Unbridled. Diana Palmer
“The room was full of pretty women...”
“They all look alike to me,” he said, suddenly serious. “Young men look at what’s on the outside. I look deeper.”
She could smell the cologne he wore. It was as attractive as he was. She kept her eyes down, nervous and uncertain.
“You work at a children’s hospital,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Yes. The night shift, on the pediatric ward.”
“That’s why I haven’t seen you before,” he mused. “I spend most of my time at the hospital in the emergency room, either there or at the general hospital next door.” His face hardened. “We see a lot of children injured by gangs and parents.”
That brought her eyes up, wide and questioning on his handsome face. “Gangs?” she blurted out.
He pursed his sensual lips and pulled back the shepherd’s coat over his broad chest to reveal a silver star.
“Oh,” she stammered. “You’re a Texas Ranger!”
“For six years,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t you notice the gun, when we danced?” he teased, nodding toward the .45 automatic in a holster on his wide, hand-tooled belt.
“Well, no,” she said. She was lost in his black eyes. They shimmered like onyx in the light of the candles.
“Who are you?” he asked gently.
“I’m Suna,” she said. “Suna Wesley. But I’m called Sunny.”
He smiled slowly. “Sunny. It suits you.”
She laughed self-consciously. “You’re Ruiz,” she said, recalling what one of the physicians had called him.
He nodded. “John Ruiz,” he said.
She studied his face, seeing the lines and hardness of it. It was a face that smiled through adversity. It had character as much as male beauty. “Your job must be hard sometimes.”
“Like yours,” he agreed. “You lost a patient on your ward yesterday.”
She fought tears. She managed to nod.
“I have a cousin who works in the hospital,” he said, not adding that his son spent a lot of afternoons after school in the cafeteria until his cousin-by-marriage got off work and could drive him down to Ruiz’s ranch in Jacobsville. The cousin, Rosa, lived in a boarding house in nearby Comanche Wells. She, like John, commuted to San Antonio to work. “She said that the whole nursing staff was in mourning. It’s sad to lose a child.”
She twisted her purse in her hands. “We’re supposed to stand apart from emotion on the job,” she said.
“Yeah. Me, too. But you get involved, when people are grieving. I’ve got a widow right now who’s hoping for an arrest in her case. Some wild-eyed fool shot her husband outside a convenience store for ten dollars and change. She’s got two little boys.” His face was grim. “I’ll find the man who did it,” he added quietly, his black eyes flashing. “And he’ll go up for a long time.”
“I hope you catch him.”
“Didn’t you hear?” he asked, his mood lightening. “We always get our man.”
She frowned. “I thought that was the Canadian Mounties.”
He shrugged. “We’re all on the same side of the law,” he said, his black eyes twinkling. “So we can borrow catchphrases from them.”
She laughed softly. “I guess so.”
There was a loud buzz. He grimaced and pulled his cell phone out of a leather holder on his belt. He noted the caller and answered it. “Ruiz,” he said, suddenly all business. “Yeah. When? Right now? Give me five minutes.” He paused and laughed. “I’ll make sure I hit all the lights green. No more tickets. Honest. Sure.” He hung up. “A new case. I gotta go. See you, rubia.”
She smiled shyly. Her heart felt lighter than air. “See you.”
He cocked his head. “Go home and find something to watch on TV. There’s a rerun of Scrooged,” he added, referring to a Bill Murray movie that had become something of a cult classic around the holidays.
She laughed. “I think I have it memorized already.”
“Me, too. It’s a great film.”
“Yes, it is.”
He searched her eyes slowly, watching her flush. She acted like a green girl. Why hadn’t he noticed that at the party? She was shy. It made him feel oddly protective. She drew him, when he hadn’t paid attention to women in years, not since he’d lost Maria. He wondered what it was about her that made him feel hungry. She wasn’t beautiful. She was small breasted and tall, almost elegant. But that hair, that gorgeous, beautiful, sexy hair, made her far more attractive than she realized.
“Well, see you,” he said, and forced himself to smile and walk away.
Before she could reply, he was headed out the door onto the street.
* * *
She thought about him when she got home and turned on the television. What a strange coincidence, running into him in a church unexpectedly. Someone had told him what she said about him. She flushed and then laughed, self-consciously. It had been a little embarrassing, but he was so uninhibited. It hadn’t bothered him at all. She ground her teeth at the memory of how he’d taken her shy withdrawal. It was probably just as well that he knew the truth, even if it made her squirm. She’d found him devastating. And she didn’t prefer men with a paler complexion, she mused. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Was he married? She wanted to know more about him. But if she started asking questions, it would get back to him, just as her embarrassing disclosure had. Maybe someone who knew him would talk about him and she could eavesdrop. Or maybe, she thought, and her heart raced, she might see him again.
That possibility made her warm all over. He was strong and handsome and he made her feel things she’d never felt.
She hoped that he wasn’t married. But as she thought it, she withdrew mentally from any hope of romance. She couldn’t tell him why she spent her life alone, why she discouraged men from even asking her out.
She couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t what she seemed to be at all. The humiliation would be too much to bear.
No. Better to be alone than to have him back away from her. She could never tell him the truth. It broke her heart to realize that the attraction she felt had no future. She didn’t dare get involved with anyone.
She got ready for bed and thought again of little Bess and the tragedy that had sent her to the cathedral for comfort. Poor Bess. Her poor mother. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
“What have we got?” John asked the San Antonio policeman he knew who’d phoned him for assistance. John was a specialist in gang warfare.
“A mess,” the patrolman sighed as he indicated the body of a boy. “Looks like it might be the beginning of a gang war.”
John went down on one knee beside the body and narrowed his eyes. He noted the tattoos on both arms and the neck of the dead male, who’d been shot neatly through the chest, twice.
“Tats,” he murmured, noting the cobra’s head on both arms and a small one on his neck.
“Yes. And you know who those belong to,” the officer said with a resigned sigh.
“Los Serpientes.” John nodded, his black eyes flashing. “They’re recruiting them younger and younger. This kid looks no older than twelve. Maybe thirteen.” It set him off, because his own