The Ranger's Texas Proposal. Jessica Keller

must she think of him for showing up at her house two days in a row? He’d do it tomorrow, too. And the day after that. The woman was alone and pregnant; she shouldn’t be managing the ranch on her own. Besides, she was the eyewitness to a possible crime. If the wrongdoer had spotted her, then Josie could be in danger. He wouldn’t scare her with that notion, but he’d stick close until things were sorted out.

      Heath spotted Flint straightaway. He was near the heavy machinery, but when he saw Heath’s truck, Flint came striding across the yard. A big black dog yapped circles around his feet.

      Heath grabbed his white Stetson, pushed it onto his head, then tucked his badge into his back pocket as he stepped down from his truck. He took in the barn, the fence posts, the large home—it was impossible for Heath to turn off his investigative eye. His brain seemed programmed to constantly log information, and look for weaknesses or issues. Things to fix, help, protect.

      The black Lab bounded toward Heath, its tail smacking his legs while it used the running board on Heath’s truck to jump up into the driver’s seat, which put the animal at head level to lodge a full lick attack on Heath’s neck and face. Heath groaned and good-naturedly shoved the dog’s nose away so he couldn’t lick him any longer.

      “Cowboy, down.” Flint reached around Heath, grabbed the dog’s collar and tugged him out of the truck. “Sorry about that.” Flint finally looked at Heath. The two men were about the same height, but that was where their similarities ended. Where Heath’s eyes were dark, Flint’s were blue; same for the hair—Heath had black to Flint’s blond.

      “He’s only two,” Flint apologized. “Still learning his manners.”

      “It’s fine.” Heath used the sleeve of his white button-down to sop the worst of the drool from his neck. “He still has better manners than most of the people I deal with.” He adjusted his hat. All the Rangers wore them for work, but he’d gotten so used to the feel of it on his head, Heath usually wore the Stetson at all times.

      “Got a minute?” Flint released the dog and it took off toward the barn where a group of school-age boys were working a few ponies in the arena. Flint set his hands on the edge of his belt.

      “Right. Down to business.”

      Flint laughed.

      Neither of them was a chitchat type of guy. That was probably why they’d gotten along so well during basic training.

      “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” Flint said as Heath came over.

      Heath propped his hand on the edge of his holster. “I have all the time in the world right now.”

      Flint leaned against the giant wheel of a tractor. “I told you about the gentleman who died and left us this new property. Didn’t I?”

      “Cyrus Culpepper.”

      “That’s the one.” Flint shook his head. “I forgot about how good you are at remembering things—facts.”

      “That’s what they pay me for.”

      “Well, I got some more facts for you, then.” Flint hooked his thumb in his pocket. “Culpepper left terms in his will. You know how our ranch used to be located on the other end of town?”

      Heath nodded. The boys ranch had moved into their current location—the land from Culpepper’s will—only a week ago. Before then, they’d been located on a smaller piece of land.

      “Well, it turns out Culpepper was one of the original residents from when the boys ranch was first started. One of his stipulations for us to keep the property and everything else he left is to have the original boys from the ranch back for the anniversary party in March.”

      Heath waited for the punch line. There was always a punch line.

      Flint shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable with whatever he had to say. “I was tasked with tracking down a man by the name of Edmund Grayson. Maybe it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you might be related to him. Does that name sound familiar?”

      Edmund Grayson? But it couldn’t be...could it?

      Heath sucked in a rattled breath.

      Of course he knew that name—but no, it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t believe it. Heath straightened his spine. Kicked his boot against one of the tractor tires to shake free of the dirt.

      He cupped his hand along his jaw. “That’s my grandfather’s name, but he was never a resident at any of these ranches.”

      “Is he from the Waco area?”

      “He is that.” Heath nodded. “Born and lived in this area most of his life. He was a state trooper until he retired and moved to Florida.”

      “Edmund’s not a common name,” Flint said gently.

      It wasn’t, but there had to be two of them. If his grandfather had lived at the boys ranch, Heath would know. Wouldn’t he? That was something his father or grandfather would have mentioned at some point.

      “I’m telling you, you have the wrong guy. My grandfather never went to one of these ranches. I’d know if he did. He would have told me. Especially after what happened to my dad, that would have come out at some point.”

      Flint shuffled his feet. “It’s imperative that all four of the original residents are found and reunited at the celebration in March. If that doesn’t happen...we’ll lose all of this.” He raised his hands to encompass the land. “Edmund Grayson is a unique enough name. I haven’t been able to find another one with ties to the Waco area.”

      “It’s not my grandfather.”

      “Ask him. What’s it going to cost you to ask?”

      An olive branch and then some.

      Heath hadn’t spoken to the man in years. He’d received a congratulations card in the mail when he’d been appointed a Ranger, but that had been their last contact. Maybe he’d ask Nell, see what she thought before poking at the old bear.

      “Please?”

      Heath sighed. First investigating the incidents at the ranch and now possibly reaching out to his estranged grandfather. Flint was sure getting a lot of favors out of him this visit.

      He gave Flint one stiff nod. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what I can find out.”