Thank you for the comments. Happy Thanksgiving. Hope to post another soon.

I do not own these characters or make any money from the use of them.

Ranger's Point of View

I signaled for Cal to leave and pulled in behind Val's house. When we came in the back I noticed a suitcase with a man's jacket draped over, just outside the mud room. Voices were coming from the office and a light shone from under the office door. I scanned the kitchen on the way past, the little pajero had been cooking and the aromas were familiar, I couldn't quite place them, but they reminded me of home.

"Let's go upstairs girls. Angela, I'd like you to get your sister ready for bed, then get one of your books and read her a story. I'll send your Aunt up to say 'goodnight' later."

I saw them to their rooms and started descending the stairs but I stopped when I heard voices in the kitchen,

"Oh my God, that's awfully big, even for me," I heard Stephanie say, "I don't know if I can get my mouth around it." Then I heard the little pendejo speak.

"It's a lot of meat for one woman, but you're gonna like my Cuban, doll." I may have been dressed "child friendly," but I still had a gun in my ankle holster, and I thought about reaching for it. As I slowly descended the rest of the stairs, a laundry list scrolled through my mind:

Bushes next to his car.

Duct tape.

Knife, not gun.

Slow, painfully slow.

Pine Barrens, it'll look like mob, or a trash barge?

As I stepped toward the kitchen the open floor plan allowed me to see through to the far kitchen counter. Stephanie came into view. She was standing holding a huge sandwich in her hands attempting to take a bite. There were pots and pans on the counter and steam was rising from a kettle on the stove. Manuel Vivanco stood next to her holding a plate under her chin, eyes trained on her face, his other hand was at the small of her back, just north of my favorite spot. She bit down and chewed slowly, her eyes closing in ecstasy.

"Mmmm," she moaned as she chewed, "wane jer, oo hafa tye dis." Her mouth was full of food and she held out the sandwich to me. I walked past the breakfast counter onto the tile and ignored the dead man standing next to her. He moved back and started stacking the dishes. Smart.

I stood toe to toe with her and wrapped my hands around her hands and brought the sandwich up to my mouth and took a bite, cutting my eyes to the jackass in the corner. I try to stay away from roast pork, but I had to admit it was good, very good.

"Oh Babe, did you make this?"

"I had lots of help from Emeril here."

"Sup Miki?" I gave him the "you-know-you're-dead" look, and I saw his Adam's apple bob up and down in his skinny little throat. His Ricky Martin act was over. He turned to the sink and started washing the pans and utensils.

"This was my second official cooking lesson, here, try this." She spooned up some beans and rice and put it to my lips. I had barely swallowed before she brought over a little plate of roasted vegetables, held it in front of me and handed me a fork.

"I'm a little upset with you, Ranger." I wondered if she had found my latest personal tracking device I'd stuck in her purse.

"You have been keeping this Cuban food from me all this time. What other cuisine are you hiding?"

"Did you know we put mayonnaise on corn-on-the-cob?"

"Get out, really?" she gasped.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen eating the roasted vegetables while she held out the plate. Manuel piped up from the sink,

"As I remember, Mamma Manoso puts those thinly sliced banana peppers and a some special sauce on her sandwiches, I've tried to get the sauce recipe from her, but she won't budge. Before she grilled the sandwiches, she would butter the outside of the bread, oh God, it was like a sandwich from heaven." Keep thinking that, cause that's where you'll be eating your next meal. Who did this prick think he was, sharing my personal family stories with Stephanie. I thought he was about to leave, but he just kept going,

"Yeah, there was a long-standing argument between Carlos' Mother and Grandmother over the proper way to make a pork sandwich." Lucky for Carlos, he got to be the guinea pig, they were always trying to win him over." I wanted to smile, because it was true, they were in fierce competition, and of course I always told them both privately theirs' was better.

Stephanie looked at me and smiled, "so who made the better sandwich?"

Manuel and I spoke at the same time, I glared at him and held up my palm signaling him to speak first.

"Momma Manoso, it was new, something different," he said.

Stephanie looked at me waiting for my reply,

"It's a close call, but Abuela, her's was authentic, and consistent."

"I wonder what it would taste like with mayonnaise."

"No!" we barked, causing her to jump.

"Mamma and Abuela disagreed on many things," I told her, "but mayonnaise was not allowed, my brother brought a friend home once, he put mayo on his sandwich, and that boy was never allowed in her house again."

She poured me a glass of water and brought over some recipe cards to show me. She looked so beautiful, I wanted to touch her, but after out conversation last night I didn't want to bend the needle on her moral compass. I had no problem getting between her and Miki Vivanco, but I wasn't about to stand between the woman and goodness.

Manuel was wiping off some utensils and packing them in his suitcase. I looked through the cards and saw a familiar recipe.

"You would really like this, here," I pointed to the Orange Flan recipe card.

"Oh the flan, do you like that?" she asked.

"It's one of my all-time favorites, my mother makes it every time I come home."

"Oh, well, we have one baking in the oven, I'm sure it's nothing close to your mother's recipe."

"That's what smells so good."

Manuel found his courage and piped up from the sink,

"Wait till you taste this one Carlos, it just needs to bake for a few more minutes. Unfortunately, Kids, I can't stay, I'm giving a dance lesson. Carlos, could you show Stephanie what to do when the flan is finished, it will be very hot and I don't want her burning herself on the water in the bottom of the pan, that is, if you remember."

The arrogance of the little Guillermo, of course I knew how to turn out a flan.

"And that roaster is filled with ten pounds of pork roast, could you show her how to shred it?" He zipped up his suitcase and picked up the sandwich press.

"As I recall, that was always your job as a kid because you were the only one trusted not to eat half of the roast before you were finished." I gave him a look that suggested he should leave and he started packing a little faster.

I took the empty plate from Stephanie and was setting it in the sink when I notice a blue and gold photo album sitting on the far end of the breakfast bar, I used to have one just like it when I was a…. kid.

"I stepped over to the book and lifted the front cover, in black marker, in my adolescent handwriting with little stars drawn all around, highlighted in yellow it read "Ricardo Manoso, a.k.a. The Man!"

I closed the book quickly, holding it to the counter with my palm then turned to the pair, "Where did you get this?"

Manuel looked at his watch." Gotta go, I have that group dance lesson at The Raj in twenty."

I stood, tucked the book under my arm and stepped toward twinkle toes.

"Here, I'll walk you to your car," I stated, it was not a question.

But before I could advance, Stephanie stood in front of me and held her hand to my chest,

"You can talk to him later, but right now he is going to leave and you are going to say. Stephanie's eyes were telling me to stay on my spot. She turned and walked Manuel to the door, giving him a peck on the cheek before he slipped on his jacket and disappeared.

"I'll see you Monday," she told him.

Stephanie's point of view

"What is wrong with you?" I said turning to the meat head standing in the kitchen.

"Nothing Babe?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes,

"This kitchen has lots of stainless steel, if you hadn't noticed, I saw you, your eyes were practically knifing him in the back."

"I'd never knife a man in the back, I'd look him in the eyes. But to answer your question, I just don't like him touching you."

"Ranger, I told you this was not a date, he's my friend. You touch me all the time and we're not dating. After all, you were the one who first sent him over here."

"And what's happening Monday?" he asked.

"I thought it would be nice to take all this yummy food to Rangeman, and feed the guys who have to work on the holiday, I heard Ella say she was going to take Monday off and spend it with her sister.

Ranger looked at me and lifted the photo album, "Explain this."

"Carmen asked Manuel to give it to you. She found it when she was going through some boxes."

"Did you look at it?"

"No." I fibbed, my voice raising an octave. "Well, I did peek in the front cover and saw your spectacular art work, but other than that," I fumbled, "and, except for that letter from your high school girlfriend tucked in the back page, what does Papi Chulo mean?"

"Stephanie?"

"I swear that's all I saw, well that, and you have lots of ticket stubs from Menudo concerts, I didn't know you were such a big fan of boy bands. Course when I was little I thought they were the Mexican Power Rangers, what with the multi-colored spandex outfits and all."

The oven timer went off and we both walked over and I started to open the door but Ranger held the door handle,

"Slowly, let out some of the steam first."

He opened the door a bit and a billow of steam rolled out and made my face moist. The smell was amazing when I breathed in the orange and cinnamon. When we had the door open fully we both bent over and looked at the golden brown custard creation.

"MMMmm.."

Ranger reached over and handed me Val's red and white checkered oven mitts.

"Now be careful, remember there's boiling water in the outer pan. He picked up a wooden skewer Manuel had left on the counter,

"Stick this in the center, if it comes out clean means the center is set and it's ready."

I lifted the baking pan out of the oven and stuck in the skewer.

"Now what?"

"We take the pan out of the water and put it in the frig to cool. I'll do that, you go upstairs and say goodnight to the girls."

I walked into Mary Alice's room but she was already asleep. She had all of her dolls and action figures lined up, tallest to shortest across the far wall of her room like a parade, or possibly a perp walk. Angie was in her bed, propped up on some pillows reading a book from the American Girl Series. I sat on the side of her bed.

"You have a good time?"

"Yeah, incredible." She sounded positive, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Are you missing your mom a little bit?"

"Yeah, I guess, what do you think they're doing right now?" Besides being caught up in the romance of the Caribbean, probably working on making your next sibling, I thought.

"I bet they are thinking of you right now. They'll be back before you know it, their flight gets into Newark Saturday at noon, should we go to the airport and surprise them?" Angie gave a little smile and nodded, then she leaned over and gave me a huge hug. She was still holding on when she asked,

"Do you think Ranger will still let us hang out with him, even when, you know, he's not babysitting us anymore." A question I'd wondered myself many times.

"I think so."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Good."

I checked myself in the bathroom mirror and at the last moment decided to slip on my pajamas, baby blue flannel lounge pants and a white v-neck tee with cap sleeves. I dabbed just a drop of vanilla body spray in the center of my cleavage and put on some clear lip gloss.

When I came down, Ranger was sitting at the breakfast bar looking through his book of memories. I saw a little laugh of recognition as he scanned one of the pages. I walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

"Anything you care to share?"

He pulled out the stool next to him and we thumbed through the photo album together. There were pictures of his parents, his brother and sisters, aunts and uncles. He pointed out photos of the house where he had grown up, it was a neat, modest two-story colonial on the border of a historically diverse neighborhood in Newark with slate clapboard siding and white trim and black shutters. We got to the class photos,

"Let me see if I can find you, I said, scanning the rows for little Ricardo Carlos Manoso. I guessed wrong three times and when Ranger finally pointed out his image I was a little surprised.

"That is not you."

"Yes it is."

"Can't be."

"Why not?"

"Well, this kid's kinda, um chubby."

"I was not chubby, I was just big-boned."

"I know big-boned, and that's not big-boned, in fact I'm gonna say you were a little fat."

"It's just the angle of the photo, I was not fat."

There were a few class photos with nuns and teachers with him wearing a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, black pants, and a tie. In another photo, he must have been about six and he was missing his two front teeth. He didn't say much as we scanned through the pages, but he answered all of my questions. Toward the back there were photos of him with different girls from school, by about age twelve he'd lost all of his baby fat and you could see a glimpse of the man he would become. In a few poses, his arm was draped casually over a girl's shoulder. The next-to-last page contained an eight by ten photo of a man, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five holding a little baby. The man looked straight at the camera, not smiling not frowning.

I was hard not to look at the photo, the man was dashingly handsome, with the eyes of Sidney Poitier, and the face of a young Ricardo Montalbon. He was wearing a tailored linen suit, white shirt and tie, and sitting next to him on a stool was a straw fedora with a silk hat band.

"Wow, who is that?"

"That's my Uncle Ricky." Ranger said in a hushed voice.

"He looks like a movie star."

"Yeah, he dressed like that all the time, man, did he have style. His hatbands always matched his ties. Used to carry around butterscotch candies in his pocket just for the kids, he'd always give me one extra and he'd say 'Don't tell your mother,' then he'd wink."

"Who's he holding?"

"Me, this was taken at my christening."

"Awww, you really weren't hatched from a life pod hurled from another planet."

"Nope, Newark General Babe."

Ranger got up and retrieved something from his jacket pocket,

"Here, as long as we're walking down memory lane, I brought this to show you,"

I took the photo and smiled.

"Oh my God, you weren't joking." The photo was of Ranger, he must have been about ten years old. He was dressed in altar boy vestments.

"This marks the beginning of your reign in black, only now you wear pants," referring to the long black cassock that looked like a dress with buttons up the front. He didn't respond, but kept his head down, scanning the album.

"Who are these three?" I asked, pointing to the photo.

He reached over and pointed to the boy standing to his left, "Franklin, he's a pitcher for the Boston Red Sox, been in the bigs about ten years now, he'll probably retire soon. Juan Salizar, he got into a lot of trouble, never did come out of it, died a couple of years ago. and Franco, he was one of my very best friends growing up."

"What happened to him," I asked.

"When I was 14, my friend Franco and I decided we were going to join a gang." I did a little head shake, Ranger was talking about his past, his real past. "For our initiation, we had to steal a car."

"This was in Newark?"

"We lived in Newark, but we had to go into rival gang territory, so we came to Trenton, thought it would be easier."

"So that's why your parents shipped you off to Miami?"

"Well, not at first. My father was furious. My mom, I called her crying like a baby and she wanted to come bail me out, but my father wouldn't have it. He wanted to teach me a lesson, let me sit in juvee for a while."

"That must have been awful?"

"It was, could have been the beginning of the end for me, but you know how things go, sometimes you get lucky. Franco, the kid who had been with me, he got away. I made sure to drop him off before the cops could catch us. I must have been doing seventy down the back alleys, took a corner and he bailed. I took the full wrap.

He could have gone home to Newark and left me, but instead he stuck around and slept on a park bench. He felt guilty cause he had staked out the car we were going to steal, so after a week passed and it looked like I was staying in juvee, he found the owner and tried to smooth things over. Threw himself on her mercy, begged for forgiveness."

I watched Ranger as he wove his tale, his eyes searching his memories as he recalled the events of his past that had molded him so many years ago.

"How did you get out of it?"

The woman who owned the car, she was the key. At first she tried to have the charges dropped against me, but the cops were having none of that. Then she tried to get me bailed out, but they had set the bond out of reach for her, trying to make an example out of me, so as a last resort, she went to a bail bondsman and put her car up for collateral."

"The car you tried to steal?"

"Yeah, ironic, isn't it?" he said with a smile. "I remember, it was a Buick Electra Park Avenue."

"She didn't make it easy on us though. First, before she would sign the bond agreement, she escorted Franco to confession. We both had to agree to attend mass once a week, and we also had to sign up for the Junior ROTC program at school."

"Did you follow through?" I asked.

"Had to, she was tough, and she had connections, boots on the street, so to speak. When I coughed, she knew about it."

"At first, I thought she just wanted us punished for what we had done, but when court came around, she showed up with my Grandma and that's how I ended up in Miami." Ranger gave a bittersweet smile.

"So it worked out for you, but what happened to Franco?"

"He took the hard way out."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry."

Ranger looked at me and shook his head. "No Babe, not that way out, much worse."

"What could be worse than that?" I asked.

"He joined the Priesthood, and now he's in Trenton, just a few miles away, at the church of Our Lady of Guadeloupe. Franco Ramos, Father Francisco Ramos."

Oh my God, literally, oh my God. This was the priest at Our Lady, the priest I had talked to about the stature of Mary, the priest to whom I had confessed my inner-most sins and thought, and he was a childhood friend of Ranger. I knew, according to church doctrine, a priest is never allowed to repeat what is confessed during the sacramental rite, in fact, a priest is supposed to take that information to the grave, can't share the info with his mother, or other priest while betting the ponies, or with weapon clad mercenaries who used to be altar boys.

Ranger lifted the pork roast out of the roaster and set it on a large baking sheet next to two Tupperware containers. He made a few slices across the meat and handed me two forks.

"Take the forks, turn the tines down and start pulling the meat apart." He motioned with his hand. I did as he instructed and the meat started to shred apart.

"This is one way to do it, but I prefer to use my hands." I also preferred when Ranger used his hands, or any other body part, for that matter.

I washed my hands and sat at the table and started working on the rest of the meat. He stood leaning on the counter and gave me some pointers about the whole process and told me about the homemade sauce his mother made to serve with the pork. I was elbow deep in meat and pork grease when my phone started to buzz on the counter.

"Um, would you mind getting that?"

He looked at the number and held the phone to his ear."

"Yo."

"Yes, just a moment." Ranger held his hand over the speaker, "It's Lula."

I looked around and had nothing to wipe my hands with. Ranger came over, brushed my hair away and held up the phone to my ear. The volume was turned up and we could both hear Lula loud and clear. She sounded like she had been exerting herself and I thought I heard Connie in the background. I was trying to focus on Lula, but Ranger had taken a seat in front of me studying my face as I spoke into the device.

Lula's voice boomed through the earpiece, "Was that the Mr. Gluteus-Maxim-Ass himself?" Ranger's eyebrows raised just a fraction.

"Yes and he can hear you." I said, feeling my face turn red. "He's sitting right in front of me."

"Oohhhhhweeeeeee, Hey-yeah Batman," she sang, "I hope you're not behaving yourself with my girl."

I apologized with my eyes, "They're drunk, please ignore everything they say."

"Hey, I heard you, I aint drunk, hey Batman, she been going to church this week but just like in Psalms, she might be needin' your rod and staff to comfort her." I heard Connie burst out laughing, "rod and staff" she blasted.

I jumped from my seat and found a towel to wipe my hands then snatched the phone from Ranger, who, by now was not trying to hide his smile. I stepped toward the dining room.

"Oh my God, you are embarrassing, sshhhh, keep your voices down, he can hear Kleenex crumpling," I said, "in the next room."

"Where are you white girl, you're sposed to be here with us fixin this float."

"What are you talking about?" I couldn't remember agreeing to a drunk float-a-thon.

"You know, the float, for the parade?"

I didn't know anything about it, I must have been on speaker cause I could hear Connie yelling now,

"If you would ever check your e-mails you would know about these things."

"Yeah, girlfriend, I told you bout it two weeks ago, when we was at the Sundowner."

Two weeks ago I was at the Sundowner with Connie and Lula slamming mind-erasers trying to forget I'd lost my passport, cruise, and ten thousand dollars in bond money in the span of two hours.

"We got most of it done but we have to put the finishing touches on our costumes."

"Costumes, what costumes," I was getting a bad feeling, "yours and Connie's?"

"And yours!" they both said.

"What do I need a costume for?"

"For cuz you gonna ride on the float with us, for the bonds office, you know how Vinnie did a float for the 4th of July parade, were kinda recycling it just a little bit. It's gonna say Liberty and Justice for all." I could think of many ways this could go bad, I would probably come up with an excuse, but for now I wasn't gonna worry.

"Sorry about the mix-up, but I'll talk to you Saturday afternoon. Connie could you please have some files ready, I'm gonna need to make up for lost time," and a lost paycheck.

When I returned to the kitchen, Ranger had the flan out of the frig sitting on the counter.

"I think I may have agreed to ride in the parade Monday on the Bonds office float."

"I see, so you're not riding with me?"

"I didn't think I qualified, thought I had to be military, besides, I don't have any SCU's or BTU's or whatever you call the uniform."
"ACU's Babe, Army Combat Uniform, and given the number of times you've been shot and the times you've almost been blown up, I'm gonna say you qualify with the field experience.

He took a butter knife out of a drawer and motioned me to the counter.

"Take this,"

He handed me the butter knife and steered me in front of the flan. His left hand reached around my waist and held the round cake pan and his right hand wrapped around the knife I held. He stood very still behind me and all that moved was our right hands as he looked over my left shoulder and spoke low in my ear. I inhaled the aroma of warm cinnamon, vanilla, and Ranger and I relaxed into the feeling of his arms almost holding me.

"You have to loosen the side, so you take the knife like this, and run it around the sides of the flan," and our arms moved together in the circular motion as he spoke. Then he took the knife from my hand and set it on the counter, lifted the rimmed serving platter and set it inverted atop the flan. When he reached for the plate I could feel his hard body brush against my hip and a shiver went up my spine.

"Now," he talked slow and steady, "you need a little lip on the serving plate to catch the caramel from the bottom of the pan."

He picked up the pan and platter holding them together in front of me like a sandwich,

"Put one of your hands on the top and the other on the bottom and you want to turn it in one fluid flip, ready?" I did as he instructed and the pan felt nice and warm in the middle.

He let go of the pan and platter and stepped back. I drew in a breath and turned over the whole mess. Nothing slipped, or shattered, and no caramel came flying out. I set the platter on the counter and slowly lifted the edge in anticipation and the golden sweet syrup came oozing out in an amber puddle around the smooth, moon-like creation. I took a spoon and scraped the excess caramel from the bottom of the pan.

"Yeah," I clapped my hands together, proud of my success.

I grabbed two small plates and spoons and handed Ranger the butter knife.

We stood at the counter eating the flan and I swear I heard Ranger moan before saying something under his breath in Spanish.
"English please, I don't have Angie here to translate."

"I'm praying my mother never hears me say this, but this may be the best flan I've ever tasted."

He seemed very amenable after eating the flan so I thought I'd try my luck at prying out a little info about the big secret evening he had planned for tomorrow.

"So, are we taking the girls to Rangeman, or Ella coming here to watch them?"

"No, Babe, the girls are coming with us, we're all going to dinner.

I knew the girls had been involved in the scheme, but I thought Ranger and I were going to end up alone at the end of the evening. I felt a pang of disappointment, which I tried to hide but my voice was high and hollow,

"Oh, I see."

"You sound a little surprised, I knew you were gonna have the girls till Saturday; you didn't think I was gonna pick you up and leave them with a babysitter did you?"

"Um, I guess I wasn't sure."

"No, what we're doing tomorrow is going to dinner, what you're talking about would be considered a date."