San Antonio Rose by Fran Baker Page A

natural that neither of them stopped to think that this was how it had all started between them, they left his Corvette behind and headed for her car.
    “So,” he said, “what’s this grand scheme of yours for getting Tony and me together?”
    “As you may remember,” she began, “spring break and branding always start at the same time.”
    He remembered, all right. Remembered that he’d busted his butt for Big Tom while the rest of his college class had busted kegs in Palm Beach or on Padre Island.
    Other memories, better ones, canceled out the bitter. He remembered gray eyes and a rancher’s daughter, her jeans skin-tight and her leather jacket gaping open to reveal a snip of white lace camisole that made warm, moist air climb down his chest. Remembered, too, that he’d gone back to school with more dreams in his head than dollars in hand.
    “They start pretty soon, don’t they?”
    “Next week.”
    He was one step ahead of her now. “And you want me to come out to the ranch and work with—”
    “You wouldn’t have to work,” she hastened to assure him. “I just thought you might want to get acquainted with Tony on his own turf.”
    “How’s he going to feel about some stranger—”
    “You’re an old friend, remember?”
    He smiled ruefully and rolled his eyes as if to say, “Get serious.”
    She gave him a gentle, none-of-that-now nudge in the ribs. “Tony’s nothing like Big Tom—”
    “Thank God for small favors.”
    “He loves company,” she continued earnestly. “And I just know he’ll love you too.”
    Rafe found himself breathing easier at the news. For some time now he’d been aware of a growing sense of dissatisfaction. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but it felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Part of it was the weather, the way the spring air just breathed of life renewed. And part of it was the dawning realization that the trappings of success were, to some degree, simply traps with solid-gold teeth.
    Jeannie had been only partially right when she’d said he loved the practice of the law. What he really loved was the promise of the law. Truth and justice were admirable goals, but trying to right all the wrongs within the system was beginning to take its toll. He was frustrated because it was such a slow process. And when things bogged down, as they often did, he had to wonder if he wasn’t tilting at the proverbial windmill.
    Running helped, but that restlessnessstayed with him as he pounded the inner-city streets. It was a crazy in-the-craw feeling of being incomplete, of having nothing to show personally for all he’d accomplished professionally. And now that he’d found the missing links, his son and the mother of his son, he would do everything in his power to keep from losing them.
    “What if I want to work?” Rafe asked now, the thought of saddling up and riding with Jeannie and Tony dulling some of the resentment he felt toward Big Tom.
    “We can always use another hand.” Jeannie smiled. The idea of seeing Rafe and Tony together at long last, of the three of them living and working and laughing just like the real family she’d dreamed about so long ago lifted her heart to a new high.
    He told himself that it was none of his damn business, that she was free to see anyone she wanted to, but he was driven to ask, “What about Webb Bishop?”
    “We’re friends.” At least she hoped they still were.
    One down, and one to go.
    She looked up at him inquiringly then, turnabout being fair play. “What about you?”
    “Nobody recently—and never anybody as special as you.”
    For a moment neither of them said anything more.
    “Is it going to be hard for you to get away on such short notice?” she asked finally.
    “Monday shouldn’t be much of a problem, but I’ll have to check my calendar—”
    “You could come on Sunday then and—”
    “Commute the rest of the week if I have to.”
    Jeannie squeezed his hand, hard. “You’ll do