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“I mean Iwantto spend time with you,” I say. “I’d prefer if it was sitting on the porch, drinking sweet tea, or spending the day in bed with no clothes on, but I’ll take what I can get.”
This gets a smile out of her.
“Well, we need to get going soon,” she says. “I need to stop at my apartment and change before we go.”
I rise and set my coffee cup in the sink, resigning myself to a fate of uncomfortable small talk with people I hardly know. Out the window, I see a familiar Ford F-150 coming up the drive.
“What the heck?” I mutter.
Fellow Texas Ranger Carlos Castillo steps out of the truck. Carlos and I worked together on a couple of big cases about a year ago and he has become my closest friend in the Ranger organization. He’s since been promoted to lieutenant and has been working in Company C, headquartered in Lubbock. He’s got a droll sense of humor, and I usually get caught by his jokes hook, line, and sinker.
I open the door, and his expression tells me that what brings him here today is no laughing matter.
“Sorry to interrupt your Sunday,” he says, “but I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
I look at Megan and she lets out a soft, exasperated breath.
“Looks like you’re off the hook for brunch,” she says with good humor.
“Sorry,” I say.
But secretly I’m relieved.
CHAPTER 3
CARLOS AND I stand on the porch and wave goodbye to Megan as she drives off. Her Dodge Dakota curves around my parents’ ranch house, only about two hundred yards from my little two-bedroom place, and then hits the paved road and disappears among the fields of wheat and sorghum.
“How are things going with you and Dr. Casewick?” Carlos asks, giving me a sideways look.
“Great,” I say. “She’s amazing.”
“But?” Carlos asks, sensing that there’s more.
I take a deep breath, not knowing how I should answer. Another car, a little blue subcompact thing, is making its way up my parents’ driveway. I don’t recognize it, but that’s no surprise. My parents have lots of friends.
“You didn’t come here to talk about my love life,” I tell Carlos, turning toward my door. “Want some coffee?”
“Does the pope shit in the woods?” he says, showing a little of his usual humor.
I throw on a T-shirt and get us each a fresh cup. Lubbock’s a good five hours from Redbud, so if Carlos is here this early, that means he either woke up in the wee hours of the morning or never went to bed at all. I don’t ask which. I just hand him the coffee and settle down in a chair next to him on the porch.
Whoever came to visit my parents must be inside now. The subcompact is parked by the front porch.
The day is already getting warm. Butterflies flitter in the tall grass in front of my house. There’s just a hint of a breeze and it brings with it an earthy aroma I’ve always associated with the smell of my parents’ ranch.
The smell of home.
“How are things going in Lubbock?” I ask.
“The city’s not bad,” Carlos says.
“But?”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t have driven through the night to come see you in secret if things were going well.”
“So we’re not having this conversation?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. “I’m not sitting here drinking your coffee.”
