. They thrive best in the Hill Country heat. My aunt preferred the taste and so do I. I’ll likely produce a thousand cases of wine next year and then it will depend.”

He faced her. “You have much competition?”

“So much I try not to think about it.”

He studied her as if trying to peel back the layers. “Opening this tasting room and the winery is going to put you out front. I also saw you’re hosting a fund-raiser.”

“Time to rejoin the world, I suppose.” She’d learned a steady tone made most statements sound true.

“Why jump back into the fray now? You’ve been tucked away here for a dozen years.”

A sigh trickled from her lungs. “My aunt asked me to.”

“So you’re just going to put yourself out there?”

How could she explain to him what she didn’t fully understand herself? “I owe her.”

“You’ll get a lot of questions about your accident.”

Every muscle in her body constricted. “I’m expecting some questions, but people have enough in their lives to worry about. I will quickly become yesterday’s news.”

“But you said you’ve been in hiding for going on a dozen years.”

“Hiding isn’t the right word.”

“How would you describe it?”

“Self-preservation.”