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  “I don’t.” She sighed. “I know how to drive, I mean, but I can’t really afford a car. I can’t make payments, for one thing. And for another, what I could afford would mean gas and repair bills and maintenance. Won’t fit my budget,” she added with twinkling eyes. “I like being able to walk to work. I can afford to replace shoes,” she added.

  He chuckled. He had no such issues. If he’d wanted to, he could afford to run a Jaguar sports car. In fact, he’d owned one when he was in his early twenties, before he married Maria. And before Tonio came along.

  She glanced at his boots. They were big and hand-tooled. But they showed evidence of being working boots. Not for show.

  “I like boots,” he remarked when he noticed the attention his feet were getting. “I spend a lot of time with the cattle when I’m not on the job here. We have pasture on the bottoms, and when it floods, we’re all out pulling cows and calves out of mud.”

  “Ranching must be interesting.”

  “It’s magic,” he said, trying to find a word that really expressed his love for it. “I love animals,” he confessed. “I’ve nursed motherless calves and treated sick bulls and horses. I’ve never had one single day when I was bored.”

  “Do you have a lot of cowboys?”

  “A good many,” he said. “It’s a big ranch. I inherited it, along with the workers. Some of them are third-generation cowboys on the ranch,” he added, to her surprise. “They know exactly what to do, so I just stand back and let them do it. I don’t micromanage.”

  “I’ve seen nurses who did that,” she said. “Supervisors who had to detail every single task and then stood over you to make sure you did things exactly the way they said.” She grimaced. “It didn’t make for a happy working environment.”

  “I can imagine. No problems where you are?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, and her face brightened. “I love my job. I have wonderful coworkers. I hate the bad times. But the good times more than make up for it. There’s no greater joy than helping save the life of a child.”

  He smiled. “My job has echoes of that,” he said. “If I can catch a killer and get him off the streets, that saves lives, too.”

  “You Rangers go all over the world on cases, don’t you?”

  “We do. I’ve been as far west as Japan and as far east as Egypt on cases. I’ve certainly seen the world.”

  “I’ve seen Texas,” she laughed. “Well, actually, I’ve seen San Antonio. I’ve never been anywhere else.”

  “Never?” he exclaimed, glancing at her.

  “Some of us are just homebodies,” she pointed out. “Besides, I don’t have a car,” she reminded him.

  “There are buses.”

  “There are tickets. They cost money.”

  “Rubia, you’re hopeless,” he teased.

  “I guess I am,” she said, but she smiled. “I like my life. I don’t like change.”

  “Shame.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have anything to jingle in your pockets. You don’t like change,” he reminded her.

  She got it, belatedly, and laughed.

  “You’re a tonic,” he mused as they drove down the long stretch of road that led past sprawling ranches with endless fencing, on the road to Floresville. “I haven’t laughed so much in a long time.”

  “I haven’t, either.”

  “Do you like movies?” he asked abruptly.

  “Not many. I tend to enjoy cartoon movies and action ones more than comedies or horror. I do like science fiction, though.”

  “Me, too. I’m excited about next year’s Predator movie—”

  “That’s my favorite series!” she exclaimed. “I love the Predators. I have all the movies and all the books and a lot of comics and graphic novels.”

  “You’re kidding me!” he exclaimed. “So do I!”

  She laughed. “What a coincidence.”

  “How about the Aliens?”

  “I like those, too.” She glanced at him. “I’ll bet you’ve never gone to a cartoon movie in your life.”

  “You’d be wrong.” Tonio had loved those movies when he was little. He and Maria took Tonio to the theater almost every time a new one came out. It made him sad, remembering little Maria. They hadn’t been a passionate couple, but he’d adored her for her gentle, kind heart.

  She noticed his sudden withdrawal. There must be something sad in his past that was triggered by her comment. She was sorry she’d made it.

  “What sort of music do you like?” she asked, changing the subject.

  He came out of his memories and back into the light. “Almost every sort,” he said. “But I’m partial to Latin music.”

  She laughed. “So am I. I’m crazy about it. My father taught me the tango when I was just nine years old—”

  “The tango!”

  “Yes. It’s such a wonderful dance. So complex. Nothing like most of the American movies that include it.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “It’s as much an art form as a physical thing.”

  Her lips parted. “Can you do a tango?”

  “Yes, I can.” He almost added that he was from Argentina, and that he’d grown up with it. But he hesitated to mention his background. Not just yet. He smiled. “It’s hard to find a partner who can do it.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t go out much. In fact, I don’t go out at all. But there’s a flamenco place downtown where I eat occasionally, when it doesn’t get dark until late. They always have somebody who does a tango.”

  “It’s something of a contest down in Jacobsville,” he mused. “We have three couples who fight it out on the dance floor. The Griers, the Caldwells, and the Kantors. They’re all accomplished, but the rumor is that Stanton Rourke Kantor and his wife are the true champions. Rourke was CIA, stationed in Argentina. His cover was as a dance instructor, so that gives him an edge on the others. A slight edge.”

  “Wow. We hear all sorts of rumors about people in Jacobsville,” she added. “Is it true that your police chief used to be a government assassin?”

  “It is,” he said, eyes dancing. “We have a whole complement of ex-black ops and military people, as well as retired mercs. A drug lord found out the hard way a few years back that it wasn’t just rumors.”

  “Cara Dominguez,” she said abruptly.

  His eyebrows arched. “How do you know about her?”

  She laughed self-consciously. “My best friend on the ward is Merrie York. Her brother has a ranch in Jacobsville. She knows all the news.”

  “I know the Yorks. They’re nice people.”

  “Very nice. Merrie’s so good with children.”

  “You must be, too,” he replied.

  “It’s why I work at a children’s hospital. I love them all.”

  “Yet you haven’t married and had some of your own,” he said with a gentle smile.

  The reaction he got was surprising, and it made him self-conscious. She nodded, but she averted her head and her face drew up. Why? A failed love affair? A romance gone wrong?

  “Bad memories?” he wondered.

  She sighed. “Very bad,” she confessed, staring out the window. “I don’t talk about them.”

  “You were alone after your mother and brother died,” he recalled. “It must have been very hard.”

  She drew in a breath. “It was. I’ve had my run-ins with Los Diablos Lobitos,” she added, drawing his attention. “I’d love to see Rado go up for murder one,” she said harshly. “He’s like an eel. They can’t hold him.”

  “Hard facts,” he replied easily. “You have to have proof, not only of the crime, but of intent. It’s not easy, when a gang leader surrounds himself with people who are more than happy to provide him with an unbreakable alibi.”

  “True,” she said sadly. “I guess he�
�ll go on until he gets too old to intimidate people.”

  “Does he intimidate you?”

  She made a face. “I’m afraid of him. I don’t let it show, ever,” she added doggedly. “I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “You have to walk home alone at night,” he began, and the thought concerned him.

  “Oh, I get cabs home,” she said. “Even though it’s close, I never take chances going home. I won’t give Rado a free shot at me.”

  His black eyes narrowed as he pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and cut off the engine. He turned to her. “Why are you afraid of him?” he asked gently.

  “Because he’s made threats,” she said reluctantly. She forced a laugh. “It was probably just showing off, in front of his friends.”

  “What sort of threat?” he persisted, and his blood ran hot. She was a gentle, shy woman. He hated the thought that a thug would target her, for any reason.

  “Just the ‘I’ll get you’ one,” she said, delighted at his concern. “I stopped him from bullying a child,” she added. She didn’t add anything else.

  “I see.”

  “He was trying to get someone to take drugs into the hospital, to give to the children,” she said, almost choking on her anger.

  His face hardened. “He should be charged for that.”

  “How would you do it?” she replied sadly. “It would be my word against his, and his friends who were with him would swear that I lied. It’s that simple.”

  “Still,” he said, thinking. “It might be a good idea to have someone undercover at the hospital.”

  “From your office?” she asked.

  “No. That would be SAPD’s jurisdiction. I’ll talk to Marquez about it.”

  “Marquez?”

  “Rick Marquez. He’s a lieutenant of detectives. An old friend,” he added with a smile.

  “I was going to suggest Hollister.”

  He drew in a long breath. “We don’t get along, as a rule,” he said. “He’s very fond of throwing out orders, and I don’t respond well to prodding.”

  Her eyebrows lifted over mischievous brown eyes. “I thought you were that kind of man,” she teased.

  He grinned at her. “Actually, I’m worse. And we’re here.”

  * * *

  He went around to open her door for her. He lifted her down from the high seat, his hands tight around her small waist. He didn’t put her down immediately. He held her at eye level, searching her big, brown eyes quietly while her heart tried to beat her ribs to death.

  “You don’t wear makeup,” he said, his voice deeper, softer as he studied her.

  She swallowed. “I don’t really like it...”

  “It wasn’t a complaint, rubia,” he said softly. His black eyes fell to her mouth. It was the most perfect bow shape, lush and gently curved. He thought how it would feel under his lips. He hadn’t wanted to kiss a woman in a long time. He wanted very much to kiss this one.

  But it was too soon. And unwise.

  He put her down and stepped back. “Barbeque,” he said, ramming his hands into his pockets with a chuckle. “I like mine red-hot.”

  She fought to calm down as she fell into step beside him. Her heart was still racing like mad. She’d thought he was going to kiss her. But he’d pulled back and now he was as distant as he’d been at their first meeting. She forced a smile so her disappointment didn’t show too much.

  “I like mine edible,” she retorted. “I have taste buds. They still work.”

  “I burned mine off years ago, eating raw jalapeño peppers,” he laughed.

  “To each his own,” she replied, smiling.

  * * *

  They had a booth in the back of the sprawling restaurant. Their waiter was young, short, very friendly.

  John knew him. They conversed in Spanish while Sunny listened, fascinated. The young man had a brother who was in trouble with the law. John had helped him, apparently, because he was asking if the brother was keeping himself straight. The waiter chuckled and said, yes, he was, because he didn’t want to let John down.

  Sunny smiled to herself. Her companion had a big heart. She was already fascinated with him. She had to try to keep those feelings under control, though. She had nothing to give him, in any sort of intimate way.

  He seemed as content for friendship as she was, and it made her relax even more. He was a widower. Perhaps he was still grieving. That would explain his reluctance to get involved with her. She hoped he never had to learn why she didn’t want to get involved with a man. Friendship, though, that was fine.

  * * *

  They both ordered barbeque plates and cleaned them.

  “I was starving,” she laughed.

  “I noticed.”

  “I forget to eat when I’m at home,” she confided. “I get busy with household chores, or cooking, or crocheting, and I pass over mealtimes.”

  “I’m the same,” he mused. “I rarely have time to sit down in a restaurant. Odd thing, that crime seems to balloon this time of year, during the holiday season.”

  “People are more open to other people. So they’re more easily taken advantage of,” she said simply. “It brings out the best and the worst in people, this time of year.”

  He nodded.

  “Why were you named Suna?” he asked while he sipped coffee.

  “For my mother’s grandmother,” she said. “It was her nickname. She was called Susanna. My mother couldn’t pronounce that when she was small, so she called her Granny Suna,” she laughed. “So Suna, she was.”

  “It’s a pretty name.” He searched her eyes. “Do you have another name besides?”

  “Angelica,” she said with a shy smile.

  “Now that suits you,” he teased. “But so does Sunny. I like it.”

  Her high cheekbones colored, just a little, as she met that even gaze and felt her heart skip.

  He fingered his coffee cup, his eyes narrow on her face. “How about dessert?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like sweets very much. Except when I’m pulling a double shift and I need an energy boost,” she laughed.

  “I don’t like sweets much, either. But I carry granola bars around in my pocket when I’m on a case,” he confessed.

  The waiter came back with the check.

  “La comida estuva muy buena,” she said gently. “¿Puedo pagar con tarjeta de crédito?” she added, reaching for her purse.

  Two sets of male eyebrows lifted, because her accent was flawless.

  “Yes, the meal was very good. No, you can’t pay with a credit card,” John said, with a soft laugh. “It was my invitation, so my treat. Next time, you can take me, and you can pick up the check. Deal?”

  She grinned and laughed a little self-consciously. “Okay. Deal.” At least, she thought brightly, he wanted to see her again. But she’d have to work up the nerve to ask him out. Maybe later.

  SIX

  “You didn’t tell me that you spoke Spanish,” he said when they were in the truck.

  “I have to. We have a lot of people here who only speak Spanish,” she added, smiling. “Most of them have a child or grandchild with them who can translate. But it’s not a bad idea to be bilingual. Besides,” she added with soft laughter, “I love Spanish. My mother was bilingual. She taught me.”

  “I grew up speaking it,” he said. “When I came to this country from Argentina, I had to learn English. Even at the age of ten, English is hard!” he said.

  She smiled. “You grew up in Argentina?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. It’s a beautiful country.”

  “I’ve seen videos of it on the internet,” she said. “I love to watch the gauchos ride. Did you grow up in a city?” she wondered.

  He laughed. “No, rubia. In the Pampas. My grandfather was a gaucho.” That
wasn’t quite true. He was a wealthy landowner who rode like one, though.

  “Wow,” she said softly.

  He grinned. “His wife, my grandmother, taught me the tango,” he added. He glanced at her. “One day, we’ll have to try out that flamenco club downtown.”

  Her heart skipped. She tried to hide her excitement. “I’d love that.”

  “You know, so would I,” he said, smiling.

  * * *

  He drove her back to her apartment. Conversation was light and comfortable, nothing heavy. They found that they thought alike on politics, something of a surprise. It was a volatile subject, especially in modern times.

  He pulled up in front of her apartment, but before he could cut off the engine, his phone rang with the FIFA World Cup theme, easily recognizable by a soccer fan, which Sunny was.

  “Ruiz,” he said at once.

  He listened, sighed, glanced at Sunny with a rueful smile. “Okay. On my way. Text me the address, will you? Sure.”

  He cut off the phone with a wry smile. “Well, I would have walked you to your door, but I’ve got another robbery across town. SAPD requested our help. Sorry.”

  “No. You don’t need to apologize. It’s your job.”

  He reached over and touched her long, soft hair. “We’ll do this again. Maybe a movie some weekend, you think?”

  Her spirits lifted. It was unwise to let this continue. She should just say no and get out of the SUV. She knew that she should...

  “I’d like that,” she said instead.

  “We’ll talk about it later. You got a cell phone?”

  “Well, yes...”

  He held out his hand. She gave it to him. It was a generic phone, nothing fancy. “Can you get text messages on it?” he asked.

  “Yes. That’s mostly how I communicate with people at work,” she replied.

  He smiled. He pulled up a screen and input his name and cell phone number. He did the same on his own phone, with hers. He handed it back to her. “Now. You get hassled on the way home, any night, you text me. I’ll bring handcuffs.”

  She laughed with pure delight. “Okay,” she said softly.

  He pursed his lips and studied her with warm eyes. “Or you could just text me for no reason. I’m easy.”