Free Texas Heroes: Volume 1 by Jean Brashear Page B

water. Maddie was meant for bright lights and center stage. He only wanted the horses, the big sky, the quiet.
    She was going to leave, and he would stay.
    The barn was full, but maybe he should make room in the tack room. Or the back of his truck. Or anywhere but locked in this house with Maddie.
    Twenty-six days and counting.
    When she set the food on the table, Boone couldn’t stifle his amazement at the simple fare. Linguine with marinara sauce. Salad. Garlic bread, hot from the oven.
    His amazement must have shown.
    “I told you—no radish roses.”
    Boone glanced up. Nerves and something darker danced in her eyes, but she held her head high and proud as if daring him to say anything about what had happened.
    “I figured it would still be something fancy.”
    “Taste it. I told you, good food is good food.”
    So he did. And it was the best thing he’d put in his mouth in ages. Vondell was a good cook, but this sauce held a world of flavors, robust and teasing on his tongue. He took a bite of the bread and almost sighed out loud.
    He realized Maddie wasn’t eating, just watching him. “You’re not going to eat?”
    “I will, but right now, I’m just enjoying seeing someone eat my food again. It’s what I do. I feed people.”
    “I can’t imagine why anyone ever let you leave New York. This is the best marinara I’ve ever tasted.”
    Surprise and delight jousted for top billing. “You know it’s marinara?”
    Boone had to smile. “I’ve traveled a lot of places. And people in Texas know what marinara is, Maddie.” He shook his head. “Well, Jim probably doesn’t, but—”
    Maddie laughed then, and Boone let the sound of it wash over him like a river’s bounty in the heat of summer. For a moment, he wanted to stop time, to simply enjoy the moment—the food, the laughter, the woman. To let it cleanse away the layers of hard feelings that time had painted into the corners of every room of this house.
    In that instant Boone could feel what it had been like when his mother was alive, when this house had last rung with laughter.
    “Did your wife like to cook?”
    Boone froze. “Who talked to you about Helen?”
    “No one talked to me about her, not really. Jim just mentioned…I’m sorry. I know she died. It must have been very hard on you. If you don’t want to talk about her—”
    “I don’t.”
    “I see.” She went solemn. “I’m sorry.”
    “You don’t see, but it doesn’t matter.” He’d known better than to let down his guard. “We don’t need to know each other’s life stories. No point in it.”
    Maddie laid down her fork and drew a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. All the mischief and fun had vanished from her eyes. Slowly she rose and carried her untouched plate to the counter, removing her apron.
    “It’s time for my walk. Just leave the kitchen and I’ll clean it up when I get back.” A tiny tremor threaded through her voice as her lips curved faintly at the corners. “They say the best chefs make the biggest messes. It’s pretty obvious I’m a great chef.”
    Then she left, her gait stiff as if holding herself together. She headed out the front door and down the hill, as was her nightly habit.
    Boone stared at his plate and wondered if he ought to just go kick a puppy for good measure.

    After cleaning the kitchen, Boone walked out onto the front porch and sat on the steps, looking out toward the dwindling twilight. He didn’t see Maddie on the road anywhere, but her car was still here so she couldn’t have gone far.
    He scanned the vista before him, his gaze, as always, wandering toward the little pioneer cemetery down the hill on a piece of their land. Coyote Valley Cemetery held the bones of those who had settled this place, had carved out lives from a harsh, unwelcoming land.
    His mother was buried there, as was Rose Wheeler. Sam would be there, too, but Boone hadn’t paid a visit yet. He knew the reckoning was out there in the future—that