Daughter of Texas (10 page)

Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation because he didn't want to probe old wounds, he said, “Are you hungry? I'm sure I can find something to make.”

He headed into the kitchen. She followed, obviously not about to relent. “Was it on the job?”

“One time.”

“How many more times?”

“A couple.” He turned away to search the cupboards. He laid out a bowl, a fry pan and a whisk.

Which would make this the fourth time he'd had his nose broken, she thought. That couldn't be good. Curiosity rose, prompting her to ask, “When did the other two times happen?”

He rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out eggs, scallions and mushrooms. “When I was a kid.”

“Did you fall or something?”

“No.” He cracked eggs into a bowl and whipped them up.

“A fight, then?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Keeping his gaze on his task, he began chopping the vegetables.

Corinna tapped her foot. Why the evasive answer? “Sort of? How can you sort of be in a fight?”

When he glanced up, his expression clearly stated he didn't want to delve into this. “Leave it alone.”

She really should. She hadn't wanted to be drawn emotionally to him. She'd tried to set a boundary the day he'd come to the shelter and watched her teach. The way he'd been with sweet little Gretchen had melted her heart and made her realize she needed to stay far away from him. She was beginning to see he was the type of man she could fall for. In a big way. The type of man who could break her heart. And she'd been right to think getting too close was a bad idea. Look how she'd behaved when he'd come to the studio. She'd practically thrown herself at him and he'd rejected her again.

But he'd saved her life and suffered an injury for her sake. That counted for a lot.

And she was curious about him. What had her father
seen in Ben that made him take the teen under his wing all those years ago?

She didn't know much about his upbringing, only that he had no family, which was why her father had always invited him to share in their holidays. After her mother's death, her dad had been all she'd had. Being forced to share him with the interloper had chafed at her already wounded heart.

She'd stubbornly refused to take an interest in Ben. She felt bad about that now. But she couldn't undo her selfish, childish behavior. She could only move forward. “Who did you fight with?”

He dumped the eggs in the buttered, sizzling fry pan. “You really want to know?”

She nodded.

As he fluffed the eggs while slowly dropping in the scallions and mushrooms and spices he'd found in the cupboard, he sighed. “The first time with another foster kid. He was three years older and mean. He didn't like that I said no when he wanted my food.”

She hadn't known he'd grown up in foster care. Her dad had never told her. Compassion infused her, questions bombarded her mind. “How old were you?”

“Eight.”

A deep ache squeezed her chest until she could barely breathe. Eight? Still just a baby. She couldn't imagine. “What happened to your parents?”

He took two plates from a cupboard and set them on the counter. “Both dead.”

She put her hand to her mouth as tears welled. “I'm so sorry.”

He divided up the eggs without so much as glancing
at her. “Don't be. My father was a drug dealer, killed during a bad deal. My mother was a junkie. She ODed when I was five.”

“While you were at school?”
Please let him say yes
.

“No. I found her when I got up one morning.”

Her hand covered her heart. “Oh, no. That's horrible.”

He shrugged. “Since I was already deemed at risk because of my mom's drug use, when I didn't come to school for three days, child protective services came knocking.”

Sympathy gripped her, filling her with the desire to reach out to touch him, offer some sort of comfort. “I'm so sorry. That must have been devastating.”

“I survived.”

The matter-of-fact way he spoke ripped her up inside. He couldn't be that well-adjusted, could he?

He'd been so young. So alone.

She thought back to when her father had brought Ben around for the first time. At nineteen there'd been something dark and dangerous about him. Now she understood. He was an orphan, raised in a system that didn't always work. That left scars.

“How can you speak of this without any emotion?”

He cocked his head. “What should I feel? Sorry for myself?”

She couldn't imagine this man feeling self-pity. He was too self assured, too pragmatic. But she'd expect sorrow at the very least. “Do you remember your parents?”

He gave a slow nod. A flash of sadness darkened his eyes. He wasn't as unfeeling as he wanted her to believe.
“I do. I have a few clear memories, some good. Some bad.”

“I hope I never lose my memories,” she stated, aching for him and for herself. She had no problem indulging in a bout of self-pity. She struggled to keep from sliding down that road.

Ben came around the counter and took her hand. “You won't. I'll help you to remember.”

She squeezed his hand. “I'll hold you to that.”

A noise at the front door raised the hair at the back of her neck. “It's Gisella.”

Ben tugged her off the stool and around the counter, positioning himself in front of her. “We can't be sure.” He unholstered his weapon, his hand covering the grip, his finger hovering over the trigger.

Corinna latched on to Ben's arm. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers.

The front door swung open. Gisella walked in and drew up short when she saw them. “Whoa. You didn't tell me you had a busted nose.”

With relief, Corinna stepped out from behind Ben and proudly said, “He saved my life.”

Red crept up Ben's neck. “Just doing my job.” He picked up a plate and handed it to Corinna. “You got here quick. Just in time for some food.”

“No traffic.” Gisella, looking a bit stunned, moved into the kitchen. Her gaze rested on Corinna. “Was it the same guy from the house?”

Corinna nodded and set the plate of steaming eggs on the counter in front of Gisella. “We think so.”

“He in custody?”

Ben shook his head. “Nope. Got away.”

Catching this guy was personal on many levels for Ben. Corinna could only imagine the disappointment running through him. She touched his arm. “You'll get him.”

He met her gaze. Guilt brightened his hazel eyes. “I should have shot him when I had the chance.”

Cocking her head, she asked, “Why didn't you?”

Gentleness softened his expression. “I didn't want to risk hitting you.”

She was touched and a little disconcerted that he had put her welfare over capturing a criminal. Had his feelings for her grown deeper than just wanting to do his job? “Well, I thank you.”

Their gazes held. For a moment, she thought she saw affection in his eyes. She was still trying to sort out what she felt. Gratitude for sure. That was easy to admit to.

“This smells delicious,” Gisella interjected. “Thanks. To…?” Her questioning gaze danced between Ben and Corinna.

Corinna gestured with her fork at Ben. “Him.”

Gisella looked impressed. “Who knew you could cook.”

Ben frowned. “It's just eggs.”

Gisella set her Stetson to the side. “You'd be surprised how many guys don't even know how to make simple scrambled eggs without burning them. Or wouldn't think to add veggies.” She dug her fork into the fluffy concoction. “Mmm.”

Corinna took a few bites. The eggs tasted good, but her stomach churned as soon as the food hit bottom. She set her fork down to drink some water.

“You're not eating,” Ben admonished.

“My tummy's upset,” she said.

Ben and Gisella exchanged a look that Corinna couldn't quite name. “What was that?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “What was what?”

This was worse than being in the principal's office in grade school. Her father and Principal Kaplan had exchanged looks that spoke of private conversations revolving around her. That same sort of look had just passed between Ben and Gisella. Wagging her index finger between the two, she said, “That look.”

Gisella grimaced.

Ben met her gaze directly. “We're concerned. You haven't been eating or sleeping well. You've been pushing yourself too hard.”

She felt slightly betrayed because he couldn't know any of that unless Gisella was reporting to him. It didn't matter he was Gisella's boss while on the job. Corinna just hadn't realized living here would be part of Gisella's job time. How irritating to know her life was so scrutinized.

“I'm a big girl.” What made him think he had some say in her life, anyway? “I can take care of myself. I know my limits and my limitations. I don't need either one of you mothering me.”

Ben held up his hands, palms out. “Whoa. Calm down.”

Insulted by his condescending tone, Corinna straightened to her full five feet four inches. “I
am
calm.”

Gisella rose, care and concern on her face plain to read. “Corinna, we're not trying to mother you. We care about you.”

“Because you have to,” Corinna muttered, wondering
if they'd be so considerate if she weren't Captain Pike's daughter. She knew Ben wouldn't. He'd already confessed his attention was the byproduct of a promise. Who knew he'd end up being such an honorable guy? Or that she'd find herself wishing he'd see her as more than just an obligation. A duty. A debt repaid.

Suddenly very tired and overwrought, she said, “I'm going to say good night now.”

“I'm here if you need anything,” Gisella said, her gaze echoing the sincerity in her voice.

Deciding that Gisella's concern was genuine, Corinna smiled her thanks.

Ben came to her side and gathered her hands in his. Warmth traveled up her arms and spread throughout her body.

“I'm not going to let that guy get anywhere near you again. I promise.”

The heartfelt determination in his tone touched Corinna. Was he being driven by more than just his duty or need to repay a debt? He seemed to be taking her safety personally, as if she really mattered on a heart level.

And did she care if his attention was something deeper? She honestly didn't know, and really wasn't in any frame of mind to examine her feelings too closely.

Confused, she tugged her hands free and backed away with a quick good-night. She hoped in the light of day her feelings would become clear. One way or another.

T
he next morning, Ben arrived at Gisella's house just as the female Ranger and Corinna were getting into Gisella's vehicle. His heart gave a little jolt at the sight of Corinna, so young and fresh. The epitome of good ness and light.

Shaking off the strange effect she had on him, Ben climbed from his Jeep and started walking toward the ladies. The quiet September morning was heavy with humidity. Overhead birds flew in a V formation across a blue sky.

Gisella leaned on the open door of her car while Corinna walked toward him as he came up the drive. His gaze roamed over her, appreciating the view.

In deference to the day's coming heat, the pale yellow summer dress Corinna had chosen to wear showed her curves to advantage, reminding him how those curves felt pressed against him. Her dark hair was up in its customary bun at the nape of her slender neck.

Sometimes he wished she'd let her hair fall loose about her shoulders. His fingers itched to feel the silky softness. Her dark eyes regarded him with curiosity and
something else he couldn't quite identify, making him curious as to what she really thought of him.

He didn't see the familiar coldness or the haughtiness that had always made him feel that she found him lacking.

“Good morning.” She halted in front of him, blocking the way. “Why are you here?”

He touched the brim of his Stetson. “Morning. I thought I'd take you to breakfast before you hit the studio.”

Mild surprise crinkled the corners of her mouth.

“That is, if you haven't already eaten,” he added, though he'd be surprised if she said yes.

She shook her head. “No, I haven't eaten.”

Confirming his suspicion.

For a split second she seemed to contemplate his plan. “Where would you like to go?”

Pleasantly surprised, he said, “I know this great little café on the Riverwalk that makes the best French crepes this side of the Atlantic.”

Cleary intrigued, she said, “Really? How did you know I love crepes?”

A twinge of sadness made his smile falter. “Your father.”

“He told you?” Tears welled in her eyes.

He nodded. “He made them every Sunday after church, right?”

With a soft sigh, she said, “Right.”

“Today's not Sunday, but I thought…”

“That would be nice,” Corinna said.

Gisella cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “What's the plan, guys?”

Ben glanced over at her. “She's coming with me.”

Gisella's knowing smile made heat crawl up his neck. Why was he feeling embarrassed? He was just doing his job. Taking Corinna to breakfast fell under the header of protection. Shoving his discomfort away, he took Corinna's dance bag and led her to his Jeep.

 

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the café on the Riverwalk. An interesting establishment with dark wood paneling and large glossy photos of France decorating the walls.

“We'll sit inside,” Ben told the hostess who greeted them at the reception desk.

“No, we won't. We'll sit outside,” Corinna countered. She wanted to enjoy the early morning sunshine.

“You'd be too exposed out there,” Ben said, his gaze rife with meaning.

The last thing she wanted was him hovering over her like some snarling beast, hyperaware of any perceived threat. That was no way to live. “I'm not living my life in fear. I'll take my chances.” She walked past him, out to the patio seating area, forcing him to follow.

Taking the table by the edge of the shale-floored space, she sat and enjoyed the view. The colorful table umbrella provided shade from the morning sun. Sunlight, filtered through the lush greenery and full trees along the walking path located parallel to the river, dappled the water.

If it were later in the day, crowded flat-bottom boats would float past, their occupants avidly enthralled by cruise narrators as they relayed the history of the Riverwalk.

Ben sat down opposite her. “I don't like this. You take too many chances with your safety.”

“I don't mean to make your job harder, but I meant what I said. I'm not going to cower in a corner. My father wouldn't have. And neither would you.”

“But that's different.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Because I'm a woman?”

He pressed his lips together and didn't answer. Smart man.

They ordered and soon their meal was before them. The soothing setting made the tension in Corinna's shoulders lessen as she sat back and sipped orange juice from a tall glass. She'd finished her crepe with gusto. Ben had been right, this café made a great crepe. She could get used to spending time with Ben like this, enjoying his company. Though she would have liked for him to relax a bit. His attentive gaze took everything in, looking for some threat.

“This is nice,” she said, content to just sit and unwind.

“Thank you for thinking of it.”

Ben's big, strong hands wrapped around his coffee mug. “You're welcome. I know these past few days have been difficult.”

She looked away toward the arched stone bridge spanning the river. Her mood crashed down, dispelling the contentment of moments before. “Difficult.”

Would she ever be able to move on? Would Ben? She ached to think they would always have this bond of grief between them. Regret for losing the short-lived sense of happiness and peace cascaded through her. She sighed. “Yeah, difficult is an understatement.”

Ben reached across the table to cover one of her
hands. His strong fingers wrapped around hers—the contact at once pleasing yet painful. He was her last connection to her dad.

So much had happened the past few days. Her view of Ben had shifted. She was finding it harder with each passing moment to hold on to the old resentment and anger. Compassion and affection were rapidly healing the wounds of her youth.

And now she wasn't sure what to think or how to deal with her changing feelings for Ben. She'd always had strong feelings for him, these were just different. She liked him, really liked him. But what did that mean for the future? Did she want it to mean anything?

She honestly didn't know.

“What did you mean when you said dancing wasn't your dream, but your mother's?” Ben asked.

She nearly groaned. She'd hoped he'd forgotten she'd let her secret slip. How could she explain? “I didn't mean to say that.”

“Is it true, though? If dancing wasn't your dream then why have you devoted your life to it and worked so hard at it?”

Raw emotions scraped at her nerves. Grief, guilt, a touch of anger all neatly forged together to make a sharp knife of regret. “You know that my mother was once a prima ballerina, right?”

“Yes, Greg told me.”

“She danced all over the country, until she came here to San Antonio and met my father. She left the stage to raise me.” Corinna bit her bottom lip. “I wasn't exactly the daughter she'd hoped for.”

Ben's eyebrows drew together. “How can that be true? She'd be proud of you.”

Corinna gave a small humorless laugh. “You don't understand. From the very first I was a tomboy. I wanted to be like my father.”

Clearly surprised, Ben stared at her. “You're kidding. I had no idea.”

She shrugged. “Why would you?” She shook her head, thinking back to those early days of childhood. “I was such a terror. Mom tried so hard to turn me into a little ballerina. Dance classes galore, recitals and girly dresses. All I wanted was to be like my dad. I didn't understand why I couldn't wear a badge and fake holster with a pop gun to dance class.”

That made Ben smile. “I can see it now.” He held up his hand like he were reading a marquee. “Corinna, the Dancing Ranger.”

She held his gaze and managed a small laugh through the tightness constricting her throat. Dishes crashed nearby. A clumsy waiter clearing a table. Ben tensed as his gaze sought any possible danger. He returned his gaze to her.

The humor died away. Tension knotted her shoulders. “But then she got sick. Breast cancer. Stage four by the time it was discovered.”

Sympathy etched lines in his handsome face.

She dropped her gaze to the table as the memories haunted her. Ben's gentle squeeze to her hand gave her the impetus to go on. Taking a bracing breath, she said, “I didn't understand at first why she was so tired all the time. Why she kept going to the doctors. Why she and Dad seemed so sad. Why she cried so often. I got
scared, started acting out—getting into fights, talking back to the teachers at school.”

Shame built in her chest. “I was eleven and no one was talking to me. Finally, Dad lost his temper and yelled at me to stop making things so hard for my mother.
Why couldn't I just behave and do as she asked?
” She met Ben's compassionate gaze. “That was the only time I ever saw him lose his temper.”

“I'm sure he was hurting.”

She nodded. “Not long after that my mom told me she was dying.” Tears sprang to the surface. She fought them back. “I still remember the smell of her perfume, the feel of her petal-soft skin as she held me while I cried. I begged and pleaded with her not to die.” A horrible sound escaped her closing throat. “Like she had a choice.”

“I'm sure she understood. You were young.”

“Young and selfish.”

“Corinna—”

“Don't.” She couldn't tolerate platitudes. “You asked me why I dance. It's because her last words to me were ‘Dance for me, baby. Be my ballerina.'”

He nodded in understanding. “So that's what you did.”

She wiped at a stray tear and blinked several times. “Yes. That's what I did. Dancing became my refuge. When I dance nothing else exists.” She gave a self-effacing laugh. “But I still wanted to be like my father.”

Ben leaned forward, his expression earnest. “And you are. You have all of his good qualities.” A teasing light entered his hazel eyes. “And a few of his not so good.”

Arching an eyebrow, she said, “Not so good?”

“Stubborn, focused, perfectionist.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a teasing grin. “Ring any bells?”

She made a face at him. “I think I'd rather hear about the good qualities.”

His eyes twinkled. “Give me a second to come up with those.”

“Hey!” She looked at him through her lowered lashes. He was something special, this man who made her laugh, who made her want to move forward with her life.

He sobered. “Seriously, you are a lot like your father. Kind, generous, loyal.”

Her cheeks flamed at the complimentary words. “So are you.” She kept her tone light to regain the peace and serenity that had started off the day.

He tilted his head. “Is that a good thing or not?”

“It's good.” She surprised herself at how true those words were and even more surprised by the pride she felt for Ben. He'd come from such a hard beginning and had become a man worth admiring. She admired him in a way she'd never felt before. And that was very appealing.

“Your approval means a lot.” His expression turned pensive. “I'm sorry you felt left out of your father's life. If I had known…” he trailed off.

She waved away his needless guilt. “I doubt your knowing would have changed my behavior.”

“Maybe not. But maybe I would have tried to draw you out more. Or at least tried to understand.”

“All water under the bridge now.”

“Having your father take an interest in me saved my life.”

Curiosity made her want to know more. “How so?”

“I was headed down a destructive road that would have ended badly. I owe your father so much.”

The reminder of why he was taking such a personal interest in her tasted bittersweet. He owed her father. She was just a job even if at times it seemed like so much more.

Resigned to the boundaries of their relationship, she said, “It's getting late. I need to head to the studio. We've only a couple more days of rehearsal left until the charity fund-raiser.”

Ben stood and laid several bills on the table. Corinna rose and tried to squelch the growing affection blossoming in her heart, but she had the feeling that would be like telling the sun to stop shining.

She put her hand into his outstretched one and stepped forward just as a loud crack of a gun split the air. Corinna felt a puff of hot air pass by her as the bullet barely missed her head.

Birds squawked, people screamed as they hit the deck and Ben jerked her to the ground. Corinna's gaze swung toward the walkway, searching for the shooter.

Another shot rang out. Bits of shale from the patio floor burst near Corinna's leg. Sharp fragments stung her flesh.

“Come on,” Ben barked. “We have to get out of here. Stay down!”

In a crouch, he led Corinna away from the restaurant toward the staircase that would take them to the street
level. They crossed against traffic and ran to the parking garage.

Corinna threw a glance over her shoulder. There didn't seem to be anyone following them. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she slid into the passenger seat of Ben's Jeep.

Ben started the engine, threw the gear into drive and squealed out of the parking lot. With quick efficiency, he called the shooting in.

“That was too close,” he said after hanging up the phone. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Ben had saved her life again. Though she doubted he'd see it that way. He'd say God had had a hand in this. Well, if that were true, then God must be very proud of Ben, because he was a true hero.

If she weren't careful, she'd find herself falling in love with Ben. And that was a scary thought on so many levels.

 

Once Ben was driving through the downtown traffic, the rush of adrenaline abated. He'd phoned in the shooting, though figured the sniper was long gone. CSU would find the spent bullets. He hoped they matched the bullets that killed Greg. Then they'd know for sure if they were after the same man.