The Texas Ranger's Reward (Undercover Heroes) Read online

  “Remember what Melissa said?”

  “Yeah. I gotta walk all the way from the car into the building and not use my crutches. I can do that.”

  Travis smiled tightly and didn’t ask any more questions. For the rest of the drive he remained immersed in thought. There’d been no preliminary discussion, and she’d given Travis no follow-up instructions. Nothing! It had irritated the hell out of him.

  Not until he pulled in the driveway did he discover what was wrong with him.

  There was an old saying about every person on earth having a double. This morning that saying had particular meaning for him.

  He’d just come face-to-face with a woman who resembled, in looks and personality, his murdered wife, Valerie.

  Travis was convinced that was the reason Casey had undergone a miraculous change at the therapist’s hands. Although she was a younger version, Melissa Dalton had Valerie’s sunny disposition and a way of making challenging things sound like fun. Her appealing energy had captured his son’s attention, and he’d wanted her approval. But the very qualities about her that had caused the first therapy session to go so well haunted Travis.

  He dreaded the thought of having to see her again in the morning. It had been fifteen months since he’d buried his wife in Texas. Melissa had unwittingly brought certain memories back to life. Casey’s willingness to do what she wanted might have been unconscious, but his son had definitely responded because of deeply embedded memories, too.

  It was going to be a long day and an even longer night, because Travis knew there’d be little sleep for him.

  * * *

  MELISSA LEFT FOR WORK on Tuesday morning curious to see if the skinny, brown-haired Stillman boy would let go of his crutches for good. She knew there was nothing wrong with him physically.

  Probably never in her life had she seen such a handsome face or such sky-blue eyes. People would marvel over his remarkable features as he grew into manhood. Especially women. You needed to look no further than the boy’s father.

  But on the adult version—the man appeared to be mid-thirties—there were differences. She’d seen the lines left by life and grief around his eyes and mouth, the shadow of a dark beard on his square jaw. The artist in her had caught the fierce gaze of arctic-blue eyes, distant and speculative. Almost forbidding. She shivered at the memory.

  In the midst of her thoughts, she heard her cell ring. She reached for it and checked the caller ID. “Hi, Tom.”

  “Hey, how was your Labor Day weekend?”

  “Semiproductive.”

  Unfortunately, she’d found herself looking over her shoulder quite a bit while doing her artwork. She’d been at the family cabin on her own, not for the first time this summer. Neither her parents, nor either of her two married siblings had used the place in August, yet increasingly she’d had a vague sense that someone other than herself had been there. Though she’d seen no signs of forced entry, there were little indications, such as books and lamps in places she didn’t remember them being, the bedding not made up the normal way, and signs of dirty footprints on the floor by the back door. It made her nervous at night, so she’d turned on the generator, hoping the resulting sound and lights would ward off intruders.

  If she’d still had her bulldog, Spike, Melissa wouldn’t have felt so nervous. But soon after her divorce, her beloved pet had died of old age. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to get a new one. She couldn’t give an animal the time it deserved.

  “Same here,” Tom said, jolting her back to the present. “I’m afraid my children didn’t leave me any time to write.” That meant he’d had visitation through the long weekend. “I’m glad you’re back. Let’s meet for dinner at Rinaldo’s in Bell Canyon Plaza after work.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I promised the folks I’d spend the evening with them.” Melissa needed to talk to her parents about the problem at the cabin. After their whole family had gotten together there for a Fourth of July celebration, her parents had gone to Laguna Beach, California, for two weeks on their own. “How about lunch there on Thursday?” She would have finished her renderings by then. “I’ll bring everything you’ve been waiting for.”

  “Not till Thursday? I guess I can wait. What time?”

  “One o’clock?” It would be right after the Denton baby’s appointment. She had torticollis, a condition that curtailed her range of neck motion. Mrs. Denton fell apart emotionally every time she brought the baby for therapy. Melissa would need a break following the session.

  “Okay, see you then. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Melissa hung up, unable to say the same thing back to him. Tom Hunt was a prominent patent attorney specializing in intellectual properties. He was also a talented writer of children’s fiction. They’d met in March when he’d brought his son in for therapy because of knee pain. The eleven-year-old had Osgood-Schlatter disease, fortunately not too serious a case.

  During the treatments, Tom had admired the paintings hanging in her office. When he’d learned she was the artist, he’d asked her if she’d be willing to do some sketches for a story he’d been working on. It was set during World War II, between two childhood friends whose countries were fighting on opposing sides. The subject appealed to her and she’d said yes. She’d started working closely with Tom, but despite his obvious interest, she had no desire for any sort of romantic relationship with him.

  She knew he wanted to get married again, but in truth, the thought of marrying again herself filled her with dread.

  Melissa had been young and in love when she’d married exciting, handsome Russell Dalton. But her dreams of living happily ever after were shattered when she realized she’d married an abuser.

  Their seven-month marriage had come to an abrupt end the day he got home from his last college class. She was studying for finals at the kitchen table when he walked in, wanting to make love. Melissa had told him she needed to keep on studying, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d jerked her out of the chair like a rag doll.

  Shocked, she’d tried to push him away, and he’d responded by slapping her in the face so hard she fell to the floor. That blow had changed her life.

  Though he was remorseful and swore it would never happen again, she’d grabbed her keys and run from the apartment and their life together. Divorce had followed.

  Intellectually, she knew there were good men out in the universe who would make fine husbands. Over the past six years she’d dated quite a few of them. But the thought of taking the critical step into another marriage left her apprehensive.

  To make her feelings clear to Tom, she never went out with him in the evening, or worked with him when his two children were on visitation. She shied away from any attachments. It wasn’t fair to his kids, when there could be no future. He should have gotten the point long before now.

  Since her divorce, Melissa had reached a restful place where she was in control. She wanted to stay there. When Tom’s book was finished to his specifications, she’d decided, it would be the only project she’d do with him. After that, there wouldn’t be a reason to get together again, and they could part with no hard feelings.

  After parking in her usual spot, she headed for the clinic doors. She was almost there when she heard her name being called. Melissa turned to see Casey Stillman walking carefully away from a blue car toward her. He was dressed in shorts and a white T-shirt. His father followed, carrying the crutches.

  She felt a burst of pleasure at the bo
y’s taking up the challenge. When Casey was about halfway to her, he hesitated. “Keep coming, Casey!” she called. “You’re doing great!”

  The boy got a determined look on his face and picked up his speed. Once he reached her, she gave him a quick hug. “I’m very proud of you.”

  He looked up at her and smiled. Children smiled at her every day, but for some reason she didn’t understand, Casey’s expression tugged at her emotions. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “That’s because you’re so tough!” She let go of his shoulders. “Come into my office. You’ve earned a gift of your choice. Do you need your crutches to get inside?”

  Casey stared at her. “Will you hold my hand?”

  “Of course.” She took his hand and they walked through the main doors to her suite. She made sure they didn’t go too fast. He was still favoring his leg, but not nearly as much as the day before.

  Melissa walked him over to the treasure chest and opened it. “Take all the time you want picking out your prize. If you get tired, here’s a little stool to sit on while you look.”

  He propped himself on the edge of the chest and started going through the presents. While he was occupied, she moved to her desk across the room and sat behind it. Casey’s hard-muscled father, in jeans and a dark green sport shirt, took a chair opposite her and placed the crutches on the floor next to him.

  “Mr. Stillman,” she began quietly, “the doctor suggested your son’s problem was psychological, so that’s why I threw him in at the deep end of the pool yesterday. It’s clear his leg has healed and he’s able to walk just fine. Do you know any reason why his problem may have been so easily resolved? I don’t. I know I’m close to being the perfect therapist, but an overnight recovery is astonishing.”

  The man’s lips quirked at her joke, but she got the impression there was something about her he didn’t like. She saw it in his wintry eyes. An odd chill went through her.

  “I’ve discovered there’s a very good reason,” he answered, in a low voice so deep it resonated through her body. “But I would prefer to tell you out of his hearing.” Casey’s dad looked at her with such solemnity she took a quick breath.

  “Understood. Since I’d like one more session with him, tomorrow morning, could you call me this afternoon? Say, around one? That’s when I take my lunch break, and we can talk.”

  “I’ll see that Casey is otherwise occupied, then phone you.”

  “Melissa?” his son called. “Can I have this Captain America toy?”

  “Sure. It’s one of my favorites. The gizmo shoots little disks.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Did you know there’s something else I’d like you to do for me?”

  “What?”

  “Just use one crutch on your way out to your father’s car. Think you can do that?”

  “Yes,” he said. But he was so absorbed with his new toy she doubted he’d really listened. In a few long strides, his dad, carrying both crutches, reached Casey. He fitted one under his son’s arm, then took the gift from him.

  Melissa stood up. “I have one more favor to ask you, Casey.” He finally lifted his head. “Will you come to my office tomorrow without your crutches? Just leave them at home. If you do that, I’ve got another surprise for you.”

  “Is it in the pirate chest?”

  “I had something else in mind, but if there’s another toy you’d like in there, that’s fine.”

  She could almost hear his brain working. “Will I like it a lot?”

  Kids. She loved them.

  “I can guarantee it.”

  His eyes lit up. “Okay.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Casey.”

  “Can you thank her for being so generous?” his father prodded.

  “Thanks, Melissa.”

  “You’re welcome.” She closed the door behind them to get ready for her next patient.

  The morning seemed to pass much slower than usual. Melissa knew why. She was waiting for lunch, when Casey’s father was supposed to phone. Not once in three years had she been given a case where it was over almost before it had begun. Mr. Stillman had indicated he knew the reason for his son’s capitulation. She was eager for him to share it with her.

  After her last appointment, she took a bottle of juice from her mini fridge and drank it while she typed the last patient’s follow-up notes into the computer. At five after one, the receptionist told her she was wanted on line three. She picked up the receiver.

  “Melissa Dalton speaking.”

  “This is Travis Stillman.”

  “Thanks for calling me, Mr. Stillman. Where is Casey right now?”

  “In the kitchen eating lunch with the housekeeper. He’s using her and Dexter to retrieve those disks.”

  She laughed softly. “From what I saw this morning, he should be picking them up himself. In my professional opinion he has healed beautifully. So why did he cling to the crutches until you brought him to the clinic?”

  “Let me give you a bit of background first. Until fifteen months ago, I was a Texas Ranger living with my wife and son in Fort Davis, Texas.”

  A Texas Ranger. In Melissa’s mind, Texas Rangers were legendary, and he fitted her image of one exactly.

  “On my last case,” he went on, “I went after a gang in a brutal racial slaying. I caught up with two of them, but a third one eluded me. They were known as the McClusky brothers. Soon after their capture, the third brother, Danny McClusky, murdered my wife in cold blood while she was driving home from the grocery store. It was a revenge killing. Thankfully, Casey was still at school.”

  His revelation stopped her cold. “I—I can’t imagine anything so horrifying,” she stammered. “Is that killer still free?”

  “Yes. He’s on the FBI’s most wanted list. They’ll get him in time.”

  “How do you live with that?”

  “Not so well. Two other times during my career, my wife and son were threatened. After I buried her, I decided enough was enough, and resigned from the Texas Rangers. Casey needs me too much.”

  “He’s so lucky you’re still alive!” she said, before she realized how emotional she sounded. She knew what it felt like to be threatened. She’d gotten out of her marriage because of it. For both his and Casey’s sakes, she was glad Mr. Stillman had moved to Utah, away from danger.

  “I have a sister,” he said, “who lives in Lone Peak Estates here in Sandy, with her husband and their two kids. Since the area’s zoned for horses, she encouraged us to move across the street from her so we could ride their horses when we wanted. After the loss of his mother, I wanted Casey to have family close by.”

  “Of course,” Melissa murmured, still shocked by the tragic story. For a child to lose his mother like that was utterly heartbreaking.

  “He’s had a hard time,” Mr. Stillman continued, “but we were doing better until he fell off his horse and broke his leg. It happened soon after Pioneer Day, on the twenty-fourth of July. Having the surgery frightened him and set him back emotionally. He’s been crying for his mother at night.”

  “That’s only natural. Who wouldn’t? In hellish times the child in everyone cries for his or her mother.”

  Melissa had wanted to cry in her mom’s arms in the months before she’d run from Russ, wanting her to make everything all right. But she’d felt too ashamed to tell her parents anything. They’d advised her to wait another year before she got married, just to be sure.
But oh, no. She knew what she was doing. What a fool.

  She hadn’t confided in her parents until after she’d left Russ.

  Poor Casey hadn’t had his mother when he’d fallen.

  “When you greeted him outside your office yesterday morning, it was like something magical happened—he responded to you without even thinking about it. I was bewildered by his reaction until we got home. That’s when I realized there’s something about you that reminds him of his mother—the way you talk, your enthusiasm, even your physical appearance. You have a vitality like hers. Put all that together and you could be her double.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. At this point I believe he’d do anything for you. He proved that today.”

  Mr. Stillman had just given her a plausible answer for Casey’s quick turnaround, but his own reaction was far more complicated. Melissa jumped up from her chair, suddenly putting two and two together. Whether he’d had a good, mediocre or bad marriage, seeing someone who reminded him so strongly of his wife must have come as a shock to him.

  She’d known something was wrong. For some reason it made her feel strange. She didn’t want to look like anyone else, especially his murdered wife. Apparently he didn’t like it, either.

  “Thank you for telling me all this,” she said. “Considering his progress, tomorrow should be the last time he needs to come in.” Working with children had made her careful not to allow attachments to form. “I’ll send you home with a sheet showing a few exercises he can do. If you make a game of it and do them with him, he won’t know you’re trying to help strengthen those muscles. Keep in mind he doesn’t have to do the exercises. Natural play will eventually work out any kinks, but it’s something you can do together as father and son to speed things up. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “None.”

  He seemed anxious to get off the phone. “Then I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll deal with the issue of his not wanting to go to school then.”