“It’s not like she’s asking you to give up law enforcement altogether,” Chris says.
“You really think he should go?” Heather says, surprised by her husband’s position.
“I’d do it for you,” Chris says, leaning over and kissing his wife on the cheek.
“She does have a heck of an opportunity,” Mom says. “This is her dream. She needs to live it.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not stopping her.”
“But are you supporting her?”
“Rory’s got a dream,” Jake says. “It’s called being a Texas Ranger. He needs to live it, too.”
Dad doesn’t say much, but after dinner he asks me to come into his study with him. The walls are lined with bookcases, but memories outnumber books on the shelves: football trophies, framed drawings my brothers and I did as kids, souvenirs from family vacations, and photographs, lots of photographs. Pictures of us kids, as babies through to adults. Pictures of the grandkids. There’s a nice picture of Anne, my ex. Seeing it in here never bothered Willow because she knows how much my family loved Anne. And it’s hard to be jealous of an ex who was murdered. Besides, there are pictures of Willow here, too. A couple of her next to me at family outings and another solo shot of her onstage. It was taken at the Pale Horse, the local bar where I met her, but she looks like a star playing a stadium show.
Dad and I are both staring at the picture. Dad was taken with Willow the first time he met her.
“What do you think I should do, Dad?”
“You’ve gotta decide that for yourself, Son. But a good woman ain’t easy to find. If you got yourself one, I think you ought to hang on to her.”
These words evoke the mistakes I made with Anne. She divorced me long before she was murdered. She was a good one—the best—and I let her slip away.
Am I really going to let Willow slip away, too?
Chapter 9
I’M ON THE road the next morning, bright and early. It’s a nice day for a drive, and the F-150 makes for a smooth ride. People who live elsewhere don’t always realize just how big Texas is. To drive from the Louisiana border to the western tip, over by El Paso, takes just about as long as it does to get from Ohio to Florida. Fortunately, I don’t have that far to go, but I’ve got a long day ahead of me, that’s for sure.
I pass thousands of cows, dozens of windmills, and two dead armadillos lying on the side of the road. The landscape changes around me. Texas could be five separate states. The eastern border resembles the Deep South, Louisiana or Mississippi. The Gulf Coast is a lot like Florida. Central Texas, with its lakes and rolling hills, feels like the Midwest, only hotter. And each successive mile in the north feels more and more like the Great Plains. West Texas, where I’m headed, is another world altogether. The humidity dries up. The grasslands turn to barren dirt and rolling hills of sagebrush and prickly pear cacti. And few people live in the small towns scattered across huge swaths of empty land. When I say small towns, I mean small—towns that make Redbud, where I grew up, look like a city. I’m heading to a county as big as Connecticut with a population less than ten thousand.
As I drive, I start to feel better about the trip. So what if Kyle is sending me on a wild goose chase as some juvenile punishment. Maybe I can actually help the folks in this town.
The Rangers bring big-city police services to the small towns of Texas. Kyle said I’m to report to a Detective Delgado. The presence of a detective tells me the police department is bigger than some. I’m sure this Detective Delgado can use the help. He’s probably used to investigating robbery and vandalism. I doubt he’s ever had a murder case in his life.
Besides, my girlfriend is halfway across the country, so it’s not as if I’m missing out on spending time with her.
Speaking of my girlfriend, I glance at my phone and notice a text from her. Careful to keep one eye on the road, I bring the phone up so I can read the text.
I’m going to be on Bobby Bones this morning. Premiering my new single. Tune in…but don’t be mad!
I don’t know why on earth I would be mad at her. The fact that she’s going on one of Nashville’s biggest syndicated country radio shows is a huge deal. She and I have listened to the show together while making breakfast or sitting on the porch. Millions of people listen to it. I couldn’t be more proud. I’ve heard all the demos of her songs, so I’m curious to know which one they chose for the single.
I scroll through the stations, looking for the morning show. Just my luck I’d be in a part of Texas that doesn’t get it. But then I come across Willow’s familiar voice, that sexy, raspy twang I’ve always been in love with. My heart swells as I hear her—that’s my girlfriend on the radio!
She’s talking about the new song, saying that she and her producer had the album nearly wrapped and decided they needed one more track.
“I wrote it as a joke,” she says. “We were just goofing around. But it’s got a great beat. I think people will really like it.”
Bobby Bones asks her if the song is autobiographical.
“Well, I am dating a Texas Ranger,” she says. “Everybody knows that.”
I suddenly go from excited to nervous. Is Willow’s new song about me?
“A real-life hero,” Bobby adds. “He’s the one who stopped that bank robbery in Texas the other day, isn’t he?”
“Yes. And he’s wonderful. Our relationship is nothing like the song. I’ll tell you that. If he’s listening, I hope he gets a kick out of it.”
“He hasn’t heard it yet?” asks Amy, the cohost of the show.
“Nope,” Willow says.
Everyone in the studio laughs.
“His name’s Rory, right? Rory Yates,” Bobby says. “This one goes out to Rory Yates in Texas. This is Willow Dawes’s new single, ‘Don’t Date a Texas Ranger.’”
“Oh, shit,” I say aloud.
I turn up the radio to listen. It’s the first time I’ve ever dreaded hearing Willow sing.
Chapter 10
WILLOW CAN WRITE slow ballads that will break your heart, and she can write fast-paced barn burners that get people up on the dance floor. This is the latter. The song starts with the sound of boots stomping on floorboards in rhythm with hands clapping, followed by a quick, heavy guitar riff. The beat is catchy. No wonder they wanted to release this right away.
My dread is momentarily washed away by pride and admiration at Willow’s talent. Willow starts singing and I’m even more in awe—that voice!
He’s a tall drink of water with a sexy Southern drawl.
Your knees will go weak when you hear him say “y’all.”
With a cowboy hat, big boots, and a gun,
Does he look like trouble or does he look like fun?
Tall, dark, and handsome, he don’t have much to say,
But he’ll arrest your heart and lock it right away.
I’m feeling relieved. It doesn’t sound too bad. Just good fun, as Willow said on the radio.
Whatever you do, don’t kiss his lips,
Don’t slow dance with his hands on your hips.