Page 7 of The Unbuttoned Ranger (Texas Heat: The Heart of a Texas Ranger #1)

“ Pa, you didn ’ t have to go to so much trouble this morning.” Sharp peeked over at the pan of sizzling bacon and his mouth salivated. He was finally getting his appetite back. Something about being shot and left for dead changed a man.

“ You don ’ t want to eat?” Bradley Creed stabbed the air with the fork he was using to flip the meat.

“ You know I ’ ll eat, but I think you ’ re trying to fatten me up,” Sharp teased.

Two weeks had passed since his return home to recuperate.

At his recent doctor ’ s visit, he was cleared to begin doing chores.

He had a mental list of everything he wanted to do at Creed ’ s Creek Ranch.

The land used to be a veritable hive of activity, livestock roaming the pastures, and hands tending to the fields.

Now, it was like a ghost town. Bradley had sold the cattle, some acres of his land, and the hands had all scattered for greener pastures over the years.

Creed ’ s Creek was only a sliver of what it used to be when Sharp left for the military.

Each time he came back to visit there were more changes.

He guessed the changes started way back when his ma passed away.

The only thing that hadn ’ t been touched by time was the interior of the farmhouse. Everything was exactly the way Shyla Creed had placed it like a shrine to the woman Bradley had deeply loved—the “ bread and butter” as he ’ d always referred to her.

Sharp thought at one point his pa might meet someone and remarry, but now that he was up in his years and starting to have health issues, Sharp guessed Bradley ’ s shot at a second chance had passed.

There were two things that Sharp had promised himself when he was laying in the dirt dying. If he lived, he ’ d see Creed ’ s Creeks become the reputable ranch it had been once upon a time. And get married. That was a stretch by any means considering he hadn ’ t even been on a date in years.

Now that he had plenty of time, turning the ranch around seemed practical, but marriage was another matter. Unless he met someone by chance, finding a partner in Fin’s Creek would be difficult.

“ You mean like your old man.” Bradley rubbed his protruding stomach. “ It ’ s taken a lot of work to get this purty.”

“ Didn ’ t Doc Walters tell you to start watching your calories and get some exercise in each day? Bacon is going to be the death of you.”

“ Pfft . What does old man Walters know?” Bradley went back to flipping the bacon.

“ Aren ’ t you and Walters the same age?” Sharp asked innocently.

“ Don ’ t worry about me, son. You ’ re lucky to still be planting your two feet on the ground every day.” A sadness crawled across his leathered and wrinkled features.

“ I ’ m feeling better. Like a new man.” As if a reminder to take things easy, he felt a sudden twinge of pain in his ribcage. “ Doc told me I can start doing some things on the land. Build up slowly until I get back to a normal routine.”

“ Just like I said, those quacks don ’ t know what the hell they ’ re talking about. You ’ re still too weak to be working. You should be resting.” Bradley placed the cooked bacon on a folded paper towel and laid out more slices into the hot skillet.

“ Are you feeding an army, Pa?” Sharp reached for a cup from the cabinet and poured himself coffee. He worried about his father and his health.

“ Bacon stores well.” He made Sharp a heaping plate of eggs, toast and the aforementioned bacon. “ Now sit and eat.”

Sharp sat and forked up some eggs.

His father joined him but didn ’ t dig in right away.

Sharp asked, “ Something the matter?”

“ What ’ s your plan, son?”

“ In regard to cleaning my plate?”

“ The Rangers. I know you ’ ve dedicated yourself to the cause, but maybe it ’ s time…” Bradley let his words trail off.

That wasn ’ t a discussion he wanted to get into so early in the morning. “ I think I ’ ll start working on painting the outer buildings. It ’ s been years since they ’ ve been slapped with a brush. I ’ ll also grab the supplies to build a fence between your land and Piper ’ s.”

“ You ’ re too worried about things that don ’ t matter,” Bradley said around a mouthful of bacon.

“ Pa, you ’ re too nice. Piper can ’ t keep her cows contained and they destroy your garden every year. You barely have enough to sell at the farmer ’ s market. Maybe if the vegetables weren ’ t being smashed and destroyed you might eat healthier.”

Bradley snorted. “ Piper lost her husband and her son. She ’ s been battling her own health issues too.”

“ I have all the compassion in the world that Piper lost her husband and son in a freak farming accident, but that ’ s been almost twenty years ago.”

“ There ’ s a thing called peaceful neighbors. If we all started barking over everything, we ’ d find our situations unbearable. Have you forgotten your roots, son? I taught you how to be good to people.” He seemed miffed.

“ Whatever you say.” Sharp finished off his eggs and started on the bacon.

“ Look,” Bradley had lost some of his firmness. “ Build the fence if you like. Do whatever you see fit here because this is all going to be yours one day.”

Sharp chuckled. “ Is that your way to get me to retire from the Rangers?”

“ I ’ m trying to get you to live your life before you wake up one day and you ’ re my age. A man can want to see his son happy, can ’ t he?”

“ Yes, that ’ s acceptable. I ’ ll work on finding a wife and having some kids.” He was partly teasing. He took his dish to the sink and washed it, then placed it in the strainer. “ I ’ m going to pull the old truck out of the barn and take it a spin. Need anything from town?”

“ We ’ re good. Plenty of bacon left,” Bradley said nonchalantly.

“ Yeah, we ’ re golden.” Sharp didn ’ t bother with a lecture.

On the way to the door, he grabbed his cell and keys out of the wooden dish. Once he stepped outside, he turned on his phone. No service. He already knew that.

He looked at his watch and increased his pace toward the barn. His team had scheduled a conference call for that morning, and he needed to check in to ensure everyone was on task.

At the barn, he opened the double doors, and one came off the rail, so he noted it on his growing to-do list. He pulled the tarp off the old, rusted truck that should have been laid to rest long ago, but he didn’t have the heart to send it to the scrapyard.

At the ripe age of sixteen he’d put a lot of miles on the old Ford and had nicknamed her “Old Faithful”.

Settling into the driver ’ s seat, he patted the dashboard lovingly.

“ Don ’ t let me down, girl.” He turned the key, and it rumbled alive.

He smiled proudly. “ I knew I could count on you.” He gripped the smooth steering wheel and reversed out of the driveway.

Every time he came back to town to visit he made sure he got the old girl a tune-up and some attention.

Once he hit the road, he rolled the windows down and turned up the radio. There was a different feeling listening to classic country in the old beat-up truck that ’ d seen a lot of back roads.

As he reached the bend, he checked his phone. Still no service.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

He felt out of the loop and didn ’ t like that much.

Only because he wondered what was happening with the men who shot him and his team.

Otherwise, being back in Fin ’ s Creek with spotty service didn ’ t bother him at all.

He ’ d gotten used to the phone not being readily available during his time in the military, and even these days because he relied on a two-way radio more than his phone.

Sharp pressed the gas and the truck picked up speed.

He missed this. A lot.