Page 2 of A Ranger for Christmas
Marisa grabbed her leather jacket and slid it over a black T-shirt embellished with a glyph symbolizing life. Pulling her long dark hair out from under her jacket, she reached for her satchel purse. Silver and beaded bracelets rattled on her wrists as she shut off her desk lamp. “I can’t believe I forgot. I swore to myself I’d not mess this up.” She might not love the holidays now, but when she’d been seven, the holiday spirit had zapped through her body like electricity, just as it did her brothers now.
“Why didn’t you order online like a normal person?”
“Because my stepmother said the boys wanted these specialty trucks from this particular store. She had the shopkeeper set them aside for me.” She shrugged. “It would be nice if I bought a nice gift for the boys. I haven’t shared Christmas with them in years.”
“I didn’t think you were motivated by guilt.”
If she hadn’t liked her brothers, she wouldn’t have taken the bait. “Easier to get the trucks, put in an appearance at their Christmas party, and be done with it all.” She scooped up her papers, dropped them in the bottom desk drawer, and digging her keys from her purse, fastened the lock. “I’ll see you after the holidays.”
“Tell me you aren’t doubling back here to the office and working on Christmas Day.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“Give yourself a break.”
“I love my work.”And it’s all I really have.
“You are hopeless.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
“Back at you.”
Christmas music chased after her as she hurried along the hallway and out the front door. Cold winds had her drawing in a breath as she tugged up her collar and ducked her head. With her mind squarely on reaching the toy store in time, she didn’t see the large man until he was feet from her.
“Dr. Thompson, you are a hard woman to find.”
The familiar deep baritone voice echoing the text message had her turning to face a man with broad shoulders. He wore a Stetson, white shirt, red tie, a heavy dark jacket, and silver-tipped boots that peeked out from crisp khakis. The Pecos star, clipped to his belt buckle, confirmed he belonged to an elite group of lawmen, the Texas Rangers. Only one hundred and forty-four men and women wore the Rangers’ star.
For a moment, she struggled to reconcile the man before her to memories she’d done her best to forget.
They had met six weeks ago on the Day of the Dead celebration that had beat with a fever pitch in Merida, Mexico, the centuries-old city that was the heart of the Yucatan. Music reverberated around the small university café built in the European style of the Conquistadors and coated with the white limestone of the Mayans. She’d been savoring a spicy hot chocolate and watching parading revelers, dressed in brightly colored Indian garb and carrying large gold crucifixes in honor of their Catholic faith.
The Day of the Dead festival was a remembrance of dead ancestors, and when she was in Mexico she always made a point to attend. A toast to her late mother had been on her lips when he’d crossed her path.
He’d worn a simple white shirt, jeans, and that Stetson. If not for the hat, certainly his commanding attitude gave him away asAmerican. He sat at a table beside hers and ordered a beer in fluent Spanish spiced with a subtle Texas drawl.
Texans might squabble and carry on while inside their borders, but once they stepped over the state line, they shared a kinship. She’d been feeling festive that day, perhaps lonely, and so she’d done what she’d rarely done. She’d struck up a conversation with the man, Lucas, which had led to drinks, dinner, and later his room.
The next morning she’d awoken, satiated and chagrined over their encounter. Sleeping with strangers had never been her style, and she’d felt awkward. While he’d slept, she’d slipped away and returned to her jungle, certain the past would stay dead and buried.
Now as Marisa watched Lucas walk up the stairs with slow, purposeful steps, her heart dropped into her belly. What were the chances of them ever seeing each other again?
“Lucas Cooper.”
The sound of his name sharpened gray eyes. “Good memory.”
“Some say too good.” She glanced at her watch. Forty minutes until the store closed. Grateful for the excuse, she said a little too quickly and candidly, “I’m sorry to run off, but I have to pick up a gift for my brothers or I’ll be blackballed from my family. Have a good evening.”
As she descended the steps, he followed. “I came to see you.”
She fished her keys from her purse, energy flooding her veins. “Why?”
“Not for the reasons you might think.” He kept pace with her easily.
Heat now burning her cheeks, Marisa let the comment drift past, hoping it would carry away the night they’d shared. She tipped her head forward, letting the curtain of black hair obscure his vision of her face.
“I hear your thing is ancient languages.” His tone remained steady, though she sensed a vague insult simmering below the surface.
Herthing?She’d dedicated the last decade of study to the subject. Like her mother before her, she’d established herself in international circles as the premier linguist in the Mayan language, whose origins could be traced back over two thousand years. “Yeah, you could say that.”
