Her Texas Rebel

He left so fast, she never got a chance…

He abandoned her when she needed him most, just as she’d discovered she was pregnant. And now, ten years later, struggling single mother Sabrina Davis has come home in search of refuge for her at-risk son. Except Tony Montoya, now a cop, has also returned to Salt Creek, Texas.

Recovering from being shot in the line of duty, Tony plans to use this time in his hometown to make amends for the trouble he caused as a youth. Amends for breaking Sabrina’s heart. But trouble seems to follow the police officer no matter where he goes, and he doesn’t want to hurt the woman he never stopped loving…or the son he’s just found.

She turned around and froze.

A pair of hazel eyes bored into hers with such intensity that she suddenly felt flushed. Disheveled black hair hung in soft curls at the back of his collar as he gave her a familiar one-sided smile. “Hey, Bree.”

“Tony?” Shakiness threatened to overwhelm her. Her heart pounded in her ears and she squeezed the box in her hands to hide their trembling. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as Sabrina fought to keep her composure. Years of anger, bitterness and betrayal fought against a ridiculous urge to throw herself into his arms. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she struggled to find the words to say.

“I heard you were moving back. Are you here to stay?”

“I don’t know yet.” He was close. Too close. The sandalwood scent of his aftershave sent her heart into overdrive. She took a quick step backward and tripped over the cart. The breath rushed from her lungs as he caught her in his strong arms.

His face was close enough for her to make out a faint scar under his jaw, just below his left ear. The scar he’d gotten while defending her. Along with the bump on the bridge of his nose.

She pushed against his chest, struggling to right herself. Silence permeated the air between them and his gaze never left hers. Like a mouse caught in the hypnotic gaze of a cat, she couldn’t move.

Breathe. You’re not eighteen anymore.

Dear Reader,

As a public-school teacher, I’ve seen my share of defiant children walk in the door with a chip on their shoulder. I’ve come to believe the saying “Those that deserve love the least, need it the most.” I’m not sure who penned that, but it’s become my classroom motto. Oftentimes, all kids need is someone to believe in them, root for them and never give up. I know. I’ve seen it happen.

When I was fifteen years old, I spent many happy hours pecking away on an old typewriter I bought at a yard sale for a buck. Even back then, all my stories involved bad boys and the good girls who loved them. Because even my teenage mind reasoned that rebellious behavior was just a cover-up for some deep-rooted pain. All they needed was someone to believe in them.

That’s when Tony was born. He was the perfect bad boy with a heart of gold. What he needed was a girl willing to give up everything for him. He had to wait almost thirty years for me to conjure Sabrina. She’s a small-town girl with pride as big as Texas and a heart that’s bigger. I finally had my perfectly flawed couple and they couldn’t wait to tell me their story.

I hope you enjoy Tony and Sabrina’s journey as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. I’d love to hear from you! Please visit me leannebristow.com.

LeAnne

Her Texas Rebel

LeAnne Bristow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LEANNE BRISTOW may have been born and raised in central Texas, but she’s a desert rat at heart. She calls southeastern Arizona home, even though her husband wouldn’t let her claim the title Arizonan until 2011, the year she’d officially lived in Arizona longer than Texas. When she’s not arguing with the characters in her head, she enjoys hunting, camping and fishing with her family. Her day job is teaching kindergarten, but now that her three kids are grown, she’s determined to teach her granddaughter how to catch lizards and love the desert as much as she does.

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This is my first book and I feel like I’ve won an Oscar! There are so many people I’d like to acknowledge for helping me along this journey. First, I need to thank Janet Ferguson, Jackie Layton and Misty Beller for reading and rereading chapters and pushing me to be a better writer. Y’all are the best critique partners anyone could ever ask for. My wonderful agent, Scott Eagan, for never giving up on me, and my family and coworkers at Benson Primary School for cheering me on. I’d also like to thank Kaci Morrison for answering a million questions about the wonderful work that is done at the Cherokee Home for Children. This book is dedicated to all the people who work tirelessly to make a difference in the lives of children who don’t have anyone else in their corner.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU DON’T WANT to do this.” Tony Montoya took a step forward, despite the gun pointing at his chest. His own weapon remained tucked in his holster. In eight years on the San Antonio police force, he’d only drawn it a handful of times.

The hand holding the gun shook, but the teen refused to lower the weapon. “Yes.” The boy’s chin lifted in defiance. “I do.”

Adolfo wouldn’t pull the trigger. He wasn’t a bad kid; he was just trying to survive. Tony understood. How many times had he stolen food from a convenience store when he was a kid? But Adolfo wasn’t trying to steal food for his family. The gun in the teenager’s hand was evidence of that.

“What are you going to gain?” Tony took another step toward him. “You think if you bring Raul money you’ll get moved from a peewee to a soldier?”

The boy’s dark eyes widened at the mention of that name. “You don’t know nothing, man.”

“I know you ain’t married yet.” Tony nodded at the boy’s right arm, bare of the bandanna marking him as a full-fledged member of the street gang.

A band tightened around his chest. Raul’s gang suffered more deaths than any other in the area. If he failed Adolfo, how long would it be before the boy paid the ultimate price? Would a rival gang member end his life or would it be someone in his own unit? A heaviness settled over Tony’s heart.

He’d seen too many young men ruined by the lure of gang life. Those losses far outweighed the people he’d managed to help leave the streets behind. Most of the boys, like Adolfo, weren’t tempted by the money, drugs and women. It was family. A place to belong. Over half of them were on their own. Deserted by mothers too strung out on drugs to care where their children were anymore, or too stressed out trying to earn enough money to keep a roof over their heads. Whatever the reason, the result was the same.

Tony had one chance to talk Adolfo down. He had to remind the kid that he had a real family, a family that depended on him. Keeping his voice low, Tony said, “Raul will still have you jumped. How you gonna explain that to your madre?”

The boy’s eyes flashed and Tony knew he’d struck a nerve. “How can you help her take care of your baby brother if you’re dead or in jail? Your mama needs you.”

“Leave my mama out of this.” The gun shook even more, and Adolfo’s eyes darted around the store.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony spied the store clerk moving to the edge of the counter. He held a hand up to stop him. Mr. Chan kept a .22 rifle under the counter. Please don’t pull that gun out. Not now. It might push the kid right over the edge.

Adolfo noticed, too. “Put your hands up where I can see them!”

“If I have to put my hands up, how am I supposed to get your money?” The old man looked bored. He’d experienced more than his share of robbery attempts.

Tension hung like a cloud of smoke as Adolfo and the clerk stared each other down. For the first time, Tony stepped away from Adolfo, putting himself between the boy and the old man.

“Move.” Adolfo jerked the gun.

“No.”

“Move. Or I’ll shoot you.” Adolfo waved the weapon again. His voice held a note of panic.

Tony remained in place. If he moved, Adolfo would see it as a victory and that would empower him even more. Tony looked the kid in the eye. “I’m not afraid to die. I know exactly where I’m going. But what about you? Where are you going when you leave this store? You got no place to go.”

“I’ll go to the club.”

“No, you’ll go to jail, if you’re lucky.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.” Tony knew the kid’s life because it had once been his, too. “Your pop skipped out on you. Your mom works all day, so all you got is the streets. You’re being challenged, mijo, and you’re about to fail in the worst possible way.”

Adolfo’s shaking hands told Tony he still had a chance. If the shaking stopped, it would mean the boy had found his resolve and was lost. Tony edged farther between the counter and the waving gun. “Step up, bro. You’re the man of the house now. Go home and take care of your brother. You want him to join a gang, too?”

“Shut up! You don’t know nothin’ about me.” His voice cracked.

“I’ve known you for three years, mijo. I know your brother will follow you, and one of you will end up in a body bag.” Tony’s voice was hard now. “Maybe not right away, but you will.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna be in a body bag!”

“Go ahead.” Tony stepped forward now. His gun was within easy reach, but there was no way he’d pull it. He needed Adolfo’s trust. “I told you, I’m not afraid to die. Not if my death will get you away from Raul.”

“Stay back.” Adolfo’s voice was barely a whisper.

“The way I see it, you have two choices.” Electricity swirled in the air between them. “One, you shoot me. You go to jail for manslaughter. It will break your mama’s heart, but maybe it’ll scare your brother enough to stay away from gangs. Two, you put down that gun and you come with me to the St. Paul’s Mission and learn how a real man takes care of his family. I don’t care either way, because in the end, you and your brother will be safe.”

He paused, giving Adolfo time to think. “If I were you, I’d take the second option. It’s a lot less heartache for your mama.”

“Yeah, right.” Adolfo’s face twisted with anger. “I walk out of here with you and you arrest me as soon as I’m out the door. No thanks.”

“You walk out of here with me right now, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” He shot Mr. Chan a glance.

Mr. Chan nodded at him.

Time stood still as the young man considered his options. The tension in his thin frame melted and his trembling hands lowered the gun. The pressure around Tony’s middle eased and he stepped to the side so Mr. Chan could see that Adolfo’s weapon was lowered. As he stepped away, he held his hands in the air, so Adolfo wouldn’t feel threatened.

A sudden movement from the clerk drew Tony’s attention and made him realize his mistake. By stepping in front of Adolfo, he’d cut off Mr. Chan’s view of the boy’s hands. Now all Mr. Chan noticed were Tony’s own hands in the air. He must’ve thought Adolfo had pointed the weapon at Tony.

“No!” Tony whirled around to face Mr. Chan and jumped in front of Adolfo, shielding him just as the clerk’s gun went off. A searing pain ripped through his chest.

The room swayed and Tony sank to the ground. Adolfo tried to catch him, but Tony’s weight was too much and they both ended up in a heap on the floor.

Adolfo stared as blood poured out of Tony’s chest. “Oh, man! You’re hit!”

“I’m okay,” Tony muttered, the smell of rust and salt filling his nostrils. “I just need to sit for a minute.”

In a flash, the boy rolled Tony off him and sprinted out the door. Mr. Chan rushed over. “Mr. Tony, I’m so sorry! The ambulance is coming! I’m so sorry!” The frantic man pushed a towel into Tony’s wound. “I thought he was about to shoot.”

Tony shook his head, trying to dispel the faintness quickly taking over. An image floated in front of his eyes. Long blond hair, so blond it was almost white. “Bree.” Her dark brown eyes blinked and then she was gone.

* * *

SABRINA DAVIS KICKED the covers off and stretched. She opened her eyes and blinked. Bright morning light jolted her out of bed. If the sun was already up, she was late for work. Her pulse thundered in her ears and her gaze danced around the room. She let out a deep sigh and fell back on her pillow as she glanced at her bedside clock. Seven in the morning and for the first time in years, she didn’t need to jump out of bed and race to work or get her son ready for school. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the open window and she closed her eyes, reveling in the silence. No hum of Houston traffic, no horns blaring. Somewhere in the pasture behind the house, a meadowlark began to sing, and she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. It was good to be home.

She rolled over in bed, listening for the crowing of the rooster that had been her alarm clock growing up. Nothing. What else had changed in the ten years she’d been gone?

Since a yelling match with her father had escalated into her storming off to live with her Aunt Patty and Uncle Troy in Houston.

At the time she’d thought her relationship with her father was beyond repair. Amazing what ten years and the love of a grandchild could do. It had been so late when she’d arrived at her father’s the night before that she’d fallen into bed without even turning on the light. She propped herself up on her elbows and examined the room she’d grown up in. Her breath caught. Everything was exactly the same. So much for change.

Her rose-colored bedspread, now faded to such a light pink it was almost white, lay clean and crisp on her double bed. The dresser across the room showcased her trophies and ribbons. Pictures of her high school activities and friends were still pinned on the corkboard next to the dresser.

Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the threadbare carpet as she padded across the room to the closet. She steeled herself and opened the door. The clothes she hadn’t taken with her all those years ago were still on their hangers. Shoes lay scattered across the closet floor. With shaking hands, she reached up to the top shelf and her fingers brushed a small wooden box. She didn’t need to lift the lid to know what was inside. As happy as she was to be home, some memories were just too painful. She left the box in its place and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

“Already made.” Her father saw where she was headed and handed her a full mug.

“You should’ve woken me up. I don’t normally sleep this late.” She added sugar to her coffee.

“Figured you needed the rest.” Dad took a sip from his own cup. He nodded toward the alcove that had been added to the end of the large country kitchen. “What do you think of the addition?”

“It was so late when we got here, I didn’t get a chance to see it. I still can’t believe you finished it.” The gesture had been the final straw in convincing her to come back to Salt Creek.

Her parents had dreamed of a big family, so her father had started building onto the small two-bedroom farmhouse when Sabrina was two years old. Four years and three miscarriages later, the cement foundation and wooden frame only served to remind Sabrina’s mother of the family that would never be. When she hadn’t been able to bear looking at the wood-framed walls another minute, Dad had taken a sledgehammer and torn it down, piece by piece.

“When did you start on it again?” It must have taken months for him to finish the addition all by himself, and goodness knew how much money. How long had he been hoping she would come home?

“I started working on it right after Patty decided to move to Florida.”

Sabrina choked on her coffee. “That was seven years ago.”

“Yeah, well, I thought maybe you’d want to move back home when she left.”

Her heart leaped in her chest. “You never said anything.”

“I was waiting for the right time.”

She pushed down the butterflies swarming in her stomach. Her father cared much more than he ever said out loud. What was it her mother used to say? Actions spoke louder than words.

“I’ll be out by the pond if you need me. Water pump broke again.” He sat his cup in the sink. “We’ll finish unloading your furniture as soon as I get done.”

“Okay.” She suppressed a smile. The farm came first. It always did. The 160-acre homestead had been granted to her great-grandfather over 150 years ago. Not large enough to be considered a ranch, it was just enough to sustain a family. How had he managed by himself for the past ten years?

“No rush. The only furniture I brought was Levi’s bed and dresser. The rest of it is just boxes, and Levi and I can unload those.”

She tiptoed across the kitchen and paused outside the finished addition. She swung the door open silently and looked for her son. Levi was curled up inside the sleeping bag her father had left out for him. He looked so peaceful, his curly brown hair framing his cherub face. She doubted his teachers would use the word cherub to describe Levi.

His less-than-angelic behavior had been what finally drove her to return home. Levi shared more than physical looks with his father. They had the same quick temper and nose for trouble. Despite her best efforts, he was becoming more like Tony every day. Levi tended to get bored quickly, and boredom led to trouble. For the second time in her life, she was putting college on hold for the good of her child.

Country life was ingrained in her bones, but even so, moving back to Salt Creek was hard. Almost like admitting that she was a failure—the valedictorian, National Honor Society president and Best All-Around Student returning home a single mother with no education and no job.

Two things gave her the courage to face her conservative hometown. The first was the knowledge that Levi needed a change of environment to keep him out of trouble and possibly out of juvie. Her son was way more important than her pride. The second was knowing that no one, not even her father, knew who Levi’s father really was.

She topped up her coffee and carried it into the sparsely decorated living room. It was just large enough for a sofa and reclining chair, and her mother’s throw pillows still adorned the leather furniture. The Lampasas Dispatch lay folded neatly on the coffee table and she picked it up. The small newspaper was delivered only on Sundays and Wednesdays. Did Salt Creek still have a small section on Wednesdays?

She flicked the newspaper open to the middle and settled back to read. A local high school girl was competing in the Miss Texas pageant. An engagement picture of a young couple. She frowned at the names. Was that the same little boy she used to babysit? Another break-in at a construction yard. It didn’t take long to read the one-page section. She closed the paper to read from the beginning and her blood turned to ice.

The headline read “Hero Cop Has Roots in Lampasas County.” One name jumped out at her and sent her heart into overdrive. Tony Montoya. It couldn’t be. She scanned the article again.

Her hands shook and she laid the paper on the sofa. All the town had ever seen in Tony was a rebellious teenager looking for trouble. He’d certainly proven them wrong. A decorated police officer who put his life on the line by jumping in front of a bullet to save a young man’s life in the middle of an attempted robbery?

According to the paper, he was at home with his grandparents, where he was recovering from a fractured rib and a bruised lung. He was expected to return to work by the end of June. How was she going to avoid running into him in a town of fewer than seven hundred people?

* * *

TONY RUBBED HIS EYES. There was someone standing next to his bed. His gaze finally focused as an imposing figure with gray hair hovered over him, making him jump. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, jolting him back to reality. He wasn’t at his apartment in San Antonio. He wasn’t at the hospital. He was in the one place he’d sworn he’d never return to. Salt Creek.

“Papa. What are you doing? It’s two in the morning.” He rubbed a hand across his face.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” his grandfather said. “Your grandmother was worried.”

Abuela wasn’t the only one. Tony rolled his shoulder and winced. The nurses at the hospital had warned him that the pain would get worse. Still, he’d rather suffer a little than risk relying on medicine. He’d have to do a better job of masking the pain. The thought of his grandmother losing sleep over him pierced his heart.

Papa fumbled through Tony’s things on the dresser. “Where are your pain pills? Didn’t you take them before you went to bed?”

“I don’t need them.” Tony stood up, fighting a wave of lightheadedness.

Papa pulled the empty prescription bottle from the top drawer of the dresser. “Where are they?”

Guilt pricked him. Did his grandfather think he’d already taken them all? Was Papa worried he’d end up like his mother? Pain medication was the first of many drugs his mother had been hooked on.

“I flushed them down the toilet after Abuela brought them home from the pharmacy.” Tony didn’t voluntarily take narcotics of any kind. Not even the helpful ones. Ever. The ones given to him immediately after his surgery didn’t count.

“Why?”

Tony noticed the lines around Papa’s eyes. He looked tired. He looked...old. “I’ve read that children of addicts are much more likely to become addicts themselves. I’m not willing to take that chance.”

Papa stiffened. “So you didn’t take the pain medicine?”

“No, Papa. I’ll take some ibuprofen when it bothers me too much, but I won’t take anything stronger than that. Please don’t ask me to.”

“You’re not like your mother, mijo.” Papa placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “Abuela will make an icepack for that shoulder. Perhaps that’ll help.”