Page 37 of A Ranger for Christmas
He called in an order, and twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a dive that had a BBQ sign glowing red neon in the front window. Her stomach grumbling, she climbed out of the car and met him by her door before they walked inside. The interior was dimly lit, but a strand of chili-pepper Christmas lights wrapped around the empty hostess station. There were at least two dozen tables and most were filled. A haven for the misplaced at Christmas.
A blond woman wearing a BBQ T-shirt and a Santa hat moved to the stand and collected two menus. “I’ve a table in the back.”
“I called ahead for takeout. The name is Cooper. Pork tamales.”
“Oh right. I think that order just came up.” She moved back toward the kitchen, weaving through the tables. She vanished behind swinging metal doors. Seconds later, she appeared with two large brown bags. She read the ticket and the price and Lucas gave her his credit card.
Marisa knew enough about a real Texas Christmas to know that pork tamales were a staple. “We ate pork tamales in Merida.”
“I know.” He smiled. “They make the best.”
Her skin warmed at he stared an extra beat. In the SUV, the smells of tomatoes and vinegar quickly filled the interior. “How’d you find a place like that?”
“Rangers are on the road a lot. Most of us learned the best places to eat when we were rookies with DPS.”
It occurred to her how little she knew about his work. She’d shared a night with him, glimpsed a personal life she imagined he’d shown to few, but she knew little about his career. “How long have you been a Ranger?”
“About ten years. Before that, eight years with the Department of Public Service and before that a football scholarship to Texas Tech.”
She could imagine him on the football field shoving his way through the throng of players, football tucked under his arm. His was a warrior’s heart.
“I will tell you that history was my worst subject.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t mind Texas history, but all the goings-on in Europe, well, I just didn’t see how it mattered.”
“Of course it mattered. We think we’re living life for the first time, but countless others have walked our paths before. We can learn from them. Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.”
“You use that line in class much?”
She nodded. “Sure. I want to bring the past alive for my students. I want them to know that the dead have lessons to teach. I mean, really, do you think our generation has a lock on dreaming big, greed, or broken hearts?”
“Suppose not.”
“We don’t.”
“So tell me about this discovery of yours. This big find in Mexico.”
“It’s fascinating.” Just thinking about the work brought a smile to her face. “I’ve found evidence of a lost civilization.”
“One hell of a win career-wise.”
Pride warmed her voice. “It’s exciting.”
“Why were you in Merida in November?”
“I needed a few days off, and I like the Day of the Dead celebration. Mom loved it, and it was a time to drink a toast to her.”
“How did Bradley feel about the discovery?”
“Supportive, I suppose. The day I returned from Mexico, he wanted to work with me, but given our history, I refused. He tried to pull rank, but I went to the dean. He told Bradley to back off.”
“He couldn’t have been happy about that?”
“No, he wasn’t. That’s why I was surprised to see him smiling and friendly the other night.”
“Why the change of attitude?”
