Debra Clopton - Texas Ranger Dad

And with reason.

What are dreams made of?

Standing in the center of the pasture surrounding her newly acquired home, Rose smiled despite the turmoil she was feeling since seeing him that morning. Not many would say their dreams were made of ugly, purple, egg-shaped fruit. But that was exactly what Rose’s dreams were made of. Delicious prickly pear fruit.

The house was old and the pastures were overrun with huge prickly pear cacti. To the town it looked about the most useless of any land the Lord had ever created. But that was precisely the reason she’d saved and worked to buy this particular piece of property. These heavily laden plants, whose beautiful yellow flowers had given way to the ugly fruit, were a thing of beauty. They were her field of dreams.

She and Max had arrived in Mule Hollow on a bus loaded with other women relocating from a burned-down women’s shelter in L.A. They’d come with the hope that the small town and the new women’s shelter might be the answer to their prayers.

It had been everything they’d hoped and so much more. The town had such a caring, loving need to make the newcomers feel safe and that they had something to offer the community. That made a difference. Especially for Max. He’d taken to the town almost immediately and now dreamed of owning his own ranch one day. On the streets of L.A. that thought would have never crossed his mind. She thanked God every day for leading them here.

And this—this deceptive-looking field of cacti surrounding this frame house and barn that had seen better days—this was where their dreams were going to come true.

She refused to think the past few hours could have changed that.

“Mom!” Max yelled.

She spun and watched her gangly teenage son zigzag toward her through the cacti. In his gloved hand he held a canvas bag aloft like the trophy that it was.

“I’ve got a bagful,” he said, skidding to a halt, his beautiful eyes sparkling from behind the protective goggles. She could hear the grin in his voice behind the bandana covering the rest of his face. The tiny, hairlike stingers on the fruit and the cactus plant were not something to take chances with. They were horribly irritating if they got on skin; in the eyes would be even worse. He’d grumbled when she’d first asked him to wear the goggles, but no protective wear, no deal. When she’d gotten home from town he’d been so anxious to get to work he hadn’t blinked twice as he’d snapped the goggles into place.

He was too excited about the prospect of harvesting the fruit to notice that she was upset. She was glad because, though she tried to hide it, there had still been the chance that her observant son might notice. She wasn’t ready to explain Zane…Mule Hollow’s new deputy!

Her temperature rose at the thought of him.

Desperately in need of a distraction, she stood dressed in her own gear harvesting prickly pear. Just what she needed. Denial was the name of the game. And at the moment, she’d play the game, because Zane, here in Mule Hollow, was simply too overwhelming to take in one dose.

She needed time to process it. Needed time to find a way to explain it all to Max. He knew that they’d spent many years in one shelter after the other, but he didn’t know all the circumstances that had led up to their nomadic way of life. He didn’t know that she’d witnessed a murder when she was twenty. Or that she’d briefly entered the witness protection program, when her testimony had sent the killer to prison. Nor did he know the whole truth about why or how she’d taken back her real name.

Max had been too young to remember anything of that life and she wanted to keep it that way.

Forcing the thoughts away, she held up her matching bag of fruit. “Me, too,” she said. “But, Max, please slow down. If you trip and fall into a cactus, those bristles are going to eat you alive.”

He tugged the bandana down. “Mom, stop worrying. I’m covered up like a mummy. Besides, I don’t trip.” The words were spoken like only a cocky teenager could do. “I’m an entrepreneur. The guys still can’t believe I’m opening my own business at fourteen.”

Rose teasingly lifted a brow at his words, loving his willingness to succeed. He was a fighter. Ambitious to achieve his goals. He was as proud as she was to have their first home, because at his young age he knew what it meant not to have a place to call their own. His ambition would help him survive.

“We’re opening a business,” he amended with a wide grin and teasing brow of his own. “Just you and me, kid,” he said with a wink of his beautiful golden eyes.

Instantly a stab of worry cut Rose to the core. Those eyes coupled with that wide grin…She was standing on top of a house of cards that had already begun to buckle.

But not here. Not in this moment when everything was supposed to be so perfect. “We’re full partners,” she said, forcing the conversation forward. “You are welcome to be as involved in this as you want to be. I’m going to rely on you a lot. If you’re sure you want the responsibilities.”

His eyes turned serious in an instant. “I’m in all the way. Remember, I have a ranch to buy. That means I better get to work. It’s torch time.” He took her bag, then sauntered off toward the worktable where his torches waited.

Cleaning off the stickers required singeing the bristles off with the hot flame. Like Pete said, it was a guy thing.

Watching him, panic crowded near. Zane was here. In her town.

She could run, leave all of this behind—but she couldn’t do that to Max. She sucked in a shaky breath, attempting to calm her fears. Deep down she’d feared this day might come. And now that it was here there was only one thing she could do.

Stay put.

No more running.

It was time to make a stand, whether she was ready to or not.

“I still can’t believe we got ourselves a real live Texas Ranger as a deputy in our little town,” Applegate Thornton said, sounding like he was talking through a bullhorn the minute Zane entered Sam’s Diner. Applegate was a reedy, dour elderly man of average height—Zane figured his scarecrow thinness probably made him seem taller to most on first glance. He was a mainstay of Sam’s Diner. With his buddy Stanley Orr, he seemed to have the pulse of the community well in hand. They sat front and center at the window table and were deep into their morning checker tournament. Zane had met them the previous day after his encounter with Rose. The two men and Sam had practically interrogated him for an hour.

It was pretty evident to Zane that though they looked like they were engrossed in their game, their eagle eyes saw everything that happened on the street beyond their window.

Softer, shorter and smiling, Stanley nodded in agreement. “Brady’s a good man, too. I bet he’d a made a good Ranger. Hard ta b’lieve our little town’s been fortunate ta get y’all both.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Zane said, with a nod their direction. It was true. He’d only been in the small town a couple of days, but he already felt a connection to it. His natural sense of protectiveness had gone on full alert. Not that he was expecting any trouble—but if it came calling he’d meet it head-on. Zane had never taken his job lightly, as a Ranger or now, as a sworn deputy. He’d always prided himself on making choices in the best interests of the people or places entrusted in his care. For the most part, that code had left him with few regrets and enabled him to be proud of looking back. Rose was the exception.

“So, what do the two of you do?” he asked.

Sam hustled from the kitchen with tray of clean coffee cups. He was five feet, if that, with the bow-legged gait of a man who’d been built to sit a horse. Zane saw the craggy-faced proprietor as a small man with a big heart and more than likely a tenacious one. There was something about his eyes and his stout handshake that spoke to Zane. He was a mainstay of the community. Zane had studied people all his life, and then trained for it in his job, but there were some people who wore their character like an open book for all the world to see—that was Sam Green. He was a man who could be counted on. It was the way Zane had always hoped he could be described by those who knew him. It cut deep that Rose couldn’t say that about him.