Meet Me In Texas

Del Rickman. Here, in Crystal Creek. And all she could do was stutter and stare. Great, she thought. She’d spent all these years thinking about him, hoping they would meet again, and he’d simply walked back into her life like magic. She should have introduced herself, said something. But what did you say to a walking, talking memory that suddenly appeared in front of you like a ghost from the past?

She’d had a crush on him all those years ago. After all, he’d been the strong FBI agent who had found her and delivered her into the safety of her daddy’s arms. A hero. Her hero. Del had risked his life to keep her from harm, and Allison never forgot that day or him. At first she’d idolized him, but as she matured, he became a symbol of a turning point in her life. The experience of being kidnapped changed Allie forever. She discovered a determination she never knew she possessed and a new attitude about what was important in her future.

None of that would have happened if Del hadn’t come into her life. She’d once promised herself that if she ever got the chance to express her gratitude in person, she would. And while she was delighted that she now had this opportunity, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing in Crystal Creek.

Dear Reader,

Years ago I was privileged to be part of the talented group of authors who brought Crystal Creek and all its wonderful characters to life. Creating two stories for the series was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my career and I am delighted to revisit our little fictional part of Texas. This trip down memory lane also gave me the opportunity to discover what had happened to two of my characters from Somewhere Other Than the Night, Allison Russell and Del Rickman.

Allison was a teenager the last time she saw Del, and he was the FBI agent in charge when she was kidnapped. They’ve both changed a lot since then and both have new lives, new dreams. Allison has become a confident, determined woman very mature for her age, and Del has left the dark world of law enforcement behind for the greener pastures of a new business. When they meet again it's no longer as victim and rescuer, but as man and woman.

I hope you enjoy this return to Crystal Creek as much as I have.

Happy reading,

Sandy Steen

Meet Me in Texas

Sandy Steen

To the memory of Sandra Canfield, a great talent

and a good friend lost much too soon,

and

To Bethany Campbell, fellow conspirator, life saver

and keeper of all things Crystal Creek

CONTENTS

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 ONE

DEL RICKMAN LEANED against the hood of his pickup truck, filled his lungs with cool, Hill Country air, then released it in a slow sigh of satisfaction. Dusk was settling in, promising a cold, starry night, and he felt good right down to his favorite pair of cowboy boots. Better than he’d felt in a long, long time. On the seat of his truck, tucked into a nice, neat legal portfolio, were three deeds. One for the house he’d bought at the edge of town. One for the lumberyard situated not twenty yards from where he stood. The third was for an acre of undeveloped land he hoped to build on one day. In the growing twilight, truthfully even in the daylight, the property wasn’t much to covet, but when Del looked at the abandoned business, he saw his future. A yard stocked with timber from environmentally managed forests, not hacked down with no thought to replanting. He saw bales of construction straw just waiting to be covered with adobe in some sprawling Southwestern-style home or new office complex. At one end of the property he envisioned a small nursery featuring native Texas plants and organic seedlings. Another section of the yard would be given over to a variety of salvaged items such as wood flooring, banisters, mantels, columns and architectural embellishments rescued from the wrath of the wrecking ball. There would also be the latest in “green” construction materials. Whatever was good for the environment would be for sale at Evergreen, Inc. This was the beginning of a whole new life for Del, and one he was anxious to start. So anxious, in fact, that even though his furniture wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, tonight he would sleep in his new home. He was back in Crystal Creek to stay.

Almost thirteen years had sped by since the first time he’d driven into this small Hill Country town. He’d been a young agent then, barely twenty-six, confident—some said too confident—full of ambition and eager to impress the bureau his first time out as Special Agent In Charge. Twelve-year-old Allie Russell had been taken by a man out for revenge against her stepmother, Lynn McKinney Russell. Del had no trouble recalling the perpetrator, a boozy cowboy with a mean streak a mile wide. In fact, everything about that time was still clear in his mind, and not just because it had been his first case, his first kidnap victim, first time in the Texas Hill Country, but because he’d never forgotten the way the townspeople and half the countryside had turned out to help search, especially the McKinney family. Sam Russell and his wife’s father and brothers had led groups of men on horseback to look for Allie, while the rest of the family provided the moral support needed to make it through such a harrowing situation. That sense of community and commitment had left a lasting impression on Del and flavored his passion to make this part of Texas his home some day.

And so, he had returned. Only this time, he was a man with a dream. But he wasn’t so starry-eyed that he was blind to reality. At the heart of the Hill Country was a good-old-boy, if-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it mentality. Throw in lone-wolf attitudes and the result was hard heads and an even harder acceptance of anything new. If there was one glitch in his plans, that was it. Would the citizens of Crystal Creek welcome his ideas? Or would they treat him as an outsider with newfangled, unproven methods? Would the good old boys circle the wagons, so to speak, making sure he was on the outside? He’d received handshakes and pats on the back when he rescued the Russell girl, but as far as the locals were concerned, he was a “big-city boy.” These were good people, but they did tend to resist anything that challenged the tried-and-true. And that was exactly what Del hoped to do: change attitudes. Not radically, of course. He wasn’t that much of a dreamer. But if he could make inroads into traditional methods of construction and carve out a niche for himself with his “green” products, he would consider himself successful.

Del watched the last glimmer of twilight give way to night and thought about how much his life had changed in the last three years. He’d once thought the definition of success was working his way to the top of the FBI, possibly as a deputy director, living in Washington, D.C. Now he was excited about living in the heart of Texas, starting a new venture totally out of his comfort zone. But that decision hadn’t come without negative feedback from friends and coworkers. After all, they said, he’d been in law enforcement all his adult life, what did he know about running a lumberyard? And wasn’t it a big risk to sink all of his hard-earned money into the venture?

Surprisingly, the comments served to validate his decision because they proved there were only a handful of people that knew him well enough to know he had a background in woodworking and home repair, along with a deep-seated concern for the environment. Or that he had been saving and investing wisely over the last twenty years for just such a risk. Handful? What was he thinking? He could count his real friends on the fingers of one hand and have a couple of fingers left over. And that small group all agreed on one thing: Del Rickman was an intensely private person. So while his friends supported his decision, they must have seriously wondered if that trait might work against him in his new life.

And maybe their concerns were valid but that hadn’t stopped him from pursuing his dream, because he knew what they didn’t: it was either get out of the FBI or risk losing what was left of his sanity.

His last three years with the bureau had been a slow descent into utter frustration, absolute disgust and deepening loneliness. Frustration with the ever-increasing amount of legal maneuvering and paperwork required to bring a case to court, and disgust that all that work was often tossed aside in the blink of an eye because some drug dealer or rapist yelled that his civil rights had been violated or his lawyer found a legal loophole. It was bad enough to slowly lose faith in the law and a career he had loved, to look in the mirror each day and watch himself gradually burn out, but the loneliness that weighed like an anchor around his neck was even worse. While he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d done a good job for the bureau from day one, it became harder and harder to go home each night to an empty house and an empty bed. An empty life.

And then came the case that tested all his resolve and skill. The one that should have ended with a murderer behind bars for good and a little girl alive, but instead ended with heartache and pain for everyone concerned. Memories as dark and threatening as a winter storm washed over Del and he shuddered.

He knew he’d done everything by the book, but something had happened to him that day. Something snapped deep inside him and he knew he couldn’t do his job anymore. No vacation, no transfer could make it right. A child had died while he was in charge, and the suspects had gone free on a technicality. The system had failed before; it was one of the downsides to the job. But this time was different. He was different. He no longer trusted the system.

He asked for early retirement that same week, and the minute the papers were processed he was gone. No retirement party. No goodbye night out with the boys. It didn’t even matter that the suspects had sworn revenge because he’d killed two of their number, their “family.” The use of the word made Del sick to his stomach. The assortment of killers, rapists, wife beaters and thieves, all with the last name of Borden, had destroyed a real family when they murdered an eight-year-old girl whose only crime was to be born to rich parents. When it was over, Del simply wanted to put that part of his life behind him. It was easy enough to accomplish during the daylight hours. All it took was fierce determination. The night, however, was another matter. Haunted by the image of the little girl he couldn’t save, he suffered nightmares. Even when Derek, the leader of the Bordens, was caught two months later, tried, convicted of burglary and assault and sentenced to twenty-five years, it didn’t take the sting out of the fact that he’d murdered a child and gotten away with it.

Suddenly, Del shoved himself away from the hood of his truck, straightened his shoulders and drew his lightweight jacket closer. He didn’t want to think about a past he couldn’t change. He’d survived, and now he intended to live for the future, applying the same drive that had propelled him to top agent to this new venture. And dark or not, there was no time like the present to begin. Besides, it was the last week of October, and he wanted Evergreen to be ready for the spring.

He retrieved a portable high-intensity spotlight from the truck and walked off to inspect his property. But he’d better make it a fast look-see, he decided. A shadowy figure and strange light might attract unwanted attention, and he had no wish to start off his new life with an encounter with the local police.

While he’d waited for the former owner’s bankruptcy procedure to clear the courts, Del had seen dozens of photos, plot plans and diagrams of the property, but he’d only actually visited the site during a preliminary inspection almost three months earlier. The final details had been handled through an agent out of Austin. Not that Del wanted to appear devious and secretive, but it was important to keep everything low key, at least until he had officially sealed the deal. He’d simply wanted to avoid any gossip that might lead to confrontations right off the bat. Now the property was his, and Monday his crew would arrive to start renovations. Evergreen wouldn’t be a secret then. A surprise, maybe, but soon everyone would understand his commitment to the project and to becoming a citizen of Crystal Creek.

Del had spent months finding the right architect to work for him, and the building plans were just waiting for his final approval. But there was a lot of preliminary work to be done before construction began.

“A lot of work,” he said. “Beginning with…” He walked over to the real estate agency’s For Sale sign, yanked it out of the ground and tossed it into the bed of the pickup. Then he aimed his light on a pile of weathered and rotting timbers, junk metal and God knew what else, at least ten feet high and twenty feet across.

He approached the pile carefully, knowing it had been there long before his original walk-through and probably was home to any number of critters, not to mention the fact it might be unstable. Del stopped at the edge, listened for a second, then stomped hard on the ground and quickly stepped back to see what might scurry out. Sure enough, at least two field mice, a host of lizards and one good-size scorpion ran for their lives. He pulled a couple of boards from the middle of the stack to see if it would collapse. It didn’t, but something whimpered beneath it.

The sound was faint, but definitely a whimper of pain.

This time Del stepped gently on the wood pile itself. The whimper was accompanied by a whine.

There was some kind of hurt animal under there, and without concern for himself, Dell began flinging lumber aside, pausing every few seconds to shine the spotlight down among the debris and listen. The whimper came again, and now he was almost positive the animal sounded like a dog, or possibly a coyote. As he worked, the pile shifted precariously, sending pieces of wood and metal sliding to the ground. It was easy to understand how an animal, probably seeking shelter, could have gotten trapped.

“Hang on,” Del said. “I’m almost there.”

A moment later, he yanked two timbers away and saw something move at the bottom of the pile. Gripping the strap of the spotlight between his teeth, he began working feverishly with both hands. Finally he removed enough wood that he could see the head, neck and muzzle of a dog.

“Well, hey there, fella,” Del said softly. “You’re lucky I came along because it looks like you’ve got yourself in a mess.”

The unmistakable sound of a tail thumping was the response.

“Atta boy. Just hang on, Lucky.” The name sounded appropriate under the circumstances.

The next few minutes passed like hours as Del carefully shifted and pried away broken wood and rusted metal in order to reach the dog without causing a collapse. Finally, he succeeded in clearing a break in the pile wide enough to pull the animal to freedom, but the dog’s hindquarters and back legs were trapped beneath what looked to be part of a telephone pole. Now able to see at least two thirds of the body, he didn’t have to be a vet to realize the dog was in bad shape. There was a nasty gash on his right shoulder, caked with blood, and he was obviously near starvation.

“Oh, man. You’re not in a mess, you are one. Easy, Lucky.” Tentatively, Del reached out his hand, fully expecting a snarl or a nip, but the dog stared up at him without any sign of anxiety or malice. Satisfied he wasn’t about to lose a couple of fingers, Del lightly stroked the dog’s head between the ears. “That’s it, easy now. You just lie still and I’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

The dog’s soft brown eyes blinked once, then he sighed, as if to say, “Thanks. I trust you.”

“Okay, boy, I’m gonna help you, but you’ve gotta stay calm. Don’t try to get out. I need to find something—” Del probed the surrounding darkness with the spotlight “—to use for leverage. Something…” The circle of light fell on a stack of metal bars lying near the back fence. “Bingo.”

The square metal fence posts were tightly wired into bundles of ten. They were so heavily rusted, it took some effort to remove two of them. Del hurried back to the dog, hoping the posts weren’t rusted through. Squatting beside the pile, he set the light on the ground so he could use both hands.

“See,” he told the dog, whose tail had started thumping the instant he saw Del again. “Don’t worry, fella.” He gave the animal another reassuring stroke. “This is gonna work. Now, I have to touch your hip—” The dog winced, tried to lift his head. “Easy. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, but I gotta get this pile stabilized so I can get you out, okay?”

The dog stared at him for a moment, then laid his head back down.

“Good boy. Okay now, hold real still, Lucky.”

As Del carefully worked the two bars under the telephone pole, an unexpected thought popped into his head. “You know what my friends at the bureau would say if they could see me now?” he said out loud. “Me, the guy that never owned a dog, a cat or even a plant, and here I am, my hands full of splinters and worried over the fate of a mutt that will probably bite me when I finally get him free, or run like hell without so much as a backward glance.”

Satisfied he had the metal bars wedged under the pole as securely as possible, Del rocked back on his heels. Despite the fact that the air was now cold enough to frost his breath, the exertion had him sweating. “They’d say I’m an idiot for talking to a dog. They’d say I was asking for trouble and a big vet bill for an animal I don’t even own. And they’d be right.”

The dog lifted his head again and Del had the strangest feeling the animal understood every word he was saying. “Now—” he rested his hand on Lucky’s head “—be very still.” Carefully, he eased the animal out from beneath the levered pole and lowered him onto the ground, away from the junk pile. The dog lifted his head, but didn’t try to stand. He was thin for his size, and probably dehydrated, Del suspected. “Well, Lucky, you’re out. Now we gotta get you to a doctor.”

And just where would he find a vet at—he checked his watch—eight o’clock on a Saturday night. Austin was bound to have an emergency animal clinic, but it was forty miles away. He pulled out his cell phone to call the police, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to announce his arrival and new business by way of a police report. The gossips would burn up the wires spreading that news. The only person in Crystal Creek he knew well enough to call was Sam Russell. Sam was a dentist, but he’d know where to go for help. Del called information for the phone number then dialed.

“It’s your quarter, start talking,” answered a youthful male voice.

“Excuse me?” Del heard a muffled command in the background.

“Russell residence,” the boy stated.

“Could I speak with Dr. Russell, please?”

“Yeah—” More muffled sounds. “Yes, sir, just a moment.”

The boy must be young Hank Russell, born the day his sister Allie had been safely returned to the family. Del grinned remembering his own teenage years when slang was the bane of his parents’ existence.

“This is Dr. Russell,” a more mature male voice announced. “Can I help you?”

The response was so automatic for Del that the words were out before he realized it. “This is Agent Rickman of the FBI—”

“Del Rickman! What a surprise. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“This is such a coincidence. Lynn and I were just talking about you one day last week, wondering how you were and where you were.”

“Actually, I’m in Crystal Creek, and—”

“You’re kidding! Well, great, we’d love to see you.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, too, but the main reason I’m calling is that I need your help. I found a dog under a pile of lumber and I need the name of a local vet right away.”

“I see,” Sam replied, all business now. “He’s hurt bad, then?”

“I think so. There’s a lot of blood.” Del stroked Lucky’s head while he talked.

“Okay. Hill Country Veterinary Clinic. Have you got a pencil for directions?”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

Seconds later Sam ended his directions. “It’s a two-story redbrick building. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Oh, by the way—”

Del didn’t hear the rest. He’d cut Sam off, but it couldn’t be helped. He had no idea how serious the dog’s injuries were. It might already be too late to save him, but Del had to try.

In less than fifteen minutes he’d wrapped the dog in an old moving blanket he kept in the metal tool-box mounted in the bed of his truck, carefully placed him on the front seat, and headed out of town following Sam’s directions.

It would have been hard to miss the spanking new, two-story redbrick building in most landscapes, but in an unusually scrubby patch of Texas Hill Country it stood out like a ruby among pebbles, even at night. Del wheeled into the almost empty parking lot and came to a halt. After picking up the now-listless dog, he headed for the clinic. The front door was locked, but he could see a woman in a white medical smock, possibly a receptionist or technician, behind the front desk some twenty or so feet from the entrance. He banged on the glass door and she motioned for him to press the “After Hours” button.

“Can I help you?” came a voice through the speaker.

“I’ve got an injured dog here, and I think he’s hurt pretty bad.”

“Just a moment, please.” The intercom went dead while he watched her punch another button and speak into that unit. A second later the lock clicked open.

Del shouldered his way through the glass door and headed straight for the reception desk and the young woman behind it.

“What seems to be the—” Abruptly, the receptionist stood up, her eyes wide.

“I found him under a pile of old wood,” Del said, gazing down at the almost unconscious animal. “He’s got a bad gash and I think he must have lost a lot of blood.”

When the woman didn’t respond, he glanced up to find her staring at him. And the bizarre thing was that for a split second he thought there was something vaguely familiar about her. He quickly dismissed the notion. In his line of work at the bureau, he was always examining facial features of people he just met, mentally comparing them to mug shots—a habit he would need to break. “Miss? Miss, did you hear me?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. Yes.” She pointed to the intercom. “I just called the doctor. He’ll be here in a second.”

Del frowned, nodded. Strange, the way the woman was staring at him, he thought. The rescued stray whimpered and he focused on the animal in his arms. Del nodded toward the counter. “Okay if I put him—”

“Oh, oh.” She blinked. “Of course.” She shoved a stack of pamphlets to one side. “You said you found him in a woodpile.” She reached for a clipboard holding a printed form. “How long had he been missing?”

“Don’t know. He’s not mine.”

At that moment, one side of a set of metal doors swung open and a man Del estimated to be in his mid to late thirties stepped through. He was wearing jeans and cowboy boots and sported a handlebar mustache. Although a white doctor’s coat covered his western-cut shirt, as he struggled to put on a pair of surgical gloves, he looked more like an old-time cowboy than a veterinarian. He walked straight to Del and the dog.