Chapter Three
T ucker blinked at the sudden exclamation of his name.
He’d just gotten past the realization that this uniformed cop with the likely lethal dog at her side was actually rather pretty.
Well, beyond pretty. He wondered just how long that hair the color of the sand in Malibu would be if she let it out of that knot at the back of her head.
An alarm went off in his head, and he had to slam the door on the old, haunting memories about another cop.
“Um…yes?” he said, feeling oddly hesitant because he didn’t know why she would have known who he was.
Not many people paid attention to the people in his job.
It was all about the front man, the star.
Most people never even thought about whether or not the star actually did the stunt, which was the whole point of doing his job well.
“I first saw you in Houston at the Livestock Show and Rodeo. Amazing ride.”
He drew back slightly, surprised. His days of being on top of the rodeo news were almost a decade behind him, and she looked a bit young to even remember.
Or maybe he was just feeling achy and old today.
Some days were like that, when getting moving was a bigger effort because his body insisted on reminding him of the abuse it had taken, and that all his parts weren’t exactly OEM.
People sometimes teased him that his titanium ribs kind of made him a superhero, but they weren’t the ones who had these days now and then.
Fortunately not often, but today had been one of them.
But at least she hadn’t mentioned The Ride. That’s how he thought of it, with the T and the R capitalized. The ride that would have won him his fifth championship. The ride that had instead ended his rodeo career.
The ride that had almost ended his life.
He shook off the memories. He was better at that now. “I’m surprised you remember,” he said with a half-shrug.
“I try to remember that rather than the next year,” she said quietly.
And there it was. He felt a little chill. “You…were there?”
She nodded. She didn’t speak, and he wondered if it was because she couldn’t, or didn’t want to. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t want to talk about it. In which case she’d be right.
“I’m sorry you saw…that.” It was all he could think of to say.
“You’re sorry? You lived through it.” Something else flashed in her eyes, eyes that were the same shade as her hair, a light golden brown. “Thank goodness,” she added, sounding as if she were truly thankful he had survived.
“Sometimes,” he muttered, then gave a sharp shake of his head.
He didn’t usually admit that sometimes he wasn’t so sure he was glad he’d survived. He and Jackson didn’t even talk about it, since the day years ago that he’d made it clear he never wanted to hear another word about it.
He wondered why he had admitted it now.
Maybe it was whatever had shown in her eyes for a moment. Maybe it had weakened his resolve, which usually held in the face of questions from other riders, the stunt crew, even former fans.
It happened. I’ve moved on.
That was his usual answer, followed by a change of subject so abrupt only the most oblivious could miss it.
“Are we goin’, Uncle T?” Jeremy said, having clearly had enough of being a bystander. Tucker had never been so glad of an interruption.
She switched her gaze to the boy, giving him, Tucker noticed, her full attention. He liked that. “Where are you two off to?”
“We gotta go home. There’s some new people coming to learn to ride,” the boy said, sounding like some kids probably did when heading out for Six Flags or some other amusement park. That made Tucker smile, and all the turmoil that had been kicked up by painful memories faded.
“And I,” he said, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair, “need to finish unpacking.”
“I’ll show you the way,” Jeremy said earnestly, clearly remembering his tardy arrival.
“You often do,” he said quietly.
Jeremy smiled. And when Tucker turned back to say goodbye and give the lady cop another thank you, there was something in her expression that made his throat tighten.
“You two have a great afternoon,” she said. And oddly, she sounded as if her throat was as knotted up as his own.
“You too, Officer Stratton,” he said with a nod.
“And thanks,” Jeremy chimed in. “For makin’ those bullies go away.”
“You come tell me if they ever bother you again,” she said to the boy. “I’ll be around when you get out of school whenever I can.”
“With Lobo?” the boy asked hopefully.
“With Lobo,” she confirmed. She was smiling now, and Tucker thought he’d underestimated. She was a lot more than pretty. She was beautiful. And he had a feeling it wasn’t just on the outside.
But you know what happens to nice cops.
He bit off the memory before it could start to unreel in his mind. That was a fact that he and Jeremy had in common that he tried not to dwell on.
“She’s nice,” Jeremy announced when he was settled into the car and had his seat belt properly fastened.
“Seems to be,” Tucker agreed neutrally, wondering if the boy had read his mind for that assessment.
“And Lobo’s cool. I’ll bet he can be fierce.”
“I sure wouldn’t want to cross him,” he said. “So it’s a good thing he’s your friend.”
“Yours too,” Jeremy said. “He shook your hand and everything.”
Tucker laughed. “Yeah, he did. I’m honored.”
The boy looked suddenly thoughtful, that expression he got when he was trying to figure something out. Recognizing it, Tucker stayed silent, letting the boy work on whatever it was. Finally, as they were making the turn on the road that would lead back to the Baylor ranch, Jeremy spoke.
“Lobo’s job is to help catch bad guys, right?”
“Pretty much,” Tucker agreed, wondering where this would go. The way the boy’s mind worked was fascinating.
“And he knows we’re friends now,” Jeremy went on.
“I guess, now that we’ve been officially introduced,” he said with an inward smile at what Officer Stratton—he wondered what the E. on the name plate stood for—had said. I believe the tail wag means you may pet him.
“So, if one of us did something bad, what would he do?”
Tucker’s mouth quirked. Leave it to Jeremy to come up with that conundrum. “Now that,” he said with a barely suppressed chuckle, “is a very good question. But not,” he added, remembering the size and power of the dog, “one I’d want to test out.”
“Me neither,” Jeremy agreed quickly.
“I’d want that dog on my side.”
“Yeah. And her, too. The police lady I mean.”
“Yeah.” Tucker remembered those eyes, and again wondered about what her hair would look like released from its businesslike bun. “Her too.”
They were nearly to the Baylor gate when Jeremy spoke again. “Are you gonna stay, Uncle T? For good, I mean?”
There was such hope in the child’s voice that it both warmed him and made him tense. Because he had no idea what the answer to that question was.
He wouldn’t lie to this boy who’d already had too much awful in his life. “We’ll see how it goes,” he said cautiously. “But it is a possibility.”
Jackson had made it clear he was welcome as long as he wanted.
And Nic’s parents, who were beyond nice, had also made it clear the attached rooms that had been Nic’s were his as long as he needed them.
And the place was nice, at least twice the size of his little L.A.
apartment, with its own private entrance, and within a two-minute walk up the hill to Jackson’s place.
Jackson and Nic’s place.
Sometimes he still forgot, although now that he’d seen them together he knew that forgetfulness wouldn’t last. Jackson and Jeremy had healed, and Nic had done that, so as far as he was concerned, they were a unit now.
It would change things between them, but it also removed a huge worry Tucker had been lugging around since Leah had been killed.
He hadn’t realized quite how worried he’d been about his best friend until he could stop.
And that thought was confirmed when he pulled into the section of the Baylor ranch that was dedicated to Thorpe’s Therapy Horses and saw Jackson and Nic emerging from the back of the office looking a little mussed.
If they’d been a few minutes earlier, they probably would have walked in on one of their silver-screen-quality kisses.
Nic was smoothing back a strand of hair that had escaped her long, blonde braid, and Tucker was suddenly thinking again about Officer Stratton’s slightly darker hair that he’d guess was almost as long.
“We met a police dog!” Jeremy yelped as he ran to his father and the woman who was clearly already very important to the boy. “It was so cool. And the police lady with him was cool, too.”
“That was likely Emily Stratton,” Nic said. “I heard she’d been working with Chance Rafferty on a dog.”
That was the E. Emily. Emily Stratton. Nice. I like it.
“His name is Lobo,” Jeremy chattered on. “And he liked me. I wonder if he’d like Maverick?”
“Speaking of whom, you’d better go explain to him why you smell like another dog,” Jackson said with a mock-stern look at his son. “He’s out in the little barn.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Yeah. I better go tell him he’s still the best.”
The boy dropped his backpack where he stood and scampered off. Tucker watched him go, although he was also quite aware that both Jackson and Nic had their attention focused somewhere else.
On him.
“Emily’s really nice,” Nic said, her voice just a little too neutral.
“Seemed like it.” Something in that tone of hers made him a little nervous. And the way that “nice” word kept cropping up.
“She’s good people, too. Shane wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t.”
Nic sounded a bit too much like someone trying to close a sale. He tried for diversion. “Don’t you mean Chief Shane?”
Nic laughed. “He got special permission to use that name. But I knew Shane long before he was the chief, so I get special permission to use his name without the title.” Nic was grinning now. “Unless it’s at some official function, of course.”
“So where did you run into the police dog?” Jackson asked.
“And his gorgeous handler,” Nic added.
He supposed Officer Stratton—Emily—was as gorgeous as a woman in a police uniform could be. But he wasn’t about to react, because Nic had that gleam in her eyes that he’d already come to recognize. The gleam Jackson had warned him about.
If she ever gives you that look, watch out. It means she’s got her mind set on something. And Nic with her mind set is an unstoppable force.
He hadn’t doubted that from the moment he’d first met her. Normally it would have made him wary, but not after what she’d done for his best friend and the little boy he loved so much.
“She was outside the school,” he answered, realizing they were both looking at him curiously.
He decided not to mention he’d made a wrong turn, ending up heading the wrong way on the Hickory Creek Spur and having to drive a while to find a wide enough spot with enough visibility in both directions to turn around.
Jackson’s brow was furrowed now. “What was she doing there?”
Tucker smiled. “Watching out for Jeremy. A couple of older kids were harassing him a bit. She and Lobo convinced them to abscond.” Jackson’s frown deepened, and Tucker hastened to add, “She said she’d be there when his class let out whenever she could. With the dog.”
“That sounds like her,” Nic said warmly. She leaned into Jackson, as if sensing the same tension Tucker had. “Give her a chance. If it keeps up, then we’ll step in with the school. Mom’s still got a lot of pull there. Using your name is the last ditch.”
Jackson let out a breath, and with it most of the disquiet.
He gave a short nod. “It sometimes makes things worse, anyway,” he said with a grimace.
Then he looked at Tucker. “Tris is going to come by for dinner, she’s anxious to see you.
But now, come on,” he said, smiling. “Say hello to Sorry and Buck, then we’ll introduce you to the rest of the team. ”
Tucker smiled back, both at the thought of seeing Jackson’s sister again, and at the chance to renew acquaintance with the two horses.
The big buckskin Jackson had ridden in the show had refused to cooperate with anyone else, and when Tucker had let him know they were going to sell him, Jackson had jumped in and bought him, just as he’d expected.
He knew his friend had the softest heart around when it came to horses.
Sorry, the shy sorrel he’d also bought was proof of that.
They’d been about to get rid of him, too, and maybe not in the best way.
But Jackson often joked he owed his career to the spooky little gelding, because that video of him rescuing the horse from a deep, sucking mud flat had been what had inspired producer Miles Flint to insist Jackson was perfect for the starring role in their new modern-day western.
And so Austin Holt had been born, and Stonewall had become the biggest thing going.
Until now.
He shook off the grim reality for the moment. Yeah, he was unemployed, but he wasn’t broke, and thanks to Jackson he had a place to think and figure out what he was going to do, outside of the chaos of Hollywood, where the repercussions of Jackson walking away were still reverberating.
And so he followed them into the obviously newly built small barn that housed the horses for Thorpe’s Therapy Horses .
The star among them was Sorry who, perhaps because he was a shy sort himself, seemed to bond well with the shaken, sad, sometimes devastated kids who came to have at least an hour of peace, with something to think about other than the loss that had destroyed life as they knew it.
Jackson was doing a good thing here. A really good thing. With Nic’s help, and that of her parents, who had donated the land for the project. Even Jackson’s sister Tris had restarted her life here. It seemed Last Stand was full of good people.
And he couldn’t help it that the image that shot into his mind then was that of Officer Emily Stratton.