Allie Pleiter - Coming Home To Texas

Gunner looked around. “Same as us, I suppose. ATVs, dirt bikes, maybe on horseback. This part’s too far from the road to come on foot, I expect.” Gunner gave him an analytical look. “You ride?”

“We did have mounted police in LA.” Nash kept kicking clumps of grass aside in search of more clues. “But no, I’m a car guy.”

“Like big truck or like shiny sports car?”

This was truck country, clearly. The way Gunner said shiny sounded as though it stood in for “fussy city car.” Nash turned over a crushed can with his toe. “Am I gonna have to git me a truck to fit in around here?”

Gunner gave a small laugh. “Well, now, that depends. You want to fit in or stand out? My brother, Luke, never owned a truck in his life. My dad owned nothing but whatever was the biggest, fanciest truck on the market. My wife, Brooke, owned one of them bitty hatchback things when we first met, and we just bought ourselves a genuine suburban minivan seeing as we’ll have two little ones soon. Fancy car might make you popular with the high school boys, now that I think of it, but then again so would a good truck.”

Nash’s sports car had been an asset in LA, earning him “street cred” with teens. It seemed only to earn him stares here—and not often stares of admiration. Another reason to decline Pastor Theo. “Ellie drives a hatchback, too. Anybody give her grief over it?”

Gunner laughed outright. “Well, Ellie’s a city girl now. Still, it goes fast enough to earn a speeding ticket, huh?” He scratched his chin and narrowed one eye at Nash. “What made a city guy like you come all the way out here anyhow?”

“We’re forty minutes from Austin, one of the fastest-developing tech centers in the country. I hardly think that qualifies as ‘all the way out here.’”

Gunner spread his hands. “Look around, buddy. Martins Gap is a whole other world from Austin.” The rancher fiddled with a bracket on a nearby fencepost. “One that’s disappearing too fast, if you ask me.”

Nash found himself again considering the easiest way to relate the chain of events that led him to Martins Gap. “I worked juvenile and street crimes in LA. Kids in gangs, vandalism, the occasional drug bust, that sort of thing. Every once in a while I’d turn a kid from a wrong choice, and each victory kept me going. I’d feel like I’d made a difference, like God was giving me a chance to put some good back in a place where most people could only see bad.”

Gunner leaned against the fencepost. “That doesn’t sound like a reason to leave.”

“It isn’t. But then one of those kids—one of the ones I thought I’d helped the most, actually—he turned on me. Went back to everything I thought he’d left behind. By the time I found him, he was in even deeper than he’d been before.”

“But you found him?”

Nash swallowed. He still hadn’t found an easy way to talk about that night. “More like he found me first. Hunted me down, actually. I ended up with two bullet holes that seemed to puncture all my faith in the good I used to be able to see. I knew it was time to leave.”

“It’s not perfect here, but I’d like to think we’ve got more good than an LA street.” Gunner looked out over the land, and Nash could watch the determination straighten the man’s shoulders. People liked LA, but people loved this land in a way he hadn’t thought possible. As if the grass and hills were an inseparable part of them, connected and deep-rooted. After all, Ellie had made a life in Atlanta, but she’d rushed back here at top speed when that life fell apart, certain she’d find sanctuary. He’d never had that kind of home, but he understood the appeal.

“What about Ellie’s fiancé? Did you think he was a good man before all this business?”

“Derek?” Gunner returned to looking through the grass. “Only met him once, at my wedding. He’s famous—one of them television-show chefs or something. I thought he was kind of full of himself, but I figured that just went with the territory.” He looked up at Nash. “If I ever do get the chance to see him again, I’d like to punch his lights out for cheating on my baby sister.”

He said it with such a twang that it sounded like something out of a cowboy movie, but Nash could appreciate the sentiment. Anyone who had seen the tearful hurt in Ellie’s eyes would want to sock the guy who’d done that to her. “Good riddance, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir. And it’s nice to have her back on the ranch, even though I know it’s not for keeps. She’ll fiddle around here for a while, maybe get a start on that cockamamy bison-yarn idea, but soon enough it’ll peter out. She’ll get tired of Martins Gap and head on back to Atlanta. Ellie grew up here, but she doesn’t belong in this life. She’s fast-paced. Always needs to be busy, always needs a project. Organizing her wedding was the biggest project of them all, you know? She’ll be fine once she finds something to replace it.”

“So you think the yarn thing is just a distraction?”

“Oh, she doesn’t think so, I know. But you’ve got to know Ellie. She’s only home to lick her wounds. I’m happy to have her—don’t get me wrong—but I’m not too worried we’ll be adding scarves and mittens to our inventory of bison burgers and steaks.”

Half of Nash was glad Ellie was a temporary resident of Martins Gap. He liked her. He’d liked her that first night they met, and while he hated to admit it, the idea of working with her on Pastor Theo’s high school project appealed to him. And that was a problem, because women on the rebound were vulnerable and impulsive. One of his many botched LA relationships had been a heartbroken woman, and it had ended in a very messy way. The last thing Ellie Buckton needed was more mess. Besides, part of this relocation had been a promise to God to steer clear of emotional entanglements until he got his head on straight.

Nash wasn’t in the habit of breaking promises to God, nor did he want to give Gunner Buckton any reason to punch his lights out. Ellie Buckton could be a friend, maybe a teaching partner, but Nash would be wise to make sure it came to nothing more.

* * *

“So you’ll do it, then?”

Be careful what you pray for. The words rang true in Ellie’s head as she caught the enthusiasm in Pastor Theo’s eyes as they sat on the ranch front porch talking about the program. How had she become old enough to mentor high schoolers? The same way you got old enough to get married, her heart reminded her. Or almost get married.

“Sure, I will. It will be fun.” She meant that—mostly. She taught people to knit all the time in Atlanta, eagerly sharing her favorite pastime with anyone who showed an interest. Restaurant people were creative folks and often glommed on to crafty pursuits for their downtime. She’d spent many lunch hours—when the hectic setting permitted them to take a lunch break—on the deck behind the GoodEats offices above Derek’s restaurant knitting and laughing with the corporate and food service staff.

Ellie looked around to make sure Gunner wasn’t close enough to overhear. “Pastor Theo, I’d like to impose one condition, if that’s okay with you.”

The pastor smiled. “I can’t imagine I’d say no to any request you make.”

She really did like this guy, especially after all the restaurant’s oversize egos. “In addition to learning knitting, I’d like the girls help me with an effort to make bison yarn from the Blue Thorn animals. Maybe they can even end up spinning their own hanks. Is that okay?”

“Bison yarn?” Pastor Theo asked. “There is such a thing?”

And there would be the Blue Thorn Fibers’ first marketing challenge—most people didn’t even know bison yarn existed, much less all the excellent properties of the fiber. She scooted her chair closer to the pastor’s. “You can make a marvelous yarn from a bison’s undercoat. It’s very strong, warm and lightweight—much more so than sheep’s wool. I’ve been dying to give it a try on the ranch, but it’ll take more than just me to get it launched, and I think you’ve just handed me the perfect opportunity to get some help.”