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“Yes,” she said in answer to his question. “An article forTexas Artworks.”

The man smiled. “That boy’s really hit the big time now, for them to take notice.”

She smiled back. “Apparently he was brought to their attention by someone with some clout.”

Mr. Buckley looked thoughtful. And Kaitlyn remembered what she’d read on the web page for the inn when she’d booked the rooms, that he’d been a Texas Ranger for more than two decades, had retired after a crippling—for that job anyway—injury, and had turned his life to following his wife’s dream of turning the family place into a B&B. She’d admired that and admired him for making that decision even though he’d been offered a desk job that actually would have been a promotion.

“Somebody with some pull, who used to hang out in Austin?”

She smiled at that. And tried not to think about how this man reminded her of her father. “Yes, Mr. Buckley. Somebody like that.”

“Frank, please. Well, a Rafferty isn’t one to say no to someone they think they owe something to.”

“I believe that, after meeting him.”

He studied her a moment, then said, “Come back up to the house. I’d like to show you something.”

That surprised her, so she went willingly. She grabbed a mug of the best coffee she’d ever tasted from the table set up in the lobby before she took the seat he indicated. Then he went into a room behind the counter that served as the registration desk. A minute or two later he was back, putting a metal box on the table before her.

“He made this for my retirement ceremony, from the Rangers.”

He pressed a thumb—not the one on his right hand, which had clearly been badly injured at some point, and she guessed was the reason for the retirement—on a small locking panel. It released, he lifted the lid, and she saw that inside the safe was a holstered weapon. His duty weapon, she guessed, but it was the holster that drew her attention.

It was intricately carved, the centerpiece of the widest part being a detailed replica of the Ranger badge. Around it were other symbols, including an eagle in flight, and a small image of this very building and the creek beside it. And all of it against a backdrop of the Lone Star flag, cleverly designed to look as if it were flying strong in the wind. And again she thought of Rylan Rafferty calling himself a craftsman. He was indeed.

But he was also, no matter his denial, an artist.

“It’s amazing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Such an astounding amount of meaning and symbolism, so beautifully rendered, in such a small space.”

“Exactly,” he said, in a satisfied tone, as if he’d made a guess that had turned out to be right. “That wild child of the Raffertys truly found his calling.” She registered the appellation as the man went on. “Karina had commissioned it, but when she picked it up, he wouldn’t let her pay for it.”

She looked up at him then. “That’s quite a way to say ‘thank you for your service.’”

“Yes.”

“Having met him now, I’m sure he felt it an honor to be asked.”

The smile he gave her then was both genuine and warm. “Got his number already, I see.”

She smiled back. “Would you allow me to take a photo of it? For the article? I don’t have the final say on whether it would be used—”

She stopped when he waved a hand in understanding. “Chain of command, I get it. But of course you can. It’s a beautiful example of his work, and you’ve clearly got the eye to see that.”

“And it’s quite a tribute to you.”

“I’m proud that a Rafferty felt I’d earned it.”

After she had finished up her shots of the beautiful holster and Frank had gone to put the weapon away, she repacked her gear. She was still pondering the obvious standing the Raffertys had in this community when she heard footsteps on the stairs, accompanied by a muttered complaint that there was no elevator in this place.

Kaitlyn, since she’d booked the rooms, knew there were ground-floor rooms available, including two that were specifically outfitted for those with disabilities or in wheelchairs, but the grandest suite, which of course Jillian required, was on the second floor. Kaitlyn’s own room was also on that floor—she had to be close, in case Jillian called for her—but was a smaller room that Kaitlyn found no less pleasant. Especially when compared to her tiny apartment at home.

She moved quickly then, preparing a cup of coffee the way Jillian liked it. The woman accepted it without comment or thank you, merely as an expectation fulfilled.

“You’re up early,” Kaitlyn ventured.

“Who can sleep here? It’s so damned quiet. I didn’t even hear a single siren all night long.”

Kaitlyn managed to swallow her sip of coffee without choking, but it was a near thing. When she could speak normally, she asked, “Is there something you’d like to do before we go back to the ranch?”