The Texan's Surprise Return. Jolene Navarro

details of her face.

      “Xavier.” In slow motion her petite form started crumpling.

      He rushed forward to catch her before she hit the edge of the porch. One hand held her arm as the other went to support her back. He eased her down and sat next to her, the strange woman leaning against him.

      A heavy beat pounded against his skull and his vision blurred to the point he had to close his eyes and hold the sickness at bay. But she was so warm and fit perfectly in his arms. There was a rightness he hadn’t experienced since the morning he woke up for the ambush.

       Who is she?

      Her free hand pressed against his chest, over his heart. The touch was affectionate and solid, even though she trembled. Should he leave?

      No. For that moment she was in his arms, it was right. He was finally where he belonged. He knew that voice.

      Under his palm, her ribs were expanding and retracting in short, hard pants. She didn’t lose consciousness, but he worried she was going into shock.

      The sheriff crouched in front of them, his hands taking the small hands of the woman that belonged to Xavier. He shook his head. Where had that come from?

      “Breathe, Selena.” Cantu’s voice was low and steady. “I’m so sorry about this. He arrived at the station and wanted to come out to the ranch. I thought it would be easier to get everything straightened out with Belle first, then have her tell you. He has memory loss and doesn’t—”

      “It is you.” Wonder coated each of her words. Warm fingers touched his face. At first, he pulled back, but then he allowed her to explore him. Her slender fingers pushed his hair back, then went to his shoulder. Tears slipped from her eyes, her touch slowly trailed down his arm, as if making sure he was real.

      He held still. She knew him. The soft sounds of surprise mixed with short bursts of nervous laughter.

      Sheriff Cantu cleared his throat.

      “Xavier, this is Selena.” Cantu stayed in front of her, his hand on her knee, but his gaze stayed trained on Xavier. “She’s your wife.”

      His gaze darted to the sheriff, then back to her even though he couldn’t make out any details. “Wife?” Had he been able to get the word out?

      She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “I don’t understand. The security company you worked for told us you were dead.”

      “I.D. had been switched between Xavier and a Colombian named Sandoval. The rebel thought he was Sandoval and he didn’t know who he was.” Cantu placed his hand on her shoulder. “Is Elijah still here? Damian?”

      The names shot through Xavier’s head. Pressure was building. These were people he should know. “My brothers?”

      The sheriff stood. His knees popped.

      Large eyes full of confusion, searching his face. “Elijah is your cousin.” She said then lifted her face to the other man. “He already left for his honeymoon. Damian doesn’t do crowds or people in any form. He left for his cabin hours ago.” Her body shifted, and she leaned closer to him. Honey and wildflowers soothed him. Her warm breath caressed his ear. “Damian is your younger brother. He’s back from the Middle East.”

      Her grip around his wrist tightened, holding him in place. Feeling trapped, he wanted to jerk away from her and run, but he knew she was just holding on to him out of fear and shock. He was free to walk if he wanted, he reminded himself. He was free.

      “You don’t remember them either?”

      He shook his head, unable to form any words yet.

      “Elijah and you were so close. More like brothers. He was your best friend and business partner. Your father had guardianship of him and Belle. You grew up together.” A desperate edge lined each word.

      Cantu made his way up the steps. “Belle’s inside?”

      “Yes, with a few others.” Her gaze stayed linked with Xavier’s and her hand went back to his face. “You’re here. Right in front of me. How did this happen? Why were we told you were dead?”

      His hand rolled into a fist under her hold. Xavier fought the urge to push his forehead against his palm. He didn’t know these people. But he couldn’t allow himself to show any weakness. His jaw gritted, he stared straight ahead.

      “Let me get Belle and send everyone else home.” Two steps later, the sheriff stopped. “What about the ki—”

      “My dad took all the kids to my house. We were about to clean up. Belle’s in the backyard,” she replied, her voice sounding stronger.

      When the door opened and closed behind the sheriff, he was alone with a wife he didn’t remember. Shifting, he pulled out of her reach. If he had any chance of controlling his ability to speak and think, he needed space.

      Leaning against the post opposite of her, he looked out into the night, past the lights and into the darkness. In the silence, he could make out the waves hitting the distant shore.

      Homesickness was a sucker punch to his gut. It almost knocked him back. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the ocean. “The ranch? Does it go to the Gulf?”

      She got to her feet but didn’t move toward him. “Yes. There’s over a mile of coastline. About half is sandy beaches, the other half rocky. How do you not remember?”

      “We were ambushed. I was unconscious for a few days. When I came to, I had no memory. I woke up in a hidden camp.” His voice was raw and low.

      “The rebel group?” She moved closer.

      Turning, he tried to study her face. He nodded, and pain shot up his neck, going straight to his eyes.

      “None of that matters right now. You’re home. It’s a miracle.” A soft laugh floated in the air. “I don’t use that word lightly. But I don’t know what else to call it when a man returns home from the dead.” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “At Christmastime, no less. My eyes say you’re here, but it doesn’t seem real.” She cupped his face, her thumb smoothing over his cheekbone.

      Giving in to the pain, he lowered his body to the steps, dropped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, but the torturous Christmas joy drove through his lids with each pulse.

      Following him, she sat at his side. Her gentle touch was warm on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Can I help?”

      He stiffened against the desire to lean into her. “Lights.”

      Coldness set in as soon as she pulled away. “Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.” And with that she was gone.

      Alone, he rubbed hard against his scalp, pushing the pain away. It was stronger than him. He heard the door open, and immediately the lights went dead.

      The peaceful light of the moon was a welcome relief and he took in a deep breath. The door closed, and her soft footsteps stopped right behind him. His gaze stayed focused on his boots.

      “Is that better?” Her voice was as soft as a summer shower washing away the heat and grime.

      He nodded when all he really wanted to do was beg her to hold him. He might not have clear memories of her, but she was somewhere inside him. The need to be close to her had him wanting to share his fears and concerns.

      He didn’t share with anyone.

      Despite his best efforts to keep her at a distance, she settled in next to him. One more inch and she could rest her head on his shoulder. His gut tightened. “We’ve done this before. Sat on the steps and looked at the stars. You’d rest your head on my shoulder.” The memory was like an old photograph, without any sense of time or reason.

      One move and she had her head resting on him, her hand flat against his heart. “You remember.”

      He hated the hushed