Ranger Guardian. Angi Morgan
Heath Murray was feeling just how crowded the small house he lived in had become. He slipped away to the rodeo every weekend, attempting to give Slate some privacy. But, man, come Sunday nights he needed to rest his weary old bones on a soft couch.
He needed to pop the top on a bottle of beer, prop his feet up on the coffee table and listen to sports while he drifted off into blissful slumber.
That never happened.
He didn’t mind having his partner’s mom cook. Saved him the trouble of constantly eating out. He didn’t mind having Slate’s new girlfriend sneak back up to the main house after not catching the front door before it slammed shut at four in the morning. Neither of them knew he hadn’t really slept in months.
He didn’t mind returning to his real bed twice a week to spend time with his baby girl. Skylar Dawn loved it. Kendall tolerated it. They both agreed it was better than the nights he didn’t see their daughter at all.
He could deal with all that. He’d been dealing with it for almost six months. But this...
“Dammit, guys. Do you always have to be making out when I open the door?”
“Oh, man. Is it already five? I’m supposed to go see my brother tonight. I should go get ready.” Vivian Watts, his roommate’s girlfriend, tugged her T-shirt to her waist, making sure it was in place. She gave Slate a quick kiss and ran past Heath.
“Thanks for making her feel bad,” Slate said.
“Don’t mention it.” Yeah, he was being sarcastic. Yeah, he didn’t mean to be. Hell, maybe he did. His attitude sucked, and his side hurt. The bronc he’d been thrown from had kicked his ribs. The skin had begun turning colors before he’d started for home.
“Well, I sort of am.” Slate took his hands from his back pockets and crossed his arms in a move of determination. “You know she’s had a really hard time lately. They told her it’s going to be at least another six weeks before they’ll think about clearing her brother to leave the center.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it and I’ll apologize.” He would. He’d probably screw up again, though. “Maybe it’s time for me to find my own place?”
“That’s not what you need to do,” Slate said with a certain look on his face.
The same frustrated look his friends and fellow Rangers had at least once a week. Maybe even a little more often. Like each time they tried to get him to open up about his situation with his wife. Yet if he couldn’t talk about it with her, he shouldn’t talk about it with his friends. Their separation was a private matter.
“You, me, Wade and Jack are tight. We’re more than just Rangers, and we’re more than friends. We’re brothers. We’ve got each other’s backs. I’m telling you the truth. You should call her,” Slate urged.
“I will. Tuesday.”
“You are such a stubborn son of a...cowboy.”
At that, Heath tipped his hat off his head and let the Stetson flip into his hand. A trick his little girl loved.
“You better head on out if you’re going to catch Vivian and drive her to her brother’s.”
“Call your wife, man. Make up. It’s been six months, for crying out loud. Tell her you don’t think your job is more important than hers.”
“You don’t think I’ve told her? I haven’t ever lied to her. I thought she knew that. But for some reason she still can’t believe me.” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator, glancing at the plastic containers full of home-cooked meals. He was too sore to eat.
“Dammit, Heath.” Slate stuck a ball cap on his head. “Think hard about what you’re willing to give up.” He stomped to the door and slammed it shut behind him.
Alone.
It was how he liked it. Right?
“Right,” he spoke out loud and tipped the beer he’d wanted for the past hour between his lips and swallowed.
Another couple of minutes, and he could call Skylar Dawn before Kendall put her in the bathtub. She was almost four years old, and it had been six months since he’d destroyed any chance at a normal father-daughter relationship.
He went through the motions, just like he did every night. Nothing there comforted him like it had when he was married. There was no one to talk to about the bronc ramming him in half.
No one to joke with about the young women hanging around the edge of the stalls. Or how he’d felt too old to notice. But they’d had fun with their wolf calls when he’d bent over and showed his backside. Kendall had gotten a kick out of coming up and laying a big, luscious kiss on him when that had happened before.
That had been before she’d gotten pregnant and the barn smell had made her nauseous.
Another sip of beer. It was almost gone, and he wanted another.
Was this what life was going to be like? Waiting around while Kendall—and her mother—made all the decisions about their life? He’d been ready for months to talk with her and apologize again. He just wanted their old life back.
Was that even possible?
Completely aware that pressure against his side would be painful, he went back into the kitchen, filled a couple of sandwich bags with ice, wrapped them in a towel and shoved it against his ribs.
The stinging cold brought him to his senses. He was getting too old for this routine. Too old to be afraid to talk with his wife. Too old to insult Vivian and Slate or any of his other friends because he was miserable with his own life.
It was time to make some changes.
Good or bad...he needed to talk with Kendall face-to-face. Soon. Maybe it would turn out better than he feared. Maybe it wouldn’t. All he knew was that it was time to move forward.
Good thing he had a light load at work. He was mostly focused on court and testifying and paperwork right now. He set the ice on the table, then slid his shirt free from his belt. He tucked it up close to his armpit before looking closer at the bruise.
That was going to be a big boo-boo, as baby girl would say.
Yeah, it was time. Slate was right about that. Time to apologize and move on. How long could a woman stay mad?
Something in the back of his mind warned that his woman could stay that way a very, very long time. Especially with a mother whispering in her ear who hated him. Hell, his mother-in-law had shouted to the world that he’d never be good enough for her daughter.
He clicked on his phone, stared at the picture of Kendall holding a super pink baby girl and swiped to dial. He would talk to his wife face-to-face. Tonight, he’d read to his daughter.
“Hey there. How’s my favorite munchkin?” He reached for the children’s version of The Wizard of Oz.
“Daddy!”
* * *
“JERRY, I KNOW it’s Sunday night. That’s why I’m calling. I need more people. I know I’m close to a breakthrough.” Kendall Barlow didn’t back down. Her supervisory special agent should know that. She heard the house phone ring in the background, as it did every night like clockwork.
In six months’ time, Heath hadn’t missed calling his daughter once. And not one time had he made a serious effort to reconcile. He was a man of few words—for everyone except Skylar Dawn.
“Kendall. It’s been months and you’ve got nothing to show for it. You know we’re shorthanded. Dallas Police Department is worse off than we are. You aren’t going to get more qualified personnel for the joint task force than the people already