“And now you’re stepping up on center stage.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d been so candid about her past. Walls slid back into place. “Nothing so dramatic. I’m working at my vineyard and building my winery. That’s all. And I’m hoping the past stays buried.”

“Rory’s death might stir up the past.”

His words zinged like arrows. “I hope you’re wrong.” She flexed her fingers.

He checked his watch. “Your horses are gonna need watering. And I need to get back to Austin.”

Waves of relief washed through her, but she couldn’t resist poking the bear. “I thought you wanted a tour of the fields and the vehicles.”

“I’ll get to it another day.”

Had earlier demands for an extensive tour and vehicle inspection been a threat? Doubtful. He’d be back when it suited him.

Greer should have bid him a good day and left it, but again directness wouldn’t allow questions to remain unvoiced. “Why would the Rangers care about Rory’s death? It should be a matter for the local sheriff.”

“His brother has friends in high places, let’s just say.”

She’d not seen David Edwards in a dozen years but lingering memories were of a young man driven hard to succeed like their father. The one time they’d stood face to face, his gaze had been sharp and cold. “David can be a force.”

“You remember him?”

“Very clearly.”

“You don’t resent David?”

“I did then. But not now.” She managed a smile. “Time heals all wounds, right?”

His gaze remained on her a beat longer. “If I have more questions, Ms. Templeton, I can give you a call.”

A statement not a question. “Sure.”

“And you are still going to hire Mitch?”

For the first time she sensed disquiet in Bragg, perhaps even a flicker of vulnerability. His job was at odds with his family. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He studied her carefully. “As you might have guessed, with Mitch here I’ll be stopping by a lot until I know he’s doing better.”

“That just makes my day, Ranger Bragg.”

Her sarcasm gave him pause. “As long as we understand each other.”

“Loud and clear.”

He moved to the door, opened it, and held it for her while she passed. Gravel crunched under his boots as he followed her into the courtyard where the heat already beat on the earth.

Despite his stony expression, he cared about the boy and perhaps had come face to face with a problem that confounded him.

“This is a good place for Mitch,” Greer said. “It brought me back to life, and it might do the same for him.”

Questions clearly stirred behind his dark eyes, but he kept them to himself. “If there is a problem with Mitch, I want to know about it.”

She shook her head. “Short of it being a nine-one-one emergency kind of a problem, if you have something to say to him then say it. I’m not getting between you two.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “You already are.”

“No, I offered him a job. That’s between him and me. You showed up on my land and insinuated yourself into the mix.”

“Just doing my job.”

“As a Ranger or an uncle?”

“Both.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned to leave.

She didn’t wish him well or ask him to come again like she would have most. Instead she stood silent, afraid to turn her back, as he climbed into the front seat of his SUV. As the engine turned and roared, she remained in the same spot for a long time, watching the truck move along the dirt drive, chased by a cloud of dry Texas dust. Only when his vehicle vanished around the last bend did she let her shoulders slump a fraction.

“What did you get yourself into, Rory?” she said.

An hour later the sound of another approaching vehicle had her lifting her gaze from a collection of chairs she was assembling for the reception room. Another truck, but not Bragg’s truck. Instead, it was a dark pickup, with a back rusted wheel well, gun rack hanging inside the cab, and a Semper Fi sticker on the back bumper. She recognized the driver. Mitch Bragg.

She’d thought yesterday she’d seen the last of him. He’d shown next to no interest in her offer and in truth she’d wished he’d decline. That would eliminate a good bit of emotional turmoil and Ranger Bragg.

But she’d promised to extend the invitation and she kept her word. By her way of thinking, when Mitch was back up on his feet, she was off the hook.

Consider yourself paid in full, Aunt Lydia.

She waited and watched as the kid parked his car and reached for the hat on the passenger seat. He nestled it on his head as if he worried more about delaying their meeting than the sun. Finally, he eased out as if his body were stiff and when he walked toward her, his posture was erect despite a limp. Once a marine, always a marine.

Her heart clenched as she watched him. He so reminded her of Jeff. The broad shoulders. The swagger. The hint of uncertainty lingering behind the direct gaze.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you’d show,” she said. She wouldn’t mention Bragg’s visit. She’d meant what she’d said about staying out of the middle.

His gaze roamed the land as if assessing the terrain and possible threats. “Almost didn’t.”

“Why’d you come, then?”

“Can’t rightly say. Maybe because I don’t really belong anywhere else and here is as good a place as any.”

Now he reminded her not of Jeff but of herself when she’d first ventured on this land. Lost. Desperate. Afraid. “Fair enough. Ready to get to work?”

He dug his hands into his jeans pocket. “What kind of work do you have in mind?”

The same work her aunt had given her all those years ago. “I’ve a couple of old horses. They need tending. They’ll need to be fed and their corral extended. After that, the vineyards always need work. It takes four of us to run the place. It’s me, my manager, José, and his two sons. The sons return to college mid-August and come fall I’ll be shorthanded. If you work out, you can have a full-time job in the field.”

He didn’t balk at the job description as his gaze trailed hers to the horses. “Hope you didn’t pay a lot for them. They’ve one foot in the grave.”

“Had it in my head to rescue these old gals. They’re not good for much, but they’ve worked hard all their lives. They should enjoy the years they have left.”

She walked toward the corral hoping he’d follow. He did. When they reached the smooth fence the dark horse glared at them but made no move to approach. “They’re just the start. Like I said, we have harvest in a few weeks and come fall I can use the help.” She’d purposely left the fall open-ended. One moment, one hour, one day at a time.

He held out his hand to the horses. The black one snorted and turned her head away while the brown one ambled forward to nudge his fingers with her snout. He scratched the brown one under the chin, not smiling but not frowning so hard either. “Do they have names?”

“They didn’t come with names but they need ’em.”

Silent, he waited for her to handle the official naming.

Before she thought too hard, she said, “Beauty is the black one and Buttercup is the brown one.”

The black horse snorted and not to be ignored moved toward them. “Beauty has an attitude.”

“She’s had a rough go of it, I suspect. I imagine she’s loved and lost one too many people. Losing leaves a scar.”

Mitch didn’t respond, but his hand stilled for a moment on Buttercup’s snout. “You have feed for them?”

“Over by the utility shed.” She’d not thought about what she’d have done with the old horses if Mitch hadn’t shown. Last thing she needed was the added work let alone the expense of a couple of horses. But when she’d committed to take them she’d known one way or the other she’d have made it work.

“So what are they supposed to do?” he said.

“Not much they can do. When folks come out to tour, they can enjoy the picnic area and visit the horses. Maybe we’ll have carrots or feed for them to give the animals. Most folks like animals.”