33

Brett stared at his dog, fists planted firmly at his waist. “Okay, where’s the boot?”

For an answer, Ringo slanted his head and cocked an ear.

The boot in question belonged to the ranger captain.

Brett was already in hock for two pairs of boots, a gun belt, a metal flask, and a sheathed knife. Not good. So far, no amount of training had convinced Ringo to give up his outlaw ways. Nothing on the ground was safe. Training an old dog to paw the straight and narrow was hard, but so was trying to convince a bunch of men of the virtue of neatness. They were just as much to blame for Ringo’s constant fall from grace. If they would stop leaving their belongings around, the problem would be solved.

Next to Brett, the man everyone called Cannonball Charlie laughed. “Do you think he’s gonna tell you?”

Brett let go of Ringo’s collar. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.”

Okay, so he was talking through his hat. It would be easier to find the Lost Dutchman’s Mine than Ringo’s hiding place. He had tried tricking the dog into showing him, to no avail. Ringo was as fast as he was smart and could vanish in the chaparral quicker than a flea could hop on fur.

Since nothing could be done till morning, Brett joined the company of men around the campfire. Ringo sprawled next to him, head resting on his paws, looking as innocent as a newborn babe.

Brett pulled out the letter in his vest pocket—a letter addressed to his brother.

He hadn’t fully forgiven Paul for stealing away Deborah, but he no longer had the heart to carry a grudge. He also better understood the difficulty in walking away from a woman you loved. He couldn’t blame Paul for his inability to do what he had hardly been able to do himself.

Walking away from Kate had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He’d been so close, so very, very close to telling her how he felt. Oh, Kate…

Kate!

He replaced the letter and reached into his vest pocket for the little slip of paper that Kate had given him. He’d held on to it all this time and still hadn’t been able to bring himself to read it.

It had been more than a month since he’d said goodbye to Kate, and it still hurt. Hurt like hell. No woman he’d loved and lost in the past had affected him as deeply as she had. He thought of her day and night. Everything from the blue of the sky to the stars and moon reminded him of her. He heard her name in the call of every bird, in the whisper of every breeze, in the buzz of every insect.

Adding to his misery, he no longer derived satisfaction from his job. He’d counted on work to heal his broken heart as it had in the past, but he was no longer driven to right the wrongs of the world.

Instead, the long hours of relentless pursuit left him feeling restless and impatient. Last week, his company had broken up a ring of cattle rustlers, yet he’d felt no pleasure.

The nights spent in his bedroll were even worse. That’s when he found himself hankering for things he’d never thought to hanker for: home, family, wife.

Kate.

A burst of laughter broke into his thoughts. Next to him, Ringo lifted his head, glanced at the revelers, and then promptly went back to sleep.

The laughter stopped, and the men continued playing the “Can you top this?” game. The stakes were high, and for that reason, the game was taken seriously. The one telling the biggest or most outrageous tall tale was relieved from camp detail the following day.

“Hey, Tucker. It’s your turn,” one of the men called.

Brett declined with a raise of his hand. He wasn’t in the mood for fun or camaraderie and hadn’t been since rejoining his company.

“Another time,” he said.

“Ah, shucks. You ain’t no fun anymore.”

“Leave him alone,” the man they called Smoky said. “Since he got hisself a case of lovesick, he ain’t been worth a bucket of shucks.”

The men went back to their game, leaving Brett to his troubled thoughts. Lovesick? Is that what’s wrong with me? He lifted his gaze to the sky and wondered if he would ever again be able to look at the stars without thinking of Kate.

But that wasn’t the only thing on his mind. While Sheriff Keeler had been transporting the Ghost Riders to federal prison, Foster/Fletcher had escaped.

He should have been the one to track Fletcher down, but by the time he’d heard the news, the captain had already assigned two other rangers. That had been more than a week ago, and Brett hadn’t heard a word since.

Fletcher better not have gotten away. If he had, then everything Brett had gone through in Haywire—all the pain and heartache that followed—had been for naught.

He stared at the little slip of paper in his hand, debating whether to replace it in his pocket or toss it in the fire unread. For several long moments, he stared at it, then slowly, with trembling fingers, unfolded it.

Just the sight of Kate’s flowery handwriting was like a stab to his heart, and he had to read the words several times before he could grasp their meaning. He sat upright and moved closer to the light of the fire to read it again.

Before I met you, I thought I knew how it felt to be in love, but you taught me I was wrong. The depth and width of my feelings for you know no end.

Brett sucked in his breath, and his gaze kept going back to the word love. She loved him? Was he reading that right? Kate often quoted poetry, and something about those words did sound familiar. Still, she was so careful about picking out the exact right words. His mouth ran dry. She would never write the word love unless she meant it! Again, raucous laughter interrupted his thoughts. Standing, Smoky stretched his arms, ready to call it a night. One by one, the others stood, some yawning.

But before anyone hit the tents, they were stopped by the sound of galloping hooves. All hands flew to the guns at their sides, and Ringo jumped up, ears perked.

Brett slipped Kate’s note into his pocket and reached for his weapon.

“It’s just us,” a voice called out of the darkness. Ringo barked and wagged his tail as Texas Ranger Collier rode up to camp and dismounted. “We got him,” he said.

Brett moved his hand away from his gun. That was a relief. Fletcher was behind bars where he belonged. Hopefully, precautions would be taken this time to make sure he didn’t escape again.

The man they called Happy swung off his horse and reached into his saddlebags. “Brought you all back a treat,” he said, pulling out a white paper sack. “Anyone want some candy?” He walked around the campfire, offering it to the others.

Cannonball Charlie stuck his hand in the bag. “Where’d you get it?”

“There’s this candy shop in Haywire. You won’t believe this. They even sell a candy called Tucker Sweets. That’s the green one in your hand.”

Brett’s heart practically leaped to his throat. Had he heard right? Kate had named a candy after him? He’d once heard her say that only the most special people had a candy named after them. People she loved and didn’t want to forget. That made the words of love on the note seem more real. Oh God…

Tucker reached into the offered bag and pulled out a piece. He held it closer to the fire and studied the badge in the center that resembled his own. “Who sold you this?” he asked, his voice ragged.

Happy shrugged. “Don’t know her name. All I can tell you is that she had the reddest hair I ever saw on a dame.”

Collier nodded in agreement. “And she asked about you.”

“She…she did?”

“Yep,” Happy said. “Told us she understood about all the ranger stuff and why it was so important to us men.”

Brett drew in a sharp breath. “She said that?”

“She sure enough did,” Happy assured him. “Said she knew you’d understand why she was getting married.”

Brett stared at him. “She’s getting married.”

Happy gave him a funny look. “That’s what she said. She’s getting married on Saturday.”

Brett stiffened. “Saturday?” he asked, his tone sharper than he meant. “This Saturday?” He had been so certain that she and Foster were already wed.

“That’s what she said.”

Brett’s mouth went dry. “That’s tomorrow.”

Happy shrugged. “I guess it is.” His eyebrows arched. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Cannonball Charlie held up a Tucker Sweet. “If I was a bettin’ man, I’d say the answer lies with this here candy.” He shifted his gaze to Brett. “Am I right, or am I right?”

Had he expected an answer, he would have been sorely disappointed. Brett was already running to his horse, Ringo by his side.