A Soldier’s Promise

Three years ago Daron McKay made a vow to his dying army buddy: watch over his wife, protect his child. But he never imagined he’d fall in love with mom and baby. Now as Emma Shaw barely hangs on to her ranch and her daughter faces lifesaving surgery, the cowboy bodyguard is determined to see his promise through. But Emma doesn’t want a hero. Especially one riddled with guilt. She’ll make it on her own, just like she always has. With Emma, Daron faces his most difficult assignment: showing the battle-scarred widow that letting go makes you stronger—and that loving is worth the risk…

“Go home, Daron.”

She stood there in the rain, looking at him with dark eyes. “When it stops raining, I’ll fix the roof.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You have a sick little girl in there. Let me do this.”

She put her fists on her hips. “If you’re going up, so am I.”

As she went for the ladder, he watched her, then averted his eyes, because looking too long just didn’t seem right.

He’d gotten through the last few years by thinking of her as his friend’s wife. But she wasn’t anymore. He remembered Andy, how they’d talked about him being a dad. But he never did get to be a father…

“Stop, Daron,” she said as if reading his mind. “Stop thinking about it or you’ll never move past that day, the guilt. Let’s make a deal. We’ll be friends, the kind that help each other out because that’s what friends do. Not because they feel guilty.”

Friends. Yeah, they could be friends.

Who was he kidding? He wanted a lot more from Emma than friendship.

Dear Reader,

I’m so thrilled that you’ve joined me for another visit to Martin’s Crossing! Her Guardian Rancher brings familiar faces and new characters. Daron McKay has been a favorite character of mine and it seems fitting that the Martin’s Crossing series should end with his story. Emma Shaw is an amazing heroine, and in her, Daron will find a lasting love. Together with her daughter, Jamie, the three create an amazing family and a story I hope you will love!

Blessings!

Brenda

BRENDA MINTON lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday-school teacher, coffee addict and sleep deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.

Her Guardian Rancher

Brenda Minton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,

the evidence of things not seen.

—Hebrews 11:1

To the police officers and also to the men and women of the armed forces—because their constant sacrifice keeps our communities and our nation safe. May we show them respect and continue to uplift them in our prayers.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The moonless sky was dark and heavy with clouds and a promise of rain that would be welcome, since most of November had been dry and December promised more of the same. Daron McKay eased his truck down the driveway of the Wilder Ranch, away from Boone Wilder’s RV, where he frequently crashed on nights like this. Nights when sleep was as distant as Afghanistan, but the memories were close. Too close.

On nights like this he took a drive rather than pace restlessly. A year ago he would have woken Boone and the two of them would have talked. But Boone had recently married Kayla Stanford and the happy couple had built a house on the opposite side of the Wilder property.

Daron had his own place, a small ranch a few miles outside of Martin’s Crossing. He rarely stayed there. The house was too big. The space too open. He preferred the close confines of the camper. Not that he wanted to admit it, but he liked Boone’s dog. He also didn’t mind Boone’s large and raucous family.

His own family was a little more restrained and not as large. And his appearance sometimes bothered his mom. He didn’t shave often enough. He preferred jeans and boots to a suit. His dad, an attorney in Austin, wanted his son to join the family law firm rather than run the protection business he’d started with friends Boone Wilder and Lucy Palermo. His mom wanted him to attend functions at the club and find a nice girl to marry. His sister, Janette, was busy being exactly the person her parents wanted her to be. She was pretty, socially correct and finishing college.

Daron was still coming to terms with his tour of duty in Afghanistan, with the knowledge that he could lead friends into an ambush.

One of those friends had died. Andy Shaw had only been in Afghanistan a few months when Daron and Boone followed an Afghan kid who claimed his sister was in trouble. The sister. Daron pulled onto the highway, gripping the steering wheel, getting control of the memories. He’d thought he loved her, so when her brother came to him and said their family needed the help of the American soldiers, Daron had agreed to go.

He’d been young and stupid, and because of him, Andy had died. At thirty he didn’t find it any easier to deal with than when he was twenty-six.

The truck tires hummed on the damp pavement. He headed his truck in the direction of Braswell, a small town in the heart of Texas Hill Country and just a short distance from Martin’s Crossing. He cranked some country music on his stereo and rolled down the truck windows to let cool, damp air whip through the cab of the truck.

A few miles outside Braswell he turned right on a paved county road. He slowed as he neared the older farmhouse that sat just a hundred feet off the road. Only one light burned in the single-story home, the same light that was typically on when he made his midnight drives.

And he made this trip often. When he couldn’t sleep. When he felt the need to just meander by and make sure everything looked okay. It always did.

But not tonight. Tonight a truck was pulled off the road on the opposite side as the farmhouse. The parking lights were on. There was no one inside. He cruised on by, resisting the urge to slam on the brakes. A few hundred feet past the house, he turned his truck, dimmed his headlights and headed back, pulling in behind the other truck and reaching in his glove compartment for his sidearm. Unfortunately it was locked in the gun cabinet at the trailer.

With quiet steps he headed toward the house, staying close to the fence, in the dark and the shadows. He kept an eye on the house, scanning the area for whoever it was who owned the abandoned truck. If it hadn’t been idling, he might have thought it was just broken down and that the driver had decided to walk. But the engine running meant the driver planned to return fairly soon.

He was near the back of the house when he heard the front door slam open. He moved in close to the side of the house and rounded the corner and then he stopped. The front porch light was on and caught in its glare was a too-thin Pete Shaw with a ball bat swinging in his direction. The younger brother of Andy Shaw jumped back quick, avoiding the aim of the woman advancing on him.

“Get out. And don’t come back. Next time I’ll have more for you than this baseball bat, Pete. Stay away from my house. Stay away from my family. We don’t have anything.”

Pete lunged at her, but she swung, hitting his arm with the bat. He let out a scream. “You broke my arm!”

“I don’t think so. But next time I might.” She raised the bat again. She might be barely five feet tall, but she packed quite a punch. Daron resisted the urge to laugh. Instead he took a few quiet steps forward, in case she needed him.

“I’m not going to let you hit me, Emma.”

“You’re not coming back inside this house.” Emma Shaw swung again and Pete fell back a pace, still holding his injured left arm.

It looked as if he planned to leave. Daron remained in the shadows, watching, waiting and hoping Pete would walk away. When the other man lunged, Daron stepped out of the shadows. “Pete, I think you ought to listen to her.”

Pete turned, still holding his left arm, still looking kind of wild-eyed. He was thin. His hair was scraggly. Meth. It was easy to spot an addict. The jerk of the chin. The jumpiness. The sores. A person couldn’t put poison in his body and expect it to be good for him.

“This isn’t your fight, Daron.” Pete held up his right hand, showing he still had half a brain. “But I’ll make it your fight.”

Or maybe he didn’t have half a brain. Andy’s younger brother took a few steps in Daron’s direction.

“Really, Pete?” Daron remained where he stood. “Get in your truck and get out of here. Get in a program and get some help.”

“I don’t need help. I just need the money. I know she’s got it hid somewhere.”

“I don’t have money, Pete. I don’t have anything but bills. You blew through the money Andy left. You bought that truck and you bought drugs.”

“None of us were at the wedding,” Pete countered. “I doubt you were even married to my brother.”

“Go away, Pete. Before I call the police.” Emma advanced on the other man, as if she were taller than her five-foot-nothing height. Daron stepped forward, coming between her and danger.

“Pete, you should go.” Daron said it calmly, glancing back at the woman who didn’t appear to be in the mood to appreciate his interference. He wasn’t surprised. For three years she’d been telling him to go back to his life, that they weren’t his responsibility.

Pete backed away, his eyes wild as he looked from one to the other of them. “Yeah, I’m leaving. But I’ll be back. I want what belongs to my family.”

“Go. Away,” Daron repeated.

He followed the other man to the road and watched him get in his truck and speed off into the night. When he returned to the house, Emma was gone and the front porch light was off. He grinned a little at her bravado and knocked on the door anyway.

He didn’t mind that she kept up walls with him on the outside. It certainly hadn’t kept him from watching over them. Them meaning Emma, her aging grandfather and the little girl, Jamie. Even with their limited contact he was starting to think of her as a friend.

A friend who didn’t mind closing the door in his face. He grinned as he lifted his hand to knock a second time.

* * *

Emma leaned against the door, needing the firm wood panel to hold her up. Her legs still shook with fear and adrenaline. She’d barely gotten to sleep when she heard a window opening, the creaking sound alerting the dog that slept on the foot of her bed. Fortunately her grandfather and Jamie had slept through the racket.

Racket? No, not really that drastic. She’d pounced on Pete as he climbed through the window. He’d pushed back, hitting her into the china cabinet, but she’d steadied it and herself, managing to get a good grip on the baseball bat she’d carried from her room.

Pete wasn’t healthy and it had been easy to back him out of the house and take control. Or at least it had felt like she was in charge. She’d had it handled.

The last thing she needed was Daron McKay in her home and in her business. But there he’d been, standing in the shadows like some avenging superhero, ready to rescue her.

He’d been playing the role of guardian since he got home from Afghanistan. He’d been at the hospital when she had Jamie. He’d brought gifts and food in the years since her daughter’s birth.

No matter what she said or did, she couldn’t convince him she didn’t need his help. They were making it. She, Jamie and Granddad. They’d always made it and they would continue to do so.

Yes, it would have been nice to have Andy’s help. But Andy was gone. No use crying over what couldn’t be changed.

The door behind her vibrated with a pounding fist knocking just about where her shoulders touched the wood. She jumped back, letting out an unfortunate squeal.

“I know you’re there,” Daron called out, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Surely he would take the hint and go away.

“I want to check and make sure everything is okay. And I’m not going anywhere until we know Pete isn’t coming back.”

Pete might return. She should have thought of that. Of course he would return. Usually he came during the day, demanding money she didn’t have. Andy had divorced her just prior to deploying and he’d made Pete his one and only beneficiary.

She’d called him after he deployed, to tell him he was going to be a dad. He’d made promises about the two of them and she’d told him they could talk when he got home, not when he was thousands of miles away and she was still hurt by his betrayal and him walking away from their marriage. Slowly, hesitantly, she touched the lock, took a deep breath and opened the door. Her gaze slid up, her eyes locking with the gray eyes of the man standing on her front porch. Drat, but the man made her feel safe. As much as he annoyed her. As much as she wanted him to go away.

“Well, you opened the door.” His voice was low and rumbled, sliding over her, causing goose bumps to go up her arms. She hugged herself tight, her hand touching a spot on her opposite arm and feeling a sticky dampness.

“Ouch.” She glanced down. Her hand came away stained with blood.

“You’re hurt. Did he do that?”

“I backed into the china cabinet. But I’m fine.”

“We need to call 911 and let them look for him.” He took her by the uninjured arm and started through the house with her, guiding her as if he knew the way.

“We don’t need to call the police. He won’t be back tonight. He’s just a stupid, messed-up kid.”

“A stupid, messed-up kid who’s on drugs and breaking into homes. Let me look at your arm.”

“I’m fine. You can go.” Bravado didn’t work when her voice shook, from fear, from aftershock.

“Let me take a look anyway. Even though we both know you’re fine. Is this the first time he’s broken in?”

She nodded as he led her into the kitchen. Without warning, his hands went to her waist and he lifted, setting her on the counter.

“Would you stop manhandling me?”

He grinned at that, as if he thought she didn’t truly mean it, and he went about, rummaging through cabinets until he found salve and bandages. He wet a rag under the sink and returned. Without looking at her he took hold of her and wiped at the gash on her arm. She flinched and he held her steady, smiling a little but still not looking at her.

That gave her time to study his downturned face, his eyelashes, the whiskers on his cheeks, the column of his throat.

She swallowed and tried to pull away. He glanced up then, his dark gray eyes studying her face so intently she felt a surge of heat in her already-flushed cheeks.

“How did you do this?” he asked as he dried the cut and then applied salve.

“I bumped into the china cabinet. Maybe I hit a rough edge.”

“Maybe,” he said. He opened the bandage and placed it over the wound. “It’s pretty deep.”

“I’ve had worse.”

His hand slid from her arm and he moved, putting distance between them. His scent—country air, pine and something Oriental—drifted away as he backed against the opposite counter. She inhaled. Oh, and sandalwood.

No, she didn’t want to notice his scent. Or his eyes. She didn’t have time to notice him, to notice that she was female, still young and still willing to be attracted to a man like him.

“So this wasn’t the first time he’s been here?” he asked, his gaze intent, serious.

“No, it wasn’t. He typically comes during the day. He likes to show up as I’m leaving Duke’s.” She’d started waitressing at Duke’s No Bar and Grill last year, just to make ends meet. Between her tips and her grandfather’s Social Security, they were making it.

Someday she’d finish her degree. She was taking classes online, and next year she would be finished and licensed to teach. Until then she did what she could. Breezy Martin, Jake Martin’s wife, watched Jamie the few hours a day that she worked. She did her best to keep her daughter in an environment with few other children. It was important that Jamie stay healthy.

“You could get a restraining order,” he suggested, still leaning against the counter. His arms were crossed over his chest.

“I don’t want to do that. He was Andy’s brother. Our marriage ended, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry or that I want to cause problems.”

“He’s causing you problems.” He brushed a hand through his unruly hair, the light brown color streaked with blond from the sun.

“He’s causing himself problems. He’s an addict. My getting a restraining order won’t cure him of that. His parents would use it against me. I took one son and I’d be taking the other.”

“Took their son? You didn’t take Andy.” He glanced away. “I did.”

“He volunteered for service in Afghanistan because he wanted to get away from me. If not for our divorce, he would still be here.”

He opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

She shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. She guessed she knew she was wrong. But right or wrong didn’t change anything. Andy was gone. Jamie would never know her father. A family had lost their son.

“Neither of us can go back,” she finally said. Because she thought they both wrestled with the past. Why else had he been driving by at this hour?

“No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”

They stood there for several long minutes, the only sound the ticking of the clock and the hum of the refrigerator. He cleared his throat and moved away from the counter.

“I have to go. Will you be okay?”

“Of course I’ll be okay.”

Wasn’t she always?

As she walked with him to the front door, she thought about the ten-year-old girl who had lost both parents and had been sent to live with a grandfather she barely knew. On the drive to Houston he’d repeatedly glanced at her and asked if she was okay. Each time she’d nodded to assure him. But each time he refocused on the road she would shut her eyes tight to hide the tears.

After a while she had been okay. They’d moved from Houston to this house. She’d learned to be a farm girl from Braswell, wearing whatever her grandfather thought she needed. Usually jeans, scruffy farm boots and T-shirts.

She could look back now and realize that in time she’d been able to deal and she’d been happy.

Life wasn’t perfect. God hadn’t promised perfection. He’d promised to be with her, to give her strength and peace. She knew there were mountains looming in her near future. She also knew they would get through the tough times. They would survive.

She had to. There was no choice.

Daron stood on the front porch, tall and powerful, a man most women would want to lean on. Just moments ago, she’d been that woman, leaning into his strong arms.

Momentary weakness, she assured herself. For that very reason she managed an easy smile and thanked him for his help. The dismissal seemed to take him by surprise, but he recovered. He touched two fingers to his brow in a relaxed salute, stepped down from the porch and headed down the road to his truck. She watched him leave, then stepped back inside and locked the door.

This time when she leaned against it, closing her eyes as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her, she knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

Chapter Two

The next few days were uneventful and Emma appreciated the calm that followed Pete’s midnight visit. Each morning she fed the cattle with her granddad, then headed to Martin’s Crossing to Duke’s No Bar and Grill to work the lunch shift as a waitress. Lately she’d managed a few extra shifts, which would come in handy with Christmas just around the corner.

She’d only known the Martin family by name before taking the job at Duke’s. The last six months or so, she’d come to appreciate their family. Not only had Duke Martin given her a job, inexperienced as she was, but his sister-in-law, Breezy, had offered to watch Jamie.

Lily, Duke’s daughter, swept into the restaurant on Wednesday afternoon, a big smile on her young face. Emma responded with a smile and a wave. The teenager followed Emma to the waitress station.

“Breezy has Jamie across the street at my mom’s shop. She said she’ll bring her over in a minute. She thinks maybe Jamie isn’t feeling good.”

Emma’s heart sped up a little at that information. They’d been blessed this winter. So far they’d avoided major viruses. That was the goal. And a good reason for having Jamie at Breezy’s, with fewer children around to spread germs. The twin nieces that Jake had gained custody of after his own twin sister’s death were now in preschool. Jake and Breezy had a one-year-old who stayed at home with Breezy.

She recovered, fighting off the moment of panic. “Is she running a fever?”

“Breezy said she isn’t. Mom thought she felt warm.”

“I’ll check her when we get home.” She maintained a smile, to make herself and Lily feel better.

Nedine, Ned for short, Duke’s head waitress and right-hand woman, walked out of the kitchen carrying a tray. The older woman, tall and big-boned, had once explained she’d been named for her dad, Ned. He’d wanted a son but he’d been happy with a daughter.

The older waitress smiled at Duke’s daughter and winked at Emma. “Lily, your daddy said to put you to work when you got here after school. I think you’re going to be my bus girl this evening.”

Lily saluted. “Will do, Ned. Hey, did the twin foals do okay over the weekend?”

Ned’s face split open like sunshine. “They sure did. Prettiest little palominos I ever did see. You’ll have to come out and take a look.”

“I will!” Then Lily returned her full attention to Emma. “Did my mom tell you about the potluck at our church this Sunday?”

The girl reached for the big jug of ketchup and started refilling bottles alongside Emma. Before Emma could answer her, Duke entered the restaurant. He caught sight of his daughter and headed their way.

“Hair in a ponytail, please,” Duke said as he gave her a hug.

Lily responded by digging in her pocket and pulling out a hair band. She pulled her dark hair back in a messy bun and kept working.

“She did tell me,” Emma answered the girl’s question.

“Are you going to be there? I know you go to church in Braswell, but, you know...”

Emma nodded. “Yes, I know. You have someone you want me to meet.”

“Kind of,” Lily admitted. “He’s nice. He works for my dad.”

“I’m sure he’s nice, but I really don’t have time for dating.” Emma blinked away a flash of an image. No! She would not think of Daron McKay and dating in the same thought. She wouldn’t allow his image to startle her that way, coming unbidden to her mind, all concerned and caring the way he’d been last Sunday night. At least she knew it wasn’t Daron who Lily had in mind for her. He didn’t work for Duke.

“Are you okay?” Lily’s shoulder bumped Emma’s, nearly making her drop the ketchup bottle she held. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me. And I’m fine.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s a phone call, that’s all.”

Saved by the bell. She glanced at the caller ID and grimaced. An unknown caller. She didn’t need that. It most likely meant it was Pete or a bill collector or something equally unpleasant. But when the caller left a message she lifted the phone to her ear to listen.

“Oh no,” she whispered as she listened.

Lily stood next to her, eyes wide, ketchup bottle held close to her mouth. Emma took the ketchup bottle from the girl and set it on the counter before reaching into her apron for a pencil. She jotted down notes and ended the call.

“Is everything okay?” Lily, still wide-eyed, asked.

Duke came around the corner. “Lily, why don’t you give Emma room to breathe? There are a couple of tables you can clear.”

Lily moved away, reluctant, with slow steps and a few backward glances. Emma managed a quick smile for the girl before glancing up at her boss. He towered over her at six foot six. With his shaved head and his goatee, he used to intimidate her. Now she knew him to be a gentle soul.

“My grandfather seems to be in custody at the Braswell Police Station,” she explained, still numb.

“I didn’t know Braswell had a jail.” Duke took the towel she was wringing the life out of and tossed it on the counter. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, I guess. He ran someone off the road. I guess I’ll know more when I get there.”

“Do you want me to give you a ride or find someone to drive you?” His deep voice rumbled, reassuring her.

“No, I’m good.”

“If you’re sure. But call us later and let us know that you’re okay.”

Emma nodded, still in shock, as she headed out the diner.

* * *

The city police station of Braswell, Texas, was located on Main Street, between the Clip and Curl Salon and the Texas Hill Country Flea Palace, a fancy name for a store that sold everything from secondhand canning jars to old books. Emma parked her old truck in front of the police station and reached over to unlatch the car seat where her daughter, Jamie, dozed, thumb in mouth and blond curls tousled. Her eyes, blue and wide, opened as Emma worked the latch. She grinned around her thumb.

“Hey, kiddo, time to get up. We have to bust Granddad out of this place.”

Jamie giggled, as if she understood. But at three, Jamie understood things like puppies, kittens and newborn calves. She didn’t understand that her favorite person, other than her mommy, was getting older and maybe a little senile. She also didn’t understand bills, the leaking roof or the desperate need to buy hay for winter, which was nipping at their heels in a big way.

The farm her grandfather had bought and moved them to when she’d lost her parents wasn’t a big spread, not by Texas standards. The fifty acres had provided for them, though, supplementing her grandfather’s small retirement. It had been a decent living until her grandfather’s pension had gotten cut, and then they’d had medical bills after Jamie’s birth. Emma had been forced to sell off most of her horses, all but a dozen head of cattle and get a part-time job. The economy and the drought had dealt them a blow the past few years.

All things work together for good, she kept telling herself. All things, even the bad, the difficult, the troubling.

Unbuckled, Jamie reached for Emma and wrapped sweet little arms around her neck. Emma grabbed her purse and reached to open the door of the truck. It was already open, though. Daron McKay was leaning against it, December wind blowing his unruly hair. His dark gray eyes zeroed in on Jamie and he unleashed one of those trademark smiles that might charm a woman, any woman besides Emma. Any woman who had time for romance. If her favorite top wasn’t in the rag pile, stained with throw-up, and if her daily beauty routine consisted of more than a ponytail holder and sunscreen, a woman might give Daron a second look.

But a woman going to bail her grandfather out of the city jail didn’t have time for urban cowboys in expensive boots, driving expensive Ford trucks and wearing... Oh goodness, what was he wearing? It smelled like the cologne counter at the mall, something spicy and Oriental and outdoorsy, all at the same time. The kind of scent guaranteed to make a woman want to drop in and stay awhile.

No! She’d done this once before. She’d believed Andy, that he would help her, fix her life, make things all better. And he didn’t. When things had gotten tough, he bailed. He hadn’t been prepared for reality.

“Go away, Daron.” Emma pushed past him with her daughter, because she was decidedly not the woman who wanted to lean into him and stay awhile. She didn’t have time for anything other than reality.

Daron McKay was a nuisance and he’d been a nuisance for three years, since he got back from Afghanistan. He’d involved himself in her life because he’d come home and Andy hadn’t. But Andy had left her long before then and Daron just didn’t understand.

Andy had left her here alone.

Alone, broke and pregnant. Of the three she could handle alone. Other than with her granddad, Art Lewis, she’d been that way most of her life. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was ten. Art had been the only one willing to take her on.

Now, eighteen years later, the tables had turned, and she was taking care of her granddad.

“I can’t go away.” Daron followed her, reaching his arms to her daughter. Jamie, not knowing any better, went straight to him. He’d been hanging around for three years. Her daughter thought he was the best thing ever.

“Why can’t you just go away?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t. “And how did you know?”

The wind, strong and from the north, whipped at her hair, blowing it across her face. She pushed it back with her hand and gave the man next to her, who towered over her by nearly a foot, an angry glare. Not because he was a bad person, but because he was always there. Always catching her at her worst, when she felt weak and vulnerable. He’d been in the waiting room the night Jamie was born. He’d been there when Jamie had the croup. He was always there. Like he thought they needed him.

He’d brought groceries, bought Christmas presents, provided hay for their cattle. He was kind. Or guilty. Maybe he was both. She didn’t know and she really didn’t have the time or energy to figure him out.

She did know he wasn’t the least bit fazed by her attempt to push him away. “I heard the call on the scanner. And I can’t go because I’m carrying Jamie. And she happens to think I’m amazing.”

He smiled down at her and added a wink that made her roll her eyes.

“That makes two of you,” Emma quipped, barely hiding a smile as she averted her gaze from the too-sure-of-himself rancher with his Texas drawl, sun-browned skin and sandy curls.

He laughed off the comment. “Yep, me and Jamie, we think I’m pretty amazing.”

“It’s time for you to cut the strings and realize I don’t need you, Daron. I’m not your problem. You don’t owe us anything. We’re taking care of ourselves.”

His smile faded and he glanced away, his gray eyes looking a lot like the clouds rolling over the horizon. “I’m here. Like it or not.”

“I think you’re upset that you’re here instead of Andy. You are upset every time you take a breath. You have to let it go.”

“He was a friend.”

She looked at Jamie, then shook her head. “I’m not doing this again. We can’t go back. I can’t help you soothe your guilt. You have to let go.”

“Your granddad ran a tractor off the road. He was fiddling with his stereo. He said they need to play more Merle and less of this stuff they call country these days. All of the good ones are dying off, he said.”

Emma brushed a hand across her cheek, not wanting to think about the good ones dying off or songs about who would take their place. “I’ll take care of it.”

“There’s damage to the tractor.”

“Okay, thank you. You can go.”

Daron remained next to her, matching his giant steps to her smaller ones. “Your granddad let his insurance lapse. It hasn’t been paid in two months.”

Emma sighed. “Could this get any better?”

It would get better, though. She knew in time they’d work through this. Jamie would be healthy and Emma would be able to work full-time. Things always got better. Sometimes they just had to get worse first.

“They mentioned having him evaluated.” Daron reached to open the door for her. “They think it’s time he gave up his license.”

“Of course they do. But he’s only eighty and he’s usually careful.” She held her arms out to her daughter, but Jamie ignored her, preferring instead to rest her head on Daron’s shoulder. “We have to go now, sweetie.”

“I’ll go in with you.” He glanced down at the child in his arms, her blond curls framing her face. Put a hand to her cheek as if he knew the routine. “Is she sick?”

Emma briefly closed her eyes, because for a brief moment she’d forgotten what Lily told her. “She has a virus.”

And then she took her daughter and walked through the open door, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. When she got to the desk where an officer was doing paperwork, Daron was still behind her.

“Can I help you?” The officer, his name tag told her his name was Benjamin Jacobs, looked past her to Daron.

“I’m Emma Shaw. My grandfather, Art Lewis...”

The officer grinned and held up a hand. “We know Art. He’s in the back entertaining the guys with stories of the trouble he got into when he was overseas during the Korean War. We’ll get him processed and you can take him home.”

He hit the intercom and told someone in the back that Art’s granddaughter was there to get him.

“Do you have the name of the person he hit? I’m under the impression there are damages and Art’s insurance has lapsed?”

“It’s taken care of.” The officer went on with his paperwork.

“It can’t be taken care of. He doesn’t have insurance. If you’ll give me the name, I’ll handle it. Or will we see them in court?”

“They didn’t press charges.”

She spun around to face Daron. He had taken a step back, but he was still close enough to poke a finger into his chest. “I said stop.”

“Stop what?”

“How many times have I told you—you don’t have to rescue us. We’re fine.”

He held both hands up in surrender. “I know you are.”

A door behind them opened and closed with a click. She glanced back and saw her grandfather with the police chief. He’d lost weight and his overalls hung a little loose. He was wearing slippers instead of his farm boots. She drew in a breath, aching because he was getting older. Why had she thought he’d be with her forever, always picking up the pieces and keeping her safe?

“Granddad, what in the world?” She hiked her daughter up on her hip and closed the distance between herself and her grandfather. “Are you okay?”

He scratched the gray whiskers on his chin. “Well, I reckon I am. What are you here for?”

“I came to get you. They said you were in a wreck.”

He tickled Jamie and smiled at Emma. “Oh, I wasn’t in a wreck. It was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry for worrying you, kiddo.”

“I’m...” She swallowed the argument because it would do no good. And she pushed aside her fear for her aging grandfather. “I’m sure it will be okay.”

Jamie’s arms tightened around her neck as a violent episode of coughing racked her small body. Emma buried her face in her daughter’s hair, close to her ear, and whispered for her to take a slow breath. When she looked up, Daron watched with questions in his thick-lashed eyes. He towered over her, all broad-shouldered and strong, ready to help.

There were days when she wanted to give in and let him be the hero he wanted to be.

Not today. Today she wanted to go home, help her child breathe a little easier and make sure her grandfather was okay.

“Is she okay?” Daron asked as she shifted Jamie to her other hip and pulled the hood of her jacket over her head.

“She’s fine. And thank you. For being here.”

“Emma, if you need anything...”

“I know.”

She took her grandfather by the arm and walked him out of the police station. Daron didn’t follow this time. She resisted the temptation to glance back, to see if he stood in the doorway watching.

* * *

Daron told himself to let it go. He knew that Emma was holding on to her pride by a thread that was coming unraveled fast. But he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her struggle to keep afloat knowing that he was partly responsible for her struggle.

Emma didn’t want him in her life. He wanted to say he wasn’t interested in being in her life. But he guessed if he was going to be honest, he’d admit that he was attached to her, to Art and to Jamie.

There was something about their little family. They didn’t have much. He’d noticed a tarp on the roof, meaning it probably leaked. Her truck tires were worn slick. They were content with that little farmhouse, the small plot of ground they owned and the few head of cattle they ran.

Content. He sighed. It had been a long time since he knew the meaning of the word.

From the window of the police station he watched as they all climbed into her truck. She leaned to buckle Jamie into the car seat. Art said something and she shook her head, but then smiled and touched his weathered cheek.

The cop said something to him about rain. Daron nodded and headed out the door. The cop had been right. The rain was coming down in sheets. He hunkered into his jacket as he hurried to his truck. Once inside he cranked the heat and turned the wipers on high. It was cold for December in Texas Hill Country.

He headed in the direction of Martin’s Crossing, and the strip mall where he and his friends Lucy Palermo and Boone Wilder had their office. Since returning from Afghanistan the three had opened a bodyguard business. It kept them busy, supplying protection and security for politicians, businessmen and anyone else who might need and be able to afford their services.

Things had changed since Boone married Kayla Stanford, half sister of the Martins of Martin’s Crossing. Boone was building a house. Daron was still crashing at the RV on the Wilder ranch.

Lucy remained the same. She was still a loner. She was still hiding things that might be buried deep, keeping her tied up in the past.

Daron was still reliving that moment when he saw his friend Andy die, caught in the blast of an IED. He remembered the face of the kid who had led them all, knowingly or unknowingly, into danger.

Just a week before that explosion, Andy had learned that Emma was pregnant. He’d shown all the guys the ultrasound picture of the baby, the tiny dot he’d claimed would be his son. Andy had divorced Emma, not realizing she was pregnant. And she’d let him go, he said, because she wouldn’t force a guy to stay in her life.

Daron had made a promise to his dying friend that he’d check on Emma, make sure she and the baby were okay.

Daron had kept that promise. But after more than three years, maybe it was time to walk away.

Chapter Three

Emma came in from the barn on Thursday morning to find her granddad in the kitchen making up a cold remedy concoction that smelled a little bit like mint and a whole lot like something he’d cleaned out of the corral. He held the cup up, his grin a little lopsided beneath his shaggy mustache. His overalls, loose over an old cotton T-shirt, reminded her he’d lost weight recently. But he was still her granddad, her hero. She wanted him to live forever.

From the bedroom she could hear Jamie coughing. “I’m going to call the doctor.”

Art pushed the cup into her hand. “Give her a sip of this. It’ll help that cough.”

She held the brew to her nose. “Art, what in the world is in this?”

“Mint to clear up her cough, some spices from the cabinet and a little cayenne.”

“We can’t give her this. She’ll choke.”

His mustache twitched. “It always worked for you.”

“No, it didn’t. I poured it out and then made a face so you would think it worked.”

“And here I thought I’d invented a cold cure.”

She set the cup down and gave him a tight hug. “You cured a lot of things, Granddad. Like loneliness and broken hearts. But you can’t cure that cough. You can’t cure her. And I know you want to.”

His blue eyes watered. With a hand that trembled a bit more than it had a year ago, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “I’d give this farm to cure her.”

“I know you would. So would I.” Emma brushed a hand down his arm, then turned her attention to the kitchen cabinet, intent on finding the right cough medicine and the inhaler that would clear her daughter’s lungs.

But the asthma and the cold were the least of their problems.

The coughing started up again. She hurried down the hall to the room she shared with her daughter. The teenage posters of Emma’s high school years had been taken off the walls and replaced with pictures of kittens and puppies. The twin beds were covered with quilts that Art’s wife, a grandmother Emma had never known, had made.

Jamie was curled on her side, her blue eyes seeking Emma as she walked through the door. She’d seemed to be getting over this virus, but last night she’d taken a turn for the worse. Emma had known they would be seeing the doctor today.

“Hey, kiddo, need something for that cough?”

Jamie sniffled and rubbed her blanket against her face. Her cheeks were red and her eyes watery. Emma had given her something for the fever before she went out to the barn an hour ago. A hand to her daughter’s forehead proved that this time a dose of over-the-counter fever reducer wasn’t going to cut it. She leaned to kiss Jamie’s cheek and managed a reassuring smile.

“We’re going to get you dressed and take you to the doctor, okay?”

Jamie nodded and crawled into Emma’s lap. Emma brushed a hand through the silky curls.

“Mama,” Jamie cried, her voice weak.

“I know, honey. Sit up and take this medicine, and then I’ll call Duke and tell him I won’t be in today.”

“Everything okay in here?” Art’s gruff but tender voice called from the doorway.

Emma glanced back over her shoulder. “We’re good. But we’re going to take a drive in to town to see Dr. Ted. You want to go?”

“Nah, I’ll stay here. But if you need anything, you call and I’ll head to town straightaway.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think we just need something stronger than what I can buy at the pharmacy.”

“That would be my guess.” Her granddad stepped into the room, his smile tender for his great-granddaughter. “Ladybug, you need to get better so we can start learning to ride that pony of yours.”

Jamie smiled a weak little smile, but her eyes lit up. “Blacky.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He’s a pretty little pony.” Art brushed a hand through her hair. “Now, you be a good girl for your mommy and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for you for dinner. They say that’s a good cure for a cold. Better than my tea, I’ve been told.”

Jamie grinned and the tension surrounding Emma’s heart eased just a bit. “We’ll be home soon, Art. Don’t try to fix that tractor by yourself. We’ll work on it together. If it has to wait until tomorrow, that’s fine.”

Art frowned. “Now, don’t go getting sassy with me. I’ve been working on tractors since before you were born. I’m old, but I’m not feeble or ready for the rest home just yet.”

“I agree, but there is no use getting hurt.”

“No, there isn’t. But you don’t need to worry about me.” He gave her a quick hug. “Go call the doctor.”

An hour later Emma was carrying Jamie through the Braswell Hospital toward the pediatric unit, where Dr. Ted assured her they had a bed waiting. He wanted to put Jamie on intravenous antibiotics and to run some tests. In Emma’s arms, Jamie felt too light, too small to be facing something so overwhelming.

Emma felt so alone. She suddenly wanted her granddad there with her. Then she started thinking about Daron McKay, and how he’d been watching over them for the past three years. Right now she wouldn’t even complain about him being where he wasn’t invited. Because never in her life had she felt so alone. And never had she wanted company more than she did at that moment.

As she approached the nurses’ station, a somewhat familiar face stepped out from behind the desk. Samantha Martin, now Jenkins, smiled at the two of them. Duke’s younger sister had a friendly openness about her. She’d married a couple of years ago, and from the tiny bump near her waistline, it appeared she might be expecting.

“Ted said you were on your way up.” Samantha touched Jamie’s brow and offered a reassuring smile. “And you’ve got quite a fever. Let’s get you in bed and see if we can get you cooled down.”

Emma followed Samantha down the hall and into a room with green walls and a view of an open field that lay beyond the hospital grounds. Samantha took over, placing Jamie in the bed, covering her with a light blanket and then kissing her forehead. Emma stood back, watching as the nurse moved about the room, turning the television on to a cartoon station and opening the curtains to give a clearer view of cattle grazing in the distance.

Emma stepped into the hall to take a deep breath. She could do this. They would survive. She closed her eyes to say a heartfelt prayer for her daughter.

* * *

When Daron pulled up to the office, Boone’s truck was parked in front. Daron parked next to it and got out. Hard rain was falling from a sky heavy with clouds. He hurried through the front door, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a chair to dry.

“You look bad,” Boone said, surveying him critically.

“Thanks. It’s pouring.”

“How’d last night’s job go?” Boone poured him a cup of coffee. “Here. That ought to help.”

“Or rot my insides.” He sat down and put his booted feet on the top of the desk. “Not bad. The senator is a hard one to stay close to. Works the crowd like a...”

“Politician?” Boone offered.

“Yes, something like that.” He tossed his cowboy hat on his desk and ran a hand through hair that tended to curl in this weather. Daron took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Let Lucy make the coffee next time.”

“You say the most hurtful things,” Boone shot back, his mouth curving.

“Hurtful but honest.” He took another sip of coffee and decided it wasn’t worth it. “I’m going to Duke’s for lunch. And coffee.”

“Or maybe you’re just hoping Emma is there. She’s going to get tired of your version of babysitting. Or is this courting, Daron McKay–style?”

“I’m not babysitting or courting. Where did you get that? I’m...” He rubbed a hand across his cheek. Man, he needed to shave. “I’m just doing what I promised.”

Boone held up a hand to cut him off. “Stop. Andy volunteered to go with us.”

“I trusted Afiza.”

“Yeah, you did. And we trusted her brother. That doesn’t make you Emma Shaw’s keeper. It isn’t your fault Andy divorced her, or that he didn’t list her as a beneficiary.”

“You’d think his family would want to help out.”

“But they don’t,” Boone said. They’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “You can’t make sense of what doesn’t make sense, my friend. So either you keep hounding her, trying to help when she doesn’t want it. Or you walk away and let her live her life. The problem is, if you don’t mind me saying so, that you kind of like being in her life. You’re attached to Jamie. You like Art.”

“They’re pretty easy to like.” He grabbed the mail piled on his desk and started opening envelopes. A few checks they’d been waiting for.

A letter from his mom. Why would she send a letter rather than call? He slid his knife under the flap of the envelope and pulled out a card. No, it was an invitation. He glanced over it.

“Something good?” Boone asked as he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“My mom, making a point.”

“What’s that?”

Daron glanced at the photograph on the front of the invitation, of a smiling blonde and her too-handsome fiancé. He opened the card and read over the details. “My ex-fiancée is getting married. This is my mom’s way of letting me know I’ve missed the boat.”

“It isn’t like there aren’t plenty of boats out there.” Boone lifted his cup of coffee in salute, and the light glinted off his wedding band.

“Spoken like a man who is tragically in love.”

“Nothing tragic about it, my friend. So, will you go?”

Daron glanced over the invitation and then shot it into the wastepaper basket. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to run to the bank and make a deposit that will keep us solvent and help you pay off that pretty house you’ve built your wife.”

He was heading for the door when the phone rang. He waited as Boone answered. Then he waited because the call seemed serious.

“Well?”

“First-responder call.” Boone shot him a look that unsettled him.

“Who?”

“Art Lewis. He’s cut his finger pretty badly and Emma isn’t there.”

“I’ll drive on out there and make sure he’s okay,” Daron said as he headed out the door, Boone behind him.

“Might as well,” Boone agreed. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”

As they left town, the fire truck and rescue unit were leaving the rural fire station that served the Martin’s Crossing and Braswell area. Daron flipped on the first-responder light on his dash and fell in behind the emergency units.

It took less than ten minutes and he was pulling up to the small home where Emma lived with her grandfather. Art was on the porch, a towel wrapped around his hand. Daron jumped from his truck and hurried past the other first responders.

“What happened?” he asked as he reached the porch.

Art grimaced. “That tractor. I’ve been trying to get that nut loosened up for ages, and of course today it came loose and my hand slipped. I cut a hunk out of my thumb.”

Art started to unwrap his hand and show Daron and Boone, who had joined him on the front porch.

Daron stopped him. “No, that’s okay. Keep it wrapped. And you’re pale, so why don’t we take a seat and let the guys check you out?”

A first responder grinned as he stepped into the group and took over. “Art, you have a way of finding trouble. Wasn’t it just last year that you set—”

Art cut him off. “Let’s not go over the list of past sins or we’ll be here all day.”

The first responder took a look at the gash and shook his head. “You’re bleeding pretty good here, Art. I think we need to get you to Braswell.”

“Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not going to bleed out.” Art started rewrapping the wound.

“We’re going to dress this a little better,” the first responder told him. “Let’s get you to the ambulance and we’ll be in Braswell before you know it.”

Art planted his feet on the porch. “I only called you young roosters because I thought you’d bandage it up. I didn’t expect you to haul me in.”

“Well, Art, there are just some things we can’t do in the field.” The first responder held his own, but the corner of his mouth flirted with a smile.

“I’m not in a field. I’m on my cotton-picking front porch.”

Daron laughed and earned himself a glare from the older man. “Art, I’ll call Emma. She’ll be glad you went to the hospital. Is she at Duke’s?”

“No, she had to take Jamie in to the doctor. I figured she’d be home by now, but you never know what the wait time is going to be.”

“Is Jamie still sick?” Daron asked as the first responder continued to look Art over. They had moved him to a chair.

Art glanced down at his injured hand and then back at Daron. He grimaced a bit as the first responder cleaned the wound. “Yeah, son, she’s still sick. But she’s strong and her mama has faith.” Art turned his attention back to the first responder, who now seemed to be trying to help him to his feet. “Son, I said I’m not going. I can drive myself if I need stitches.”

Boone walked up behind Art, his beat-up cowboy hat pulled low over his brow and a look on his face that told the first responders to take a step back. “Art, how about we drive you to Braswell to the ER? They can sew you up. Plus, you can check on Emma and Jamie while you’re there.”

Art pushed himself out of the chair. “Now, that’s an idea. Thank you all for coming. I’ll just take Boone’s offer and let you all go on back to your jobs, or whatever you were doing before I got you called out here.”

Daron shot Boone a look. “Really?”

Boone arched a brow and grinned. “We don’t have anything else on the calendar for today, do we?”

“No, nothing else. And we both love to get Emma riled up. Let’s go, Art.” Daron led the older man down the steps and to his truck. “You aren’t going to bleed all over my new truck, are you?”

Art stumbled a bit, but his voice, when he answered, was still strong. “I reckon if I do, you can get it cleaned up.”

Daron laughed. “Yeah, I reckon.”

The three of them crowded into the front of Daron’s truck, Art in the middle. Boone leaned back in the seat like he was in his beat-up old recliner and happy as he could be.

“Now that it’s just us,” Art started, “why don’t you tell me what you think Pete Shaw wanted the other night?”

Daron pulled onto the main road. “You knew that Pete was out there?”

“No, not at first. I heard Emma shout and then heard Pete mumble something about her trying to kill him. I was heading for my bedroom door when I heard you say something and I just figure you’re a few years younger, so you might as well handle things.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Art. And I’m not sure what Pete’s after.”

“I guess I just figured you had some idea, since you’re patrolling the place like an overworked guard dog.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art shot him a look. “It isn’t like you can hide a pearly white Ford King Ranch like this. I’m old, I get up at night and I’ve seen you driving by like you’re keeping an eye on the place. Emma has seen you. I guess she told you to mind your own business.”

Daron kept driving. “I’m not patrolling. I’m just driving by on a public street.”

“Call it what you want,” Art said. “I call it patrolling. Emma calls it being a nuisance. I reckon you have your reasons.”

“I’d like to be able to help out, Art.”

“There’s nothing you can help with, Daron. I know you mean well, but we’ve got it handled. We’ve struggled a bit, but things aren’t so bad we can’t deal with it. This hand might slow down patching up that roof, but we got a tarp on it yesterday and that’ll hold us over until I can climb up there.”

“But what about Pete?” Boone asked, entering the conversation with a quiet question. “What’s he after?”

“He’s an addict who believes there’s more money than what he got. Emma has other concerns without Pete stirring up trouble for her. I told her to call his parents but she won’t. She doesn’t want anything to do with Andy’s family.”

“Don’t you think they’d like to know Jamie?” Boone asked, his tone casual.

Art guffawed at that. “They know they have a granddaughter. But they’re the kind that thinks they’re better than others, and that Emma wasn’t quite what they wanted for their son. They encouraged the divorce. I can’t say I wasn’t glad when the marriage ended, as Andy wasn’t particularly nice to my granddaughter, but I’m sorry his family lost him.”

“Art, what’s wrong with Jamie?” Daron tried to ease back into the conversation, but he saw from the corner of his eye that it didn’t work.

“Now, that’s something you’ll have to ask Emma. And I reckon if she wanted you to know, she’d tell you.”

“She’s been too busy telling him to leave her alone,” Boone added.

Daron didn’t thank his friend for his special brand of humor. He wanted answers, and this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He drove faster, telling himself he wanted to get Art to the ER a little quicker.

It wasn’t the truth. What he wanted was to get to Emma’s side, sooner rather than later. He could tell himself it was because he was worried about Jamie, which he was. Or he could blame it on a need to keep Andy’s widow safe.

He needed to keep a promise to a dying friend. When he’d made the promise to Andy, it was about a woman he didn’t know and a baby not yet born.

Now he knew them. He knew Emma as a woman of strength and faith. She loved her little girl. She loved her grandfather.

Unconditional love.

Watching her, being around them, it made him want to be a better man. The kind of man she allowed into her life.

Chapter Four

Emma stood back as her daughter was examined by the on-call physician in the Braswell Community Hospital pediatric wing. The doctor smiled as he rubbed the stethoscope to warm it; then he winked at her daughter and told her she was brave and promised she’d be getting the best dessert once they were finished with the examination.

“She’s a strong girl, Mom.” The doctor listened, “Another breath, Jamie.”

Jamie took a deep, shaky breath. She was still pale. Her lips weren’t as pink as normal. It had been so frightening, that moment when Emma realized her daughter was gasping for air. She’d hit the call button, summoning a nurse as she tried to calm Jamie, telling her it was fine, to take slow, easy breaths.

A hand touched Emma’s. Samantha Jenkins moved to her side. “I’m sorry—I was with another patient down in X-ray. She’s okay, Emma.”

Not a question, a statement of fact. Samantha’s expression was reassuring as she gave Emma a quick hug.

Emma nodded, accepting the words of encouragement, but it didn’t immediately undo her fear. Her hands trembled and she couldn’t seem to stop the shaking.

“Let’s step into the hall,” Dr. Jacobs said, patting Jamie’s arm. “I’m going to have a nurse come in and give Jamie her dessert options.”

“Mommy.” Jamie’s voice was weak.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

Tears filled Jamie’s blue eyes. Emma leaned to kiss her forehead. She wiped away the tears that rolled down her daughter’s flushed cheeks and she fought the tightness in her own throat.

“Your mom will be right back, kiddo. And I bet the two of you will share a brownie.” Samantha eased in next to Emma. “I’ll stay with you until she gets back.”

Jamie nodded, her eyes closing as Samantha trailed fingers through her hair. Emma stepped into the hall where Dr. Jacobs waited. The elevators at the end of the hall opened. Her grandfather stepped out and headed her way. Daron McKay followed. The fear that had cascaded over her gave way to relief. The tears she’d fought fell free and she sobbed.

“Let’s take a walk.” Dr. Jacobs inclined his head, directing her away from Jamie’s room.

Her grandfather, his hand bandaged from the cut she’d been called about, and Daron, fell in next to her. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. Now she wasn’t. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks and she swiped at them with her hand until her grandfather handed her a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket.

Dr. Jacobs led them to a conference room with a table, bright fluorescent lights and molded plastic chairs. “It isn’t comfortable, but there’s more room if we’re going to have several of us. Unless you’d prefer just the two of us having this conversation?”

“No, of course not.” Her gaze skimmed past her granddad to Daron, standing in the doorway, his cowboy hat in his hands as he waited. “They can join us.”

Dr. Jacobs motioned them all to the table. “Let’s have a seat.”

She sat down, the chair scraping on the tile floor. Daron sat at the end of the table, several chairs away. Her grandfather sat next to her. He put his arm around her, giving her a light squeeze. The gesture was as familiar as her own reflection in the mirror. From the very beginning, that had been his way of comforting a lost and hurting girl. She was a woman now, and sometimes felt responsible for him, but he was still her strength.

Dr. Jacobs sat across from them. He was youngish, with dark hair and dark eyes, the smooth planes of his face covered in five o’clock shadow. Yes, he was older than her twenty-eight years. But he was still too young.

“Isn’t Dr. Jackson in today?” she asked.

Dr. Jacobs smiled, because of course she’d made it obvious that she was worried. “Not today, but don’t worry. I’m smarter than I look.”

“I’m sorry,” she started to apologize, and he stopped her.

“Don’t be. I know I look young. I also know that your daughter is the most important person in your life and you want only the best for her. I’m the best. I wouldn’t be here if Dr. Jackson didn’t think that I was qualified for the position. So let’s figure out what we need to do for your daughter.”

“Okay.” She met his steady gaze. “What do we do?”

He glanced over the file in his hands. “We start with an echocardiogram. I’m worried about the ventricular septal defect, but I also think she has pneumonia. We’ll do blood tests, start her on IV antibiotics and get her hydrated.”

He listed it off, as if it were a shopping list. But it was her daughter. It was Jamie’s heart. It was her life.

“She’ll be okay,” Emma heard herself say. Not a question. A statement of faith. God hadn’t gotten them this far to let them down.

“She’ll be great. I think she should stay in the hospital for a few days. And I also think we need to take a careful look at her heart because it might be time to repair the VSD.”

“Open-heart surgery?” For years she’d dreaded those words.

“I hope not. We have options other than open heart. I’m an optimist.” Dr. Jacobs gave her a steady look. “I’m also a man of faith. We’ll do everything we can. And when we’ve done all we can, we stand on faith.”

She nodded, closing her eyes against the fear, the hope, the onslaught of emotions that swept over her. A chair scraped. A hand settled on her shoulder. Without looking she knew that it was Daron. That he was there, standing behind her, the way he’d been doing since he got back from Afghanistan. It was guilt that kept him in her life. But today she didn’t mind. Today his presence felt a lot like friendship and she wasn’t going to turn that down.

Somehow she would get through this. Jamie would be okay. They would have the surgery, and she would be healthy. But it was good to have people to depend on.

“When will the surgery take place?” Daron asked, his voice deep, strong.

“I think sometime after Christmas. I want to know that she’s strong enough before we send her down to Austin.”

“Austin?” Emma asked, the reality of what he’d said hitting home.

Dr. Jacobs leaned a bit, making eye contact. “I’d love to tell you we could do the surgery here, but we can’t. We’ll contact specialists and she’ll have the best of care.”

“But you do believe we can wait until after Christmas?” Daron asked, his use of the pronoun we not lost on her.

“Yes, I think so. Unless there’s a change, she isn’t in any immediate danger. For now our main concern is this infection.” Dr. Jacobs cleared his throat. “I know this is a lot to take in. What we want right now is for Jamie to rest, and for Mom to not worry.”

“I think we can make sure that happens,” Granddad said, patting Emma’s hand.

“And we’ll do our best, as well,” Dr. Jacobs responded.

“Can I go back to her now?” Emma needed to see her daughter. She needed to hug her and to reassure herself that Jamie was okay.

“Yes. I ordered the blood test. We’ll give her a little time to relax and then we’ll take her down for the echocardiogram.” Dr. Jacobs stood, the file in his capable hands. He handed her several printed copies. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Emma looked down at the files in her hands, the words swimming as she blinked away tears. Ugh, she didn’t want to cry. No more tears.

The doctor left, the door closing behind him.

Her grandfather steepled his hands on the table and cleared his throat. “I reckon you ought to tell Andy’s parents about their granddaughter.”

“I’m not going to call them. They don’t want anything to do with her.”

“They might want to know about this,” her granddad pushed in his quiet way. “Em, she is their granddaughter.”

“No, she isn’t. She’s your granddaughter. There’s more to grandparenting than a title and DNA. I’m not going to call them.”

“Forgive—” her grandfather started.

“I will forgive,” she conceded in a softer tone. “But I’m not through being angry.”

She pushed back, the chair hitting Daron. She’d forgotten he was behind her. He grunted and rubbed his knee.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand going to his arm. “I have to go. Jamie will wonder where I’ve gone to.”

Boone Wilder was waiting outside Jamie’s door. He tipped his hat, his smile somber. His presence made her falter, just a step. She’d gotten used to Daron’s presence, his midnight drives past her house. Boone was more low-key with his interference.

“Boone,” she said as she slipped past him. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Now, why wouldn’t I be here, Emma?”

Arguing with him would have been pointless. It was their code. Whether as cowboys or soldiers, they stuck together. They took care of their own. She had become theirs when Andy died.

He followed her into the hospital room, where a nurse was setting up to draw blood. Samantha still sat next to the bed, Jamie’s hand in hers. Her grandfather came in, not minding that the small room was crowded. He moved in close to his great-granddaughter and patted her hand. Jamie smiled up at him.

“Hey, Grand-girl, you sure do look pretty.” He touched her nose.

Jamie managed a weak attempt at a smile and touched his bandaged hand. The gesture undid something inside Emma. She hadn’t thought to ask him what happened. How exactly did he get hurt? How bad was the injury?

“You were working on the tractor, weren’t you, Granddad?” she asked, watching as he moved his hand from Jamie’s reach.

He winked at Jamie and then glanced up at her, his look a little more serious. “Just a little cut from that tractor.”

“I told you...” She shook her head. Daron moved in behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She breathed deep and relaxed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

And he was a grown man. He didn’t want her telling him what he could or couldn’t do.

“You don’t always have to be there, kiddo. And I can get cut with or without your help. Boone and Daron came out and got me all fixed up. So right now let’s worry about my ladybug.”

Just like that, the room cleared. Boone and Daron slipped into the hall. Samantha smiled down at Jamie, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and told her she would check on that brownie. Then it was just the nurse drawing the blood, Jamie, Emma and her grandfather.

“We’re going to put her on oxygen.” The nurse said it quietly. “She’s doing fine, but a little won’t hurt. Also, we’ve got a line in and we’re starting her on antibiotics and fluids.”

“Thank you.” Emma sank into the chair next to her daughter. “Do you feel better?”

Jamie nodded, her eyes scrunched, her cheeks pink from the fever. “I like brownies.”

“Yes, you do.” Emma swiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

Never had any words meant so much. Except maybe when her grandfather told her everything would be okay. She always believed him, trusted him.

Movement outside the door caught her attention. And then she heard the scrape of a chair on the tile floors. She glanced that way as Daron placed a chair next to the door and took a seat, a cup of coffee in his hand and his cowboy hat pulled low. He crossed his right ankle over his left knee and leaned back. It looked like he planned on being there for a while.

She should tell him to go home. But she couldn’t. Not today, when it felt better knowing he was there. He’d managed to enter her circle of trusted people. She hoped he didn’t let her down.

* * *

Daron woke with a start, rubbing his neck that had grown stiff from sleeping in the waiting room chair. He’d pulled it into the hall, next to Jamie Shaw’s room. It was late. The halls were quiet, the lights dimmed for the night. The quiet whisper of nurses drifted down the hallways, but he couldn’t make out their words. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after midnight.

Standing, he stretched, rolling his shoulders and neck, and managed to feel almost human again. His back ached, but he could live with it. He’d been living with it for a few years. He took a careful, quiet step and peeked into Jamie’s room.

Emma was asleep, like him, in a chair not made for comfort. Her head rested on the hospital bed. Her hand clasped her daughter’s. Jamie was awake. She glanced his way, her eyes large in her pale face. He silently eased into the room and lifted the cup of water next to her bed. She shook her head and her smile wobbled. He hadn’t been around too many kids in his life, but this one had his heart. She had from the moment he first saw her through the window of the nursery at this very hospital. She’d been pink, fighting mad and none too pretty.

He guessed she knew she had him wrapped around her finger. And that was okay by him.

Not wanting to wake Emma, he brushed a hand through Jamie’s hair, then raised a finger to his lips. Her stuffed animal had fallen to the floor. He picked it up and tucked it in next to her. When she seemed content, he turned his attention to Emma. She had to be cold, curled up the way she was in the vinyl hospital chair. Looking around the room, he spotted a blanket folded on a shelf and returned to cover her with it. She didn’t stir.

With a wave, he headed toward the door. Jamie watched him go, snuggling into her blanket and closing her eyes. He walked down the hall, not really sure where he was heading. Of course he wouldn’t leave. He was used to pulling all-nighters. Sleep wasn’t typically his friend, because in sleep the nightmares returned.

A soft light shone from a room at the end of the unit. He headed that way, curious. When he got there and peeked in, his curiosity evaporated. The chapel. The light came from a lamp illuminating a cross. On a shelf beneath it lay a Bible. A plaque hung on the wall next to the display, with the words “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. Psalm 119:105” engraved on it.

Out of habit, he took off his hat. After all, this was church. It was small. There were no pews. A minister didn’t preach here on Sunday. But the room had a comforting feeling, as if Jesus might walk in at any moment, clasp a hand on a man’s shoulder and tell him to let go of his burdens.

It was hard to let go of the burdens he’d been carrying for several years. He’d grown too accustomed to the weight.

When he thought about letting go, he wondered who he’d be without them. Without the burdens. He guessed it was wrong to think of Emma and Jamie as burdens; they weren’t. They had actually become his anchor, keeping him grounded. Because without them, he might not have wanted to survive the last few years.

He might have given in to some other ways of easing the guilt. He had plenty of friends who had found comfort in the bottom of a bottle. He also had friends who relied on faith. They seemed better off, if he was being honest.

He focused on work, and on keeping Jamie and Emma safe. Fixing a fence from time to time when she’d let him, buying Christmas gifts that he had delivered to their house, so she wouldn’t turn them away.

He eased into the seat by the window of the chapel. A picture hung on the wall with a verse about comfort. This room was meant to comfort.

He bowed his head, hat in his hands. He hadn’t prayed in a long time. He guessed he’d never been much of a praying man. He hadn’t been raised the way Boone had, going to church, having faith, believing it above all else. When he’d filled out the paperwork to join the army, he checked the Christian box because if anyone had asked, of course he believed in God.

He’d prayed for Andy to live. Now he would pray for Jamie. And God had better be listening. Because she was a little girl. She was three years old with her whole life ahead of her. She had a mom who would do anything for her. And she had a granddad who loved her “more than the stars in the sky.”

That was what Art had told her when he said goodbye to Jamie, before Boone gave the older man a ride home.

Daron hadn’t been raised going to Sunday school. He’d been to church a few times with the Wilders. That was the sum total of his experience with prayer. But he felt as if he had the basics down. Petition God. Ask the Almighty to spare a little girl.

When he heard a noise, he looked up, heat flooding his face. He stood, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. He jammed his hat back on his head and faced the person standing just inside the doorway.

Emma, head tilted, dark hair framing her face, studied him as if she’d never seen him before. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She brushed a hand over her face and shook her head. “Not that you wouldn’t pray. That isn’t what I meant.”

He waited, a grin sneaking up on him, as she found words for what she meant. She was cute. He’d avoided that thought for a few years because Andy had been married to her and there were lines a man didn’t cross. But tonight, in a softly lit chapel, sleep still in her eyes and her dark hair a bit of a mess, he couldn’t deny it. He guessed his brain was a little sleep addled, too.

“I meant, I thought you’d come to your senses and left,” Emma finished.

“Should I be insulted that you were surprised to find me in the chapel?” Daron teased. “Or because you thought I’d leave you here alone.”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Please, not right now.”

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