Lone Star by Josh Lanyon Page A

beers and went out through the glass door rejoining his friends on the patio.
    Acid began to boil and bubble in Mitch’s gut. What a mistake this was. What had he been thinking? What had he imagined coming here would prove? What part of You Can’t Go Home Again did he not grasp?
    “Gosh, we’re nearly out of tamales.” Gidget disappeared back into the kitchen.
    Mitch turned his back to the patio where Web had handed off the extra beer and was once more laughing, safe within the circle of his friends, and emptied his margarita into the nearest plastic miniature palm. He realized only too late that the palm wasn’t plastic.
    The glass door slid open behind him again and Mitch guiltily jumped.
    “Where’s your friend?”
    Mitch turned. Web was right there, looking grave and handsome in cowboy boots, jeans, and a corduroy jacket. “Either on his way back to the airport or sitting in a Holiday Inn watching the It’s a Wonderful Life marathon.”
    Web kept his voice low, though no one in the room was paying them any attention. “So is it over between you?”
    “Yes.”
    “What about this offer from—” Web broke off as Gidget rushed out of the kitchen. She opened the sliding glass door and hurried out to the circle of men on the patio. Whatever she said dispersed them in a moment. They came inside the house, moving with low-key but swift purpose.
    “Time to ride, partner,” the tall man with dark, curly hair called to Web.
    Web nodded. He turned back to Mitch. “Damn. Sorry. I’ll call you this evening.”
    Mitch nodded.
    Web gripped his arm briefly. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? Not till I have my say.”
    “Okay.”
    With that, Web was gone.
    “Did you meet Erik?” Gidget asked Mitch a little while later.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Well, you’d remember meetin’ the best-lookin’ man in the house. Darn it all! And now he and the boys got called out. Y’all’d think even outlaws would want to celebrate Christmas Eve.”
    Mitch’s heart dropped into the lava churning in his belly. “You mean the Rangers were called out on a job?”
    She nodded glumly. Catching his expression, she patted his arm. “You’re sweet to care, but I’m just bein’ a baby. They’ll be back before you know it.”
    But the Rangers didn’t come back, and eventually the guests began to say their thank-yous and goodbyes, and depart to their own homes and hearths to prepare for the following day’s festivities.
     
    The evening sky turned purple and then black while Mitch waited for Web to phone. He had no idea how these things worked. Presumably after the Rangers made their bust or did whatever it was Rangers did, they had paperwork to fill out. Maybe the paperwork took a long time.
    But when Web had not called by seven o’clock, Mitch began to get worried.
    Maybe he didn’t know how Texas Rangers worked, but he knew how Web worked, and if Web said he’d call, then he’d have to have a pretty powerful reason for not following through.
    Mitch had thrown out Web’s business card that first night, so he called the Eisleys’ direct.
    He knew there was trouble when Aunt Mamie answered on the first ring. Mitch’s awkward request for Web was greeted with a small sound. Not quite a sob but too breathy for normal socializing.
    “They’re all at the hospital, Mitch.”
    “Which hospital? What happened?” Mexican drug dealers. He was sure of it.
    “The Medical Center in San Antonio. There was an accident. All we know is a Texas Ranger has been seriously injured. We’re waiting to hear—”
    “Is it Web?”
    “We don’t know, honey.”
    Mitch knew. If Web was okay, he’d call. He’d know his family would be anxiously waiting news and he’d get word to them.
    Mitch didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until Aunt Mamie answered. “Not necessarily. There might could be all kinds of reasons he wouldn’t be able to call right away.”
    “What hospital did you say they took him—the injured Ranger—to?”
    Aunt