Rancher's Law

Chapter Four

Amelia noticed that Cal was unusually quiet while they ate. He wasn’t a boisterous man by nature, but he seemed reserved.

“How did you do grade-wise this semester?” he asked her suddenly.

She grinned. “Straight As.”

He shook his head. “I should have known. You’re bright.”

She laughed. “Not so much. I study hard, though.”

“Chemistry, of all things,” he remarked as he started on the apple pie, with a steaming cup of black coffee at his side. “I’ve never known a woman who studied chemistry.”

“I love it,” she said. “It’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever studied.”

“You haven’t blown up the lab yet?” he teased.

“They won’t let us near the really dangerous stuff,” she muttered.

“I hope they have good insurance,” her grandfather mentioned dryly.

“I’m a very good student,” she protested. “Even my professor says so. I will not blow up the lab.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled.

“Now, Fred Briggs, he did blow up the lab,” she added. “All because Maria Simms walked by him in a low-cut dress and smiled at him. He mixed in the wrong chemical and the table blew up.”

“My goodness,” her grandfather said. “Was anybody hurt?”

“Fred got a little singed. But when Maria realized that he liked her that much, she started dating him. So I guess he blew up the lab for a good cause.”

Cal chuckled. “Dangerous way to make an impression.”

“Yes, and he almost made an impression right through the wall!” Amelia said with glee.

Cal shook his head. “And I thought I was in a dangerous profession,” he said, chuckling.

“You really are, though,” Amelia said, growing solemn. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

He gave her a quiet appraisal. “Yes, from time to time. But then I think about what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it, and it doesn’t bother me as much.” He smiled. “We’re protecting a group of people who are under the rule of a madman, who kills women and children of anyone who questions his authority.”

“Oh, good grief!” she exclaimed, shocked. “Why doesn’t the government do something to stop him?”

“Because he is the government,” he replied. “He chased out the legitimately elected president and took his place. We contract with the legitimate president, who wants his country back.”

She gave him a long look. “That’s a noble cause,” she said finally.

That comment, from her, touched something deep inside him. He felt a rush of affection that he quickly stifled. She wasn’t fair game. She wouldn’t be, for years, and he was a bad risk. He’d grown fond of her and her grandfather. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that friendship.

“Thanks,” he said softly, and his eyes were quiet. “That means a lot.”

“I feel the same way,” Harris seconded. “It truly is a noble cause. But you can be killed even for doing something noble, if you’re caught on the ground doing it in another country. I’m sure you realize that any authority would immediately disavow knowledge of your actions.” He leaned forward. “And don’t ever harbor a thought that our government doesn’t know what you’re up to. They may decide to turn a blind eye to it, if they agree with the purpose. Or they may not. In which case, you and your colleagues will be courting disaster.”

Cal laughed. “We have backing from the people who count,” he replied. “Eb has contacts high up in government.”

“I hope they’re people who wouldn’t run to the exits if your exploits get exposed.”

“Unlikely,” Cal told him. “At least two of them would go down with us if we called a press conference to tell what we’d done, and why.”

“A lot of people call press conferences, and nobody shows up except people with channels on the internet,” Amelia interjected. “The legacy media is owned, and I mean owned, by corporations. They decide what you’ll see and hear, and nobody stands up to them.”

“All too true,” Harris said sadly. “In my youth, journalism was held to a higher standard, and it wasn’t controlled by any corporations. Not to mention that journalism in my parents’ day was almost a sacred trust. In fact, my grandmother said that in her younger days, Walter Cronkite was known as the most trusted man in America. He was a newsman. She said he cried on live television when he announced the Kennedy assassination on the news.” He paused. “She said everybody cried, regardless of their political parties, and that the whole nation was in utter shock.”

“I guess so,” Amelia said. “I remember Granny talking about it, too, things her father told her. There were conspiracy theories at the time, but a lot of new information is coming out all the time.”

“I hope and pray that we’ll never see another presidential assassination,” Harris said solemnly.

“Well, not in this country,” Cal remarked. “But in some countries, it’s the only way to get rid of a vicious leader.”

“Don’t you get killed,” Amelia said firmly, and she glared at him. “I mean it.”

He laughed in spite of himself. She looked so fierce. “I promise you that I’ll do my best to stay alive,” he replied with a warm smile.

Her insides lit up at that smile, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t want him to know how crazy about him she really was.

The conversation changed to local politics and charity dances.

“There’s a dance for the animal shelter Friday night,” Amelia told Cal at the beginning of the next week. “Granddad and I are going. I love animals.”

“And yet you don’t have any,” he replied.

She smiled sadly. “Granddaddy’s allergic to fur, which rules out cats and dogs, and I’m afraid of snakes. That just leaves frogs or lizards or fish, and they’re all a lot of trouble. So I just pet other people’s fuzzy companions.”

“You should have a dog,” he said. “Even a small one is good to warn you if there’s an intruder. Come to think of it, geese are even better.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned at her. “One of our guys lives on an island, and he has a flock of them. He swears that they’re better even than dogs, because they start up at the first sound of footsteps. They’re also dangerous. A goose is fairly large, and they can be very aggressive.”

“I like geese.”

He sighed. “Most men don’t.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because if a goose comes after a man, it’s with only one target in mind, if you get my drift.”

She did and flushed.

He chuckled. “That’s exactly why I don’t have a goose.”

“Good thinking.”

He cocked his head. “If I’m here and I go to the animal rescue charity dance, are you going to dance with me?”

She had delicious chills up her spine. “I might,” she said, hiding her delight in teasing.

“Can you dance?” he probed.

She shifted. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well, I know how to do a box step. It’s just that my feet don’t connect with my brain. So most people don’t really want to dance with me,” she confided.

“We’ll work on that,” he said, hating his own attraction. It was getting quickly out of hand. Fortunately, he had a mission the week after the dance. It would give him a breather, while he tried to get Amelia out of his mind. She was becoming essential to his happiness.

Amelia smiled. “Okay!” she said.

Meanwhile, Cal went up to San Antonio to talk to a man he knew at the police department. He’d been trying to persuade Cal to come back to the force and give up on merc work.

“You loved the job when you were a patrolman here,” Jess reminded him. “You’d love it if you came back. We save the world, too, you know, just in a more legal sort of way and you’re less likely to die in an explosion. Mostly.”

Cal chuckled. “You’re pretty persuasive.”

“You’re my pal,” he replied easily. “Trust me, this is a really great opportunity. There’s always plenty of room for advancement. The pay’s still not bad. Not as good as you’re making now, but the work is a little less traumatic.”

And he’d know, Cal thought, because Jess himself had been spec ops in the military at one time.

“Do you ever miss the life?” he asked the other man.

Jess paused for a minute, thinking, and then one side of his mouth drew down. “Honestly, yes. But I’m married and I have two kids. What would happen to them if I got myself blown up in some country they couldn’t even find on a map?”

“Good point. But I don’t have that problem.”

“I know. I was like you, once. But there’s always the woman who’ll make you settle down, even if you don’t want to,” he replied with a grin. “You’ll see.”

“It’s unlikely. I don’t want to get married. Ever.”

The look on Cal’s face when he said it made Jess change the subject.

“Well, anyway, think about what I told you,” he said.

Cal smiled. “I will.”

He went by Edie’s apartment while he was in town. She opened the door, and he was surprised at the way she looked.

She was usually immaculately dressed, even at home, makeup on, hair combed. This woman was disheveled and looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked worriedly.

“Just a few drinks too many,” she replied with a hollow smile. “Come see me another time, okay?”

“Will you be all right?”

She waved a hand at him. “I’m okay, just hungover. I’ll call you.”

“All right. If you need me, I’ll come,” he said, genuinely concerned. He didn’t have friends, but Edie was one. Sort of.

“Thanks,” she replied softly. “Thanks a lot. See you.”

She closed the door quickly.

He wondered how alcohol could leave a person looking like that. He knew she had no issues with street drugs, but maybe she was only saying that. She wasn’t the sort of person to get hooked on drugs. Although alcohol was bad enough.

He knew about alcohol. He was the child of abusive alcoholics, both parents. His childhood had been a nightmare of yelling and pushing and sometimes beatings, if they were drunk enough. Of course, he could have called family services and he would have been taken out of that environment. But he knew foster care could be hit-or-miss, because three of his classmates were being fostered. None of them raved about it, and he was warned that as bad as things were at home, they could be worse. A lot worse.

So as he grew, Cal learned how to get around his parents. He became canny and insightful. He read books on alcoholism and learned about the reasons people drank. He also read about programs for detox. He actually tried to get at least his mother into one of the programs, but she backed out. And there was no hope with his father, who was mixed up with the local criminal crowd in Houston, just as he’d been in Cleveland, Ohio, before his father had moved the small family to Texas. Half the stuff in their home wouldn’t pass a stolen item check by the police.

He thought that one day he’d be a policeman and clean up the neighborhood where he lived. But those thoughts were few and far between as he hovered between homework and horror. Eventually he graduated, and the first place he went was to the police department, to sign up. But not in Houston. A tragedy there, the death of both parents, had left him reeling. Even alcoholic parents were better than none, he thought sadly. It was a bleak time in his life. He needed a change. The army looked like a good fit at the time. Free college and all sorts of benefits. And his grandfather, the man he’d respected most of all in his young life, had been an army man. So he signed up.

When he got out of the service, after seeing some action overseas, he resettled in San Antonio and joined the police force there.

He went through the preliminary training, scored highest in his class on the firing range—because he spent half his time practicing—and then was placed on patrol duty.

It was the best two years of his life. He loved the work. But then he heard about Eb Scott and his group. They were advertising covertly for people to join, and Cal loved the idea of adventure. He was still young enough to long for foreign places and excitement, although he never drank or gambled. So he went to see Eb Scott. And he signed on. He felt bad leaving the department, but one superior officer was sympathetic, and told him there would always be a place for him. It was like a safety net. It gave him the confidence to go ahead with what he most wanted to do, at that stage of his life.

The move to a rental house in Jacobsville felt almost premeditated, because that was where Eb Scott had his base. Cal had worked out of San Antonio for several years, but when he signed on with Eb, living in Jacobsville made the commute a little easier.

Eb’s group was into a hot situation right now in Africa, with the corrupt leader of a small nation there. The former president, a good man and a caring one, had been ousted by a lunatic with a ragtag army. The lunatic was destroying the communities under his control. The former president, backed secretly by several other nations, had contracted with Eb to oust the idiot in control. Eb had agreed at once.

They were getting organized right now to go in again, and this time they had the manpower to accomplish regime change.

But in the meanwhile, there was the dance at the community center, which Cal was looking forward to.

He hadn’t told Edie about it when she called and asked if he wouldn’t like to come up Saturday night and go out to dinner. He made an excuse and told her he’d see her the next day. She whined, but finally agreed that it would be fine. She’d probably be hungover, she added, but that was her problem.

He hung up, feeling guilty, as she meant him to. He knew alcoholics all too well. He hoped that he might be able to help Edie somehow get out of alcohol’s grasp. He was optimistic that he could do it.

He almost didn’t recognize Amelia when he moved through the throng of local citizens at the dance. He was wearing a gray suit, which highlighted his pale, thick blond hair and his nice tan. He was a striking man. Women eyed him as he moved around, looking for Amelia and her grandfather.

He’d passed over her twice while thinking privately what a glorious head of blond hair that woman had, shining and clean and hanging almost to her waist in back. He had a real weakness for blond hair.

And then, on the third pass, the woman turned around, and it was Amelia.

He stopped, laughing. “I didn’t know you,” he chuckled, moving closer. “You always wear your hair up in a bun.” He admired it. “I didn’t know it was so long.”

She laughed, too. “It’s a nuisance to wash, but I love long hair,” she confessed.

“So do I,” he said softly, and he reached out to touch its thick silkiness. “It’s glorious.”

“Thank you,” she said shyly.

“Where’s your grandfather?” he asked.

She shook her head, and nodded toward the back of the room where her grandfather and one of his friends were sitting on either side of a chess set.

“Chess, chess, chess,” she moaned. “He never dances. He gets in the back with whichever chess fanatic friend of his who shows up, and they play chess until the last dance.”

He laughed. “Well, whatever floats your boat,” he mused.

“Exactly!”

“So why are you sitting here all alone?” he asked, indicating all the other people.

“Oh, I’m always on my own at these things,” she said simply. “I don’t mix well.” She looked up at him. It was a long way, because she was wearing low-heeled shoes. “Most people aren’t interested in how to blow up stuff,” she whispered.

“I’m very interested,” he replied, and slid his hand down to catch hers. “You can tell me all about it while we’re dancing.”

“I’ll trip over my own feet and kill somebody,” she objected as he led her to the dance floor. Her whole body tingled at the feel of that big, warm hand closed around her own.

“I’ll save you,” he promised, and drew her close.

It was the first time she’d ever been so close to a man, and it was shocking how much she liked it. She could feel the fabric of his suit jacket under her fingers and, deeper, his breathing. She could smell the spicy cologne he used and some sort of masculine soap, as well. He was always immaculate, even in regular clothing.

But it was the effect it had on her that caught her attention. She felt tight all over, as if every muscle in her body was tensing. She couldn’t quite breathe normally.

And her heartbeat was doing a hula. It was very disconcerting, especially to a woman who spent most of her time with men in a lab at college, where she was just one of the guys. Now she felt like a woman felt with a man—at least, like the women in the historical novels she liked to read.

Cal was feeling something similar and fighting it. Why hadn’t he realized that this was a very bad idea, and found a way to keep out of it? He hadn’t thought past sitting with Amelia and Jacob Harris and having one of their usual conversations. He certainly hadn’t thought about dancing.

It was sheer heaven, dancing with Amelia. Feeling her close in his arms, one hand at her waist, the other tangling gently in that glorious fall of thick, soft hair that smelled of roses.

“Your hair is incredible,” he said in a hushed tone.

She smiled. It was nice, that he liked something about her. “Thanks. I wish it was the color of yours,” she added.

“Why?”

“Because your hair shines like gold in the light,” she replied. “Mine is dull.”

“Not so. It’s beautiful. I’m glad you wore it down, this once.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t going to, and then Granddad asked why I was hiding my light under a bushel. So I let it down.”

“Good for him. I hope he wins his match,” he added.

“You’re kidding, right? He’s playing with old man Ridgeway. He takes half an hour to make a single move. They’ll be here till midnight, and when the cleaners get ready to lock up, Mr. Ridgeway will complain about being rushed out of a winning move.”

He burst out laughing. “I never knew this town had so many interesting people,” he said.

“Eccentrics,” she corrected. “We’re infested with them,” she laughed. “But they’re all nice people and we protect them from outsiders. Like Fred, who can find water with a forked stick, and Miss Betty, who can talk out fire and talk off warts, and old Bill, who can predict the weather without TV or radio.”

“The things I missed growing up in the city,” he said, shaking his head.

“San Antonio?”

His face tautened. “Cleveland, Ohio.” He glanced down at her. “Now don’t you say one word about my being from up north,” he cautioned firmly. “Just because I’m not a native in Jacobsville doesn’t mean I’m not a true Texan. I’ve lived here since I was six. That’s more than enough time to be considered a native.”

She burst out laughing. “That’s the best defense I’ve heard yet.”

“Ha! A likely story. You think we talk funny.”

She was chuckling. “I think you talk just fine. And I hold no grudges. Honest.”

“Fair enough, but it’s our secret, got that?” he asked, looking around with mock unease. “And don’t you tell a soul where I’m really from!”

“I won’t tell,” she promised under her breath. “I swear! I’ll take your secret to my grave!”

He laughed, too, and suddenly pulled her close in an obvious hug, making her head spin with joy. “You light up all the dark places in me,” he whispered. “I never laughed so much in my life as I do with you.”

“I don’t have dark places, but you light up my life, too. And Granddaddy’s,” she added quickly, so that she didn’t sound too forward.

He perceived that. He was glad that she understood he wasn’t hitting on her. He wanted to, of course. She made his heart skip. But she was far too young for a man of his experience. He liked sophistication. Besides that, she was innocent, and he still had some sense of honor, left over from his own grandfather. He barely remembered the old man, who was devastated when his only son decided to move to Texas. He’d been the babysitter for Cal all his life, and he said that it was like losing two sons instead of one. He said that a man had to be responsible for his actions and willing to accept the consequences of them. If it sounded like a soldier talking, it was because the old man had retired with the rank of lieutenant colonel in the army. He’d been in combat overseas, and he was military to his bones. He’d been Cal’s hero. It had broken his young heart to leave the old man, who’d died not a year later. Cal’s father hadn’t even taken the family to the burial. He said he didn’t want to lose his job with the city’s sanitation department. But he really just plain didn’t care. He had his father cremated and a friend buried the ashes beside his mother’s grave, in the same church cemetery.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” Amelia said softly.

He looked down at her. “I was remembering my grandfather,” he said simply. “He was a good man. We moved to Houston when I was six and left him behind. He died the very next year. He was in the army. A combat veteran.” He smiled sadly. “He was my hero, when I was little.”

That was odd. Shouldn’t his dad have been his hero? But she never pried. She accepted what he decided to tell her and didn’t ask for more. He thought it was because she didn’t really care. But it was because she cared a lot and didn’t want him to know it.

“When do you leave on your next assignment?” she asked.

“Monday, before daylight.”

She looked up at him, dreamy with delight, smiling. “You come back, now. You hear?”

He chuckled because she’d drawled it like characters on a TV show. “I’ll come back,” he said, and hoped he could. He had a feeling about this trip, a bad one. He wasn’t psychic or anything like that, but he had feelings, premonitions, intuitive insights. They’d already saved his life at least twice. He didn’t talk about them.

“You dance beautifully,” she remarked.

“And you haven’t tripped once,” he pointed out with a grin.

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to tell you that I won a dance contest my last year of high school,” she said, peering up at him with twinkling dark eyes. “I did the tango with one of my friends. He’s from South America. He married my best friend.” She grinned from ear to ear.

“You little devil,” he said, and jerked her close to leave a playful bite on her earlobe. “That wasn’t fair!”

She giggled with pure joy. “Yes, it was. It was so cute, listening to you persuade me to dance.”

“I get even,” he threatened.

“Oooh,” she teased. “I can’t wait!”

He laughed, shook his head and pulled her close for a minute. “I go to this place in San Antonio on Friday nights—Fernando’s. They’re famous for flamenco and the tango. We’ll show the audience how the tango is done.”

“Is that a promise?”

He drew back enough to see her face. She could feel his black eyes probing hers, feel his breath on her lips. “It’s a promise,” he said in a deep, husky tone, and he didn’t smile.

It was a moment out of time, one of those moments when things are so sweet, so poignant, that it seems they can last forever. Of course, they don’t. Ever.

He averted his gaze to someone he knew and waved, and then the music and the magic ended.

But she’d had her perfect evening. She held it to her like a security blanket, and every night, she relived it before she slept. And she worried. Because Cal was now overseas, not dancing, but fighting for his life most likely. She kept him in her prayers and lived for the day when he came home.

Cal, meanwhile, was on a flight to an airport in the middle of an African nation, Ngawa, that was being destroyed by two sides of a war for control. Along with his friends from Eb Scott’s group, there were some older and more knowledgeable mercs on hand to help with strategy and tactics.

He’d heard of the three who turned up from nowhere. Laremos and a man called Archer, and one called Dutch. The three were legendary. The younger men stood in awe of them, despite their own well-honed skills.

Three of the older men found that adulation amusing.

Cy Parks was a marvel with Bowie knives. It was an education to watch him throw them. He never missed. He had black hair and green eyes and a mean attitude. He was the sort of man who could walk down a back alley with twenty-dollar bills hanging out of his pockets and he’d never be approached by a criminal.

Rodrigo Ramirez was a maverick. He worked for the federal government in drug interdiction from time to time, when he wasn’t off with Eb Scott’s group on missions. He spoke several languages, which made him invaluable in undercover work. He was also the wealthiest employee Eb had. He had the equivalent of the annual budget of a small nation in a bank somewhere in Denmark, where his father, a minor royal, had lived before his death. His mother was a titled Spanish noblewoman, and both parents had been wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. There was a sister, as well. Ramirez spoke of her rarely, but with affection. They were the only two survivors of their family.

The third member of the small, tight group was Micah Steele. He’d trained to be a doctor, even had his medical license, but he’d taken exception to some of the rules he was expected to obey. And he’d jettisoned a potential career for merc work, which paid much better. He was blond and handsome, a ladies’ man for real, and a deadly man with an automatic weapon. He had a father and a stepsister, but no other relatives. Rumor was that he hated the stepsister and made her life miserable.

Cal was fascinated by the men around him. He hadn’t really lived long enough or worked in the field long enough to gain a reputation that anyone would take notice of. But he was going to change that. He was going to be as well known in merc circles as these men were one day.

He was intelligent enough to know how to listen and pay attention to details, which stood him in good stead with Cy Parks, who was the de facto leader of the bunch.

As they planned the incursion, and worked out the details, a demolition man, who was another legend, came on board. Cord Romero was the son and grandson of famous bullfighters in Spain. He’d been orphaned at a young age, but adopted by a kindhearted Texas woman, who raised him and a little girl who was his foster sister by adoption. After a brief career in the FBI and, rumor said, a wife who died by suicide, he’d gone into merc work more or less full-time.

Watching him work, Cal was forcibly reminded of Amelia and her capability with deadly chemicals. He mentioned it to Cord, as he put together small IEDs for use in the incursion.

“Does she want to do merc work?” Cord asked with twinkling dark eyes.

Cal sighed. “I hope not.”

He was shocked at what he’d let slip. It was none of his business what Amelia did, but the thought of her in a camp like this, overseas, in constant danger, made his blood run cold. And that hit him in the gut like a fist.