Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.

Lost

One grandson. Ailing Eve Bishop desperately wants to find her estranged grandson and heir before she dies. Lily Garrett is on the case.

Found

One ornery cowboy. Now all Lily has to do is find a way to hog-tie a lone wolf and get him back to Grandma’s house. Gossip says that dangerously handsome Cole Bishop is going to pay someone to have his child, which gives this Little Red Riding Hood an idea....

Finders Keepers: bringing families together

“What do you want, Lily Garrett? Why are you here?”

“I’m applying for the job.”

“You think you could handle it? Handle me?”

“That all depends on whether you’re a gentleman or not.”

He took another step, until his chest brushed her arm. “I’m not.”

The cold air behind her and the heat in front met inside her, brewing up one hell of a storm. It wasn’t enough he had that rugged cowboy thing going on, but he also oozed bad-boy sexy, which wasn’t the least bit fair.

His hand lifted and he touched her hair. Just her hair. And she nearly dropped her soda. She needed to make her mouth work. For words to form. But that seemed way too difficult as his fingers brushed her cheek. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“What?”

“You touching me.”

“I’ll stop if you want me to.”

She closed her eyes. His thumb, callused and thick, followed the curve of her jaw all the way to her chin. “Stop.” Her voice sounded weak, soft.

“You’re old enough to know better,” he whispered.

“Better than what?”

“That you shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Trueblood, Texas!

Here’s what I want to know—how come, when I lived in Texas for five years, I never met a man like Cole Bishop? That doesn’t seem fair, does it? I know there are men like Cole—rough and stern on the outside, passionate and loving in private. I just haven’t met my Cole...yet.

Here’s the other thing I want to know—how come I can’t be more like Lily Garrett? She’s a pistol, that Lily, and I do admire a woman who isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind.... Oh, wait. My friend (who’s reading over my shoulder) tells me I shouldn’t lie to my nice readers. I do say what’s on my mind. In fact, no one can stop me from sharing my two cents. That’s true, I guess, but Lily has such class, such flair, and she’s so darn quick! I usually think of the perfect thing to say about two hours after the conversation is over.

Here’s what I know for sure—there’s magic involved in writing a novel. Oh, there’s plot and character and dialogue and all the usual stuff, but sometimes, if I’ve been very, very good, the book will take wing and soar, and all I have to do is hang on for the ride. The Cowboy Wants a Baby was like that. It will always have a special place in my heart, and I hope, dear readers, that it will be a special book for you, too.

I love to hear from readers! http://www.joleigh.com.

Jo Leigh

The Cowboy Wants a Baby
Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY

THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.

The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.

The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.

The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.

None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprec-edented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.

But in one house, there was still hope.

Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.

Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.

Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.

Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.

Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.

And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would be-come famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in news-papers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.

Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.

At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anni-versary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.

Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PROLOGUE

THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the great war in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.

The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.

The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.

The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.

None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprecedented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.

But in one house, there still remained hope.

Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, and left their Quaker roots behind.

Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.

Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.

Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.

Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from growing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.

And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.

Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.

At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.

Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Carrie Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Carrie married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965 and gave birth to Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.

CHAPTER ONE

THE MANTEL OF the massive stone fireplace in the great room of the Double G ranch overflowed with calla lilies. The elegant white flowers had been placed with care just below the portrait of great-grandmother Isabella Trueblood, and Lily Garrett knew who was behind the sentimental gesture.

She turned to face her loved ones, and her gaze landed on her father, William. “I can’t believe you did this, Daddy. You know they’re my favorite. You’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you?”

“Nothing wrong with a tear now and again.” With a smile that made him seem much younger than his sixty-one years, William leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, darlin’,” he whispered.

“I know, Daddy. Thank you.” Before Lily let the moment disarm her further, she looked over at the couch. Her brother, Dylan, sat perched on the arm. “Hey, get over here. It’s your birthday, too.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You coward.”

He shrugged. “That’s me.”

She sighed, even though she wasn’t really upset. Dylan was shy about this kind of thing, which was peculiar, since he wasn’t shy about anything else. But she didn’t mind taking the spotlight for her twin. “I’m only letting you off the hook because I’m so much older.”

“Ha,” he said. “By all of eight minutes.”

“Quiet, you young whippersnapper.” She smiled, really looking at him, appreciating him. He had the light-brown hair and blue eyes of their father, while Lily had inherited her mother’s wavy black hair and green eyes, but they were well and truly twins. The bond between them… Well, sometimes even she didn’t understand the connection.

Her gaze moved to the rest of the family. Her sister, Ashley, who looked disgustingly young and perky in her tennis whites. Six years Lily’s junior, Ashley had taken time from her busy schedule at the ad agency to be at the birthday party.

Max was there, too. Although not related by blood, he was family in all the ways that were important. He’d grown up on the Double G, just as his father had before him. As ranch foreman, Max played a large part in making the horse and cattle ranch profitable. As a friend, he was even more important. Only five years older than Lily, he’d been a playmate, a tease, a strong shoulder to lean on.

“So are you going to open the presents or what?” Ashley checked her watch impatiently. “I’ve got a game at four.”

“Your game can wait.” William walked over to the big leather couch and eased down, a contented sigh escaping the moment he was off his feet. “It’s not often we have the two of them home on this special occasion.”

“They’re going to live here forever now,” Ashley said. “We’ll have hundreds more birthdays to celebrate.”

“But none like this.” Lily took Ashley’s arm and maneuvered her to the couch, next to their father.

Now that she had everyone’s attention, Lily cleared her throat. “This isn’t an ordinary day. Aside from it being our thirtieth birthday—which, by the way, I feel is totally unbelievable since I don’t feel twenty-five, let alone thirty—today marks a new beginning for me.”

Her brother’s right brow arched in a silent question.

“You’ve all had to put up with a lot from me for the last seven months. I want you to know that I appreciate your patience and your generosity.”

Ashley’s eyes widened. “You appreciate us? It’s a rare day indeed.”

“Hush, Ashley, and let me finish.” Lily moved to the center of the room and glanced up at the second floor for a moment. She cleared her throat, then went on with the speech she’d prepared that morning. “The construction on the new offices is nearing completion, which should be a relief to everyone.”

Ashley clapped, prompting Lily into giving her younger sibling one of her better glares.

“Finders Keepers is well on its way to becoming the success we knew it would be,” Lily went on. “There’s a need for what we’re doing. Too many people are lost and lonely, longing for what we have in abundance in this very room. It’s a cold world out there without someone who loves you. Someone to love. And it’s part of our legacy to help.” She hesitated, wondering if she had the nerve to say the rest. But then she looked into her father’s eyes.

“I also want to let you guys know that as of this day, I won’t be griping about Jason Gill anymore. In fact, I won’t even bring up his name.”

Ashley’s phony choking earned her a pinch from Dylan. Lily didn’t let the episode shake her.

“I’m finished with that,” she continued. “My entire focus is going to be on the agency and nothing else. But I will say one last thing. I know there’s a lesson in this. There’s a reason I fell for the rotten son of a bitch, and a reason I didn’t know he was married. Unfortunately, I have no clue what that reason is. But I figure if it wasn’t for endings, there wouldn’t be new beginnings, right?”

Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back. The speech, the sentiment, were totally unlike her. She prided herself on her no-nonsense approach to life. Maybe it was turning thirty. Maybe it was the heat. She had no idea what had prompted her to get all mushy. But enough of that. She pushed her shoulders back, took a deep cleansing breath, then made the mistake of looking at Dylan.

His eyes seemed focused on something far away. She had a good idea what he was thinking about. Last year had been tough for him, too. He’d lost a part of himself while he’d been in Dallas. She wished with all her heart that she could take away his pain as well as her own. At least they were home, where they could rebuild their lives and find some peace.

“This is what’s important,” she said, mostly to Dylan, but to herself as well. “Being here with the people we love, and who love us. That’s the best present of all.”

“Uh, Lily?”

She was almost afraid to respond. “Yes, Ashley?”

“Does that mean you won’t be wanting the sweater I got you?”

Laughter shifted the mood, and when Lily walked over to strangle her little sister, things got even livelier. Although she didn’t hurt Ashley, she did pluck her gift from the pile on the coffee table. “Sweater, eh?”

Nearly tearing off the white bandage on her hand, a reminder not to save feral puppies without thick gloves, Lily ripped into the purple-and-white package that Ashley most assuredly had paid someone to wrap. Lily flipped open the box underneath. But there was no sweater. Instead, she pulled out a Sherlock Holmes hat, a meerschaum pipe, and a magnifying glass.

Dylan cracked up and Ashley’s cheeks turned pink.

“This is so cool!” Lily plopped the hat on her head and stuck the pipe in her mouth, then turned to her brother. “Watson, bring me my violin.”

Dylan got up off his perch on the side of the couch and approached her, a sly smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Watson?” He swiped the hat from her head. “I don’t think so.”

She reached to grab it, but Dylan held it too high. “Give that back. It’s mine!”

“Finders keepers,” he said, dangling the woolen cap tauntingly in front of her.

“I’ve got your finders keepers right here, buddy.” She jumped for the hat and caught the bill. They tugged back and forth, causing much hooting and laughter from Ashley and Max, until, at William’s urging, Dylan gave up. Lily put the hat on, grinning at her victory. They hadn’t tussled in years. It reminded her of their childhood. There had been lots of roughhousing, but very little ill will. Well, except for the time he’d broken into her diary. But since that had happened fifteen years ago, she might be ready to forgive him.

“It’s my turn,” Dylan said, taking the second of the purple-and-white packages. He, unlike Lily, took his time opening the gift. First the ribbon, then each piece of tape. It was maddening. Finally, though, he hit a box. He opened it and grinned as he pulled out a mahogany door plaque that read Finders Keepers in beautiful gold script.

“For the new office,” Ashley said.

“It’s a knockout, Ash.” Dylan passed the plaque to Lily, then kissed his little sister on the cheek. “You did good.”

“Was there any doubt?”

Lily didn’t respond. She was too busy admiring the beautiful workmanship on the plaque. The investigative agency was as real as the wood in her hands. Their intervention had brought three couples together and reunited two mothers and their children—everything Dylan and she had talked about when they’d decided to carry on the Trueblood legacy.

She couldn’t wait until the offices were finished. Maybe she’d even open a bottle of champagne when they put this plaque on the door.

Max cleared his throat, getting her attention. He nodded at the other presents on the table. She plucked a pink bag from the pile and read the card first. It was from her father, and the message was as sweet and corny as he was. Inside she found a jewelry box.

She could sense, even before opening the lid, that she needed to sit down for this one. She settled on the couch, forcing Ashley to squeeze against the arm. When she opened the box, her heart stopped. She recognized the necklace instantly. It had been her mother’s.

“We thought you ought to have that when you turned thirty.” William squeezed her hand. “She’d be so proud of you.”

Lily lifted the elegant teardrop diamond on the slim gold chain. She’d seen her mother wear this on the most special of occasions. It had been her pride and joy. “Help me?” she asked, turning her back to her father and lifting her hair. His fingers trembled slightly as he struggled with the catch, but she didn’t mind the wait. It gave her time to settle her own emotions. She still missed her mother so much.

“There you go, darlin’.”

She let her hair loose and rose to look in the hallway mirror. The diamond hung beautifully on her neck, just below the hollow. It was stunning, but the importance wasn’t in the perfect three-carat stone. It was in the memories. And in the future. She’d give her daughter the necklace, and with it, all the stories of Lily’s mother, and her mother before her… . All the proud heritage of the Truebloods, who’d risen from the ashes of the worst epidemic the world had ever known, only to plunge into the work of reuniting families, finding lost loved ones, creating hope from despair.

“Come back, Lily. Dylan’s opening the next one!”

She left the mirror, but not before she said a silent thanks to her mother.

Dylan had nearly finished his painstaking unwrapping by the time she sat back down on the couch. He got a jewelry box, too. Her father’s watch. The one William had been given by the Ranchers’ Association. The one he’d worn each time their mother had donned the necklace.

“Dad, I—”

“It’s your time, son. I’m just glad I’m here to see you wear it.”

Dylan didn’t speak. He took off his own battered watch and put on the heavy silver timepiece. It looked right on his arm. As if it had always been there.

“There’s only two more,” Ashley said impatiently. “So, would you guys please open them together? And, Dylan, I swear to God, if you don’t rip the paper like a normal human being, I’ll whack you with my racket.”

“You try, little sister, and you won’t sit down for a week.”

“Why? You’d take away the chairs?”

“Very amusing.” Dylan stood tall, reaching his full six-feet-one-inch and folding his muscular arms across his chest. “Amusing, and yet highly annoying.”

“Just open the damn present.”

“Ashley, language.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Lily interceded by grabbing the next gift. Inside the bag was the most beautiful journal. It had her name inscribed on the outside, and inside was page after crisp white page, just ready for her favorite purple pen and her most private thoughts. “Max.”

He nodded. “I remember you saying you were reaching the end of your last one.”

“Handsome and smart. What a combination.”

He blushed, which had been her intention, and she stood to give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek. But as she turned, her attention was diverted. Sebastian Cooper stood in the doorway, his face ashen and his eyes dark and terrible. She hadn’t seen him much since his wife had disappeared. He looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out.

She got Dylan’s attention and motioned toward the door. She heard a small gasp as he turned to see his best friend. Which meant Sebastian’s condition had worsened very recently.

Dylan rushed around the couch and reached Sebastian’s side at the same time Lily did.

“What is it?” Dylan’s hands formed fists, something he’d done his whole life when he was terribly scared.

“I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Julie?”

Sebastian shook his head. “It’s not that. Or maybe it is, I don’t know. All I’m sure of is the San Antonio cops couldn’t find the River Walk without a guide. It’s been seven months—”

Lily winced at his obvious pain. It must be torture. Julie had vanished early in January, the apparent victim of a car-jacking. So far the police had no leads, and Dylan had only been able to do so much investigating without tipping his hand. He hadn’t wanted to push his services on Sebastian, but it had been impossible for him to sit by and do nothing. Julie and Sebastian meant too much to him.

When Lily had asked Dylan why he didn’t just insist on heading the case, he’d talked to her about friendship and loyalty and male pride. She hadn’t completely understood, but he remained adamant that before he could pull out all the stops, Sebastian needed to ask for his help.

It appeared he just had.

DYLAN GOT OUT the Johnnie Walker Black and poured Sebastian two fingers. The family had dispersed until dinner, so Dylan joined his friend at the kitchen table, handing him the glass. “Tell me what you know.” Dylan probably knew as much as Sebastian did about the case, but he had the feeling his friend needed to talk about it.

Sebastian’s hand shook as he held the amber liquid. “The only evidence they found was some blood on the back seat of the car. Julie’s blood.”

Dylan made sure he didn’t react at all to the bald words. At least not outwardly. Sebastian needed him to be strong now. But it was damn hard.

Julie and Sebastian meant more to him than anyone outside his family. Hell, he’d grown up with Sebastian, the two of them riding the rodeo circuit all through high school. They’d even gone to college together, and that’s when Julie had entered the picture. Beautiful Julie. Who had called him her white knight, but married Sebastian. Dylan couldn’t bear to think of her hurt, or worse.

“They traced the last few hours before her disappearance. She’d been to the bank—to the safe deposit box.”

“What did she do there?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Not much. Got some papers, I think. But someone must have seen her there. Assumed she’d gotten valuables.”

“And followed her.”

Sebastian knocked back his drink, shuddering as the scotch went down. “Followed her and took her.” He stared at Dylan, his eyes filled with more pain than any man should have. “The nights are the worst. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about what she’s going through.”

“We’ll find her, Sebastian. I swear on my life, we’ll find her.”

“I kept thinking the police would find her. That it had to be something simple, a misunderstanding, that she’d left because I’d said something thoughtless, but she would have called. She isn’t cruel. Dammit, I should have come to you first.”

“It’s good that the police are involved. But they have too many other cases. I swear to you, Sebastian, I’ll find her.”

Sebastian nodded. “I know.” He swallowed hard, then tried to smile. “Remember Christmas?”

“Of course.”

“She was so happy about the locket. So thrilled that I’d had the stones replaced.”

“It meant a lot to her.”

Sebastian leaned across the big oak dining table. “I keep thinking that’s what the bastard saw. That the necklace drew his attention. If I hadn’t given it to her—”

“Stop it. You didn’t do this. It’s not your fault.”

“How do you know?”

“I know this—when she gets back, she’s going to need you. If you rake yourself over the coals like this, you won’t be any good for her.”

He leaned back, nodding. “Right. I need to be strong for her.”

“Let the detective in charge know you’ve hired us. I’ll need to see their reports.”

“I will.”

Dylan nodded at the scotch bottle. “Need another?”

“Yeah. But I’m not going to. If I start drinking now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Right. So why don’t you kick back. Take a swim or something. We’re having dinner in a couple of hours.”

“I can’t, Dylan. I wish I could.”

“You don’t have to see anyone. I could arrange that.”

Sebastian stood. “I have to go. I’m grateful to you, buddy. And listen.” He swallowed again, his Adam’s apple too visible. He’d lost weight. “Whatever happens—”

“We’ll find her.”

Sebastian turned away. A lock of his hair fell over his eye. Julie would have pushed it back, then she would have kissed him. It was something she did without fail. She’d been a sucker for Sebastian since day one. Dylan was glad she’d found happiness. Now all he had to do was bring her back to the arms of the man she loved.

Failing wasn’t an option.

LILY RAISED her soda glass. “To us.”

The rest of the family joined her in the impromptu toast. “To us.”

They drank their assorted beverages and went on with the birthday dinner. Max and her father were already deep in discussion about the new paddock. Ashley, still in her tennis outfit, ate as if calories didn’t exist. Dylan hardly touched his food.

She knew Julie’s kidnapping weighed heavily on him—even more so now that he’d agreed to take the case. She wondered again if Dylan knew he was still in love with Julie. It had broken his heart when she married Sebastian, but good old Dylan hadn’t said a word. He’d just stood there as best man and watched his one true love marry his closest friend.

So much of what had happened to Dylan was connected to that moment. His decision to leave San Antonio and work for the Dallas P.D. His undercover work infiltrating J. B. Crowe’s mob family. The fateful error that had blown his cover.

Most people wouldn’t tie all those events together, but most people didn’t know Dylan the way she did. Sometimes—she wouldn’t swear on a bible or anything—but sometimes she felt absolutely sure that she could read his mind. And that he could read hers. More than that, she felt his pain. Not to the degree he felt it, but it was there. A dull ache that told her Dylan was in trouble. It didn’t seem to matter how far away he was, she always knew.

The ache was strong tonight. She wasn’t at all sure he should have taken the case. If he failed…

And even if he didn’t, the outcome was probably going to devastate him. The odds of Julie being alive after seven months were slim.

Dylan shoved some food around on his plate. She reached over and touched his hand. Startled, he looked at her.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Because you’re going to do everything possible. You’re the best man for the job and there’s not going to be one stone left unturned. If anyone on earth can find her, it’s you.”

He nodded slowly, unconvinced, she thought.

“Little brother.”

The appellation always made him smile. Eight minutes didn’t make him her “little” anything. But his smile failed to appear this time.

“Dylan, I know it’s hard, but for Dad’s sake, try. Eat something, just a little. Smile, even if you don’t mean it.”

He sighed. “I am pretty good at appearing to be something I’m not. And right now that means being in the mood to celebrate.”

“After dinner, why don’t we sit down and talk about what we know so far, and what’s next.”

He smiled, and damned if she didn’t believe the transformation. “Good idea, Lily.” He ate some steak, drank some iced tea, laughed at something Ashley said.

But the ache was still heavy in Lily’s chest. The ache that told her Dylan was dying inside.

CHAPTER TWO

LILY’S FIRST VIEW of Eve Bishop’s mansion came after almost a mile of winding road, flanked on each side with huge chinquapin oaks she’d give a pretty penny to see in the fall. The trees cast shimmering shadows on the road and her car in a windblown ballet.

The house itself was equally awe inspiring. Two-story Victorian, it was registered with the historic society as one of the original German mansions built in the late 1800s. As she drove closer, Lily could see the facade wasn’t quite up to snuff. It needed paint and the garden was overgrown. But then Eve was in her seventies, and Lily had grown increasingly alarmed over the woman’s frail health.

She’d met Eve while volunteering for the Texas Fund for Children, a large charitable organization that provided funding for a children’s hospital and rehabilitative center, staff for the two largest orphanages in the state and many other educational and health programs. The whole shebang had been started by Eve and her late husband, and Eve had worked hands-on to build the foundation for over twenty years.

Lily parked the car in the circular drive and stepped out into the brutal July sun. With a high in the hundreds and the air thick with humidity, it wasn’t a pleasant place to dawdle. But she did. She lingered in the garden for a moment, her mind’s eye seeing what the grounds were meant to be when tended properly.

At the massive front door, she hesitated once more. Eve had asked her to come by, but had been quite mysterious about her reasons. Lily hoped it wasn’t because she was ill. Aside from admiring Eve for her philanthropy, she liked the woman very much and considered her a real friend.

She rang the doorbell, hearing its echo inside, then waited. The house was so large, easily ten thousand square feet, that unless Eve had help, it was going to take her a while to get to the door. To Lily’s surprise it was opened almost immediately by a young woman with a welcoming smile.

“I’m Lily Garrett. Here to see Eve.”

“She’s expecting you,” the woman said as she pulled the door open further. She was in her twenties, Lily guessed, and of Hispanic heritage. Her dark hair had been pinned up, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt, completing the ensemble with bare feet.

“Please, come this way.” Her accent was slight, lilting. She led Lily through the broad foyer, her bare soles slapping the white marble floor, then stopped at a door just a few feet down the hallway. She knocked twice but didn’t wait for a response. Lily nodded her thanks as she stepped inside.

The room captivated her instantly. Very Victorian in style, decorated in different hues of pink and white, it was made perfect by the elegant tea cart holding a silver service. Eve sat on an overstuffed chair, her petite body dwarfed by the chair’s velvet wings.

“Lily. I’ve made tea.”

“I see. It looks wonderful.”

Eve patted the cushion of the love seat next to her chair. “Come. And tell me if you prefer milk or lemon.”

“Milk, I think.”

For the next few moments, Eve went through the slow ritual of afternoon tea, complete with tiny crustless watercress sandwiches, pink petits fours with icing that matched the color of the walls exactly, and little lumps of sugar doled out with silver tongs.

Lily took advantage of the lull to study the decor. Lush bouquets of fresh flowers were on the mantel and an end table. A white upright piano was the centerpiece of the far wall, and a brick fireplace flanked by bookshelves did the honors on the wall to her left. Antique dolls stared wide-eyed from various perches throughout the room, their bright curls adding a bit of life to the old-fashioned library.

Above the fireplace was a portrait, and Lily knew instantly that it was of Eve. She’d been much younger then, her now silver curls a deep coppery red. Her skin was smooth, her long neck arched and coy. The artist had captured her spirit, especially in her eyes. But the vivid blue in the picture had faded on the older woman.

Eve handed Lily a plate and a teacup, waited for her to take a sip, then sighed.

“What is it, Eve? Is something wrong?”

The old woman’s hand trembled as she put her cup on the tea cart. “Several things, in fact.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“I dearly hope so.”

Lily took another sip of tea, but she hardly tasted it, her curiosity was so great.

“The simple fact is that I’m dying.”

Lily nearly dropped her cup at the stark words. “Oh, no. Please, not that.”

Eve nodded. “I don’t mind very much. Honestly. I’ve had a rich and full life. My days now are mostly about pain, feeling it, treating it, ignoring it. My hands have become traitors and my eyes, well, maybe it’s not so terrible to see the world in shadow.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Sometimes. But nothing hurts as much as the heaviness in my heart. And that’s why I’ve called you.”

“How can I help?”

Eve leaned back in her chair as if the effort of sitting upright had become too much for her. “I have a grandson.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.”

“I haven’t. Because I haven’t seen him in five years. I haven’t spoken to him or heard about him. My son, his father, died four months ago. He had a heart attack. He hadn’t spoken to Cole in five years, either.”

“Why?”

“That’s not important,” she said, her brow furrowed with the effort of the conversation. “What is important is that I see my grandson before I die. I won’t be able to rest until I do. Can you understand?”

“Of course. You love him.”

“More than he’ll ever know.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

She shook her head slowly. “The last I heard, he was in Houston. But that probably isn’t where he is now.”

“Do you have any idea what he does?”

“No. Business, perhaps ranching. I don’t know.”

“I see.”

“You don’t. But you don’t have to. Lily, I trust you. I know you’ll bring him back. I’ll pay twice your normal fee if you’ll abandon all other cases to concentrate on this one.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to do anything. But I’m a rich old woman whose shopping sprees are over.”

Lily had no intention of arguing with her. She’d send an appropriate bill when the job was done. If, in fact, it ended satisfactorily. “I’d like to take this job, Eve, but I have to make something clear. I won’t bring him back against his will. We reunite families that want to be reunited.”

“Fine. Then I’ll trust you to make him want to come home.”

“Fair enough. I’ll do my best.”

“I know that, Lily. That’s why I called you. I’ve done a little research of my own. I’m impressed with this new company of yours. But believe me when I say it was only because I’d met you and seen how you operate that I considered hiring you. Finding my grandson is the most important thing in my life. And that life, if one believes the doctors, will end in approximately six months.”

“Please don’t say that. Anything can happen. Miracles.”

Eve’s smile changed her face. The beauty of the portrait was still there despite the ravagement of years. “There are no miracles. Only things to regret. I don’t want to go that way, you see. I don’t want to die with this terrible regret.”

“I do understand, Eve. I do.”

Eve’s pale-blue gaze met Lily’s and held it steady. The determination there was like steel. “Find him. Do whatever you have to do to bring him home. He’s my only heir. He’ll inherit it all. Make sure he understands that.”

Lily nodded.

“Now drink your tea. It’s probably cold by now.”

MAX SANTANA yearned for a shower. A long, cold one. Riding out to the far pasture hadn’t bothered him, but hauling that big mother cow out of a muddy bog had worn him to the bone. It was the heat. Normally San Antonio was in the high eighties this time in July. But a heat wave had settled across the state, shooting the temperature and the humidity to record levels.

He loved everything about this place except the high heat. Days like this, he had to keep his mind occupied on cool things. Iced tea. Snow. A long swim in a chilly pool.

The only thing Max wanted more than a dip in the pool was a woman.

As he rounded the corner of the big house, he bumped into something soft and sweet. Lily.

“Hey, Max.”

“Sorry about that.”

She waved the small accident away.

Lily was a woman all right, but to him she was practically a sister. What he needed was a stranger with loose morals. Yes, indeed. But he’d think about that in the shower. “Dylan’s looking for you.”

“Pardon?”

“You know. Your brother. He’s looking for you.”

“I’ve been out.” She sounded distracted, her voice was softer than normal. And she hadn’t smiled once.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer him.

“It’s not that son of a bitch Jason Gill, is it? ‘Cause I know where he lives and I’ve got vacation time coming.”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that.”

He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her. He wanted to look down his nose at her, but with her being five foot nine and him six-one, his scowl wasn’t nearly as effective as it should have been. The more he studied her, the more he knew something was wrong. Lily had her hair up in some sort of tortoiseshell contraption, but a long strand had escaped captivity and hung down past the middle of her back. Lily didn’t miss things like that unless she was preoccupied or worried.

“Max, calm down. It’s a new case, that’s all.”

“What kind of case?”

“I need to find a missing heir.”

He grinned. “How much is at stake? I could sure use an inheritance.”

“You could, huh? And what would you do with your millions, Mr. Santana?”

“I’d buy the O’Neill place.”

She smiled, finally. “You are the most predictable man. So why don’t you tell me where my little brother is?”

“He’s in the office, and I’m going to tell him you called him that.”

“You do, and I’ll tell that O’Neill girl you’ve got the hots for her.” The O’Neill girl was about fifty, and ornery as hell.

“Lily, don’t threaten me. You know I can be vindictive as hell.”

She slugged him in the shoulder, and for a skinny girl like her, she made it hurt. “You don’t have a vindictive bone in your body. But you sure need a shower.” She waved her hand in front of her nose and made a face at him. “You smell like wet cow.”

He grunted, then headed off again. After his shower, he’d dive in the pool so fast he’d hardly feel the splash. Oh, yeah.

DYLAN WAS IN the makeshift office, actually a spare bedroom in the old part of the house. They’d moved in two desks and a filing cabinet, then loaded the place with electronic equipment: fax, computers, printers, phones, scanner, all of which would be transferred to the upstairs offices as soon as they were ready. For an interim space, the bedroom wasn’t bad. Just small.

Lily put her purse in her bottom drawer then waited while Dylan finished his phone call. From his tone, she gathered it was business, and as she shamelessly eavesdropped, she realized he was talking to Bill Richardson, one of the homicide detectives working on Julie Cooper’s case.

Searching for Cole Bishop was going to prevent her from assisting Dylan, but given the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped. With Eve so ill, there wasn’t a moment to waste. Besides, Dylan on his own was quite formidable, and she had no doubt that he’d do everything possible to find Julie. She just hoped he wouldn’t get hurt. Either physically or emotionally. So much was at stake.

“I’ll get back to you,” Dylan said as he acknowledged her with a nod. “And see what you can do about those files, huh?” He listened for another few moments, said his goodbye and hung up. His attention was focused on her now, but she could see the strain of the morning’s work on his face.

“How goes it?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to get up to speed. What was your meeting about?”

“I’ve got a case.”

“Now?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I know how important it is to concentrate on finding Julie, but this is something of an emergency.” She explained about Eve’s request, and about the ticking clock. Dylan had met Eve on several occasions and his concern for her was immediate.

“Okay, I can do this on my own, but I think we need to get an assistant now instead of waiting for the offices to be finished.”

“I agree. Any suggestions?”

He shook his head. “I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

Lily turned on her computer, ready to start the search for Cole Bishop. She heard Dylan curse softly, and when she looked up, he was staring at his notepad, his face a mask of frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Things aren’t adding up right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing concrete. It’s more gut feeling than anything else. Something’s eating at me.”

“Well, then, you’d better pay attention. I don’t know anyone who has better gut instincts than you.”

He gave her a sardonic grin. “Not always.”

She hadn’t meant for the conversation to go there. Dylan had been on an undercover assignment in Dallas the previous year. His gut instincts had taken him into the very heart of J. B. Crowe’s mob family, but last October, he’d made one mistake—and that was all it took in his line of work. His cover had been blown, and he barely made it out of there alive. “Come on, Dylan. Did we or didn’t we agree not to wallow in the past?”

“We agreed. But as I recall, it was after you ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s as you rehashed some memories I’m too much of a gentleman to bring up.”

“Subtle. Like a sledgehammer.”

“All I’m saying is the things we went through are a part of us. I don’t think we can forget about them.”

“But we don’t have to beat ourselves up over and over, do we? Frankly, I don’t want to live like that.”

He leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his neck. “So why don’t you find someone new? Someone who isn’t married?”

“Date? Me? No. No way.”

“Why not? You planning on becoming a nun?”

“Knock it off. Of course not. But I’m certainly not going to get myself involved this soon after— I mean, anything I would do now would be a rebound thing, right? I don’t trust rebound things.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go out. There’s such a thing as dating for fun.”

“Which you would know about how?”

“Point taken.”

“I think, for us, for now, we need to focus on the agency. In a year or so, we can rethink things, but now? Let’s just be detectives.”

“Right. Good answer.”

She sighed. “So quit bugging me. I have work to do.”

He didn’t say anything, but about two minutes later, a rubber band hit her in the shoulder. Being so much older and more mature than Dylan, she let it pass.

WHEN LILY LEFT the office, it was almost eight. Dylan was hungry—he hadn’t eaten since noon—but the idea of joining the family for dinner didn’t sit well. He didn’t want to make small talk, and he certainly didn’t want to discuss his progress on the case.

Progress. As if he’d made any. The police were cooperating, to a degree, but that was only because he’d been part of the brotherhood. The evidence was sketchy as hell. Would car-jackers be sophisticated enough to wear gloves? Why else would there be no fingerprints in the car? Did they simply hold a gun to her head and force her out? Then why was there blood on the back seat?

It didn’t make sense, and Dylan’s instinct told him it wasn’t a car-jacking. And yet, there was no ransom note. No demands. There had to be something else, some third possibility he couldn’t see yet. She could have taken off, of course, but that wasn’t Julie’s style. He’d just keep digging until he figured it out.

His gaze shifted to a framed photograph on the wall behind the credenza. In it, he was with Julie and Sebastian, all smiles. Sebastian’s arm was around Julie’s waist and Julie’s head rested on his shoulder. They were the picture of connubial bliss. Although they’d spent the day on the ranch, they’d been AWOL for about an hour after lunch, and Dylan knew exactly what they’d been doing.

He’d tried like hell not to let his imagination run wild, but he should have known better. With Julie, he had no willpower, no control. She came to him in dreams, while he was out riding, during business meetings. He’d thought by now he would have accepted that she’d chosen Sebastian. He’d been wrong.

He opened his bottom drawer and took out the bottle of aged scotch he kept there. But he didn’t pour any. Instead, his gaze moved back to the photograph. To the necklace Julie wore with such pride. It was a silver heart that opened to reveal a small picture of the happy couple. It had been her mother’s locket and Sebastian had scored major points for fixing it up like he had.

Dylan had given her earrings. But she wasn’t wearing those in the photo. Just the necklace. Which was appropriate, of course. But he’d wished…

Screw that. It was over. Over and done, and Julie was with Sebastian. If Julie was alive, that is. If he could find her.

Although he wasn’t a man who ordinarily prayed, he closed his eyes and repeated the desperate bargain that had become almost a mantra in the last six months. “God, please keep her safe. Bring her home. If you do that, I swear I’ll stop loving her.”

CHAPTER THREE

LILY TURNED UP the music as she merged onto U.S. 87. Another few hours and she’d reach Abilene. She’d found Cole Bishop easily enough. Now came the hard part. Getting him to come back with her.

Thanks to the Internet, she’d actually learned a good deal about his work. He had a successful midsize ranch—the Circle B—just outside the small city of Jessup where he raised prize-winning Black Angus cattle. He had an excellent breeding program, but what he was most noted for was the way he managed the ranch. His techniques had been written up in The Cattlemen and the High Plains Journal, two big trade magazines. His approach to ranching was modern and cost-effective. Clearly, he was a smart cookie.

What she didn’t find was anything about the man himself. No personal information at all. She couldn’t find any pictures, either.

It occurred to her that perhaps Mr. Bishop wanted to connect with Eve again, but that he didn’t know how. Men, especially ranchers, could be stubborn as mules. So maybe her appearance would be just the excuse he needed to mend his fences and go back into the fold.

But somehow she doubted it. Why? She couldn’t say. Like her brother, she trusted her gut instincts. They’d always been alike that way. Most of her insights had been about Dylan; it was a twin thing, which she’d discovered wasn’t uncommon at all. But when she’d moved out of the house, other events seemed to trigger that sixth sense of hers. It wasn’t as if she had ESP or anything. Just that from time to time her radar would go off.

It had gone off with Jason Gill, but she’d ignored it. There had been that small worried voice in the back of her head when he’d asked her to leave New York and transfer to the Dallas office. But had she listened? Oh, no. She’d moved, lock, stock and barrel. Once she’d turned off her receiver, it had stayed off. She’d believed every honeyed lie, and she’d fallen hard. She still got monthly issues of Bride magazine at the house. Instead of canceling the damn subscription, she preferred to stack the magazines in a pile by her bed. A towering reminder to heed her intuition.

Of course, sometimes listening to the quiet voice inside led to things that were hard to deal with. As a forensics specialist working for the FBI, she’d learned how to go by the book. Except that one time. The small voice had led her to discover that the death of a pregnant teenager and the child inside her had not occurred in a drive-by shooting, as the police believed, but at the hands of her own father.

She’d realized then that forensics wasn’t where she belonged. It wasn’t all bad. But the case of the teenager, and of course the whole Jason mess, convinced her to leave Dallas and come home. That, at least, had been a positive thing.

The memories had shattered her good mood, and that wasn’t acceptable. She turned up the radio until the car vibrated with Reba singing “Fancy.” Lily sang along, not caring that her voice was terrible, and that she only hit some of the notes some of the time. She loved singing in the car, and she didn’t give a hoot who saw her doing it. She had a long road ahead, and nothing like good old country music to help her along the way.

By the time she reached the tiny town of Jessup, Texas, she was sung out, rung out and starving. The town looked like a hundred others in South Texas. The biggest single store was the grain and feed. Then a Wells Fargo branch. There was an antique store next to a gun shop, and next to that Pete’s Dry Cleaning. Then she spied a little diner, Josie’s, and she pulled around back to the parking lot. She’d purposely waited to eat until she arrived in Cole Bishop’s town. Waitresses in small-town diners could be a wealth of information.

She peeled herself off the seat then shut the door; her car looked a little worse for wear, but that wasn’t because of this trip. It had only taken six hours to get here from the ranch. The sports car was almost ten years old, and the Texas weather had beaten down the old broad. But there were some good years left in her. At least, Lily hoped so.

She ran her fingers through her hair, straightened her blouse and skirt and headed inside.

It took her a moment to adjust to the dim light after so much bright sunshine. But once she did, she felt as if she’d been there before. It was a familiar setup, typical of diners all over the country. Four or five booths, a few tables, a counter, a small soda fountain. The waitresses wore jeans and T-shirts with white aprons slung low on their hips. The other truly Texas touch was the preponderance of Stetsons on the clientele.

Lily headed to the middle seat at the counter, between a wiry old cowboy who looked as if he slept in his boots and a middle-aged woman eating a salad, her paperback book open behind her plate.

The waitress, Ginny, according to her name tag came to Lily with a menu and a smile. “Afternoon.”

“Hi.”

“You headin’ to Fort Worth?”

Lily shook her head. “Nope. But maybe you can help me?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“First, I need some chicken-fried steak.”

“Smart girl. There’s none better in the county.”

“Excellent. And I’ll have an iced tea, please.”

Ginny wrote the order, then turned and put it on a clip in the window opening to the kitchen. She poured the tea, gave the cowboy some fresh coffee and came back to Lily. “So what else can I help you with?”

Lily guessed her age at about forty, give or take. Her short cropped hair had some gray in it, her eyes had laugh wrinkles and so did her smile. It was obvious she liked the idea of a stranger in town, with all new stories to tell. Lily sent up a mental thank-you to the patron saint of private detectives, if there was one. “I’m looking for someone. His name is Cole Bishop.”

Ginny’s pencil slipped from her fingers. The woman to Lily’s right snapped her book shut. The cowboy pushed back his Stetson. The reactions were startling, to say the least.

“Are you here for the job?”

Lily had no idea what the job might be, but it seemed a likely avenue to pursue. She couldn’t imagine what could cause such a stir. “Yeah. You know anything about it?”

Ginny glanced meaningfully at the woman with the book. The best Lily could figure, the waitress was either scandalized or jealous, or else she had an upset stomach. Finally looking back at Lily, Ginny shook her head. “I don’t know that much about it.”

Right. “Whatever you can tell me would be great. I’m not sure I got all the details.”

The woman shrugged a what-the-hell. “I’ll tell you one thing. He’s a stunner.”

“A stunner?”

“Best-looking man I’ve ever seen in the flesh.”

“I see,” she said, although of course, she didn’t. What did his looks have to do with the job? Dammit, she shouldn’t have said she was going after the job. Now it was impossible to ask straight out what it was.

“And Lord knows he could have any woman he wanted just by crooking his little finger.”

The woman next to Lily nodded her agreement. “You’d think he’d want to do things the regular way, wouldn’t you?”

Have any woman? The regular way?

“So, tell me something, sweetie,” Ginny asked, lowering her voice. “Why on earth would a beautiful young woman like you want to do it?”

It? What was it? “Uh, you know. The usual reasons.”

“Usual? I don’t know where you’re from, child, but in this part of the world, there ain’t no usual in what Cole Bishop’s up to.”

Shit! “Well, that’s the thing. I was hoping to learn more about it before I went to see him. If I go to see him.”

Ginny leaned forward and opened her mouth, but the little bell from the kitchen drew her away before she could say one word. It ended up being Lily’s lunch that was ready, and once Ginny retrieved it, she seemed ready to spill the beans. To make sure the waitress knew she had the floor, Lily quickly cut a big slice of the meat and shoved it in her mouth. What she should have done first was make sure it wasn’t scorching hot. But she just smiled through the pain as she chewed.

Ginny opened her mouth again, but for the second time, she was interrupted.

“I heard that Stephanie Davidson went by his place about two weeks ago.” The woman to Lily’s right leaned forward. “She said he was a regular son of a you-know-what.”

“I do, Patsy, I do.” Ginny shook her head and frowned. “He ‘bout bit my head off a couple days back. Just because his coffee wasn’t hot enough.”

“That’s Cole Bishop for you.”

“And yet the women fall at his feet. Except for, you know. That’s just plum crazy.” Ginny realized what she’d said, and shot Lily an embarrassed glance. “No offense meant.”

“None taken.” Lily smiled, but her imagination was going hog-wild. Was the man a deviant? A pervert? A talk-show host? Maybe Eve wouldn’t want him back in her life. Maybe Lily should get in her car and head on home. What in hell was this job?

“I don’t know.” Patsy took a swallow of her iced tea, probably just to add to the drama of the moment. Even after she put down her glass, she hesitated. “I think what the man needs is a good woman. Someone who can turn him around.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying he’s gay?”

Ginny shook her head at Lily’s question. “Not so’s you’d notice. He sees a waitress out at Hastings from time to time. And don’t she like to brag about it. According to her, he’s got the biggest—”

The kitchen bell rang, and Ginny hustled to the window before she finished the sentence. Lily figured she knew what was so big about Mr. Bishop, but in cattle country one could never be quite sure.

“Manny sure does speak highly of him, though,” Patsy said the moment Ginny returned from her waitressing duties.

“Who’s Manny?” Lily asked.

“He works for Bishop. Young man, real polite. He’s got a girl, Rita Borrego is her name, and she works at the Millers’ place. She’s a cook and pretty as a petunia.”

Lily didn’t care about petunias. She wanted to know what was going on with Cole. It was a nightmare version of twenty questions, and Lily’s turn was about up. “So, about this job…”

“Jessica Tanksley,” Patsy said, as if Lily hadn’t spoken. “She’s my sister’s boyfriend’s cousin. She went out there.” Patsy looked up to heaven for a moment, then back down. “He looked her over like he was buying a prize heifer. Asked her about a million questions. Real personal, if you get my meaning. But she must have answered wrong. The man never did call her.”

This was getting weirder by the second. Not to mention more frustrating. What kind of a job was this? He’d looked the woman over like a cow? Asked personal questions? “What about family?” Lily asked, deciding to approach things from a different angle. “His, I mean.”

Ginny’s brow rose. “The last person who asked Cole Bishop about his family came down with a sudden case of broken nose and cracked ribs.”

“Oh, my.”

“My aunt Maureen says he’s got a closet full of skeletons.” Patsy lowered her voice. “She heard he killed a man.”

Lily’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t considered that he might be a cold-blooded killer. On the other hand, murder was a damn hard thing to hide. If he’d—

“I’m not saying it’s true. But that’s what she heard. That he killed a man in cold blood and never gave it another thought.”

“Forgive me, Patsy, but your aunt Maureen’s crazy as a bedbug.”

“She’s only been in the hospital that once.”

Ginny’s hands went to her hips. “It just ain’t natural, that’s all.” She gave Lily a probing look. “And even though it’s none of my business, I think you should get in that car of yours and keep on driving. Go on to Fort Worth. Get yourself a real job and find yourself a nice man. Girl like you doesn’t need to be messing with the likes of Cole Bishop.”

Lily was tempted to do just that. All this talk of unnatural acts had given her the willies. But the willies had never stopped her before. Besides, she knew a thing or two about small-town gossip. Most of what she’d heard this afternoon was probably hogwash. She’d feel a lot better, however, knowing which parts were true. Just what in hell was this job?

DYLAN CHECKED OUT a tall blond beauty as she walked down Crockett. He had his sunglasses on, so his perusal was private. As she crossed the street, he jerked his mind back to the business at hand. Sebastian was probably waiting for him downstairs.

He headed toward a huge wooden pushcart with the famous green awning. Perk at the Park, an outdoor coffee bar on the River Walk. Sure enough, there was Sebastian sitting in his usual spot under the brown umbrella. He looked like hell.

Dylan stopped at the pushcart and waited for Kelly Adams, the owner of Perk, to finish her last order. She looked pretty this afternoon, but then she always looked pretty. Maybe it was time for him to do something about his social life. Going out with Kelly would be fun. They’d known each other for a long time, and he felt comfortable with her. She was no Julie but—

He nipped that thought in the bud. Julie’s husband sat waiting for him, and the poor guy was nearly out of his mind with worry. Sebastian needed his friendship now. And his total concentration.

“What’ll it be, Dylan? The usual?”

He shook his head. “Iced coffee, if you’ve got some fresh.”

“Of course I do. Heavens.” She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to fetch his drink.

From the back, Dylan could see her jeans and the small T-shirt she wore. She really was attractive. Maybe, when he’d found Julie, when his life wasn’t so crazy…

“Here you go.” She handed him the tall plastic cup. “And do me a favor? Cheer up your buddy there, huh? He’s got me worried.”

“Me, too.” He handed her a five. “Thanks, Kelly.”

“Hey, your change.”

“Keep it,” he said over his shoulder.

Sebastian glanced up at him with worried eyes. His hair, usually meticulous, looked as if he hadn’t put a comb to it. His smile was a pitiful attempt.

“Hey, ya bastard.” Dylan used the old greeting, but it didn’t change Sebastian’s expression.

“Anything new?”

Dylan shook his head. “Have you slept at all?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t sleep through the night anymore. Not like I used to. I end up watching the damn weather channel all night. Go ahead, ask me about tomorrow’s high.”

“Man, you’ve got to do something. Have you seen a doctor? Maybe he can give you a sleeping pill.”

“Nope. I’ve thought of it, but it would be too tempting to get dependent on them. I’m not drinking much, either. I need to be clear about things. On my toes.”

“Well, I think a couple nights’ good sleep would go a long way.”

Sebastian looked at the river for a long moment. He sipped his coffee, then put the cup down. “I found a note from Julie last night.”

Dylan sat up straight, his heart lurching in his chest. “A note?”

“Don’t get too excited. It wasn’t a recent note. It was from Christmas. She’d written me a little thank-you for her gift and stuck it in my sock drawer. Except it got caught in the back, and I only saw it today because I yanked the damn drawer out by mistake.”

“What did it say?”

He leaned to his right and pulled his leather wallet out of his back pocket. With agonizing slowness, he opened the billfold and brought out a small piece of paper. He put his wallet back, then unfolded the paper. It was all Dylan could do not to rip it out of his hands.

It turned out, he didn’t need to. Sebastian handed him the note.

Her handwriting jolted him. He hadn’t realized how well he’d known the beautiful script. “Sebastian,” the note read. “I love you so. The locket is worth everything to me. I’ll never take it off. Never.”

Dylan folded the small piece of paper and handed it to his friend. “Son of a bitch.”

Sebastian turned to him, his gaze hard and cold. “You have no idea.”

“It’s not your fault. I know you want it to be, but it’s not.”

His friend’s laugh sent a chill down Dylan’s back. There was such self-hatred, such mockery in the hollow tone.

“I should have been with her.”

“You were at work.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have been with her and I should have protected her. I wanted her to get a gun, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said she’d probably end up shooting herself. I told her we’d go to the range so she could learn how to use a pistol, but then, I don’t know, I got busy. I got a new client… I never brought it up again.”

“Sebastian, you have to stop this. It’s going to drive you insane.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Except Julie’s coming back. She is. Do you want to be here when she does? Or in the nuthouse?”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Remember when we were in Houston at that rodeo? The one where you got the wild bull—what the hell was his name?”

“Goliath?”

“Yeah. Goliath. And I told you to change your gloves?”

Sebastian nodded. “I didn’t listen.”

“And the gloves tore.”

“The rope ripped my hand to shreds.”

“Well, like I knew about the rope, I know about Julie.”

“You are one weird bastard, you know that, Garrett?”

Dylan nodded. “Why else would I hang out with you?”

Sebastian smiled. And for the first time since Julie’s disappearance, Dylan felt it was real. But it was gone all too soon, and the cloud of darkness resettled over his best friend.

“I want to go over everything again.” Dylan got a small notepad from his back pocket. “Step by step.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Then tell me again.”

Sebastian sighed. Closed his eyes. And started from the beginning.

CHAPTER FOUR

LILY SLOWED the car as she drove up Cole Bishop’s drive. The two-story ranch house reminded her of her cousin Ted’s in Waco. The wide front porch had room for a swing or a rocking chair, but it was bare. Painted white, the house itself seemed relatively new, a plain canvas with nothing to distinguish itself.

The lawn was the same. Rye grass, green even in this heat. No flower beds, no hedges. A big oak saved the view from being nondescript.

She wondered if she shouldn’t just write him a letter. It wasn’t easy to admit, but the conversation from the diner had her a little spooked.

Of course, her dilemma might be solved with a knock on the door. He probably wasn’t home. She hoped he wasn’t home.

As soon as she opened her car door, she could hear cattle lowing in the distance. It was a familiar sound, one she’d lived around her whole life. Some people would comment on the odor, but she didn’t mind it. Folks from cattle country were exposed early to the downside of ranching. It was only the city folk who balked.

She got out, shut the door behind her and opened her purse. After a fresh coat of lipstick, she ran a brush through her hair and popped a mint in her mouth.

As she turned toward the front door, something else familiar, a feeling, not a scent, hit her in the solar plexus. Ever since she’d joined the FBI she’d learned about the combination of fear and excitement that came with a new case. She felt in no personal danger. It wasn’t like some of her assignments in the Bureau. But there were high stakes, and she’d have to be alert and aware of everything. Cole Bishop was an unknown, and from the descriptions she’d heard in the diner, he could be anything from Wild Bill Hickok to Hannibal Lecter.

Well, she could be as macho as the next ex-FBI agent. After one last look at her car and safety, she headed toward the porch. No boards squeaked, another sign that they hadn’t been here long.

She rang the doorbell and waited, taking calming breaths as she did so. A moment later, the door swung open and Cole Bishop stood before her. It had to be him.

He was on a cell phone, and after giving her a quick once-over, he waved her inside. As she walked past him she was instantly aware of the man’s size. And something more. He wasn’t just tall, he was powerful. Her gaze went to his biceps, and even beneath his white shirt she could see his arms were thick and corded. Not like a bodybuilder’s, though. Like a man at the peak of physical perfection.

He didn’t smell half bad, either.

She walked into a sparse living room. Bare white walls, hardwood floor, a leather couch and matching club chairs. The coffee table didn’t even have a magazine on it. It was odd, as if Bishop rented the place.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

His voice startled her and she whirled around, wondering what she’d done wrong. But he wasn’t talking to her. Still on the phone, he paced across the floor in his cowboy boots, worn button-fly jeans, his white shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Power. In the way he strode, in his posture, in the way his voice flowed deep and smooth as fine whiskey. She felt a little shiver as he eyed her before turning back to his conversation.

Ginny had said he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and Lily concurred. Over six feet tall, he had to weigh almost two hundred pounds, all muscle. His tousled brown hair hung over his collar, and when he stepped in front of the window she could see streaks of sun-dyed blond. He had the face of a Marlboro Man, a real cowboy, tough and masculine from the inside out. Even his ocean-blue eyes had a hint of steel in them.

Her gaze moved to his chest and she wondered how he’d look without his shirt on. It took her a moment to realize he’d finished his conversation and put the phone down.

He narrowed his focus to her and only her. Unabashed and brazen as hell, he looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking a little extra time when he got to the chest area. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he walked behind her.

She tried to swing around, but his hand on her arm stopped her still. Her natural instinct was to jerk away, to defend herself, but she held back. She didn’t want to blow this in the first five minutes. But if he didn’t let her go in about two seconds, she was going to make sure he understood what gelding was all about.

“How old are you?”

“Pardon me?”

“I said, how old are you?”

That’s when it dawned on her that he must have assumed she was here about the position. The job, whatever it might be. In that split second she decided to play along, at least for now. At least until she figured out if he was truly dangerous. “I’m thirty.”

“Bit old to start having children, isn’t it?”

Having children? “No, I don’t think so.” Her voice sounded normal, she felt sure. Well, almost normal.

“What about illnesses. You have any?”

“None.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“What about your hand?”

She touched her bandage. “A bite. Nothing serious. Just a frightened dog, that’s all.”

He came around in front of her again, and this time he studied her face. But not in the usual sense. His eyes narrowed as he examined her inch by inch, like a plastic surgeon looking for flaws. Heat warmed her cheeks, but she kept her expression neutral. The thing that frightened her most was that she wanted him to like what he saw.

“How about your teeth?”

This was getting ridiculous. “How about yours?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one with the checkbook.”

“But—”

“But nothing. If I decide you’re the right one to have my child, then you can ask me questions. I’ll decide then if I want to answer you.”

“Your child?” she whispered.

“Make no mistake about it. Even though you’ll be the child’s mother, that role will be temporary. He’s going to be my son, and I alone will make all the decisions affecting his future. The marriage will be for his sake, so he won’t be born a bastard, but trust me, you will not be my wife.”

Dear Lord…

“So…?” he queried.

“Huh?”

He lowered his head, but not his gaze, and it made him look like a professor addressing a backward student. “Your teeth.”

“They’re great. My dentist sends me fan letters.”

He coughed, but she didn’t care. If she’d gotten it right, he wanted to hire a woman to get married, have his child, then leave. My God. He was a loon. Or worse.

“What about—”

She held up a hand. “Hold it.”

Impatience drew his brows together.

“You’re not the only one who has some decisions to make here, buster.”

“Buster?”

She nodded. “Yeah. This will be my kid, after all. And even though you’ll have custody, there’s nothing you can do to take away my part in this. Besides, anything could happen to you. You could get shot by an irate female, and then where would I be?”

“You—”

“I’d be raising the kid, that’s where. Therefore, I’ll need to make sure you’re not swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool.”

He didn’t say anything, but there was a glimpse of something that might have been a smile. Or a murderous gleam. Whatever it was lasted about one hot second and was replaced by a scowl, which seemed to be his natural mien.

“Do you work out regularly?” he asked, as if she hadn’t just finished her tirade.

“I keep fit.”

He nodded, his gaze moving to her hips. “Any history of mental illness in your family?”

“Just the usual. An agoraphobic aunt. A cousin who prefers cats to people, which is becoming more understandable every second.”

No reaction. At least his gaze moved back to her face. “Did you bring your medical records?”

“Whoa. Not so fast. We’re not even close to the medical records portion of this deal. I’ve got some questions of my own now.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. But he nodded. Once.

She took advantage of the opportunity and gave him a slow perusal, purposefully lingering when she reached his fly. She shook her head a little and creased her brow, as if he hadn’t met her standards. She took her time walking around him, touched his upper arm, nodded. Then, to make sure he understood who he was dealing with, she patted his butt.

“Hey.” He spun around to face her.

“Just checking.”

He took a deep breath, and she could see him struggle to calm down. The crazy thing about this was that he didn’t look crazy. Or dangerous. In a bad mood, yes, but that wasn’t illegal in Texas. He seemed like a normal, if too good-looking, man. So why in hell did he need to buy a wife and child?

This was getting really interesting.

Bishop shook his head and stepped away. “This interview is over.”

Dammit. She couldn’t lose him this fast. Eve would be heartsick. No way could Lily live with that kind of guilt. And no way could she leave without getting to the bottom of this very odd situation. “Don’t dismiss me just because I’ve got an attitude. In my experience, it comes in real handy.”

“What kind of experience would that be?”

She relaxed, but not much. “I haven’t had a lot of luck with men. In fact, I’ve pretty much had it with the whole gender. What I’m looking for is something with no complications. I want to write, and I want to be left alone. But I need to eat, too.”

“Write what?”

“Novels.”

He nodded. “How did you hear about me?”

Okay, she’d gotten her reprieve. Now she had to hang on to it. “Ginny at the diner told my aunt and she told me.”

Bishop checked his watch, then looked out the window. At what, Lily couldn’t see.

“Come sit down.” There was no politeness in his statement, no niceties about the man at all as far as she could tell. He led her to a large kitchen, which was just as blah as the living room. Of course he didn’t hold her chair for her. The only thing he did that was the least bit courteous was nod at the fridge. “There are drinks in there.”

“Thank you for your gracious offer, but I’m fine.” She winced at her stupid big mouth. This was no time to antagonize the man.

He ignored the jab. He just grabbed a thick file from the sideboard. It had no markings on the outside, but she gathered it was his Child Bearer folder.

“This is the deal.” He didn’t open the file. He just looked her right in the eyes as he laid it out. “I don’t want a wife. I want a child. My child. The only reason a woman has to be involved at all is to bear the child and care for him until he’s old enough for me to tend him. I’ve decided to marry the woman I choose, but there will be no married life. I want my son to have every opportunity. And no strikes against him out of the gate.”

“And if it’s a daughter?”

“That’s okay, too. None of this is negotiable. Trust me, the financial arrangement will allow you to do all the writing you want. The only thing is, when the child is old enough, you leave.”

“What about visitation?”

He turned away for a moment, and she saw his jaw flex. “I haven’t decided about that yet.”

“Is it my turn?”

“Go ahead.”

“First, how do you plan on me conceiving this child?”

“I have a doctor lined up for in-vitro fertilization.”

“You’ll pay for everything? Insurance? Clothes?”

He nodded.

“What about spending money?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll make sure you want for nothing.”

“No offense, but how do I know you have enough money to back up that offer? Your spread is no King Ranch.”

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