614Author Notes for Ch 2 - Everyone who wants them to reconcile and eventually have their HEA - thank KathyJoK. This story was intended to be one chapter and one chapter only. However, my wonderful friend and beta threatened, cajoled, and begged … Um … I mean, she gently persuaded me to expand the story. And so I am. Finding their way to happiness will be a long trip that will take more than two chapters. Hope you come on the journey with me.
Ronnie called out a farewell as they left the cafe but for once, Stephanie didn't respond. She was so wrapped up in the moment that she barely noticed the cold as Ranger walked her to her car. The past couple of hours had had a surreal quality, as if she was moving underwater. Some things – the sound of Ranger's voice, the scent of his body wash, the weight of the grocery bags, even the individual snowflakes whirling around them – were in focus. Everything else had the hazy quality of the background in a dream, always there but never in focus.
Finding Ranger standing next to her in the grocery store of all places had been a shock. The sight of him had taken her breath away. She had felt simultaneously light-headed and rooted to the floor. She'd tried to put the list away and, what, hug him? Give him a handshake? Run as fast as she could? She wasn't sure what she meant to do which meant her brain tried to do everything at once. That turned into some kind of full-body stutter and she'd dropped her purse. Smooth move, Plum.
It was only the manners drilled into all Burg children from birth that had gotten her through the next two hours. She'd clung to that etiquette like a drowning man to a life preserver. Inside she was so shaken up that she could barely think and hoped she'd at least been coherent. Ranger, of course, had been as confident and composed as always. Clearly, running into her after so many years hadn't been as mind-boggling to him as it had been to her.
They stood by the door of her car, silence filling the space between them. She guessed by his neutral expression that Ranger didn't feel the same awkwardness that she did. Guess that hadn't changed.
"Well," Steph said as she plastered on a polite smile. "I better get going."
"It was good to see you, Babe." Ranger's husky voice sent liquid heat coursing through her veins.
"You, too," she replied. She tried to hold the smile but felt it crumbling at the thought of walking away again.
This was really it. Their unexpected reunion was over. Damn, she really wanted to kiss him.
Ranger moved in for a hug, giving her a peck on the cheek as if saying goodbye to his sister. It was obvious that running into her hadn't dredged up any of the old feelings.
It was a different experience for Stephanie. The touch of his lips on her skin sent a jolt of that electricity, that zing, that had always been between them, even when things were tense and they couldn't speak without arguing.
Something inside her snapped. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing against him as hard as she could, her mouth seeking his, and found him returning her passion. Desire shot through her and she trembled as his tongue slid past her lips.
Time stretched, and she had no idea if minutes had passed or only seconds before they broke the kiss. Moving of its own accord, her hand came up to cup the side of his face and her thumb brushed across his cheekbone. She tried to memorize this face, this new Ranger with the fine lines, the small scar on his jaw, and the touch of gray at the temples that made him look even more dashing.
Some men grew more attractive with age and, apparently, he was one of them. That seemed unfair, considering how devastatingly handsome he'd been to begin with. Right now Ranger was poised to become King of the Silver Foxes.
She wanted to keep this face with her forever. Too bad it would have to be in her memory, and not in her bed. This wasn't some romance novel about second chances. It was obvious that their meeting had been an accident. Only business had brought him here and once business was done, he'd be gone. No wonder people called Fate cruel and fickle. Fate had dangled Ranger in front of her long enough to remind her of what she could have had, then it would take him away.
Stephanie took a step back, her voice cracking as she said goodbye.
Knowing it would probably be the last time she'd ever see him, she kept glancing back at Ranger in her mirrors as she drove away. His silhouette was quickly obscured by the falling snow before being lost in the darkness of the winter evening.
It felt as if her heart had frozen in her chest. Something slid down her cheeks. Melting snowflakes? No. Startled, she realized that she was crying. The tears were spilling out, like water overflowing a dam. It wasn't the big sobs she might have expected based on the pain in her heart. She swiped at her cheeks a couple of times, then gave it up as a lost cause. At least the waterworks had waited until she was in the car.
Traffic was light, thanks to the holiday. Most people were off work and home with family, for which Stephanie was heartily grateful. She didn't think she'd be able to handle an emotional crisis AND Chicago traffic. As it was, she'd been so preoccupied that she found herself standing in her living room, taking off her coat and could barely remember the trip here. At least the tears had stopped somewhere along the way.
She left her shoes by the coffee table and went to the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Settling on the couch, her back was against the armrest with her legs stretched out along the cushions. One-handed, in deference to the beer she clutched, she slid the afghan off the back of the couch onto her legs. This had replaced her first thinking position, as these days she was far too likely to fall asleep if she spread out on the bed. She still might fall asleep on the couch, but it was less likely as she was mostly sitting up.
Steph sipped her beer and tried to remember back to who she was 15 years ago. Back to the person who thought breaking up with Ranger and leaving Trenton was a good idea, and what she thought she'd accomplish by doing that. Normally, she tried not to dwell on that time of her life, not just because it was difficult emotionally, but because thinking about her own behavior made her cringe.
She had thought she could flounce off and, after a few months or maybe a year, she'd have established herself as a kick-ass Bounty Hunter all on her own, without Ranger or Joe trying to insinuate her victories were due in any way to their influence. Then she'd come back a hero, and everyone would apologize for dismissing her capabilities and beg her to let them back into her life.
Even before she left she was picturing her triumphal return in her mind, with everybody cheering for her, bowing low and admitting how wrong they had been, and how fabulous she was. All hail Queen Stephanie, Bail Bonds Babe.
That part was extra-cringeworthy now, considering she'd burned every bridge she had on her way out of town. Why would she think Ranger would beg to have her back, after she'd very explicitly said that she wanted nothing more to do with him, and threatened to disappear for good if he ever tried to look for her?
Returning to Trenton wrapped in success wasn't even close to what happened. Instead, she'd crashed and burned and gotten a few rude awakenings, embarrassing herself in the process. What was also embarrassing was how long it had taken for the truth to get through her thick skull. If she'd listened to Ranger or even Morelli, she probably wouldn't have left Jersey; she certainly wouldn't have made such a fool of herself.
She had truly thought she'd be able to hit the ground running, so to speak. Instead, she had learned that much of her success in Trenton was attributable to three things: The Burg, the cops, and Rangeman.
Her Burg lineage had given her an edge when dealing with other Burg residents which, let's face it, had comprised over ninety percent of her caseload. Though the extent of the benefit varied, overall it helped a great deal with snitches and skips. She literally knew everybody and their mothers, and was plugged into the gossip mill. Surprisingly, some of the more violent skips would even hesitate to go after someone who'd been a class-mate. Apparently it was harder to attack someone they'd shared crayons with.
The protection that extended from the cops was partly due to her on again, off again relationship with Joe Morelli. Even when the two of them were off, miscreants knew that messing with her meant messing with him. And beyond that, she had Eddie Gazzara, Big Dog, Carl, and other officers in her corner. Bad guys knew that, too, and definitely took it into account when deciding whether going beyond threats to actual violence against her was worth the blow-back.
But the biggest deterrence had been Ranger and Rangeman. Personally, he was formidable on many levels. His superior physical training and master planning skills meant he was an elite warrior that few could match. Having an entire company of badasses to assist as needed was a bonus. They were tougher than the cops and, even better, had to abide by far fewer rules. They were the things that went bump in the night, or could be, when the situation called for it. Her easy life was due in large part to their vigilance.
Almost a year before she left, Ranger had helped her get a concealed carry permit for Pennsylvania, in case he needed her help on the other side of the river. She thought it was silly, since she never carried her gun if she could help it, but went along with it.
It was during that process that she discovered that Pennsylvania didn't register or license bail bond enforcement agents. There was no process required. No formal training, no application or documents, no requirements of any kind. All she had to do was find a licensed bail bond agent willing to let her work.
So, where do you go after you fly off the handle at your boyfriend, break up with him in no uncertain terms, metaphorically declare all of New Jersey dead to you, and stomp off into the also-metaphorical sunset?
Pittsburgh.
Sighing, Stephanie set the half-empty bottle on the coffee table then dropped her head in her hands, as she remembered.
Finding a position had been easy. Finding a skip was not. She didn't know the neighborhoods. She didn't know the people. She had no network. And forget asking for help from the other BEAs. She'd tried that once and the answer she got was "Are you kidding? Every skip you round up is money I don't make." That was Gary, top of the BEA heap at that agency and all around jerk.
Eventually Rita, one of the few women BEAs, was willing to help for an even split of the fee. Steph quickly agreed, hoping to find a friend, as well as a partner for take-downs. Rita was a straightforward person who sometimes wore jeans like Steph did but favored cargo pants in olive drab or khaki, and kept her gear on a utility belt. She had short dark blonde hair and brown eyes and was about an inch shorter than Steph. She would fit right in with the Merry Men of Trenton.
It had only taken a few phone calls for Rita to locate the skip and drive them to his girlfriend's ground floor apartment. She had given Steph a bit of side eye as they got out of the car but didn't say anything. Rita took the front door while Steph took the side window. Steph heard Rita's warning yell right before the window was flung open and the skip burst through at top speed.
The skip ran toward Steph, who automatically put out her hands and braced herself. The impact knocked her ass over elbow as Rita rounded the corner. He almost knocked Steph's purse off, despite it being worn over her head bandolier style. Undeterred, she immediately got up and chased him for two blocks, Rita right behind her, before tackling him in the parking lot behind a pizza joint. It took a few minutes of ungainly grappling in the grubby asphalt by the dumpster, but she finally got cuffs on him.
He was face down, hands secured behind his back, huffing and puffing from the exertion. Steph let him lie there for a minute until he got his breath back, though she needed the respite almost as much. They were both scraped and bruised, with splotches of old motor oil and other stains of dubious origin over their clothes. The dumpster was particularly fragrant and she hoped the smell didn't transfer along with the stains.
Feeling pleased at her first capture, she had to fight the urge to throw her head back and laugh. This was what she was used to, what she'd been missing. There was comfort in the familiarity. So, she'd needed a little adjustment period but now she was back on track, and Pittsburgh was finally starting to feel like Trenton.
Stephanie had grinned at Rita, intending to share the moment of victory. Instead, her heart dropped. Rita had been standing by, watching the struggle, stun gun in hand. She wasn't panting or sweating from the run, the way Steph and the skip were. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
Suddenly feeling uneasy, Steph asked, "What?"
Rita's mouth tightened and she shook her head. Flipping the switch to deactivate the stun gun, she tucked it back into its place on her utility belt. She didn't say a single word as they escorted the skip back to the car. Not a word during the drive to the cop shop, or the handover to get the body receipt.
They returned to Rita's SUV. Once they buckled in, Rita started the engine but didn't put it in gear. Keeping both hands on the wheel, she tilted her head to look at Steph.
"I thought you'd done this before." Rita glanced from Stephanie's face to the purse in her lap then back to her face.
Steph nodded, wondering what this was about.
"Like, more than once," Rita continued. She raised the fingers of one hand as emphasis, though she kept her thumb locked around the steering wheel.
Steph nodded again. "For a couple of years. Why?"
Shaking her head, Rita pointed and said, "You wore your purse. To a takedown."
"Well, yeah. It has my stuff," Steph explained, even though the answer seemed pretty obvious. That uneasy feeling was returning. She draped one arm over the purse as if Rita would try to snatch it away.
"What stuff? You didn't use anything. You didn't have a stun gun or baton or taser or pepper spray or billy club or blackjack or anything in hand." Rita paused as if expecting a reply, but continued when Steph stayed silent. "As fast as he was, coming out of a window takes more time than dashing out the door, but you didn't move in when you saw him. You just stood there like you were waiting for him to exit. Then when he came at you, you put your hands up but didn't do anything but stand in front of him. You could easily have grabbed his arm and flipped him, but you didn't even try. You let him bowl you over. Even then a taser could still have stopped that chase before it started, but all you did was run after him."
The unexpected criticisms put Steph on the defensive, shoving aside what was left of her initial satisfaction. Hugging her purse, she said "I got him at the end though. That's all that counts, right?"
"Yeah, you got him." Rita snorted. "After five unnecessary minutes of what looked like amateur mud wrestling without the mud. You've got no technique at all. Have you ever even practiced – and I mean physically practiced – putting people into holds?"
Thinking of all the times that Ranger, Lester, Bobby, Cal, and even Hal had offered to work with her on that, and on getting out of holds if someone tried them on her, Steph lifted her chin and spoke in a haughty tone.
"Of course I have." Steph shrugged one shoulder up, as if it should be perfectly obvious.
And it was true. She had practiced. Once. For about an hour. Then she was sweaty, and tired, and went to Pinos for a meatball sub to keep her energy up. Before that, and every time they offered thereafter, she'd given them a snarky answer and walked away. After all, she'd gotten by just fine without it. Why bother?
"Yeah, well you need to get your money back, because they didn't teach you shit." With that, Rita finally reversed out of the parking spot and headed back to where they'd left Steph's car.
It was a quiet ride. Steph felt like she'd been ambushed. It was one thing to get smack talked by Gary, and his suckup sidekick, Russ. She'd put that down to the misogynist crap that so many guys spewed at anyone with boobs. But Rita was a woman like her. They should be sisters in arms in this male-dominated industry, not attacking each other.
But Rita hadn't spoken in heat. She hadn't been condescending, Okay, maybe a little in some places, but mostly she seemed puzzled. Like she couldn't figure out what she was looking at. It made Stephanie think of those weird posters that were covered in intricate abstract designs, but if you looked at them long enough you were supposed to see some hidden 3-D image. She'd stared at many of those in the stores, tilting her head this way and that, trying to make sense of it. But she never saw anything but what was on the surface.
Steph wasn't sure why – because this time it had come from a woman doing the same job? – but Rita's comments had stayed with her and began to feel like an objective assessment, not insults. She mulled them over all that evening, and over the next few days. It was then that Stephanie had her first rude awakening.
All this time, she'd mistaken attitude for aptitude and luck for skill.
Well. Crap. Welcome to Pittsburgh.
Despite getting off the couch and going to bed, Stephanie didn't sleep well Christmas Eve. Between dredging up 15 year old memories that she really wanted to forget, and replaying her meeting in the grocery store with every single way she should have responded to Ranger's sudden presence, it was amazing her brain had shut off at all.
She checked the clock again. Now it was 5:30 in the morning. This was a time of day she almost never saw, except when tottering off, eyes half closed, brain half asleep, to go to the bathroom, dashing out of bed just long enough to pee and curl back up under the covers. If she added it all up she'd gotten maybe five hours of sleep total, but never more than an hour at a time. Ugh.
Seeing Ranger so unexpectedly had been a shock to her soul. She'd long since stopped thinking she would see him again. And now she had run into him with no warning. Ever since Ranger had touched her on the sleeve there had been a turbulence rumbling through her, as if the cold, wind-swept flurries had somehow seeped inside her and continued to blow.
At one point, years ago, she had spent months planning, thinking, playing out in her head how their reunion would go. When finally faced with Ranger, she couldn't do it. Sure, she talked to him. But she didn't say anything she really wanted to.
Stephanie had been too much of a coward to ask him anything personal, and she noticed he hadn't volunteered anything either. She certainly didn't ask any of the hard questions like "did you miss me" or "do you still want me". She couldn't even ask if he was with somebody. Was there a woman waiting for him somewhere? Maybe even here with him in Chicago? Is that why he bought this branch? To be closer to some new girlfriend? She was equal parts curiosity and dread over the answer to that.
Sure, she hadn't told him anything about herself either, but damn, there was no way she was delving into the debacle her flight from Trenton had turned into. She didn't even like to think about it, and she was the one who lived it. There was no way she was going to drop any of that on Mr. Smooth and then send him off to his current lover, who would no doubt be an upgrade from Stephanie. The idea of Ranger in a relationship had her conflicted. On the one hand, she wouldn't want him to spend 15 years alone. On the other hand, she kind of wanted him to have pined for her, at least for a while. Say, like a year or three. Or five.
After checking the time again, Steph threw the covers back. It was 6:15 a.m. There was no getting back to sleep so she might as well get up. She pulled on her robe and slippers and shuffled to the kitchen to make some coffee and toast, with lots of butter and slathered with jelly. Thanks to instant coffee, she was seated at the table sipping and nibbling in five minutes.
She wished she could get a do-over, especially now that she had thought of so many better ways to react, but it wasn't like she could go back in time. All she needed was a heads up. Just five minutes before he caught up to her in the grocery store to know that he was coming. Five minutes to get over the shock of it before he appeared. Where was Dr. Who and his wibbley-wobbley timey-wimey TARDIS when you needed him?
Too bad she couldn't run into Ranger again. THIS time she'd be ready. That could happen, right? That new branch of his had to be within driving distance of her grocery store. She could skulk around the store hoping he'd pop in again. No, that was highly unlikely. It was also deranged and kind of stalkery, though if she got desperate enough … No. No, she would not stoop that low.
Hang on now. She stopped mid-bite then slowly started chewing again as an idea began to form. Wait a minute. Stuffing the last three bites worth of toast into her mouth all at once, she chugged her coffee to wash it down.
He'd been pretty tightlipped about personal events last night, but he had told her the name of the business that he'd acquired, and that there was only one office. He was supposed to be there today, shadowing current management as part of a review of all existing procedures. And that day would start with a potluck breakfast, hence the toaster waffles.
It was daring. It was bold. It could end in disaster, but for years that had been true of pretty much any plan she'd made. However – and this was the most important part – it could work.
No time to make a casserole, even if she had ingredients, and it was highly unlikely that any bakeries were open at this hour on Christmas morning. She put the remnants of her breakfast in the sink then checked her fridge. Yes! She had a two pack of pop and bake cinnamon rolls. She set those on the counter and started opening cabinet doors. She was pretty sure that she still had a large glass baking dish languishing at the back of a shelf somewhere. Ah! There it was. She set it on the counter by the rolls and then grabbed a bag of glazed pecans, leftover from overly optimistic shopping for Thanksgiving.
Working quickly, Stephanie got the rolls in the oven, then hurried off to shower and dress. Good thing she didn't need to wash her hair. After the shower, she twisted it up the back of her head and locked it in place with a fancy giant hair claw. A little bit of mascara, a light dusting of eyeshadow and blush, and a swipe of lipstick just a couple of shades darker than her own lips and her make up was done.
Just then, the timer on the oven went off so she tossed on her robe and scurried off to the kitchen. Yeah, you were supposed to wait before drizzling the icing on, but she didn't really have time. After the icing came the glazed pecans, sprinkled at random. She used the entire package, which was probably too much, but she didn't want to have an open packet sitting around getting stale, or going bad, or whatever glazed pecans did when someone ignored them.
Okay, what next? Oh, right. Clothes would be good. She started sorting through her closet, looking for just the right outfit, tossing the rejects aside until it seemed like half of her clothes were strewn over the bed. The days of stiletto heels were behind her, but she could still do a three inch heel. The question was which pair of shoes would those heels be on?
In the end, she went with the black leather ankle boots, black pants, a plain green blouse under a green Christmas sweater. The festive outfit was topped off by a Santa hat though it sat a little crooked thanks to the clip in her hair. She should probably put her hair into a ponytail instead but didn't want to take the time. As a compromise, she tucked a couple of hair bands in her pocket in case she changed her mind later.
She threw on a pair of dangly Santa earrings, with a matching necklace and bracelet. Out of habit, she reached for her rings but stopped. She stood there for a moment, hand hovering over the little dish on top of the dresser, then slowly put her hand down. Oh shit. She'd been wearing them yesterday. Ranger had to have seen them, there was no way he wouldn't have. Ranger cataloged everything around him, whether he mentioned it or not. Well. Let's see if he remarked on their absence today.
Blowing out a breath, Stephanie marched determinedly out of her room. The pan of rolls was cool enough to touch, though the residual warmth would feel good once she got outside. She really did need to buy a new pair of gloves. She crammed herself into her peacoat, tossed her purse on her shoulder, and jammed her knit cap on her head. Getting out of the apartment was a little dicey since she needed two hands to hold the baking dish, and a third hand to hold the keys and lock the door but she managed.
It was Go Time.
The address had been loaded into her phone earlier so the GPS was ready to go as soon as the device connected. She hadn't been surprised to find her destination fairly near. After all, the grocery store was the closest to her apartment and it stood to reason that Ranger wouldn't have gone far to get the waffles. The store, her place, and Ranger's business were the points of a triangle.
Traffic was even more sparse than it had been the night before. The snow flurries had fizzled out overnight. Now, the sun was shining and the streets were wet in the shadows, but there was no snow. The temperature was hovering above freezing at a balmy 34F, which was practically a heatwave for Chicago on Christmas Day.
The security office was in a mixed use neighborhood, where older Victorian homes rubbed elbows with contemporary mansions and the occasional business. Ranger's latest branch was a newer building with a twist. Ground level was all parking with three floors of offices directly above. While there was an elevator, and what looked like a stairwell entry door at the back of the lot, they were clearly marked for employees only and fitted with electronic locks. Five parking spaces near the front had signs saying "Reserved for Clients of Hawkins Protective". To the right of those spaces was another elevator. This one had a video screen over the call button.
Stephanie parked and shut off the engine. She dragged her purse strap up her shoulder, popped open the driver's door, then leaned over and grabbed the baking dish from the passenger seat with both hands. She elbowed the door out of her way to exit, then swung a hip against it to shut it. Her pulse started to beat more forcefully with every step she took toward that elevator, until it was pounding so hard she could swear she heard it echo through the parking garage. She had to juggle the dish a little but managed to push the button without dropping it.
Three seconds later, the screen lit up. A blonde man in his thirties looked out at her.
"Welcome to Hawkins Protective, a division of Rangeman Enterprises. How may I assist you?"
His voice was smooth and definitely in what she'd call Customer Service Mode. This guy was good, too, but nobody could beat Lester for Customer Service Mode Champion. It was his natural charisma that won every time.
In response Stephanie fell into Perky Mode and slapped on her brightest smile. "Hi! I just stopped by to see –"
Stephanie faltered. Did Ranger still go by Ranger? How should she ask for him? He was here as an owner. Would they be casual enough for street names, or would he be Mr. Manoso instead? If this was Trenton she'd know how to ask for him. Heck, if this was Trenton, she wouldn't have had to ask, she'd breeze through with a finger wave and quick hello to whoever was working reception.
Before the pause got too noticeable, a familiar face appeared over the man's shoulder. One eyebrow raised, Ranger said, "Babe?"
Dammit. She hated that one-syllable thing. She shouldn't have to guess at what that word meant each time he said it. Later on, they'd have that conversation, again. Right now she chose to believe it meant, "Hello, Stephanie. Glad to see you, Stephanie. Please, Stephanie, do come in, won't you, Stephanie?"
"Hi, Ranger." Her smile slipped a little as she tried to decipher his expression through the monitor. Her pulse had quickened as her nerves got the better of her, jittering along her muscles. It felt like she'd had an overdose of caffeine. Holding the baking dish toward the camera, she added, "I brought cinnamon rolls."
His lips curved up and she could swear his eyes got softer. Not all mushy-sweet soft, because that was just not how Ricardo Carlos "Ranger" Manoso ever rolled. Well, not in public. It was more "less hard", like the difference between granite and hard packed dirt. Neither was soft, but if you slammed into it, one was less likely to kill you immediately.
There was a ding and the elevator doors opened.
"See you in a minute," said Ranger then the screen went blank.