In The Rancher's Arms. Trish Milburn

Mehlerhaus Bakery for pastries and morning coffee. How many times had she fantasized about a huge bear claw and rich, dark coffee in the past several weeks?

      Her flight into San Antonio had been the first one to land that morning, putting them in Blue Falls when the downtown area was busy with the opening of stores and ranchers coming to town to do business before spending the rest of the day out working beneath the endless sky. She would have preferred arriving under the protective cover of darkness, when no one would see her and she wouldn’t have to see the seemingly endless yellow ribbons tied everywhere and parade of Welcome Home, Arden signs.

      She appreciated the residents’ kind sentiments, really she did, but every ribbon, every sign reminded her of those endless weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds of captivity. Memories she just wanted to forget.

      “I need to stop for gas, sweetie,” her mom said beside her, squeezing Arden’s hand that she’d barely let go since they’d gotten in the car.

      “Okay.” Arden needed to stop anyway, even though they were only a few miles from her parents’ house. After weeks of not having enough to drink, she couldn’t seem to quench her thirst. And all the water, coffee and bucket-size sodas had a way of sending her to the bathroom on an annoyingly regular basis.

      But when her mom pulled up to the convenience store’s gas pumps, Arden hesitated. As irrational as it was, stepping outside the confines of the car scared her. She made herself take a slow, deep breath. No one was out there waiting to grab her, to drag her away to an uncertain fate.

      As she stepped out of the car, the fresh air bolstered her. Despite the fact that her entire career was built on finding the right words to describe people, places and events, she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what made the air smell like home. It just did. Maybe it was simply the air had a different personality in Texas, blowing in across the vast expanse of the western part of the state and finding its way through the hills and valleys of the Hill Country. Whatever it was, it helped settle her nerves. Gone were the scents of cooking fires and the sweat of not only her captors but also the other captives.

      Stop thinking about it.

      With another deep, fortifying breath, Arden headed inside and made a beeline straight for the restroom without making eye contact with anyone else in the store. They would no doubt have questions for her, kind words and hugs and all the things she wasn’t ready to face yet. She needed time to shed the Arden she’d become during the past weeks and find the Arden she’d been before—if that was even possible. Sometimes the fear that it wasn’t possible nearly sent her into full-blown panic attacks—something she’d never experienced prior to being abducted.

      After she was finished, she walked out into the main part of the store and set her gaze and path toward the exit.

      “Oh, sweetheart, I thought that was you.”

      Arden jerked her head to her right just as an older woman, Franny Stokes, came up to her and pressed Arden’s hand between her cool, wrinkled ones. Arden flinched at the contact but Franny didn’t seem to notice.

      “We’re all so glad that you’re home safely.” Franny gave her a sympathetic look. “What you must have been through, I can’t imagine.”

      Arden knew Franny meant well, but the sound of her voice faded. All Arden could focus on was how to extricate herself from the other woman and flee to her mother’s car. Her pulse began to race, and it became harder to breathe. She detected movement to her left a moment before she heard a deep voice.

      “Mrs. Stokes, how are you?” the man asked Franny, inserting himself into the conversation and positioning himself so that Franny had to let go of Arden’s hand. “Mom says you’ve been a bit under the weather.”

      The man glanced at Arden, long enough for her to see him nod slightly toward the door, giving her the opportunity to make her escape. A wave of gratitude welled up inside her at the same time she realized who he was—Neil Hartley, older brother of Sloane Hartley, who’d been in Arden’s graduating class.

      She gave him what she hoped was a thankful expression and made for the door. She’d taken only a couple of steps when a loud crash made her scream in the same moment arrows of fear seemed to pierce every part of her. She ducked and covered her head.

      * * *

      EVERYTHING HAPPENED AT ONCE. A few feet behind Franny Stokes, a woman Neil didn’t recognize dropped a full coffeepot, sending hot liquid and shards of glass in all directions. In front of him, Franny yelped and pressed her hand to her chest in surprise. But it was the sound that came from Arden Wilkes, combined with her duck-and-cover reaction that spurred him to action.

      Two quick strides and he was beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay.”

      She jerked at his touch but then seemed to realize who he was, that he meant her no harm. He didn’t have to look around the store to realize every person in there was staring at the two of them.

      “Let’s go outside,” he said, and steered her toward the door.

      The way she was shaking damn near broke his heart. He didn’t really know Arden well, her being a couple of years younger than him, but she and Sloane had been on friendly terms in high school. And everyone in town knew what had happened to her, captured by human traffickers somewhere in Africa. It was near impossible not to know with the front-page articles in the local paper, some national news coverage and the parade of yellow ribbons down Main Street. The journalist had become the story. When word had come that she’d been rescued, it was as if the very town of Blue Falls had exhaled in relief.

      As they passed through the doorway, he looked up and made eye contact with Mrs. Wilkes. Her eyes went huge and she hurried toward them.

      “What happened?” Her hands went instinctively to Arden, checking her for physical injury.

      Arden straightened. “I’m fine.”

      Her voice didn’t sound fine, though she was obviously making a valiant effort. He wasn’t sure if that was for her mother’s sake, his or her own. Maybe all three. Now that the initial panic was subsiding, he’d guess she was embarrassed.

      “Someone dropped a coffeepot and scared the living daylights out of everyone in the building,” he said.

      Arden looked up at him, and though their gazes held for only a moment he was able to see first confusion and then a hint of gratitude. He smiled, but she didn’t smile back. He didn’t blame her. Sometimes you couldn’t make yourself smile no matter how much you might want to. Sometimes you simply forgot how.

      “Come on, sweetie,” Mrs. Wilkes said, motioning toward her car. “Let’s go home.”

      Arden preceded her mom, moving quickly, seeming to want to be anywhere but standing in front of the gas station. Mrs. Wilkes glanced at him, mouthed a silent “Thank you,” and hurried to the car. She looked almost as shaken as her daughter. The weeks since they’d received word of Arden’s abduction had no doubt been hard on the Wilkeses. Arden’s father had even suffered a heart attack.

      He shook his head as he watched their car head down the street, not wanting to think about what Arden may have endured at the hands of her captors. She was home now, and hopefully she’d find a way to move beyond it and heal. He knew from experience that people were resilient, that they could get past a lot of bad stuff. It just took time and support.

      Stepping away from memories of the past and toward the present, where he had work to do, he strode toward his truck, slipped into the driver’s seat and pointed his pickup toward home.

      When he pulled into the ranch, his memory traveled back in time to when he’d first seen the place. To a scared five-year-old, it had seemed impossibly huge. He’d been one part frightened and one part mesmerized. The mesmerized part still hit him on occasion, twenty-seven years later. He couldn’t imagine a place feeling more like home if he’d been conceived and born here.

      He parked and even before his booted feet hit the gravel, Maggie, the family’s Australian shepherd,