Ali woke up cold. Her head was fuzzy, and her body ached with use. It was a delightful sort of ache, but still. Kind of ouchy. She stretched, trying to understand why she was cold. She was on the couch, and there was a blanket over her, and she was naked, but she should be warmer than this.

 

Yes. She'd fallen asleep on Alejandro's chest. She hadn't meant to, but she'd been so sated after that last orgasm, she couldn't keep her eyes open. Her internal clock told her that she hadn't been asleep for that long, but maybe he hadn't been as tired, and had gone off to do something.

 

She ignored the little voice that told her that the house was far too quiet for there to be anyone else there but her. Because she didn’t believe it. He wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not again.

 

She stretched again, then pushed back the blanket and reached for her jeans. "Alejandro?" She called.

 

No answer. She tried to be surprised, but couldn't find the emotion anywhere in her body. She bit her lip fiercely to push the tears back under her eyelids, and went to her bedroom to get dressed properly. Panties, clean denim, bra, top.

 

In the corner was the luggage that had been all packed and ready to take her and Bobby to the resort for their honeymoon. She'd have to unpack the suitcase later, and she found herself wondering: What was the protocol for this? Bobby had bought her an entire set of vacation clothes, and she'd never worn them. She'd taken the tags off and washed them, though, so they couldn't be returned. Was she supposed to keep them? Give them back? She could ask her mother, but odds were pretty damn good that Mama would slam the phone down as soon as she heard Ali's voice—if she picked up at all.

 

She sat on the bed, her head in her hands, and the tears fell. She really had made a mess of things. She had no regrets about not marrying Bobby, but she wished she'd had the courage of her convictions to keep away from him in the first place. She'd been right when she'd called the wedding off the first time. The only mistake she'd made was going back to him.

 

Ali heard a knock on the door, and her heart skipped in her chest. She glanced towards the nightstand, where she'd started keeping her weapon after she'd taken it out of the truck. She had an urge to stick it in the ass of her jeans, like she was some hero in an action movie, but she'd read somewhere that doing that was really just a good way to take a bullet in a butt cheek. Her week had drawn more than enough public attention without that.

 

She took a deep breath and forced herself to find some calm. The odds were against someone being there to hurt her. When she peeked out the window, she saw a car she didn't recognize, but it looked like a fairly new model, with the super-bubbly look of a Hybrid of some kind. It was a middling blue shade, not too bright and not too dark. It didn’t look like a gang car, and there wasn’t a huge green devil on the hood. So that was something.

 

She put her weapon down and went to answer the door.

 

She saw Travis Lathrop through the glass before she opened it, and her heart settled back down into its normal rhythm. "Hello," she said as she drew the door open. "I didn't expect to see you, Mr. Lathrop. Is everything all right?"

 

He gave her a curious look. "Based on the message you left me, I'd say no. I tried to call you back, but your phone seems to have been turned off?"

 

Ali sighed. "I've been getting all sorts of phone calls from reporters. More than I want to deal with right now. I'm sorry I made you come all this way. Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?" She stepped back so he could come inside.

 

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," he said. He followed her gesture into the living room, and Ali went into the kitchen to fill two glasses with sweat tea and put a few cookies on a plate.

 

This is Texas, she thought. World falling down around my ears, and I still take the time to make tea like a proper lady.

 

She waited in the kitchen for the tears to run themselves out, then wiped her eyes and carried everything into the living room on one of her grandmother's trays.

 

"I hope you don't mind me skipping the chat about the weather and asking after your health," he said as she picked up the tea. "I'm here to find out why in the world you're giving up."

 

Ali paused and thought for a moment. "It was over even before yesterday, Mr. Lathrop."

 

"Travis, please."

 

She nodded. "My business was ruined here. As soon as the story got out that some men who happen to be in a motorcycle club were helping with some improvements to my property, it was all over. I lost all my students that week, and even when I went back to Bobby and made things right with him, my students' parents had enough. I hoped for a long time I'd be able to work things out, but—" she shook her head. "It's not going to happen, and I need to be all right with that. I'm not even sure I'll stay in Arroyo Flats."

 

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay? Rebuild the program?"

 

Ali shook her head. And then the whole story poured out. Well, the edited version, anyway, but that included the dirty dealings of the Sheriff. His taste for very young girls included.

 

That was when Travis's face grew storm cloud black. "How do you know this?"

 

She told him about the gangs in town, and what the Padres had done to try to keep their hands as clean as they could. She told him about the shootout, and how the Sheriff had flipped sides, and how Alejandro had suggested that it had something do with the Sheriff wanting girls even younger than the ones he'd been able to find, who were usually of age but simply looked younger.

 

"It just so happens," Travis said, "That I'm good friends with the Attorney General in our lovely state. I will make some phone calls. It sounds like the people you've heard this from aren't the sort whose testimony will generally stand up in court?"

 

She thought of Pitbull up on the witness stand, with his shaved head and his tattoos. "Not likely," she replied.

 

"Then I'll take care of this." He placed his hand on Ali's, gently, not as an invitation, just as a comfort. "I hope I'm not sharing too much when I say that I had some personal experience with something of this nature when I was a child. There's a reason I fund what I do. And I will do whatever I can to make sure that this man can't prey on any more children."

 

"Thank you," Ali heard herself saying. "Thank you." Because it wasn't just about Arroyo Flats, and the Diablos needing to get out of town. It was also about the Sheriff being a foul piece of trash, and someone needing to stop him.

 

Travis accepted her thanks with a quiet nod. "And where will you go?"

 

Ali gave a ladylike shrug. "Somewhere around San Antonio, I think. I'm not sure yet. I'll need to see what's available."

 

"I'm sure it's occurred to you that your business model—animals helping troubled kids—is incredibly portable? And that it might even be more needed outside a city center like San Antonio?"

 

"They must have programs like this already, though," she said. "It took me years to piece together enough to make it work here, and even then I needed to supplement with regular riding lessons."

 

"There is a similar program in the area, it's true," he said. "It's actually within my portfolio. And it happens to need a new Director to expand and further develop the offerings. Interested?"

 

She could hear everything. The condensation beading up on the outside of her water glass. The ice clinking against the glass itself. The soft sound of Travis taking a cookie and munching on it thoughtfully. She could hear it all because she wasn't breathing. Even a little bit. "What are you offering me?"

 

"A job," he said. "If you want to keep the ranch here as an option for yourself, I'd even suggest that we keep it as a secondary location for the program. We'll rebrand it a little bit here, and use it to welcome local kids to experience the delight of animals. And you can keep some of the rooms within the ranch private, and use them whenever you'd like. The program in San Antonio is well established, and you'd have your own offices, plus a salary that—well, it's modest, but for a non-profit, it's pretty damn good, if you don’t mind my saying so. You'll be able to find a nice apartment, or a small house—whatever you're looking for."

 

"Yes," she said, feeling the weight of one problem fall away from her like so much stone. "Yes, absolutely. When can I start?"

 

He smiled, and she seriously considered flinging her arms around his neck. "Let me see how quickly I can schedule the movers."