No strings attached is pretty much Lucky McCord’s calling card in Spring Hill, Texas, but when family is on the line, this cowboy’s honor and heart are about to get lassoed, tied and branded

Every family needs its black sheep, and Austin “Lucky” McCord is happy to oblige. The bad-boy bull rider lives fast and loose, until his business partner leaves him an unexpected bequest. Suddenly Lucky is sharing custody of two children with Cassie Weatherall, one of the few homegrown women he hasn’t bedded. And not from lack of trying…

Cassie fled her messy past to become a celebrity therapist in LA. So why does it feel so right to come back and share parenting duties—and chrome-melting kisses—with a man she’s striven to avoid? Loving Lucky always seemed like a sure bet for heartache. But for this perfectly imperfect family, Cassie might just gamble with everything she’s got.

Praise for Delores Fossen

“The perfect blend of sexy cowboys, humor and romance will rein you in from the first line.”

—New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels

“From the shocking opening paragraph on, Fossen’s tale just keeps getting better.”

—RT Book Reviews on Sawyer, 4½ stars, Top Pick

“Rustling Up Trouble is action packed, but it’s the relationship and emotional drama (and the sexy hero) that will reel readers in.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

“While not lacking in action or intrigue, it’s the romance of two unlikely people that soars.”

—RT Book Reviews on Maverick Sheriff, 4 stars

Lone Star Nights

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

Praise

TITLE PAGE

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

THE DYING WOMAN’S misspelled tattoo bothered Lucky McCord. Not nearly as much as the dying woman, of course, but seriously, who didn’t know the rule about putting i before e except after c?

The tattoo “artist” who’d inked that turd of a misspelling onto Dixie Mae Weatherall’s forearm, that’s who.

It was a shame the inker wasn’t anywhere around to fix his mess so Dixie Mae could finish out her last minutes on God’s green earth with a tat that didn’t set people’s teeth on edge.

While the nurse adjusted the tubes and needles going in and out of Dixie Mae, Lucky stayed back against the wall. Man, he hated hospitals. That smell of disinfectant, lime Jell-O, floor wax and some bullshit—literal bullshit—from his own boots.

Lucky hadn’t had time to clean up before he’d gotten the call from the doctor telling him that Dixie Mae had been admitted to Spring Hill Memorial Hospital and that it wasn’t looking good. The doctor had said he should hurry. Lucky had been thirty miles away in San Antonio, just ten minutes out of an eight-second bull ride that’d lasted only four seconds.

A metaphor for his life.

The bull ride, or rather the fall, had left him with a bruised tailbone, back and ego. All minor stuff, though, compared to what was happening here in the hospital with Dixie Mae.

Hell.

He’d always thought Dixie Mae was too tough to die. Or that she’d at least live to be a hundred. And maybe she was pretty close to that number.

Most folks estimated Dixie Mae’s age anywhere between eighty and ninety. Most folks only saw her gruff face, the wrinkles on her wrinkles and her colorful wardrobe that she called a tribute to Dolly Parton, the rhinestone years.

Oh, and most folks saw the misspelled tattoo, of course. Couldn’t miss that.

When Lucky looked at her, he saw a lot more than just those things. He saw a very complex woman. By her own admission, Dixie Mae subscribed to the whack-a-mole approach to conflict resolution, but she was one of the most successful rodeo promoters in the state.

And hands down, the orneriest.

Lucky loved every bit of her ornery heart.

There’d been so many times when Lucky had walked away from her. Cursed her. Wished that he could tie her onto the back of a mean bucking bull and let the bull try to sling some sense into her. But he’d always gone back because the bottom line with Dixie Mae was that she was the only person who’d ever believed he could be something.

Powerful stuff like that would make a man put up with any level of orneriness.

The petite blonde nurse finally finished whatever she was doing to Dixie Mae and stepped away, but not before giving Lucky that sad, sympathetic look. And a stern warning. “Don’t give her any cigarettes. She’ll ask but don’t give her one.”

Lucky had already figured that out, both the asking part and don’t-give-her-one part. He didn’t smoke, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have brought her cigarettes. A shot of tequila maybe, but that would have been to steady his own nerves, not for Dixie Mae.

“She bribed the janitor,” the nurse added. “And she called a grocery clerk to offer him a thousand dollars to bring her a pack, but we stopped him before he could give them to her.”

“Assholes,” Dixie Mae declared. “A woman oughta be able to smoke when she wants to smoke.”

Lucky just sighed. It was that way of thinking that had put Dixie Mae in the hospital bed. That, and the other hard living she’d been doing for decades. And her advancing years, of course. Besides, since there was an oxygen tank nearby, it was possible the staff hadn’t simply wanted to deny her a smoke for her health’s sake but rather because they hadn’t wanted her to blow up the place.

“Are you close to her?” the nurse asked him. According to her name tag, she was Nan Watts.

“Nobody’s close to me,” Dixie Mae snarled. “But Lucky’s my boy. Not one of my blood, mind you, but my own blood son’s an asshole.” She added a profanity-riddled suggestion for what her son could do to himself.

The nurse blushed, but maybe Dixie Mae’s cussing gave her some ideas because on the way to the door, Nan Watts winked at Lucky. He nearly winked back. A conditioned reflex, but he wasn’t in a winking, womanizing kind of mood right now.

“Boy, you look lower than a fat penguin’s balls,” Dixie Mae said after the nurse left. She waggled her nicotine-yellowed fingers at him, motioning for him to come closer. “Did you bring me a cig?”

“No.” He ignored the additional profanity she mumbled. “Why are you here in Spring Hill?” Lucky asked. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital near your house in San Antonio?”

“I was here in town seeing somebody.”

Since Dixie Mae had been born in Spring Hill, it was possible she had acquaintances nearby, but Lucky doubted it.

“I’m worried about you,” Lucky admitted. He went to her, eased down on the corner of the metal table next to her bed.

“No need. I’m just dying, that’s all. Along with having a nicotine fit. By the way, that’s a lot worse than the dying.” She had to stop, take a deep breath. “My heart’s giving out. Did the doc tell you that when he called?”

“Yeah.” Lucky wanted to say more, but that lump in his throat sort of backed things up.

He touched his fingers to the tat.

“I know. It bothers you,” Dixie Mae said. Each word she spoke seemed to be a challenge, and her eyelids looked heavy, not just from the kilo of electric-blue eye shadow she had on them, either. “Have you thought maybe you’re all over the tat because you don’t want to think about the rest of this?”

There was no maybe about it. That’s exactly what it was. It was easier to focus on something else—anything else—rather than what was happening to Dixie Mae.

Lucky nodded. Shrugged. “But the tat really does bother me, too.”

She waved him off. Or rather tried. Not a lot of strength in her hand. “I was shit-faced when I got it. So was the tattoo guy.”

“P-e-i-c-e-s of my heart,” he read aloud. Complete with little heart bits that had probably once been red. They were now more the color of an old Hershey bar. And Dixie Mae’s wrinkles and saggy skin had given them some confusing shapes.

When he had first met Dixie Mae, Lucky had spent some time guessing what the shapes actually were. Not a disassembled United States map as he’d first thought.

But rather a broken heart.

With the way Dixie Mae carried on, sometimes it was hard to believe she even had a heart, and she’d never gotten around to explaining exactly who’d done such a thing to her. Or if the person had survived.

Lucky doubted it.

“I wish there was time to get it fixed for you.” He traced the outline of the heart piece that resembled the map of Florida but then drew back his fingers when he realized it could also be a penis tat. “I wish there was time for a lot of things.”

Like more time. This was too soon.

“No need. Besides, it’s not even the worst of the bunch. When I was younger, I got drunk a lot. And I went to the same tattoo guy,” Dixie Mae admitted. “You should see the one on my left ass cheek. I didn’t realize he needed a dictionary for the word ass.”

It wasn’t very manly to shudder, but Lucky just had this thing about misspelled words and didn’t want to see other examples of them, especially on her ass. Besides, there wouldn’t be many more moments with Dixie Mae, and he didn’t want to waste those moments on a discussion about the origins, shapes and locations of bad tats.

Dixie Mae dragged in a ragged breath, one that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was a two-packs-a-day smoker. Unfiltered, at that. “We’ve had a good run together, me and you. Haven’t we, boy? Made each other some money. Had some good times when I wasn’t kicking your butt or boxing your ears.”

“We’ve made some money all right,” he agreed.

As for the good times, Lucky would have to grade those on a curve.

She’d started sponsoring him in bull-riding events when he was nineteen, just a couple of weeks after his folks had died. When he’d turned twenty-five, Dixie Mae had allowed him to buy into her company. Lucky was nearly thirty-three now, and they were still partners. He did indeed help her run Weatherall-McCord Stock Show and Rodeo Promotions, but he hadn’t given up bull riding, mainly because he was better at it than the business side of things.

“I’ll miss you,” Lucky added. He cursed that lump in his throat again. Because it was true. He would miss her.

“Awww.” She dragged in another ragged breath. “That’s monkey shit, and we both know it.”

“No. It’s not. I will miss you.” And he meant it. He’d never thought he could love someone this much, not since his mother had passed, but he loved Dixie Mae.

Lucky couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe her eyes watered a bit. Then she was back to her usual self. There was something comforting about that.

“I do have a favor to ask you,” she said. “That’s why I had the doc call you.”

Lucky nodded. “I’m here, and I’m listening.”

She patted his cheek. “The girls do like that pretty face of yours, but rust up your zippers a little. Or wear a bigger rodeo buckle. Might slow you down a bit so you can take time to enjoy something other than a woman’s secret place. Besides, some of those women you see don’t keep their places so secret.”

“Neither do I,” Lucky reminded her. Then he winked. It was a good use of what might be the last wink he’d ever give her.

“Don’t get fresh with me, boy. I don’t fall for monkey shit like that.”

He figured she was saying that just to take away the tension in the room. But then again, it was her normal, surly mood and one of her normal, surly sayings.

“Now, to that favor,” Dixie Mae went on. She took an envelope, one that had a couple of cigarette burns on it, from beside her on the bed and handed it to him. Her hands were shaking now. “I got nobody else to ask, but I need some help. And before you think about saying no, just remember this is my dying wish. A man wouldn’t be much of a man to deny an old dying woman her last wish.”

Yeah, a man like that would indeed have to be missing a pair. “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything.”

Lucky started to open the letter, but Dixie Mae stopped him by taking hold of his hand. “No. Don’t read it now. Save it for later. Let’s just sit here, take in the moment together.”

And she smiled.

Not that evil smile Lucky had seen her give before she’d thrown something at somebody, threatened them with bodily harm or cursed them out. This smile seemed to be the genuine article. She’d saved it just for him.

“Tell me about your ride today.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and her eyelids drifted all the way down.

Lucky’s own voice didn’t fare much better. “Not much to tell, really. The bull won.”

“The bull usually does,” Dixie Mae whispered. She smiled again, then both her grip and the smile began to melt away.

And just like that, Dixie Mae Weatherall was gone.

Lucky tried to hold it together. Tried not to give in to the grief that felt heavy and cold in his chest. He brushed a kiss on her cheek, gathered her in his arms, and Dixie Mae’s “boy” cried like a baby.

CHAPTER TWO

CASSIE WEATHERALL FOUGHT back the tears. Fought for air, too.

Breathe.

She couldn’t actually say the word aloud. She couldn’t speak yet, but she repeated it in her head and hoped that it worked.

It didn’t.

Her heart continued to race, slamming so hard against her chest that she thought her ribs might break. Her throat closed up, strangling her.

This was just a panic attack, she reminded herself. All she needed to do was calm down and breathe.

That reminder still didn’t work so Cassie tried to force herself to think this through logically. She had enough adrenaline pumping through her to fight a bear. Maybe six of them. But there were no bears to fight here at Sweet Meadows Meditation and Relaxation Facility. Other than the grizzlies in her head anyway, though sometimes, like now, they felt worse than the real thing.

And speaking of her head, Cassie was no longer sure it was on her shoulders. Too much spinning. Wave after wave of panic. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Couldn’t let them know that she was broken and might never be fixed.

She went old-school and put her head between her knees. Of course, that meant sitting down, and while the path was good for walking and running, the small rocks dug into her butt and legs. Good.

Pain was good. Pain gave the adrenaline something else to battle other than the bears.

Breathe.

It was all about the breathing. All about taking in the right amount of air. Releasing the right amount, too. Cassie managed that part, but then the darkness came. The shaking. And her feet and hands started to go numb. That dumb-ass bear was going to win if she didn’t get hold of this right now.

She heard the sound of someone approaching, and Cassie struggled to get to her feet. Please, you can’t see me like this. But thankfully the footsteps stopped just on the other side of the path. There were thick shrubs between her and the person who’d made those footsteps.

“Miss Weatherall?” someone called out. Not a shout, but a soft, tentative voice.

Orin Dayton. The office manager at Sweet Meadows.

Cassie considered not answering him, but that would no doubt just prompt him to walk the twenty or so feet around the row of shrubs that divided her suite from the running trail. And then he would see her with her head between her knees, sweating, crying.

“Yes?” she forced herself to say.

“Uh, is something wrong, Miss Weatherall?” he asked.

“No. I overdid my run, and I’m a little queasy.” The lie was huge. So huge that Cassie looked up at the afternoon sky to make sure a lightning bolt wasn’t coming at her.

“All right,” he finally said. He used the tone of a person who wanted to believe the malarkey she’d just doled out. “A Dr. Knight from Los Angeles called a couple of minutes ago.”

Andrew. He was the only person other than Cassie who knew why she was really here at Sweet Meadows.

“I rang your room,” Orin went on, “but when you didn’t answer, Dr. Knight said to get you a message. That Dr. Stan Menger from a hospital in Spring Hill, Texas, is trying to reach you.”

Spring Hill. Her hometown. But Cassie didn’t know this Stan Menger. “What does Dr. Menger want?” Please not something that required her immediate attention. Not while she was battling a panic attack.

Orin paused again. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

Great. First, bears. Now, bad news. Since she’d already used what little supply of air she’d had left in her lungs, Cassie didn’t say anything else. She just waited for him to continue.

“There’s been a death, Miss Weatherall,” Orin said. “It’s your grandmother. Dr. Knight said you shouldn’t go home, though, that it wouldn’t be good for you right now. Dr. Knight said just to stay put and that he’ll take care of everything.”

But Orin was talking to himself because Cassie punched the last of the bears aside, got to her feet and ran to her room to pack.

* * *

DIXIE MAE DESERVED a lot better send-off than this. But considering she didn’t have a friend other than him in the tristate area, Lucky figured he shouldn’t be surprised there were only four people at her memorial service. Five, if he counted his brother Riley who’d dropped by earlier. Six, if he counted the sweaty-faced funeral director who kept popping in and out.

Lucky decided to count them both.

Dixie Mae’s driver, Manuel Rodriquez, was at the back of the room that the funeral home had set up. He was glaring at the flower-draped coffin, and the glare only got worse whenever his eyes landed on the four-foot-by-four-foot glossy picture that Dixie Mae had arranged to be placed beside her. No smile in this one, just a steely expression, as if she were picking a fight from beyond the grave.

Judging from Manuel’s glare, he’d likely been on the receiving end of too many of Dixie Mae’s fight-pickings.

Other than Manuel, the funeral director and Lucky, the only other guests were two women.

And Lucky used that term loosely.

It was hard to tell their ages, probably in their early twenties. Purple hair, purple nails, purple lips and boobs practically spilling out of their purple tube tops. Yet another loosely used term because the tops were more like Band-Aids.

Since Dixie Mae’s only child, her estranged son, Mason-Dixon, owned a strip joint on the outskirts of town, it was possible these two were his employees. Perhaps he’d sent them to see if his mom had left him some kind of inheritance.

Good luck with that.

Dixie Mae had probably figured out a way to take every penny to the grave. Or skip the grave completely. Plus, Dixie Mae wasn’t exactly fond of her son and would have given her money to his strippers rather than the man she’d called her shit-head spawn.

Lucky hadn’t been able to get in touch with Dixie Mae’s only other living relative, her granddaughter, Cassie, though Lucky and Dixie Mae’s doctor had left her a couple of messages at her office in Los Angeles. Whether she’d show up was anyone’s guess.

He heard someone come in and turned, hoping it was a mourner who’d make this memorial service actually look like one. But it was only his twin brother, Logan.

Logan and he were identical in looks, but that was where any and all similarities ended. Logan was the responsible, successful tycoon who ran the family business, McCord Cattle Brokers, and had been in charge of it since their parents had been killed in a car wreck fourteen years ago. Lucky was the screwup. Considering their other brother had been an Air Force special-ops super troop and his sister was the smartest woman in Texas, it meant all the good family labels had been taken anyway.

Screwup suited him just fine.

Fewer expectations that way.

After having a short chat with Manuel, Logan came to the front where Lucky was standing. Even though Logan ran a cattle-brokerage company—and ran it well, of course—there were no bullshit smells coming from his boots that thudded on the parquet floor. With his crisp white button-up shirt and spotless jeans, he looked as if he were modeling for the cover of Texas Monthly magazine.

Logan had done exactly that—a couple of times.

“Are those Mason-Dixon’s girls from the strip club?” Logan hitched his thumb to the pair in the back.

Lucky shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. I introduced myself when they arrived, but the only response I got was a grunt from one of them.” He’d been afraid to ask anything else since even the smallest movement might cause those tube tops to explode.

“Did Dixie Mae go peacefully?” Logan asked.

“As peacefully as Dixie Mae could ever go anywhere. Thanks for coming. She would have appreciated it.”

“No, she wouldn’t have, but I didn’t come here for her. Are you okay?”

The funny thing about having an identical twin was being able to look into eyes that were a genetic copy of Lucky’s own. The other funny thing about that was despite the screwup label, Logan’s eyes showed that his question and his concern were the real deal.

“I’m fine.” Lucky patted his back jeans pocket. “Dixie Mae gave me a letter right before she died.”

“What does it say?” Those genetically identical eyes got skeptical now. So did Logan’s tone. Lucky couldn’t blame him. Dixie Mae brought that out in people.

“Haven’t read it yet. Thought I’d wait until this was over.” Until after he’d had a little more time to deal with her death. A few shots of Jameson, too. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’ll miss her.”

Lucky didn’t see Logan’s hand move before he felt it on his back. A brotherly pat. Just one. It was more than most folks got.

“What will you do with the rodeo business now that she’s gone?” Logan asked.

“Dixie Mae and I talked about it. She wants me to keep it going.” It was her legacy in a way. His, too, since the name of the company was Weatherall-McCord Stock Show and Rodeo Promotions. “But it’s a lot of work for one person.” He poked Logan with his elbow. “Want to help me?”

Logan shrugged. “We could incorporate it into McCord Cattle Brokers. That way you could use the administrative staff I have in place. Plus, there’s an office already set up for you here in Spring Hill.”

Considering that Logan hadn’t even paused before that suggestion, it meant he’d been giving it some thought. Well, Lucky had, too, and the rodeo business was his. He didn’t know how he was going to run it all by himself, but he wasn’t going to be lured back to Spring Hill and be under Logan’s thumb.

That thumb might also be a genetic copy of Lucky’s own, but it had a way of crushing people.

“I need to get back to the office,” Logan added, already looking at the exit. “We’ve got a cutting-horse trainer coming in today, and I could use some help. Maybe when you’re finished here, you can come on home?”

Most of his conversations with Logan went that way. There was always something going on at either the office in town or at the ranch where Logan stashed some of the livestock he bought. And Lucky would indeed make an appearance, maybe try to smooth over things with the horse trainer Logan was sure to soon piss off if he hadn’t already. Logan was good with four-legged critters and paperwork. People, not so much.

“I’ll be there later,” Lucky told him.

After he read the letter from Dixie Mae, he’d probably need to get drunk. Then sleep it off. Of course, after that he had a rodeo all the way up in Dallas. Even though he didn’t spell that out to Logan, his brother must have tuned in to that twin telepathy thing that Lucky had never experienced. But Logan seemed to know exactly what Lucky had in mind.

“Also, remember the wedding and the Founder’s Day picnic next month,” Logan added. “You should at least put in an appearance.”

Lucky nodded. He’d make an appearance all right. For both. His brother Riley and his bride-to-be, Claire, were getting married at the family ranch and then having the reception at the picnic so that everyone in town could attend. It made sense since the McCords hosted the event. That not only meant they footed the bill, but that the entire family was expected to show up and have fun. Or at least look as if they were having fun. It’d been much easier to do that when Lucky was a kid, and his mom and dad had been running the show. Now it was just another place for him to have memories of things he didn’t want to remember.

Still, he’d be there. Not just because of Logan and Riley, either, but because the picnic was something his mother had started, and despite the bad memories it would bring on, the event was her legacy.

Logan went to the guest book and signed it before he left, his boots thudding his way to the exit. That’s when Lucky noticed the purple-tube-top girls were gone. Manuel, too. Heck, even the funeral director had ducked out again.

Lucky sank down in one of the creaky wooden chairs, wondering if he should say a prayer or something. Dixie Mae had left specific instructions with the funeral home that there would not be a service, music or food. No graveside burial, either, since she was to be cremated. The only thing she’d insisted on was the creepy picture of her that would ensure no passerby would just pop in to say goodbye to an old lady. However, she hadn’t said anything about a guy praying.

Footsteps again. Not boots this time. These were hurried but light, and he thought maybe the tube-top visitors had returned. It wasn’t them, but it was a woman all right. A brunette with pinned-up hair, and she was reading something on her phone. That’s why Lucky didn’t see her face until she finally looked up.

Cassie.

Or rather Cassandra Weatherall. Dixie Mae’s granddaughter.

She practically skidded to a stop when she spotted him, and he got the scowl he always got when Cassie looked at him. He got his other usual reaction to her, too. A little flutter in his stomach.

Possibly gas.

Lucky sure hoped that was what it was anyway. The only thing he’d been good at in high school was charming girls, but nothing—absolutely nothing—he’d ever tried on Cassie had garnered him more than a scowl.

“You’re here,” Cassie said.

Lucky made a show of looking at himself and outstretched his arms. “Appears so. You’re here, too.”

She slipped her phone into the pocket of her gray jacket. Gray skirt and top, as well. Ditto for the shoes. If those shoes got any more sensible, they’d start flossing themselves.

But yep, what he’d felt was a flutter.

Probably because he’d never been able to figure her out. Or kiss her. He mentally shrugged. It was the kiss part all right. When it came to that sort of thing, he was pretty shallow, and it stung that the high school bookworm with no other boyfriends would dismiss him with a scowl.

He’d considered the possibility that she was gay, but then over the years he’d seen some pictures she’d sent Dixie Mae. Pictures of Cassie in an itty-bitty bikini on some beach with a guy wrapped around her. Then more pictures of her in a party dress, a different guy wrapped around her that time. So apparently she liked wraparound guys. She just didn’t like him.

“Is your dad coming?” he asked.

Her mouth tightened a little. Translation: sore subject. “Probably not. He hasn’t spoken to Gran in twenty years.”

Lucky was well aware of that because Dixie Mae brought it up every time she got too much Jim Beam in her. Which was often. According to her, twenty years ago she’d refused to give Mason-Dixon a loan so he could add an adult sex toy shop to his strip club, the Slippery Pole, and it had caused a rift. Or as Dixie Mae called it—the great dildo feud.

Still, Lucky had hoped that her only child could bury the hatchet for a couple of minutes and come say goodbye to his mom.

“My mother won’t be here, either,” Cassie went on.

Yet another complicated piece of this family puzzle. Cassie’s folks had divorced before she was born. Or maybe they had never actually married. Either way, her mom preferred to stay far, far away from Spring Hill, Mason-Dixon, Dixie Mae and Cassie.

Cassie walked closer, stopping by his side. She peered at the casket. Hesitating. “That’s not a very good picture of her,” she said.

Lucky made a sound of agreement. “Her doing. All of this is. She did try to call you before she passed. I tried to call you afterward.”

Cassie nodded, seemed flustered. “I was at a...retreat on the Oregon Coast. No cell phone. I didn’t get the news until yesterday afternoon, and I caught the first flight out.”

“Shrinks need retreats?” Lucky asked, only half-serious.

“I’m not a shrink. I’m a therapist. And yes, sometimes we do.” There seemed to be a lot more to it than that, but she didn’t offer any details. “Were you with Gran when she died?”

Well, heck. That brought back the lump in his throat. It didn’t go so great with that flutter in his stomach. Lucky responded with just a nod.

“Was she in pain?” Cassie pressed.

“No. She sort of just slipped away.” Right there, in front of him. With that smile on her face.

Cassie stayed quiet a moment. “I should have been there with her. I should have told her goodbye.”

And the tears started spilling down her cheeks. Lucky had been expecting them, of course. From all accounts Cassie actually loved Dixie Mae and vice versa, but he wasn’t sure if he should offer Cassie a shoulder. Or just a pat on the back.

He went with the pat.

Cassie pulled out a tissue from her purse, dabbed her eyes, but the tears just came right back. Hell. Back-patting obviously wasn’t doing the trick so he went for something more. He put his arm around her.

More tears fell, and Lucky figured they weren’t the first of the day. Nor would they be the last. Cassie’s eyes had already been red when she came into the room. As much as he hated to see a woman cry—and he hated it—at least there was one other person mourning Dixie Mae’s loss.

Lucky didn’t hurry her crying spell by trying to say something to comfort her. No way to speed up something like that anyway. Death sucked, period, and sometimes the only thing you could do was cry about it.

“Thanks,” Cassie mumbled several moments later. She dabbed her eyes again and moved away from him. That didn’t put an end to the tears, but she kept trying to blink them back. “Did she say anything before she died?”

Lucky didn’t have any trouble recalling those last handful of words. “She said, ‘The bull usually does.’”

Cassie opened her mouth and then seemed to change her mind about how to answer that. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what it means, either. Dixie Mae asked about the rodeo ride that I’d just finished. I told her the bull won, and she said it usually does.”

She blinked. “Does it usually win?”

“Uh, yeah. About 70 percent of the time. But I got the feeling that Dixie Mae meant something, well, deeper.”

Heck, he hoped so anyway. Lucky hated to think Dixie Mae had used her dying breath to state the obvious.

Cassie glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “So you’re still bull riding?”

The question was simple enough, but since it was one he got often, Lucky knew there was more to it than that. What Cassie, and others, really wanted to ask was—Aren’t you too old to still be riding bulls?

Yep, he was. But he wasn’t giving it up. And for that matter, he could ask her—Aren’t you too young to be a shrink? Or rather a therapist. Of course, her comeback to that would probably be that they were the same age and that she’d just managed to cram more into her life than he had.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem, uh, angry or something.”

Great. Now he was worked up over an argument he was having with himself.

“I’m still bull riding,” Lucky answered, knowing it wouldn’t answer anything she’d just said. “And you’re still, well, doing whatever it is you do?”

She nodded, not adding more, maybe because she was confused. But Dixie Mae had filled in some of the blanks. Cassie had gotten her master’s degree in psychology and was now a successful therapist and advice columnist. Cassie traveled. Wrote articles. Made regular appearances on TV talk shows whenever a so-called relationship expert was needed.

Bull riding was the one and only thing he’d been good at since adulthood. Ironic since he failed at it 70 percent of the time.

Cassie took a deep breath. The kind of breath a person took when they needed some steeling up. And she got those sensible shoes moving closer to Dixie Mae’s coffin. So far, Lucky had kept his distance, but he went up there with Cassie so he could say a final goodbye.

Dixie Mae was dressed in a flamingo-pink sleeveless rhinestone dress complete with matching necklace, earrings and a half foot of bracelets that stretched from her wrists to her elbows. Sparkles and pink didn’t exactly scream funeral, but Lucky would have been let down if she’d insisted on being buried in anything else. Or had her hair styled any other way. Definitely a tribute to Dolly Parton.

Too bad the bracelets didn’t cover up the tattoo.

“I loved her.” Lucky hadn’t actually intended for those words to come out of his mouth, but they were the truth. “Hard to believe, I know,” he mumbled.

“No. She had some lovable qualities about her.” Cassie didn’t name any, though.

But Lucky did. “Right after my folks were killed in the car wreck, Dixie Mae was there for me,” he went on. “Not motherly, exactly, but she made sure I didn’t drink too much or ride a bull that would have killed me.”

More of that skeptical look. “Your parents died when you were just nineteen, not long after we graduated from high school. She let you drink when you were still a teenager?”

“She didn’t let me,” Lucky argued. “I just did it, but she always made sure I didn’t go overboard with it.”

“A drop was already overboard since you were underage,” Cassie mumbled.

Lucky gave her one of his own looks. One to remind her that her nickname in school was Miss Prissy Pants Police. She fought back, flinging a Prissy Pants Double Dog Dare look at him to challenge her until Lucky felt as if they’d had an entire fifth-grade squabble without words. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so pissed off.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t love her, too,” he fired back.

At least Cassie didn’t jump to disagree with that. She glanced at her grandmother, then him. “I did. I was just surprised you’d so easily admitted that you loved her.”

Easy only because it’d dropped straight from his brain to his mouth without going through any filters. That happened with him way too often.

“Men like you often have a hard time saying it,” she added.

“Men like me?” Those sounded like fighting words, and he was already worn-out from the nonverbal battle they’d just had. “I guess you’re referring to my reputation of being a guy who likes women.”

“A guy who sleeps around. A lot.” She hadn’t needed to add a lot to make it a complete zinger.

“Rein in your stereotypes, Doc.” While she was doing that, he’d rein in his temper. And he’d do something about that blasted tat.

Lucky grabbed the felt-tip pen from the table next to the visitor’s book, and he got to work.

“What are you doing?” Cassie asked.

“Fixing it.” Not exactly a professional job, but he made a big smudgy i out of the e and an e out of the i.

Cassie leaned in closer. “Huh. I never noticed it was misspelled.”

Lucky looked at her as if she’d sprouted an extra nose. “How could you not notice that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not that good at spelling. I mean, who is, what with spell-checkers on phones and computers?”

“I’m good at it,” he grumbled. So that made two skills. Spelling and bull riding. At least he succeeded at the spelling more than 30 percent of the time.

Cassie stepped back, looked around the room. “I need to find the funeral director and then call the hospital and find out if Gran left me any instructions. A note or something.”

Lucky patted his pocket. “She gave me a letter.”

Cassie eyed the spot he’d patted, which meant she’d eyed his butt. “Did she say anything about me in it?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t read it yet.” And darn it, the look she gave him was all shrink, one who was assessing his mental health—or lack thereof. “I was going to wait until after the service.” Except it was as clear as a gypsy’s crystal ball that there wasn’t going to be an actual service.

“Well, can you look at it now, just to see if she mentions me?” She sounded as though she was in as much of a hurry as Logan.

Lucky wished he could point out that not everything had to be done in a hurry, bull riding excluded, but he was just procrastinating. Truth was, as long as the letter was unread, it was like having a little part of Dixie Mae around. One last unfinished partnership between them.

He huffed, and since he really didn’t want to explain that “little part of Dixie Mae” thought, he took out the letter and opened it. One page, handwritten in Dixie Mae’s usual scrawl.

Cassie didn’t exactly hover over him, but it was close. She pinned her chocolate-brown eyes to him, no doubt watching for any change in expression so she could use her therapy skills to determine if this was good or bad.

Dear Lucky and Cassie...

That no doubt changed his expression. “The letter’s addressed to both of us.” He turned it, showing her the page. “Dixie Mae didn’t mention that when she gave it to me at the hospital.”

Cassie took it from him, and Lucky let her. Mainly because he really didn’t want to read what was there since it hadn’t gotten off to such a great start.

“‘Dear Lucky and Cassie,’” she repeated. “‘I need a favor, one I know neither of you will refuse. I’ve never asked either of you for anything, but I need to ask you now. Call Bernie Woodland, a lawyer in Spring Hill, and he’ll give you all the details.’”

Cassie flipped the letter over, looking for the rest of it, but there was nothing else. “What kind of favor?”

Lucky had to shake his head. He’d figured it had something to do with the rodeo business, but now that Dixie Mae had included Cassie, maybe not. Cassie had never participated in the rodeo, or in her grandmother’s finances for that matter.

He was also confused as to why Dixie Mae would have used Bernie for this. Dixie Mae no longer lived in Spring Hill. Hadn’t for going on ten years. Her house was in San Antonio, and she had a lawyer on retainer there. Why hadn’t she used him instead of Bernie?

“Did she say anything when she gave you the letter?” Cassie asked.

It wasn’t hard to recall this part, either. “She said a man wouldn’t be much of a man to deny an old dying woman her last wish.”

Remembering her words had Lucky feeling another flutter. Not a sexual one like with Cassie, but one that sent an unnerving tingle down his bruised spine and tailbone.

If it had been a simple request, Dixie Mae would have just told him then and there on her death bed, rather than using her final breath on the bull remark. Instead she’d used the dying card to get him to agree to some unnamed favor, and that meant this could be trouble.

Cassie must have thought so, too, because some of the color drained from her cheeks, and she pulled out her phone again. “I’ll call the lawyer.”

She stepped away from the coffin. Far away. In fact, Cassie went all the way to the back of the room, and, pacing behind the last row of chairs, she made the call.

Lucky was about to follow and pace right along with her, but his own phone buzzed. Because he was hoping Cassie would soon have some info on the favor, he was ready to let the call go to voice mail, but then he saw the name on the screen.

Angel.

What the hell? He wasn’t the sort to believe in ghosts and such, but if anyone could have found a way to reach out from beyond the grave, or the coffin, it would have been Dixie Mae.

Lucky hit the answer button and braced himself in case this was about to turn into a moment that might make him scream like a schoolgirl.

“Lucky,” the caller said. It was a woman all right but definitely not Dixie Mae. This voice was sultry, and he was about 60 percent sure he recognized it.

“Bella?” he asked.

“Who else?” she purred.

Well, she hadn’t been at the top of the list of people he expected would call themselves Angel, that’s for sure. Bella was more like a being from the realm opposite to the one where angels lived. Lucky had met her about three months ago after a good bull ride in Kerrville, but he hadn’t seen her since.

“I expected you to call me before now. Naughty boy,” Bella teased.

Now, that label fit. They had engaged in some rather naughty things during their one night together. But he’d never intended for it to be anything other than a one-nighter. And Lucky had made that clear, with very specific words—just this once.

He glanced back at Cassie. She was still talking on the phone. Or rather listening, because she didn’t seem to be saying much at all. Unlike Bella.

“Did you hear me?” Bella asked.

No, he hadn’t, but Lucky had his own stuff to ask her. “How’d you get my number? And who’s Angel?”

“Angel’s my stage name, remember?”

Oh, yeah. Now he did, thanks to her memory jogging. Bella aka Angel Bella was a wannabe actress moonlighting as a cocktail waitress at the Blue Moon Bar.

“When you were asleep, I added my number to your contact list,” she explained. “And I put your number in my phone to make sure we stayed in touch. Like now, for instance. I remember you saying you’re from Spring Hill, and guess who’s passing through town right now?”

Lucky didn’t think that was a trick question. “Look, Bella, this isn’t a good time. I’m at a friend’s funeral.”

“Oh.” She paused and repeated that “oh” again. “Well, darn. I’d really hoped to see you. Maybe in an hour or two? I could...console you.”

He bit back a groan. “Sorry, but I’m just not up to a good consoling.”

Especially Bella’s version of it. And especially not now. Cassie had started to talk, and though body language could be deceiving, he thought she might be arguing about something.

“I can see you tomorrow, then?” Bella pressed, and even though Lucky couldn’t see her face, he sensed she was doing a fake pout thing with her mouth.

Lucky was about to come up with a couple of excuses, but then he saw Cassie slide her phone back into her pocket. She didn’t come hurrying to him, though, to tell him about her conversation with Dixie Mae’s lawyer. She just stood there, her back to him.

“I gotta go,” Lucky said to Bella, and despite the woman’s howling protest, he hit the end-call button and made his way to Cassie.

“So what’s the favor Dixie Mae wants us to do?” Lucky asked.

Cassie took her time turning around to face him, but she didn’t actually look at him. Instead, she tipped her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine help.

Then Cassie uttered a single word. A word that Lucky was afraid summed up this mess that Dixie Mae had just dumped on them from the grave.

“Shit.”

CHAPTER THREE

CASSIE HATED TO rely on profanity to express herself, but she didn’t know what else to say after the conversation she’d just had with Bernie Woodland.

Why in Sam Hill had her grandmother done this?

“Do I want to know what Dixie Mae’s lawyer had to say?” Lucky asked.

That was an easy question to answer. “No.”

Apparently, though, Lucky wanted her to expand on that a bit. And she would. But first, Cassie had to locate the nearest chair and sit down. Sometime during that conversation with Mr. Woodland, her knees had lost all their cartilage.

Lucky cursed. It was a much worse word than shit, and he dropped down in the chair next to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Cassie nodded, swallowed hard. “There’s no need to panic. It’s something we can work out, I’m sure.”

Though the lawyer seemed to have a different notion about that last part. Still, he was wrong. He had to be.

“What’s the favor Dixie Mae wanted us to do for her?” Lucky pressed.

Best just to put it out there and let Lucky work through his own version of panic. Then they could go to Mr. Woodland’s office and talk some sense into him.

“Apparently, my grandmother left us custody of some children,” Cassie said.

Lucky stared at her. Stared some more. Then he laughed. Not the hysterical laugh of someone panicking, either. He thought this was some kind of joke.

“Custody of some kids?” More laughter from him. It was so hard he appeared to get a stitch in his side because he clamped his hand there for several seconds. “Right. Like I’m daddy material.”

Cassie agreed with him on that point. Lucky was about as un-daddy-ish as a man could get. He was more the sort to practice making babies than to tend to them. That was something she hadn’t especially wanted to notice about him.

“Never took Dixie Mae for one to pull a prank like this,” Lucky added when he finally quit ha-ha-ing.

She hated to say this, but it was something he had to hear. “It’s not a prank. Mr. Woodland said Grandmother had him draw up papers, and she signed them the day before she died.”

Because Lucky was so close to her, just inches away, Cassie watched that sink in. Slowly. Word by stupid word. It didn’t sink in well.

A muscle flickered in his jaw. Then another. It didn’t take long for the shock and anger to set in after that.

Lucky snapped to his feet with military precision. “Those darn papers can just be unsigned. Come on. Let’s go to the lawyer and get this straightened out right now.”

If he hadn’t caught onto her arm and wrenched her from the chair, Cassie might have had trouble getting her legs to work. But Lucky had no such trouble. He lit out of there with her in tow while he fished through his jeans pocket for his keys.

Snug jeans.

That hugged his butt just right.

Cassie was dumbfounded that she’d even noticed something like that. Then again, she always noticed things like that when it came to Lucky. She made a mental note to talk to a therapist about it. Of course, she had plenty of other stuff to bring up considering her grandmother had obviously lost her mind and Cassie hadn’t picked up on that until it was too late.

“What kids?” Lucky snapped.

Throughout most of her life, Cassie had gotten accustomed to Lucky giving her heated looks. Or maybe that was just the way he normally looked when his attention landed on a woman. However, that kind of heat was gone now, and in its place was a whole lot of confusion.

“I’m not sure, but according to the lawyer, Grandmother had custody of them for the past several months.”

“Impossible. No one in their right mind would give Dixie Mae kids to raise. Any kids. What do you know about them? Who are their idiot parents? And why didn’t Dixie Mae ever mention anything about them?”

Three good questions. She had fewer good answers. In fact, Cassie had no answers at all.

“Mr. Woodland didn’t know. Grandmother didn’t give him any details, only that she was transferring guardianship to the two of us. He was going to call us when the children arrived at his office—which should be any minute now.”

Just saying the words aloud caused the anxiety to swell in her chest again. Her nerves were already prickling beneath the surface, what with Dixie Mae’s death, and her other problem, but the prickling was well on its way to being full-blown panic.

Breathe.

Not that guppy breathing, either. That would cause her to hyperventilate again. Nice, normal, slow breaths. At the end of a few of those, Cassie’s head finally began to clear.

“It has to be a misunderstanding,” she said more to herself than Lucky, but he latched right on to the idea as if it were a true beacon of hope.

“You’re right. And Bernie Woodland will tell us that.” Possibly a lie, but she needed a beacon of hope, too.

Lucky practically stuffed her into a sleek red truck and peeled out of the parking lot. Even though she didn’t need any proof whatsoever of his bad-boy reputation, she got it right away. He sped down Main Street, violating at least three traffic laws while getting the attention of every single female they passed along the way. Two gave him “call me” hand gestures.

Because Spring Hill was a small town by anyone’s standards, it didn’t take Lucky long to get to the lawyer’s office. Only a couple of minutes. He screeched the truck into one of the tight parking spaces and threw open the door in the same motion that he turned off the engine.

Cassie had to run to catch up with him. Thankfully, that was easy to do since she was wearing her traveling shoes and not her usual heels. She made it in behind him by only a few seconds. During those seconds, though, Lucky had already managed to get the attention of the receptionist, Wilhelmina Larkin.

Wilhelmina was sixty if she was a day but obviously still wasn’t immune to Lucky McCord and his crotch-framing jeans. She stood, twirling a coil of her hair around her finger and smiling in a coy way that made it clear she appreciated the view in front of her.

“I need to see Bernie,” Lucky insisted. His tone was hard enough, but he returned Wilhelmina’s smile as naturally as he drew in his next breath.

“He’s busy with a client right now,” Wilhelmina said.

The woman actually batted her eyelashes. Good gravy. If Cassie hadn’t already had enough to sour her stomach, that would have done it. With the way women threw themselves at Lucky, it could possibly turn out that these children in question might be his offspring after all.

Lucky leaned in, his hands landing on Wilhelmina’s desk. “Unbusy Bernie. We want to talk to him right now. It’s important.”

Maybe it was because Lucky quit grinning or maybe it was because he no longer sounded like the hot cowboy women drooled over, but either way, Wilhelmina nixed the eyelash batting and actually slid her gaze toward Cassie, apparently noticing her for the first time.

“Oh,” Wilhelmina remarked. “This must be about Dixie Mae. What’s going on anyway? Bernie wouldn’t get into it with me. Dixie Mae’s orders, he said. Dixie Mae thought I’d gossip about it. That’s what she said to Bernie—that I would gossip about it—so Bernie typed up the paperwork himself. Didn’t even know he could type.”

Lucky gave her a flat look, and Cassie thought he might repeat his order to see Bernie. He didn’t. He stormed passed Wilhelmina, heading up the hall. There were several offices, but Lucky seemed to know exactly which one belonged to Bernie because he opened the door without knocking. Bernie was with someone all right.

Cassie’s father.

Mason-Dixon Weatherall.

Cassie stumbled to a stop, her father’s and her gazes colliding like two unconnected burglars who’d broken into the same place at the same time. Instant guilt.

Well, guilt on her part anyway.

She’d distanced herself from him years ago because of the way he treated her, and he’d distanced himself from her because of the distancing. Cassie was betting, though, that her father felt no guilt whatsoever about that, what with his my-way-or-the-highway approach to life.

It was the first time she’d seen him in nearly ten years, and her immediate thought—once she got past the question as to why he was there—was that he looked so old. He was still dyeing his hair the color of crude oil, still wearing clothes straight out of the sixties, but there were a lot more wrinkles on his face than there had been during their last meeting.

Her father eased himself to his feet. “Cassie,” he greeted.

“Dad,” Cassie greeted back with the same caution of those two theoretical burglars.

Lucky volleyed some glances between them. “Does your dad have anything to do with this shit?”

“Do you?” Cassie asked her father.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he snarled. “I deal with lots of different kinds of shit.”

Bernie stood then, tugging off his glasses and dropping them onto the desk. He was about the same age as her father, but it was night and day in the apparel arena. Bernie was wearing conservative clothes similar to hers. Actually, the jacket was identical to hers.

Something that made her frown.

“Mason-Dixon doesn’t have anything to do with the letter Dixie Mae left the two of you,” Bernie clarified.

“The old bat left you a letter, too?” But her father didn’t wait for them to confirm it. “She left me six fucking cats. Six! She arranged to have her driver drop them off at the club this morning. Them, and their litter boxes, which hadn’t been cleaned in days. They’re going to the pound as soon as I leave here.”

“No,” Cassie practically shouted, and it got everyone’s attention. “Grandmother loved those cats.”

Her father’s fisted hands went on his boney hips. “Then why the hell did she leave them to me?”

Yet another of those questions that Cassie couldn’t answer. Maybe Dixie Mae had indeed gone insane.

“I’ll take the cats,” Cassie volunteered. “Just give me a couple of days. I’ve got my own problems to work out.” A laundry list of them, and that list just kept growing.

Her father looked at her. Then at Lucky. “Did you knock up Cassie or something?” he asked Lucky.

While Lucky was howling out a loud “no,” Cassie fanned her hands toward her clothes. Then toward Lucky’s. “Does it look as if we could be lovers?” she asked.

Her father did more glancing and shook his head. “Guess not.”

It was yet something else that made her frown. Maybe she needed to start shopping at a different store.

“So, you’ll take the cats?” her father clarified.

Cassie nodded but didn’t have a blasted clue how she was going to make that happen. Her condo in LA didn’t allow pets. Still, the shelter here in Spring Hill probably wasn’t no-kill, and she couldn’t risk her grandmother’s precious cats being put down—even if it had been a lamebrain idea for Dixie Mae to leave her pets to a man who’d been on her bad side since she’d given birth to him.

Her father moved closer and gave her the look. The one he’d been giving her since she was a kid. “Just know that I expect something other than cats from Dixie Mae’s estate. Whatever she had, I get half.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t,” Lucky spoke up. “Dixie Mae didn’t like you, and she always told me that she had no intention of giving you any money. She wanted her money to go to Cassie.”

“Cassie will share,” her father insisted. The look intensified, and suddenly she was six years old again and getting sent to her room because she was acting too prissy.

Lucky moved in front of her father, getting right in his face. “I’m thinking that’ll be Cassie’s decision.”

“We’ll see about that.” Her father started out, then stopped when he was right beside her. “If those cats aren’t gone in two days, they’re going to the pound. The goddamn things are chewing the feathers in the girls’ costumes.”

That seemed very minor compared to being given children, but as Cassie had always done with her father, she held her tongue. And took a few steps away from him. She’d spent her entire adult life trying not to get embroiled with him and his smutty lifestyle, and she didn’t want to start now.

Cassie didn’t say goodbye to him. She merely shut the door once her father was gone and then whirled around to face Bernie. Now, here was someone she would confront. Except Lucky beat her to it.

“Say it’s not true,” Lucky demanded. “Tell me that Dixie Mae didn’t give us custody of some kids.”

Bernie sighed, causing his pudgy belly to jiggle. He pulled open his desk drawer, cracked open a bottle of Glenlivet and downed more than a couple of swigs. “She did indeed leave Cassie and you custody of two children,” Bernie confirmed.

Of course, the lawyer had already told her that, but hearing it face-to-face gave Cassie a new wallop of panic. No. This couldn’t happen now. She couldn’t lose it in front of Lucky. In front of anybody.

Lucky, however, didn’t seem to notice that she was cruising her way to a panic attack. He was apparently coping with the anxiety in his own way. By cursing a blue streak in an extremely loud voice.

“How the hell could you let Dixie Mae do something like that?” Lucky yelled. “You should have stopped her.”

“Really?” Bernie challenged. “You believe I could have stopped Dixie Mae? Were you ever able to stop her from doing something she insisted on doing?”

“No, but that’s beside the point. Dixie Mae and I differed on rodeo stuff. Business. If she’d mentioned giving me custody of some kids, trust me, I would have stopped her.”

Judging from the groan that followed, Lucky knew that was a partial lie. He would have indeed tried to stop her, but Dixie Mae would have just found a way around it.

The same thing Cassie had to do in this situation.

“Neither Lucky nor I knew that Dixie Mae had anything to do with any children,” Cassie started. “When did it happen? How did it happen?” she amended.

“I’m not sure of all the details,” Bernie answered. “Until Dixie Mae showed up here, it’d been years since I’d seen her. She said she wanted me to do the paperwork because I was local.”

Local? Cassie figured there was more to it than that. Maybe Dixie Mae’s usual lawyer didn’t handle situations like this. Or maybe her grandmother had just tried to be sneaky because her lawyer in San Antonio perhaps would have contacted Cassie to let her know something fishy was going on. And this definitely qualified as fishy.

“Dixie Mae said a couple of months ago an old friend of hers got very sick,” Bernie continued. “This friend was taking care of her grandkids and asked Dixie Mae to step in for a while.”

All right. There was the out Cassie had been hoping for. “You can contact the grandmother and tell her to resume custody.”

Bernie shook his head. “The grandmother died a short time later, and the grandkids’ parents aren’t in the picture. They’re both dead. That’s why Dixie Mae took over legal custody.”

Lucky shook his head, too. “Well, she must have hired a nanny or something because Dixie Mae never had any kids with her when she came to work.”

“She did have a nanny, a couple of them, in fact,” Bernie went on. “But they quit when they butted heads with her so Dixie Mae arranged for someone else to watch them temporarily. She didn’t give me a lot of details when she came in and asked me to draw up papers and her will. And right after we finished with it, she got admitted to the hospital.”

Cassie latched on to that. “Maybe there’s something in her will about Lucky and me being able to relinquish custody to a suitable third party.”

Lucky tipped his head in her direction. “What she said. Find it.”

But Bernie didn’t pull out a will or anything else. “The will didn’t address trusteeship of the children, only the disbursement of Dixie Mae’s assets. I’m not at liberty to go over that with you now because she insisted her will not be read for several weeks.”

Cassie doubted there was a good reason for that. But she could think of a bad reason. “This was probably Grandmother’s attempt at carrot dangling. If Lucky and I assume responsibility without putting up a fuss, then we’ll inherit some money. Well, I don’t want her money, and I’m putting up a fuss!”

“So am I,” Lucky agreed. “Fix this.”

Bernie looked around, clearly hesitating. “I guess if you refuse, I can have Child Protective Services step in.”

All right, they were getting somewhere.

Or maybe not.

“Of course, that’s not ideal,” Bernie went on. “The children could end up being placed in separate homes, and foster care can be dicey.” He scratched his head. “Dixie Mae was so sure you two would agree to this since it was her last wish.”

Her grandmother had no doubt told Bernie to make sure he reminded them of that a time or two. Especially after what Dixie Mae had said to Lucky: A man wouldn’t be much of a man to deny an old dying woman her last wish.

“I smell a rat,” Lucky mumbled.

So did Cassie. Dixie Mae had practically duped Lucky into saying yes, and the old gal had figured Cassie wouldn’t just walk away, leaving him to hold the bag.

Damn it.

Cassie couldn’t just walk away. But that didn’t mean she was giving up without a fight. She wasn’t in any position to raise children. Especially not with Lucky.

Heck, who was she kidding?

He’d probably be a lot better at it than she would be. At least he wasn’t an emotional mess right now and hadn’t just checked out of a glorified loony bin. As a therapist she probably should have considered a better term for it, but loony bin fit. Too bad she hadn’t had her grandmother there with her so she could have had the chance of talking Dixie Mae into making other arrangements for the children.

“How do we get around this?” Cassie asked Bernie at the same moment Lucky said to him, “Fix this shit. And I don’t mean fix it by putting some innocent kids in foster care. Fix it the right way. Find their next of kin. I want them in a home with loving people who know the right way to take care of them.”

Good idea. Except Bernie shook his head again. “I started the search right after Dixie Mae came in. No luck so far, but I’ll keep looking. In the meantime, Cassie and you can take temporary custody, and if I can’t find any relatives, I’ll ask around and see if someone else will take them.”

That wasn’t ideal, far from it, because “asking around” didn’t seem to have a deadline attached to it. “How long would we have them?” she asked.

“A couple of days at most,” Bernie said.

Perhaps that was BS, but Cassie latched on to it and looked at Lucky. “Maybe we can figure out something to do with them just for a day or two?”

Oh, he so wanted to say no. She could see it in his eyes. Probably because he didn’t want to stay anywhere near Spring Hill. It was no secret that Lucky had a serious case of wanderlust. Along with the regular kind of lust.

“Two days is too long,” Lucky said, obviously still mulling this over and perhaps looking for an escape route.

Two days, the exact amount of time she had to do something about those feather-chasing cats at the strip club. Cassie tried very hard not to think bad thoughts about her grandmother, but she wished the woman had gone over all these details before she’d passed away.

“You’ll need to work out something faster than two days,” Lucky insisted. “I’ve got to be at a rodeo day after tomorrow.”

Yes, she had things to do, as well. Things she didn’t want to do, but she wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of them the way that Lucky was trying to wiggle out of this.

“I can try,” Bernie said, not sounding especially hopeful. Too bad, because Cassie needed him to be hopeful. More than that, she needed him to succeed.

“I’ll call the Bluebonnet Inn,” Bernie added, “and get the girls a room there.”

Lucky seemed to approve of that, but Cassie wasn’t so sure. She, too, had planned to stay at the Bluebonnet Inn, mainly because it was the only hotel in Spring Hill. That meant Lucky would likely expect her to be with the children 24/7.

But Cassie wasn’t having this all put on her shoulders. Nope. She was packing enough baggage and problems as it was so she’d also get Lucky a room at the inn.

“Where are the children?” Cassie asked.

Bernie checked his watch. “They should be here any minute now.” He pushed a button on an old-fashioned intercom system. “Wilhelmina, when the Compton kids arrive—”

“They’re already here,” Wilhelmina interrupted. “Want me to send them back?”

“Sure.” Bernie took his finger off the intercom button and drew in a long breath, as if he might need some extra air.

A moment later, Cassie saw why.

The air sort of vanished when the door opened and Cassie saw one of the children in question. And this time, she wasn’t the one to say that one all-encompassing word. It was Lucky.

Shit.

They had apparently inherited custody of a call girl.

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WERE ONLY a handful of times in Lucky’s life when he’d been rendered speechless, and this was one of them.

The “girl” walking up the hall toward him was indeed a girl. Technically. She was female, nearly as tall as Cassie, and she was wearing a black skirt and top. Or perhaps that was paint. Hard to tell. The skirt was short and skintight, more suited for, well, someone older.

“This is Mackenzie Compton,” Bernie said.

Cassie blew out a breath that sounded like one of relief. Lucky had no idea what she was relieved about so he just stared at her.

“This isn’t a child,” Cassie explained, relief in her voice, too. “So obviously there’s no need for us to take custody.”

Right. “What Cassie just said,” Lucky told Bernie.

However, Bernie burst that bubble of hope right off. “Mackenzie just turned thirteen.”

Maybe ten years ago, she had. But she wasn’t thirteen now. “Can she prove that?” Lucky blurted out.

Mackenzie didn’t say a word. Didn’t have any reaction to that whatsoever. She just stood there looking like a both-arms-down Statue of Liberty who’d been vandalized with black spray paint. She had black hair, black nails, black lipstick and stared at them as if they were beings from another planet. Beings that she didn’t want to get to know.

Good. The feeling was mutual.

But thirteen?

“I can prove her age,” Bernie supplied. “I have her birth certificate and school records.” Bernie handed him a folder. “Her sister, Mia, is four.”

Four. Well, hell. Now, that was a child, though he still wasn’t convinced Mackenzie was a teenager. Maybe if she scrubbed off that half inch of makeup, there’d be some trace of a girl, but right now he wasn’t seeing it.

However, he was seeing something. An extra set of legs. Either Mackenzie had four of them, a pair significantly shorter than the ones wearing that black skirt, or her little sister was hiding behind her.

Mackenzie took one step to the side, and there she was. A child. A real one. No goth clothes for her. She was wearing a pink dress with flowers and butterflies on it, and her blond hair had been braided into pigtails. She had a ragged pink stuffed pig in the crook of her arm.

If there had been a definition of “scared kid” in the dictionary, this kid’s photo would have been next to it. Mia was clinging to her sister’s skirt, her big blue eyes shiny with tears that looked ready to spill right down her cheeks.

Lucky took a big mental step back at the same time that he took an actual step forward. He didn’t have any paternal instincts, none, but he knew a genuinely sad girl when he saw one, and it cut him to the core. He went down on one knee so he could be at her eye level.

“I’m Lucky McCord,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. It didn’t work. Mia clung even tighter, though there wasn’t much fabric in Mackenzie’s skirt to cling to.

Mia. Such a little name for such a little girl.

“Do either of them...” Cassie started, looking at Bernie. But then she turned to the girls. “Either of you, uh, talk?”

Mia nodded. Blinked back those tears. Her bottom lip started to quiver.

Well, hell. That did it. Lucky fished through his pocket, located the only thing he could find resembling candy. A stick of gum. And he handed it to Mia. She took it only after looking up at her big sister, who nodded and grunted. What Big Sis didn’t do was say a word to confirm that she did indeed have verbal communication skills beyond a primitive grunt.

“The girls have had a tough go of it lately,” Bernie said as if choosing his words carefully.

Lucky added another mental well, hell. He’d probably said hell more times today than he had in the past decade. He’d always believed it was the sign of a weak mind when a man had to rely on constant profanity as a way of communicating his emotions, but his mind was swaying in a weak direction today.

And he didn’t know what the hell to do.

“Where have they been staying since my grandmother’s death?” Cassie asked. “Gran passed away two days ago.”

Good question, but Lucky didn’t repeat himself with another what she said.

“With Scooter Jenkins,” Bernie answered.

Lucky had to do it. He had to think another hell.

“You know this man?” Cassie asked him.

“Scooter’s a woman.” At least Lucky thought she was. She had a five-o’clock shadow, but that was possibly hormonal. “She’s one of the rodeo clowns.”

Spooky as all get-out, too. While Scooter had worked for Dixie Mae as long as Lucky could remember, she was hardly maternal material. Nor was she exactly Dixie Mae’s friend. The only way Scooter would have taken the girls was for Dixie Mae to have paid her a large sum of cash.

“Ten grand,” Bernie said as if anticipating Lucky’s question. “The deal was for Scooter to keep them until after the funeral and then transfer physical custody to Cassie and you.”

Since Scooter was nowhere to be seen, that meant she’d likely just dropped off the kids. Lucky would speak to her about that later. But for now, he needed to fix some things.

Apparently, Cassie had the same fixing-things idea. “Why don’t Bernie and I go in his office and discuss some solutions?” Cassie said to him. “Maybe you can wait in the lobby with the girls?”

Lucky preferred to be in on that discussion, but it wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have in front of Mia. Not with those tears in her eyes.

“Please,” Cassie whispered to him. Or at least that’s what Lucky thought she said at first. But when she repeated it, he realized she had said, “Breathe.”

Oh, man. Cassie looked ready to bolt so maybe her talking to Bernie was a good idea after all. While the two of them were doing that, maybe he’d try to have the kids wait with Wilhelmina so he could join the grown-ups.

Cassie and Bernie went to his office. Cassie shut the door, all the while repeating “Breathe.” Lucky went in the direction of the reception area.

Where there was no Wilhelmina.

Just a pair of suitcases sitting on the floor next to her empty desk. But there was a little sign that said I’ll Be Back. The clock on the sign was set for a half hour from now. It might as well have been the next millennium.

Mia was holding on to the gum and pig as if they were some kind of lifelines, all the while volleying glances between her sister and him. Since it was possible there’d be some yelling going on in Bernie’s office, Lucky motioned for the girls to sit in the reception area.

He sat.

They didn’t.

And the moments crawled by. The silence went way past the uncomfortable stage.

Lucky didn’t have any idea what to say to them. The only experience he’d had with kids was his soon-to-be nephew, Ethan. He was two and a half, and Lucky’s brother Riley was engaged to Ethan’s mom, Claire. Too bad Ethan wasn’t around now to break the iceberg.

“So, what grade are you in?” he asked, just to be asking something.

Mia held up the four fingers of her left hand—the hand not clutching the gum but rather the one on the pig. Since he doubted she was in the fourth grade, he figured maybe she was communicating her age. So Lucky went with that. He flashed his ten fingers three times and added three more. Of course, she was way too young to get that he was thirty-three, but he thought it might get a smile from her.

It didn’t.

He tried Mackenzie next. “Let me guess your favorite color. Uh, blue?” He smiled to let her know it was a joke. The girl’s black-painted mouth didn’t even quiver.

And the silence rolled on.

Oh, well. At least Bernie had said this so-called custody arrangement would only last a day or two, and they weren’t chatter bugs. Mia’s tears seemed to have temporarily dried up, too. Plus, Cassie was likely jumping through hoops to do whatever it took for them not to have to leave here with these kids. Lucky was all for that, but he wasn’t heartless. He still wanted to leave them in a safe place. Preferably a safe place that didn’t involve him.

What the heck had Dixie Mae been thinking?

“Bull,” someone said, and for one spooky moment, Lucky thought it was Dixie Mae whispering from beyond the grave.

But it was Mia.

Those little blue eyes had landed on his belt buckle, and there was indeed a bull and bull rider embossed into the shiny silver. Lucky had lots of buckles—easy for that to happen when you rode as long as he’d been riding—but he had two criteria for the ones he wore. Big and shiny. This was the biggest and shiniest of the bunch.

“Yep, it’s a bull,” Lucky verified.

Mia didn’t come closer, but she did lean out from sour-faced Big Sis for a better look.

“I ride bulls just like that one.” He tapped the buckle, and hoped that wasn’t too abstract for a four-year-old. Of course, she had clearly recognized it as a bull, so maybe she got it.

And the silence returned.

“So, what was it like staying with Scooter?” he asked.

That got a reaction from Mackenzie. She huffed. Not exactly a sudden bout of chatter, but Lucky understood her completely. What he didn’t understand was why Dixie Mae had left them with Scooter in the first place. But then, there were a lot of things he didn’t understand about Dixie Mae right now.

“How about you?” he asked Mia. “Did you like staying with Scooter?”

She pinched her nose, effectively communicating that Scooter often smelled. Often kept on her clown makeup even when she wasn’t working. The only thing marginally good he could say about the woman was that her visible tattoos weren’t misspelled.

“Do we gotta go back with Scooter?” Mia asked.

Lucky wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the outburst of actual words—Mackenzie or him. It took him a second to get past the shock of the sound of Mia’s voice and respond.

“Do you want to go back with her?” he asked.

“No.” Mackenzie that time. Mia mumbled her own “No.” Judging from the really fast response from both girls, and that it was the only syllable he’d gotten from Mackenzie, he’d hit a nerve.

A nerve that affected his next question. “So, where do you want to go?”

Now, this would have been the time for both girls to start firing off answers. With friends, relatives, rock stars. To a goth store, et cetera. He got a shrug from Mia and a glare from Mackenzie.

What had he expected? Bernie had already told him their parents were out of the picture. Orphans. Something that Lucky more than understood, but he’d been nineteen when his folks died. Barely an adult, but that had barely prevented him from having to stay with a clown.

Though there were a couple of times when Lucky had called Logan just that.

More silence. If this went on, he might just take a nap. Lucky went with a different approach, though. “Is there a question you want to ask me?”

Mia looked up at her sister, and even though Mackenzie’s mouth barely moved, Lucky thought he saw the hint of a smile. The kind of smile that had some stink eye on it.

“Have you ever been arrested?” Mackenzie asked. Yeah, definitely some stink eye. “Because Scooter said you had been.”

“I have,” he admitted. “Nothing major, though, and I never spent more than a few hours in jail.”

Except that one time when there’d been a female deputy who’d come on to him. But that time he’d stayed longer by choice. Best not to mention that, though. In fact, there was a lot about his life he wouldn’t mention.

“What’d you get ’rrested for?” Mia asked.

Lucky smiled, not just at the pronunciation but the cute voice. Cute kid, too.

“Drinking beer.” Like Bernie had earlier, Lucky chose his words wisely. At any rate, beer or some other alcohol had usually been at the root of his bad behavior.

Mackenzie made a hmmp sound as if she didn’t believe him. Lucky didn’t elaborate even though there was no telling what Scooter had told them.

“Don’t drink beer,” Mia advised him in a serious tone that made him have to fight back another smile.

The little girl came closer, leaving her sister’s side and not even looking up for permission. She climbed into the seat next to him, tore the gum stick in half and gave him the bigger of the two pieces.

“Thanks,” Lucky managed to say.

Mia then offered half of her half to her sister, but Mackenzie only shook her head, grunted and deepened her scowl. Much more of that and she was going to get a face cramp.

“Is Lucky even your real name?” Mackenzie again. “Because if it is, it’s a stupid name.”

Such a cheery girl. “It’s a nickname. My real name’s Austin, but nobody ever calls me that.”

Heck, most people didn’t even know it.

“My grandpa McCord gave me the name when I was just three years old,” he explained. “I somehow managed to get into the corral with a mean bull. And despite the fact I was waving a red shirt at him so I could play matador, I came out without a scratch.”

Lucky, indeed. His grandpa could have just called him stupid considering the idiotic thing he’d done.

“What about the lady doctor?” Mackenzie asked, clearly not impressed with his story. She folded her arms over her chest. “Has she been arrested, too?”

“Can’t say,” Lucky answered honestly. “But I doubt it.” Though something was going on with Cassie. Those breathe mumblings weren’t a good sign.

“Is she gay?” Mackenzie continued.

“No,” he said, way too loud and way too fast. He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Her shoes and clothes,” Mackenzie quickly supplied.

Lucky groaned. “It’s never a good idea to stereotype people.” That was the second time today he’d given such a warning, though Mackenzie probably didn’t have a clue what that word meant. She didn’t seem the sort to work on building her vocabulary.

He cursed himself. Huffed. He needed to take his own advice. Yeah, stereotypes weren’t a good idea.

“Are you two together, then?” Mackenzie asked. “The lady doctor and you?” she clarified, though her question needed no such clarification.

Lucky almost preferred the silence to this. “No. I was business partners with Cassie’s grandmother, Dixie Mae, and Cassie and I went to high school together.”

“I know who her grandmother is,” Mackenzie snapped. “Was,” she added, also in a snap. She didn’t offer more on the subject of Dixie Mae, but since Mackenzie didn’t complain about her, maybe that meant she’d gotten along with the woman.

That would be a first, but hey, miracles happened. Lucky had found a way to love the woman so maybe Mackenzie and Mia had, too. Or rather just Mia, he amended when Mackenzie’s scowl deepened.

“I just thought you and the lady doctor were...” Mackenzie said, but she waved it off. “It was just something Dixie Mae said.”

That got his attention. “What’d she say? Specifically what’d she say about Cassie and me? Because if this is Dixie Mae’s way of matchmaking from the grave—”

He stopped. Wished he hadn’t said it because of the look it put on Mia’s face. Little name, little girl. Whopping big ears. She’d already been shuffled around too much, and she didn’t need to hear that she might go through another shuffling all because Dixie Mae wanted her granddaughter and her “boy” to end up together.

Something that wouldn’t happen.

Cassie had already made that plenty clear.

“We need to get one thing straight,” Mackenzie continued a couple of seconds later. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll punch you and the lady doctor right in your faces.”

“Kenzie doesn’t mean it,” Mia whispered behind her hand. She unwrapped her piece of gum, tore it in half again. One piece she put in her mouth. The other, in her pocket.

“I do mean it,” Mackenzie insisted. “Nobody hurts my sister. Nobody.”

“I understand. I’ve got a kid sister of my own. Her name is Anna.” Because he thought it might give them some common ground, he started to tell her about Anna, that she was a college student in Florida, that he’d walk through fire for her. But Lucky stopped.

And he silently said another hell.

Had someone hurt Mia before? Was that why Mackenzie had doled out that threat? And for the record, he did think she meant it.

Mackenzie clammed up again, and even though he looked at Mia to see how she was dealing with all of this, she was swinging her legs, humming to herself and rolling the silver foil from her gum into a little ball. Lucky would have pressed Mackenzie for more info, or rather any info, but he heard the footsteps coming up the hall.

Finally.

He stood, moving in front of the girls in case Cassie and Bernie had to tell him something that wasn’t meant for those big ears. But selective muteness must have been catching because Bernie sure wasn’t talking, and Cassie dodged his gaze.

“Well?” Lucky finally prompted in a whisper. Probably not a soft enough one because Mackenzie and Mia weren’t doing any gaze-dodging at all. They had their baby blues pinned to him.

“We reached a solution,” Cassie said.

“Good?” And, yes, it was a question. One they didn’t answer. “All right, where are they going?”

Bernie and Cassie exchanged uneasy glances. “Home,” Bernie answered, looking right at Lucky. “With you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“HOME, WITH ME?” Lucky said.

All in all, Lucky took the news about as well as Cassie had expected. He added, “No.” And he kept on adding to that no. “It’s crazy there now what with Riley and Claire’s wedding coming up. They’re getting married in the house.”

She knew Riley and Claire, of course. Had even heard about Riley leaving the Air Force and getting engaged to Claire. But Cassie hadn’t known about the wedding planning. Still, their options were limited here.

“It’ll only be for a day or two,” Cassie reminded him. She also tried to keep her voice at a whisper, but there wasn’t much distance between them and the kids. It didn’t help that Mackenzie was glaring at her.

“You don’t know that,” Lucky argued. “He doesn’t know that.” He flung an accusing finger at Bernie. “I’ll get us all rooms in the Bluebonnet Inn—”

“I’ve already tried,” Cassie explained, “and they’re all booked for the high school reunion, class of 1948.” Some might cancel because they weren’t spring chickens and might not be able to make it, but Cassie couldn’t count on that.

“We can all go to Dixie Mae’s house in San Antonio, then,” Lucky suggested.

Cassie really hated to be the bearer of more bad news. “She’s already sold it. The new owners apparently closed on it earlier today.”

“When did Dixie Mae arrange that?” he snapped.

Cassie had to shrug. Apparently, her grandmother had been up to a lot of things that Cassie and Lucky hadn’t known about, but from what she could gather, these buyers had agreed to purchase the place months ago and had already done all the paperwork in advance.

Lucky stayed quiet a moment, but the quietness didn’t extend to his eyes. There was a lot going on in his head right now, including perhaps a big dose of panic. “Another hotel, then. Or are you going to tell me every hotel in the state is booked?”

“Told you they wouldn’t want us,” Mackenzie mumbled.

Good grief. This was exactly what Cassie was trying to avoid so she took hold of Lucky’s arm to pull him down the hall. “Watch the girls,” she told Bernie.

Lucky didn’t exactly cooperate with the moving-away-from-them part. “That’s not true,” he told Mackenzie, surprising Cassie, Mackenzie, maybe even himself. “This isn’t about wanting or not wanting you. It’s about, well, some other stuff that has nothing to do with you and Mia.”

Cassie tugged his arm again, and this time she managed to move him up the hall and hopefully out of earshot. “All right, what’s the real problem here?” Cassie demanded. “I mean, other than you don’t want to be home, and this would require you to be. Is it because I’d be there, too?”

He looked at her as if she’d just spontaneously sprouted a full beard on the spot. “What?”

Since that question could cover a multitude of things, Cassie went with the one most obvious to her. “I’ve resisted your advances for years, and you hate me. Now you don’t want me anywhere around you.”

More of the sprouted-full-beard look. “I don’t hate you, and you might not have noticed, but I quit advancing on you a long time ago.”

Ouch. Well, that stung, a lot more than it should have. And it was stupid to feel even marginally disappointed. But there had been something about Lucky’s attention that had made her feel attractive, especially in those days when no other guy was looking her way.

“I don’t hate those kids, either,” Lucky went on. “In fact, the little one’s a sweet girl.” He paused, not exactly hemming and hawing, but it was close.

“Is it because there aren’t enough rooms in your house?” Cassie asked. “Because it looks huge to me.”

“It is huge, and there are plenty of rooms. That’s not the point.” But it still took Lucky a while to get to what the point was exactly. “Logan’s at the house,” he finally said. “His loft apartment in town’s being renovated so he’ll be staying there until it’s finished. Heck, he’s probably there right now.”

She waited, hoping for more of an explanation. Cassie had to wait several long moments.

“Logan and I don’t exactly get along,” he admitted.

“Okay. That’s a valid argument. I understand not getting along with relatives.” Mercy, did she. “But there are advantages to being here in Spring Hill, since it’s where Bernie is. We could be right in his face every day to make sure he’s doing everything he can to resolve this.”

Lucky kept staring at her. Then he turned the tables on her. “What’s really going on here with you?”

Perhaps all those years of seducing women and being seduced by them had honed his perception. Or maybe he had ESP. This definitely wasn’t something she wanted the girls to hear so she pulled Lucky back into Bernie’s office.

“Dixie Mae told Bernie that she thought Mackenzie might be suicidal.” Cassie didn’t add more. Didn’t want to add more. She especially didn’t want Lucky or anyone else to see that just saying those words felt as if someone had clamped on to her heart with a meaty fist and wouldn’t let go.

Breathe.

“If she’s suicidal, why isn’t she in a hospital or someplace where she can get help?” he asked.

“Because she doesn’t have an official diagnosis. That was only Dixie Mae’s opinion. I’ve asked Bernie to try to get Mackenzie’s medical records, but that’ll take a while. By then we should have found their next of kin or made other arrangements.” God, she hoped so anyway.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he pressed.

Yes. Something she wouldn’t tell him, either. Cassie somehow had to get past this so she could try to work out things in her head. If that was even possible.

“I just don’t want Mackenzie to slip through the cracks,” Cassie added. That was true, but it had nothing to do with what she was holding back. “No matter how she dresses or how she acts.”

Though the dressing part did push Cassie’s buttons. Again, old baggage, because it reminded her of her trashy-dressing mother.

“Agreed,” Lucky said right away. “But stating the obvious here, I don’t know squat about kids. Much less ones who might or might not be suicidal.”

Cassie knew more about the suicidal part than she wanted to admit. “If you have another option about where to take them, I’m listening.”

Lucky had no doubt already gone through the options, and it wouldn’t have taken him that long. Because other options didn’t exist. With no next of kin, that left foster care, and while it could be a good thing for some kids, it could spell disaster for someone like Mackenzie, especially if she got placed in a separate home from her sister. Worse, once Cassie signed over the temporary custody, she wouldn’t even have any legal right to check on the girls and make sure they were in good homes.

The muscles in Lucky’s jaw started stirring. “And you really think it’ll only be a day or two at most?”

“I sure hope so. You’re not the only one who’d rather not be here.”

His eyes met hers, and she halfway expected him to ask if he was part of the reason she didn’t want to be there.

He was.

Lucky had a way of stirring things inside her that shouldn’t be stirred. Along with heating parts of her that should remain at room temperature. She had enough bears chasing her without adding Lucky McCord to the furry mix. But adding him was something she was apparently going to have to do.

At least for this guardianship facet of her life anyway. No heating or stirring allowed.

“With the Bluebonnet Inn booked, I don’t have a place to stay,” Cassie added. “And I need some office space. I have a client I have to see. It can’t wait, and she’ll be flying in to San Antonio in the morning. I can have her come to the house, or I can leave you with the girls while I go to San Antonio and meet—”

“You’re not leaving me with the girls. Especially when one might be suicidal. You can have your meeting at the house. There are two offices. My brother Riley’s been using one, but the other one should be free.”

“Thanks.” Of course, office space was really only a minor part of this. “You’ll need to keep the girls away from this particular client.”

That put some concern on his face. “What kind of client is this?”

“The worst kind. A person who’s a celebrity only because she’s a celebrity.”

Lucky really didn’t show any interest in this client anyway, but he probably would when she arrived tomorrow.

“Other than being with this client, you’re not to let Mackenzie out of your sight. Agreed?” Lucky pressed.

“Agreed. Well, except that I’d like to go back over to the funeral home and say a proper goodbye to my grandmother.”

Certainly, he couldn’t deny her that. Even though he looked as if he would do anything to avoid being alone with the girls.

“All right,” he finally said.

“I also left my rental car there,” she added. “My suitcase is in it.”

“I can have one of the ranch hands pick it up if you need it before you can make it back over to the funeral home.”

So, they had worked out the immediate details, but maybe this pact wouldn’t have to last long. And there were some things she could do to make sure it didn’t. Like hiring some private detectives to speed up the hunt for the girls’ next of kin.

“I’ll call ahead to the housekeepers and tell them to get a couple of guest rooms ready. I’ll also need to get another vehicle since my truck won’t hold all four of us. And I need to cancel out of the rodeo I’m supposed to be leaving for in the morning.” He reached for his phone but stopped when they heard the voice.

“Uh, we got a problem,” Bernie called out.

“What now?” Lucky grumbled, and he hurried toward the reception area with Cassie right behind him.

Bernie wasn’t in the hall where they’d left him. He was at the front door of his office, and he had a thunderstruck look on his face.

“The girls are gone,” he said.

* * *

“HURRY UP,” Mackenzie told her sister.

But Mia didn’t listen. She was poking along, looking back over her shoulder at the lawyer’s office. “Lucky was nice,” Mia insisted.

Sometimes, her sister could be so dumb. “It’s an act,” Mackenzie said. “He’s only being nice because he has to be, because he wants to get money or something.”

“How’d he get money or something?” Mia asked instead of hurrying.

Mackenzie ignored her. It wouldn’t be long now before the lawyer looked out and spotted them. Well, it wouldn’t be long if he ever managed to finish that text he’d been pecking out on his phone. Sheez. Old people and their fat, slow fingers!

“How’d Lucky get money or something?” Mia repeated, and since she probably wouldn’t shut up—or hurry—until she got an answer, Mackenzie ducked into an alley with her so they’d be off the sidewalk.

“Dixie Mae had money, stupid. Lucky and the lady doctor will probably get it if they have us. People leave that sort of stuff in wills.”

She nearly said shit instead of stuff, but Dixie Mae had said it wasn’t a good idea to cuss in front of little kids, that it could make them get into trouble. Dixie Mae had said that it happened to her. Since Mia was a little kid, Mackenzie had tried to cut back just in case Dixie Mae was right.

“I’m not stupid,” Mia protested.

Great. Now she was about to bawl again. “I didn’t mean it. Just quit asking so many questions and keep walking. Your feet don’t move fast when you keep saying things.”

“Where we going?” Mia asked less than two seconds later.

“Away from here. We’re not staying where we’re not wanted.”

Of course, they hadn’t been wanted in a long time, not since their grandmother had gone to heaven—and Mackenzie was sure that’s where she’d gone. Maybe Dixie Mae had, too, but maybe it was a different part of heaven from where Granny Maggie had gone because Dixie Mae probably wouldn’t like living with angels, nice people and shit. Plus, she wouldn’t be able to smoke up there and cuss.

Mackenzie led Mia to the other end of the alley and was about to cross the street when she spotted the Spring Hill Police Department. She definitely didn’t want to go in that direction, and if the lawyer had finally finished that text, he might have noticed they were missing. He could have already called the cops.

Or maybe he wouldn’t call anybody at all.

Those three beep-heads—that wasn’t the name Mackenzie really wanted to call them, but she was trying to think with less cussing, too—anyway, maybe the three would be glad Mia and she were gone so they wouldn’t have to upset their pretty little lives.

Mackenzie waited a sec to make sure the police weren’t going to come storming out of the building. No storming so far, though. But just in case that happened, she took Mia up the street and to the right, away from the police department.

She’d paid attention when Scooter had driven them in from San Antonio to Spring Hill, and there was a bus station just on the edge of town. If they could get there, she had enough money for two bus tickets to San Antonio. From there they could get to Dixie Mae’s house. As big as the place was, they could hide out there until Mackenzie could come up with something better. With the cash she had stuffed in her shoe, they could get by for maybe a whole week as long as they ate just French fries.

They passed in front of the grocery store, and Mackenzie tried to keep her head down, tried not to get noticed. But people noticed all right. Probably because of her clothes. Nobody dressed like her in this hick town. Too bad she hadn’t had anything else to put on. All her clothes were black.

Just ahead, Mackenzie spotted something that balled up her stomach. A cop wearing a blue uniform. And he had a gun. Jail might be better than going with Lucky and the doctor, but being locked up would probably just make Mia cry. A lot of things made her cry.

Mackenzie turned around, took a side street and tried to remember how to get to the bus station. She didn’t dare stop and ask, but maybe there was a map or sign or something.

“Looking for somebody?” a man asked from behind them.

“Just walking,” Mackenzie answered without even looking back at him. But he was walking now, too, and it didn’t take him long to catch up with them.

Her heart jumped so high she felt it in her throat.

Because it was Lucky.

Except he’d changed clothes real fast because he was wearing a suit jacket, and he didn’t have on that big rodeo buckle that had caught Mia’s eye. And he was standing in front of a big building. Probably once it’d been somebody’s house because it sort of looked like Dixie Mae’s place, but this one had a sign on the front of it.

McCord Cattle Brokers.

Mackenzie didn’t know what a cattle broker was, but McCord was Lucky’s last name. Maybe it meant he owned the place.

Mackenzie thought about taking off running, but he looked fast. A lot faster than Mia would be anyway. Mackenzie could get away on her own, but there was no way she’d leave her little sister behind.

“Are you ladies, uh, girls, lost?” he asked as if he didn’t even know them.

Mia looked at Mackenzie, probably for her to explain this. Maybe Lucky had got hit on the head or something and had amnesia, like what happened on the TV show that Dixie Mae watched.

“We were just headed to the bus station to meet one of our friends,” Mackenzie explained.

“What happened to the bull?” Mia asked before Mackenzie had even finished the lie.

“What bull?” Lucky asked.

Yeah, amnesia all right. Or maybe he could just be pretending that he didn’t know them so he wouldn’t have to take them. Grown-ups played all kinds of stupid games to get out of doing things they didn’t want to do.

“The shiny bull that looks like this.” Mia opened her hand and showed him the silver ball she’d made from the gum wrapper.

Lucky got a funny look on his face. He also glanced around before he tipped his head to the big building. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll draw you a map to show you how to get to the bus station.”

Mackenzie didn’t like the sound of that at all. She’d met Lucky, but he was still a stranger, and if he got her into the house, he might call the police. Or try to do something even worse.

She stepped in front of Mia. “I already told you I’ll bust your face if you try to hurt my sister.”

Lucky held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He mumbled something Mackenzie didn’t catch. “Let me guess—you two know my twin brother, Lucky?”

Twin? Mackenzie eyed him, trying to figure out if that was true, but she didn’t have time to decide because someone called out her name.

The lady doctor.

She was running toward them, and she wasn’t alone. Lucky was with her. At least it was a guy wearing a shiny bull buckle. Maybe there were three of these men who looked alike.

“Why did you run off like that?” the lady doctor asked at the same time Lucky asked, “What the heck were you thinking?” Both seemed to be aiming those questions at Mackenzie.

“So, you do know my twin brother, Lucky,” the other man grumbled. “Please tell me you have this, whatever this is, under control,” he said to Lucky.

“No, I clearly don’t.” Lucky knelt down in front of Mia. “Are you okay?”

Mia smiled and handed him the silver ball. It was just a gum wrapper, but it also made him smile. People usually smiled around Mia. But Lucky didn’t give Mackenzie a smile when he stood back up. Didn’t give his twin one, either.

“Remember that letter Dixie Mae gave me?” Lucky said to him. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, Cassie and I need to take these girls for a day or two.”

“Cassie,” the twin said in the same friendly way some people said hello. He didn’t look angry at her, only at Lucky.

“We need to take them to your house,” Cassie explained. “But they slipped out of Bernie’s office while we were trying to make arrangements to get them there.”

The twin glanced at all of them, like he was the boss or something. Even the boss of Lucky. He pulled Lucky aside, the way the lady doctor had at the lawyer’s office.

“Are these your kids?” the twin whispered to Lucky. He probably thought he was saying it soft enough, but Mackenzie had good ears.

“We’re not,” Mackenzie told the question-asking twin.

But Mia must have heard it, too. “Our daddy and mommy die-did,” Mia said.

“Died,” Mackenzie corrected. She huffed.

The twin had actually thought they were Lucky’s? No way. Of course, Lucky seemed to feel the same about them. In addition to her good ears, Mackenzie had also learned to pick up on that kind of stuff.

The boss twin studied them a few seconds longer as if trying to decide if that was true or not. Then he finally tipped his head to a fancy silver car next to the fancy building. He took some keys from his pocket and handed them to Lucky.

“Use my car,” the twin told him. “I’ll have somebody drop me off at home later. Good to see you again, Cassie. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Lucky made an I’m-watching-you gesture with his fingers, pointing to his eyes first, then aiming those pointed fingers at Mackenzie. He stooped down when he made eye contact with Mia.

“Will you promise me you won’t run off again?” he asked her.

Mia nodded. Smiled, even. “Yes, I promise.”

Lucky turned to Mackenzie next. “And now I need that same promise from you.”

She hated having to do what anyone said, but she wasn’t in a good position here. Not with these two staring at her.

“Say it, Kenzie,” Mia pressed, giving her skirt a tug.

So Mackenzie did because she knew if she didn’t that Mia would just keep at it. “I won’t run.”

It wasn’t a lie. Next time she wouldn’t run. Mackenzie would somehow get a ride to the bus station or else just walk. But first chance she got, she was getting Mia and herself out of there.

CHAPTER SIX

THREE CARS AND four trucks. That’s how many vehicles Lucky spotted in the large circular drive that fronted the ranch and house. Obviously, he was not going to be able to make a quiet entrance with Cassie and the girls.

“It’s really big,” Mia said, looking up at the place as Lucky drove closer.

Yeah, it was. Too big. Or at least it had been after his folks died and after both Anna and Riley had moved away. Of course, Lucky had moved even before that, and despite the pretty exterior, he didn’t see a home, not anymore. It was just a house where he used to live with his family.

Oh, man.

He tried to push all that back down into the pit of his stomach. It would churn there, but it was better than dealing with it now. Especially when he had a crap-load of other stuff to deal with.

“You told them we were coming?” Cassie asked.

Her nerves were showing. Her mouth was tight. She was gripping her purse. Of course, the nerves likely had more to do with all the things ahead of her rather than walking into what appeared to be some kind of gathering. Things like him. Dealing with Dixie Mae’s death. Their temporary custody of these kids.

But especially him.

Cassie had always had this oil/water thing when it came to him, and she wasn’t going to like being under the same roof. Lucky wasn’t going to like it much, either, not because she was under the same roof with him, but because he was under this roof, period.

“I told the housekeeper Della we were coming,” Lucky answered.

Della and her sister, Stella, had started working for his family when Lucky was just a kid, and the pair would make sure those guest rooms were ready. Lucky just hoped that the rooms wouldn’t be needed that long. Two nights max. He didn’t want this drawn out. Mia and the Runaway Goth Girl had been jacked around enough and needed some place permanent to stay, and this definitely didn’t qualify as permanent.

From the looks of it, Cassie had been jacked around, too.

“As soon as you’re settled into your room,” Cassie said to the girls, “we can talk. Would that be okay?”

Of course, Mia nodded right away. Mackenzie was practicing her “I suck lemons frequently” face. The thick makeup helped with that because it appeared to be cracking in places like meringue on a pie. It was amazing she’d perfected both the expression and the art of pancake makeup at such a young age.

“We gonna talk about Miss Dixie Mae?” Mia asked.

Cassie seemed a little surprised by that. “Would you like to talk about her?”

“Sure. I miss her. She was sparkly.”

Yeah, she was, and it only reminded Lucky that he had something else on his plate: grieving for Dixie Mae. He’d planned on having a date with some hundred-proof by now to help ease his pain, but booze would apparently have to wait. Although he might need a shot to get through this next hour.

“Dixie Mae die-did,” Mia said, sounding as sad about that as Lucky felt.

“Yes, she did,” Cassie confirmed. Heck, she sounded sad, as well. Lucky hoped they didn’t start crying, or there’d be several sets of wet eyes in the car. Mackenzie’s wouldn’t be one of them, he was betting. But his sure would be.

“What about you, Mackenzie?” Cassie asked. “Do you miss Dixie Mae?”

The look on her face intensified to “I suck lemons, and limes, too.”

“She misses her,” Mia said. “She just doesn’t like to say it.”

Wise words from such a little one. Too bad this package deal hadn’t included only Mia because Lucky wouldn’t have minded spending a day or two with her.

Okay, and maybe Cassie, as well.

That blasted attraction was still there, and he was positive now that it wasn’t just gas. Too bad. Because attractions like that usually got him in trouble.

“Lady Doctor?” Mia said, reaching up to tug on Cassie’s sleeve. “Will you be staying with us?”

“Yes. And call me Cassie.” She stopped. “Or maybe Miss Cassie. All right, just Cassie.”

It wasn’t a good sign that she still seemed to be waffling about what the girls should call her considering they had some whopper obstacles in front of them. Like finding the girls’ next of kin. And getting enough washcloths to remove all that makeup from Mackenzie’s face.

He parked Logan’s car right in front of the house. Like Logan, the Jag had too many bells and whistles, and it took Lucky several minutes—yes, minutes—to figure out how to pop the trunk to get to the luggage. However, before he could even step from the car, the front door of the house opened, and Della and Stella came out. Judging from the gleeful looks on their weathered faces, they were excited about the possibility of kids staying with them. Or maybe they were just excited about the possibility of Lucky being responsible for the kids.

Responsible for anything, for that matter.

“Cassandra Weatherall,” Della greeted, pulling Cassie into a hug. “You haven’t changed a drop. Well, except you’re dressing more comfortably these days. Nothing wrong with that.”

Cassie frowned when she looked down at her skirt and shoes. Something she’d done several times in the past hour. Of course, her clothes were catwalk-ready compared to Mackenzie’s.

“I was so sorry to hear of your grandmother’s passing,” Della added to Cassie. “Dixie Mae always did treat Lucky all right, so that made her all right in my book, too.”

“Thank you.” And Cassie repeated the process when Stella hugged her and offered her own condolences.

Lucky hadn’t been aware that the housekeepers would even remember Cassie since to the best of his knowledge, Cassie had never been to the house. Still, it was Spring Hill, where everybody knew everybody.

Along with everybody’s business.

By now, what had happened would be all over town—along with some embellishments to the gossip. Lucky didn’t care about that gossip when it came to himself, but he doubted Cassie would appreciate it, what with her status as a celebrity therapist.

“It’s about time you came home,” Della said, looking at him.

That was the only scolding he got because Della turned her attention to the car’s back door when it opened. She gave a big, welcoming smile when Mia stepped out. As did Stella. He could practically see the fantasy they were weaving in their heads about him, Cassie and the cute kid.

Then Mackenzie stepped out.

Della and Stella actually dropped back a little, and just as fast as their mental fantasy had come, it went. Good thing. Lucky didn’t want anybody playing matchmaker here, and Della and Stella were prone to that since they often said he didn’t choose wisely when it came to female companionship. Which he didn’t. And he intended to keep on choosing unwisely.

“Uh, I thought you were getting sisters,” Stella said. “Children sisters,” she clarified.

“They are children,” he assured her. He still intended to check Mackenzie’s birth certificate, though. “This is Mia Compton,” Lucky said pointing to her. “And that’s her sister, Mackenzie. This is Miss Della and Miss Stella. They pretty much run the place.” Something they managed to do even when Logan was there.

Della recovered from the shock before Stella did, and she managed an inkling of the smile that she’d had before her eyeballs had been widened by Mackenzie’s appearance. “Well, welcome to the McCord Ranch. I hope you feel right at home here.” She extended that to Cassie.

Then to Lucky.

It was a nice chain-yanking kind of reminder that he should come home more often. Lucky expected to hear that a lot in the next twenty-four hours. He grumbled that he wasn’t very pleased about it, but then because he knew it would make her smile, he winked at her. It worked. Stella smiled, then giggled.

“What’s with all the vehicles?” Lucky asked, hauling out the girls’ suitcases.

“Wedding stuff. Claire, Riley, Ethan and Livvy are here. Plus, Riley’s having a meeting with the horse trainers in the office. Oh, and there are two fellas from a magazine, and they’re taking some pictures and talking to Riley about an article they’re doing on Logan.”

The latter seemed to be a monthly occurrence, but maybe the other things were temporary. In other words, maybe they’d all be leaving soon.

“Riley is Lucky’s brother,” Della went on, talking to the girls now. “He’s marrying Claire, and Ethan’s her little boy. Claire’s a wedding photographer.”

Mackenzie showed no interest whatsoever, but Mia seemed to hold on to every word.

“She’s got a little boy?” Mia asked.

Della nodded, tapped Mia’s nose. “Cute as a button, just like you.”

“Right,” Mackenzie grumbled. “Because all buttons are sooooo cute.”

Since that sounded like something Lucky would have said twenty years ago, he tried not to laugh.

“Oh, and Livvy’s here,” Della added. She glanced at Cassie. “She’s Claire’s business partner.”

Livvy was also one of Lucky’s ex-lovers, and with the side glance that Cassie gave him, it seemed she’d already picked up on that. Then again, she would probably give him a side glance because she thought he’d slept with every woman in town but her. He hadn’t, but that particular gossip thread had been exaggerated at lot.

“Are they nice ladies?” Mia whispered to Lucky.

“Very nice. But they might make you eat vegetables. Is that okay?”

Mia gave it some serious thought. Nodded. But it garnered some disapproval from Big Sis. “She doesn’t have to eat anything she doesn’t want to eat,” Mackenzie declared like gospel. “And I don’t want her compared to a stupid button.”

Lucky had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, but sounds good to me probably wasn’t the way to go here. Even though that had been his philosophy about life for a while now. Don’t eat anything you don’t want to eat. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.

Don’t be like his brothers.

It kept things simple and meshed with his smart-ass outlook on life.

Lucky braced himself for the chaos he was sure to find inside. Good thing because there was indeed chaos. The moment he stepped in, Ethan zoomed past him, running so fast that he was practically a blur, and it took Lucky a moment to realize the toddler was chasing a cat. Judging from the looks of it, it was the same cat Lucky had given him three months ago. It had grown almost as much as Ethan.

He saw Livvy next. She was teetering in needle-thin heels on a stepladder. She was as skinny as a zipper except for those massive boobs. Today, her hair was turtle green with tiny gold star decorations scattered over her head. Most women couldn’t have pulled off the look, but Livvy had the personality to pull off anything. Including his clothes.

Something that wouldn’t happen again, of course.

Now that Riley and Claire were getting married, it seemed too risky to sleep with a woman so close to his brother’s wife. A two-night stand was one thing, but a long relationship had a hundred percent chance of failing, and Lucky didn’t want any bad blood lingering around that he’d have to face every time he came back to town.

It took Lucky a couple of seconds to spot Claire. She was holding some kind of chart-looking thing while studying the layout of the living room furniture. “I think we’re going to have to move everything out of this room.”

Livvy made a sound of agreement, went up another step on that ladder and clicked off some pictures with her camera phone. But there was another guy there, too, taking pictures—of Riley and one of the horse trainers—and he had a real camera, not just his phone. The man chatting with them had to be a reporter.

“Well, looky who’s here,” Livvy called out. “Lucky McCord, you look good enough to—”

But she froze when she saw Cassie. Maybe because Livvy thought they were together. Or maybe she stopped because of the girls. In any case, it probably wasn’t a good idea for Livvy to finish saying what she thought he looked good enough to do.

“Lucky!” Claire squealed when she saw him. She hurried to him, waving her hands in the air until she reached him, and then she hugged him. “Welcome home.”

Leave it to Claire to make it feel as if that welcome were marginally true. Riley was getting one in a million with Claire, and Lucky was glad his usual fool of a brother had come to his senses and seen that. Of course, Riley had had to get out of the Air Force to make all this happen, and Lucky still wasn’t sure how he was dealing with that, but once he had Claire wedded, things would all fall into place.

Riley was definitely the marrying sort. Anna, too. Logan was more in the to-be-determined group. And Lucky fell into the no-way-in-hell category. At least with Riley and Anna, Della and Stella would get those “grandbabies” they were always clamoring about.

Lucky had to give it to Claire, she didn’t step back or look shocked when her attention landed on the girls. She greeted them, even Mackenzie, and Cassie with the same warm smile she’d given him.

“Cassie.” Claire hugged her just as Della and Stella had done. She offered her condolences, too. Since Claire had lost her own grandmother only months earlier, Lucky was sure she knew how Cassie must feel.

“Sorry about all of this,” Claire said. “We’ll be out of your way soon. I hope,” she added when she glanced at Riley. He didn’t exactly look comfortable with whatever the reporter and photographer were saying to him. “It’s his first big interview.”

But not his last. Lucky knew Riley had gotten sucked into Logan’s hamster wheel of building McCord Cattle Brokers, making it as big as could be.

“So, when is this wedding again?” Lucky asked. Though he already knew the date. “And am I invited?” he added with his customary wink.

“Of course, you’re invited. It’s next month, the same day as the Founder’s Day picnic. It’ll be small, informal,” Claire added.

“Semi-informal,” Livvy corrected. “I talked Claire into doing the princess dress.”

Claire made a face. “That was a compromise, but I nixed the tiara and the glass slippers.”

“Nixed for now,” Livvy said. “But there’s plenty of time to change your mind about those. Also about the wand and hair glitter.”

The look on Claire’s face let Lucky know there’d be no reconsidering those things.

“You gonna be a princess?” Mia asked Claire.

“For an hour or so anyway. Want to be a princess, too? You can be a princess flower girl if you want, and wear the tiara. The hair glitter and slippers, as well. Ethan’s going to be a car boy. Instead of rose petals, he’ll be dropping toy cars from a basket.” Claire paused, seemed a little worried. “We’ll have to work on him not throwing them at the guests, though.”

“I could be a princess?” Mia pressed, sounding in awe and hopeful at the same time.

“Of course. All of you are invited,” Claire added looking at Cassie and Mackenzie. “And you can be one, too,” she said to Mackenzie.

“We’re not staying here that long,” Mackenzie grumbled.

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry to hear that. If you have a change in plans, though, the invitation stands.” Claire sounded genuine about that. “And what about you?” she asked Cassie.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to miss it. I’ll need to be back at work as soon as we’ve figured everything out with the custody, but I’m sure the wedding will be lovely. I always thought Riley and you would make a great couple.”

Mackenzie huffed. Why, Lucky didn’t know. Maybe because she’d gone more than a minute without doing it. Sort of like a pressure cooker letting off steam, but in this case Mackenzie was letting off some surliness so that she wouldn’t explode.

“She’s got stars,” Mia whispered to her sister. She nudged Mackenzie and pointed to Livvy.

That was Livvy’s cue to pluck one from her hair. It was apparently a stick-on, and she gave it to the little girl. “It’s magic,” Livvy declared. “But it’ll only give you one wish so use it wisely.”

Mia looked as if she’d just been handed a miracle, one that she’d have to give a lot of thought.

“I like your shoes,” Mackenzie said to Livvy. And she actually sounded, well, human. Human enough to be envious anyway.

“These?” Livvy pranced around like a ballerina. “Want to try them on?”

Mackenzie hesitated. Nodded. But then shook her head, probably because she sounded interested, which would have been equal in her mind to committing manslaughter. “No thanks.”

Livvy made a suit-yourself sound. “I buy them online, and I’ll give you the website.” She plucked another gold star from her hair. She offered it to Mackenzie, but the girl only shook her head.

“I don’t believe in magic,” Mackenzie declared.

“Too bad. Because magic’s how I got these.” Livvy glanced down at her massive boobs. Then at Mackenzie’s rather flat chest.

Mackenzie didn’t take the gold star, so Livvy stuck it in the girl’s spiky black hair. Livvy looked at Cassie next. No offer of a gold star, but she did extend her hand for Cassie to shake.

“I’m Livvy Larimer, and I’ve seen you on TV,” she said. “All those hot celebrities. Would love to get you drunk and see what kind of secrets you’d share.”

“No secrets,” Cassie assured her. Now Cassie’s gaze drifted to Lucky. Perhaps she was implying that extended to Lucky himself, but Livvy didn’t seem to be buying it. Livvy gave him a thumbs-up, apparently approving of a choice that Livvy thought he’d made. A choice to get in Cassie’s pants.

Cassie glanced down at Livvy’s shoes. “Though I would like the website for those.”

“Sure. Of course. I’ll email the link to Lucky and he can give it to you.”

Great. Now he was involved in the fuck-me-heels buying loop. A loop and link he’d never share with Cassie.

Thankfully, Della saved the day. “I’ll show the girls to their rooms,” she offered.

“We’ll go with you,” Lucky said at the same time Cassie said, “I’ll go, too.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes because she no doubt knew this was about the running-away thing, and she took both her and Mia’s suitcases from him. “You can’t babysit me all the time,” Mackenzie grumbled, and she made it sound like a threat.

Lucky made a mental note to make sure someone did indeed watch her 24/7.

“You can spend some more time with your family and friend,” Cassie said to him. “I’ll go up with Della and the girls. I need to make a phone call anyway, and maybe I can do that in the guest room.”

All of that sounded, well, like something a visitor might say, but there was something wrong. Something other than the obvious. But Lucky couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

While Della led the three of them—Mia, Mackenzie and Cassie—up the stairs, Lucky was about to say goodbye to Claire and Livvy and head toward his own room just off the hall. But he didn’t get far because someone else called out his name.

Riley.

His brother stepped away from the others and went to him. Livvy and Claire must have realized a brother talk was about to happen because they suddenly got very busy with a discussion of where to move the furniture. Riveting stuff, apparently, judging from the speed at which the women moved away from him.

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