Theirs was a need so palpable, it took on an identity of its own

Branson leaned close, his lips inches from hers, his breath warm on her flesh. Her heart raced for a second and then seemed to stop altogether as Branson’s mouth touched hers.

The kiss was intense, almost fierce, as if Branson hated himself for letting it happen. When he finally broke away, he lowered his head, their foreheads touching, their hands clasped, holding on for dear life.

“Damn.” His voice was a rough whisper. “My job is to protect you, not seduce you.”

“Does it matter that I wanted you to kiss me?”

“It matters. It just doesn’t make it right.”

“And do you always do what’s right, Sheriff Branson Randolph?”

“I try.”

“Because of the badge you wear?”

He let go of her hands and took a step back, breaking the physical connection that had held them, but not the emotional one.

“The badge is important to me, Lacy, but this isn’t about the badge or duty or honor. It’s about you. And it’s about a madman who obviously plans to be your assassin. If I get wrapped up in wanting you, then I give the killer the edge. I don’t plan to let that happen.”

A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS AT HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

We love to receive mail from our readers. It keeps us honest and lets us know how best to meet your needs. Authors find your encouragement a source of unparalleled inspiration.

Therefore, when Joanna Wayne brought to our attention a letter from a regular Harlequin Intrigue reader—among others—regarding her book Family Ties, it was with great appreciation that we had our own editorial instincts confirmed!

Joanna created the Randolph family in that book. Four brothers, all sexy Texas cowboys…but it was oldest brother Dillon who got his girl in that story. Branson, Langley and Ryder hadn’t had that dream fulfilled. And boy did they deserve it.

We asked Joanna to give all of the Randolph brothers their very own happily-ever-after, and to make sure their stories had as much suspense, mystery and romance.

So thank you for your continued support, and remember we are always looking for new ways to excite you and to maintain your loyal readership. We look forward to more letters of encouragement from you.

Harlequin Intrigue is proud to bring you RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES by Joanna Wayne—enjoy!

The Second Son

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, golfing or playing with her grandchildren, and, of course, researching and plotting out her next novel. Taking the heroine and hero from danger to enduring love and happy-ever-after is all in a day’s work for her, and who could complain about a day like that?

Books by Joanna Wayne

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

288—DEEP IN THE BAYOU

339—BEHIND THE MASK

389—EXTREME HEAT

444—FAMILY TIES*

471—JODIE’S LITTLE SECRETS

495—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

505—LONE STAR LAWMAN

569—THE SECOND SON*

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Branson Randolph —Rugged Texas sheriff and part owner of the Burning Pear Ranch. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to keep Lacy Gilbraith safe. He’s not afraid to face a killer, and he’s determined to find out who’s Betsy’s father.

Lacy Gilbraith —She made a bargain she couldn’t keep. Now she’s running from a man who’s determined to get her back.

Betsy—An adorable baby girl who was dropped off at the Randolph family ranch.

Dillon, Langley and Ryder Randolph —Branson’s brothers. They all live by the cowboy code, but can one of them unknowingly be Betsy’s father?

Kate Gilbraith —Lacy’s sister. She’s mixed up in something that may get both her and Lacy killed.

Ricky Carpenter —Kate’s boyfriend. Someone wants him dead.

Charles Castile—A San Antonio attorney. He made a bargain with Lacy and he plans to make sure she keeps her part of it.

Joshua Kincaid—He owns a ranch in Kelman, Texas, but his real money comes from the Kincaid Entertainment Corporation. He appears to know a lot more than he’s willing to tell.

Adam Pascal—He works for Joshua Kincaid and has dated Lacy, but he’s reluctant to cooperate with Branson’s investigation.

Milton Maccabbe —He’s a cantankerous rancher. It’s best not to cross him.

To all the people who enjoyed reading about

the Randolph brothers in Family Ties as much as

I enjoyed writing about them. Thanks for your letters

and requests that we not let them go until we had

a story for each of the brothers.

And, to Wayne, always.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Burning Pear Ranch

Kelman, Texas

“You have to make a birthday wish, Gramma, before you can blow out the candles.” Four-year-old Petey scooted onto Mary Randolph’s lap as the family’s off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” drew to a close.

“I don’t know what I’d wish for.” She hugged her grandson close. “I have all of you here with me at the Burning Pear for my sixtieth birthday. What more could a mother want?”

She looked around the room. Her four sons, each so different, but all Randolphs through and through. And Ashley, her one daughter-in-law, but she loved her as much as she could have loved the daughter she’d always wanted but had never had.

She blinked as a misty veil fell over her eyes. The moisture blurred the faces that surrounded her and softened the hard lines of rustic wood, Mexican tile and worn leather that characterized the ranch house where she’d lived all of her adult life.

One lone tear escaped the corner of her eye, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

“Do something nice for a woman, and here come the tears. I’ll never understand the gender,” Branson, her second son, said, only half teasing.

“Yeah, and if you sit here teary-eyed too long, the melted wax from the birthday candles is going to be thicker than the icing,” Langley added, relighting one of the candles that had already gone out.

Mary paid them no mind. She was used to her sons’ good-natured ribbing. “Sixty years of living gives a mother the right to a few seconds of melancholy,” she scolded them. “And a little candle wax never hurt anybody.” Her tears went on hold as laughter and echos of “You tell them, Mom,” rippled across the spacious kitchen.

Her youngest son, Ryder, pushed the cake closer to her. “All the same, you better pucker up and blow—before the smoke alarm goes off.”

“You want me to help you, Gramma? I can blow really hard.” Petey wiggled around to face her, the excitement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Of course you can help,” she told him, lifting him so that his knees rested in her lap and he could lean in closer to the beckoning cake.

Ashley Randolph grabbed her ever-ready camcorder and aimed it at Mary, Petey and the cake. Mary smiled, but kept her gaze low. A woman her age didn’t need to have her wrinkles and graying hair preserved for posterity. Besides, she hated to see herself on the TV screen. The woman who smiled back always seemed years older than the one who lived inside her.

“Ready, set, go,” Petey announced. He took a deep breath and blew until the last flicker of a flame died. “We did it, Gramma! Your wish will come true.” He hopped down from her lap. “And now we can eat the cake. Right?”

“Ashley’s chocolate cake, one of the best reasons I know of to grow older,” Dillon Randolph said, giving his wife a hug and tousling the hair of his son as Petey scampered past him to get closer to the cake-cutting operation.

“Thanks to Mother Randolph,” Ashley said, her tinkling laughter brightening the room. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the way I cooked when I first moved to the Burning Pear.”

“No way!” Langley set a stack of dessert plates on the table at Ashley’s elbow. “That’s the kind of thing follows a man clear to the grave.”

“I can’t believe you said that,” she countered, playfully pointing the tip of the cake knife in his direction. “Even then, you were always sneaking into my cookie jar.”

“Sure. Those sugar cookies were perfect for target practice. Unless you hit them dead center, the bullet wouldn’t even crack them.”

The room burst into laughter again as Ashley sliced a large hunk of cake and placed it onto one of Mary’s flower-patterned dessert plates.

Ashley could take the teasing of her three brothers-in-law with the best of them. She could dish it out, too. The perfect family. It was just too bad Dillon, Ashley and Petey had to live in Austin so much of the time—part of the price of being a state senator.

Still, if Mary really were to be granted a wish tonight, it would be that Jack Randolph was somewhere in heaven looking down on them, that he would see what fine men their four boys had grown into. That he would know how twenty years after his death she still treasured the time they’d had together.

“Who wants ice cream with their cake?” Ashley asked, handing the cake knife and cutting chores over to Dillon.

“What kind of question is that?” Ryder said. “You can’t have birthday cake without ice cream. It’s not American.”

“Worse,” Langley echoed. “It’s not Texan.”

“I’ll get the bowls and spoons,” Mary said, stretching to a standing position.

“You most definitely will not.” Branson left his post by the door to rest his strong hands on her shoulders. “The birthday girl does not wait tables.”

“It’s been many a day since I was a girl, Branson Randolph,” she teased. “But I’m still a lot better at serving than I am at sittin’.”

“You’re still my best girl. And the prettiest girl south of—”

“South of the table and north of the door to the living room.” She broke in and finished the sentence for him, keeping him honest. “And it’s high time you found yourself a real ‘best girl.”’

“Whoa.” He picked up a fork and handed it to her. “We need to feed this woman fast. She’s growing vicious.”

“A piece of cake won’t convince me you don’t need a woman,” she said, though her words were practically lost amid the laughter and clatter of dishes.

“Oh my Lord,” Langley said, chewing appreciatively on his first bite of cake. “Find me a woman who can bake a cake this good, and I’ll marry her tomorrow.” He smacked his lips and swallowed. “Nope. Make that tonight.”

“Don’t say that in front of Mom,” Ryder cautioned. “She’ll be out combing the county, searching for women who are willing to come out to the Burning Pear and take cooking lessons.”

“Now, that’s not a half-bad idea,” Ashley said. “It would sure give you a break in the kitchen, Mother Randolph. And any woman who’d put up with these guys would get my vote.”

“I have a couple of requirements besides cooking,” Ryder said, forking another bite of cake.

“Yeah, Ryder would have to make sure she could shine the silver on that World Championship belt buckle and feed his horse,” Langley added.

“Now you’re talking my language of love,” Ryder said.

The gang around the table exploded in laughter again. Mary joined in. Being sixty, she decided, was not too awful. Not as long as she had her family with her. All safe. All happy.

She was chewing her first bite of cake when a soft knock at the front door brought an abrupt lull to the conversation and gaiety. “Now, who in the world can that be?” she said, wiping a smear of chocolate from her hands to the flowered cotton napkin.

“Probably another well-wisher,” Ashley said. “Half the town’s already called or sent cards or flowers. “Of course, none of the bouquets were nearly as extravagant as the one from Joshua Kincaid.”

“Good,” Dillon countered. “Let him spend his money on lavish flower arrangements. It will give him less money to spend lobbying against every bill I sponsor.” He started walking to the door.

“I’ll get it,” Branson said, laying an arm on his brother’s shoulder. “Might be business anyway. Friends never bother walking around to the front door.”

Mary saw the muscles in his face tighten, as if instinctively, and felt a twinge of anxiety. She’d never grown comfortable with Branson taking on the job of county sheriff. “You’re not expecting trouble, are you?”

He stopped in the doorway that led from the kitchen into the hallway. He forced a smile to reassure her. “I’m always expecting trouble. And always hoping I’m wrong. But there’s no reason to think trouble’s going to come calling at my front door.”

Mary slid her fork into her cake, breaking off a bite-size chunk of the velvety chocolate, but she only moved it around on the dessert plate. The easy chatter had started up again, filling the space around her. She tried to shut it out, and strained to hear whose voice would greet Branson when he swung open the door.

“Can you help me?” The voice was low, labored, feminine. Unfamiliar. “I’m looking for the Randolph home.”

“You found it.”

“Then this belongs to one of you.”

“What the hell?”

Branson’s voice rose above the din of kitchen chatter, but not above the cry of a baby. Mary jumped to her feet and rushed to the living room, the rest of the family a step or two behind. Branson was standing in the open doorway.

A tall, thin woman stood in front of him, her face pasty and drawn. She pushed a blanket-wrapped bundle toward him.

“Take the baby.” The woman’s voice was more of a cry than a command.

She swayed and Branson reached to steady her. She pulled away from him and turned to Mary.

“If you’re Mrs. Randolph, this is your grandchild. Her name is Betsy.” The woman’s faint voice faded into nothingness.

Mary grabbed the baby from her just as the woman’s eyes closed and she collapsed at their feet. It was then that Mary noticed the crimson circles of blood that dampened the back of the woman’s blouse.

“Call an ambulance,” Branson ordered, leaning over the woman. The room erupted in a flurry of activity, but all Mary could understand was that the baby in her arms was crying and that her grandchild needed her.

Chapter Two

San Antonio, Texas

Two days later

Lacy Gilbraith tugged at the scrunch of white tulle. The headpiece tilted where it should have stood at strict attention, bunched up where it should have flared out. And the auburn curls piled on top of her head had already begun their escape, pulling from beneath the myriad pins the determined hairdresser had used to nail them into place.

So much for her attempts to look the part of the perfect bride. In an ideal world her groom wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately, Charles Castile always expected perfection, at least as far as appearance went.

Lacy turned away from the mirror and dropped to the edge of an upholstered chair. She glanced at her watch. In just a few minutes she’d be marching down the aisle on her way to becoming Mrs. Charles Castile. She’d thought long and hard about her decision to accept Charles’s proposal. It was the best solution for everyone. Maybe the only solution.

So why was her stomach churning, her eyes stinging?

Maybe it was because in an ideal world, she wouldn’t be sitting alone in the stuffy dressing room just off the church parlor. Her sister, Kate, would be here with her, teasing away her nervousness, joking about the wedding headdress from hell. Where was she?

Lacy dabbed impatiently at a tear that had no business making an appearance and glanced at her watch again. Ten minutes before seven. Something had to be seriously wrong. She and Kate had argued, but surely that wouldn’t keep her older sister from something as important as Lacy’s wedding ceremony.

They’d had occasional differences before, but they’d always managed to work things out. Occasional differences. Who was she kidding? Their whole lives were a series of differences. Monumental differences that had begun to develop that day so long ago when Kate had—

Lacy took a deep, steadying breath. That part of their past was far behind them. Today was a new beginning, for her and for Kate. And this time money and power would be on their side instead of stacked in opposition.

So why wasn’t Kate here?

She grabbed the phone and punched in Kate’s number again. She’d already tried it a dozen times and all she’d gotten was the answering machine and Ricky Carpenter’s recorded message that neither he nor Kate were in. She checked her beeper, but there were no calls.

A knock at the door broke into her thoughts, and Lacy’s heart rate quickened. She dropped the receiver into the plastic cradle. Kate had come after all. Pulling up her skirt and petticoats, she raced across the carpeted floor and yanked open the door. Unexpected aggravation nipped at her control.

“You’re not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony,” she said, shoving the door until all she could see through the narrow opening was Charles’s unsmiling face.

“I don’t believe in superstitions.” He wedged a foot inside the door and then pushed it open enough that he could step inside. “Besides, I wanted to be the first to see my beautiful bride in her wedding dress.” He took her hands in his, concern, or maybe chagrin, darkening his deep-set gray eyes. “Have you been crying?”

“No.”

He dropped one of her hands and tucked a thumb under her chin, nudging it up so that she couldn’t avoid making eye contact. Another rebellious tear escaped to make a liar out of her, and he grabbed a tissue and wiped the moisture from her cheek. “The church is packed with our friends and family. This is no time for second thoughts, Lacy.”

“Your family, Charles. Not mine.”

“So that’s what this is about. Kate, again.”

She pulled from his grasp and walked back to the mirror, anxiously pinning wayward curls into the topknot.

Charles stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s time you accept Kate for what she is.”

“She’s my sister. She’s all the family I have.”

“Not anymore. You have me. You’ll have my family, my friends. Kate won’t fit in. I’d rather not see her around here.”

She twirled to face him. “What are you suggesting, Charles? That I just drop my only sister from my life?”

He leveled her with a determined stare. “It’s a decision most sane people would have made a long time ago.”

“Then color me crazy.” Lacy knotted her fingers into painful fists. “Look, Charles, I don’t know what’s held Kate up, but she’ll be here. She wouldn’t miss my wedding. We have to wait for her.”

“Let it go, Lacy.”

“I can’t. A few minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I want Kate here when we exchange our vows. It’s the only way I can go through with this.”

He shook his head, as if he was sorry he had to refuse the request of a spoiled child. “We made a bargain.”

“And I’m trying to keep it. All I’m asking for is a little time.”

He grabbed her right arm just below the elbow, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Listen carefully, Lacy. That’s the church organ playing. The guests are seated and waiting. You will walk down the aisle.”

The phone rang. She broke from his grasp and dived for it. It had to be Kate.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Lacy.”

The voice was male, but not one she recognized. It sounded strained, muffled.

“Who is this?”

“A friend. I called to wish you the best on your wedding day. And to tell you that you are going to die very soon.”

The connection was broken before Lacy had a chance to reply, but she was shaking when she hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” Charles barked.

“No one. A crank call.”

“To a church? Some people are really sick.” He took her hand and pulled her toward him. “Let’s just forget about Kate for now. Don’t let her spoil your wedding day.”

“I won’t go through with this wedding, Charles, not unless Kate is here.”

“Kate’s attendance at the ceremony was not a part of our bargain. And I know you are not foolish enough to back out of our agreement.” He smiled into the mirror and ran his hand down the front of his tuxedo shirt, smoothing the pleats. “Now, touch up your makeup where your tears mussed your mascara. And for heaven’s sake, wipe that look of gloom from your face.”

He stepped toward the door. “The next time I see you, I’ll expect smiles. After all, this is your day.”

She stared at the door for long seconds after the back of Charles’s head had disappeared from view. Stopping by the mirror one last time, she poked a dab of cold cream on the smeared streaks of black under her eyes. The tears were gone now. She repaired the makeup and smiled at her reflection.

She’d do what she had to do. It was called survival, and both she and Kate had learned the ropes of it a long time ago. They’d just chosen different arenas in which to perfect their skills.

SHERIFF BRANSON RANDOLPH swerved his pickup truck into one of the designated parking spaces for a brick town house in an upper-middle-class area of San Antonio. The house was at the end of a row of similar structures. They backed up to a parklike space with twin gazebos, picnic areas and a pond about half the size of the Alamodome.

Even from the back entry, the building was impressive, two stories with a covered slate patio that looked more like an outdoor living room. Tables, chairs and potted palms as tall as the mesquites that grew in Burning Pear pastures. Not at all what he’d expected.

He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and double-checked the address. There was no mistake. This was the residence of the woman who’d paid a gift-bearing visit to the Burning Pear three nights ago and then collapsed at his feet. Kate Gilbraith, age thirty-three.

At this point, she was still recovering in a hospital across town. The small hospital-clinic in Kelman was okay for minor emergencies and routine health care, but serious bullet wounds required a trip to one of the larger San Antonio hospitals. Kate’s injury had been complicated by a serious loss of blood.

The doctors reported she was making a miraculous recovery. In spite of that, she hadn’t come to enough to answer Branson’s questions. Until she did, he still had no clue as to who had shot her in the right shoulder or why.

To top it off, she’d had no identification on her. Nothing but a key ring with three keys and a few wadded dollar bills, all stuffed into the front pocket of her slacks.

If she hadn’t had a record, he might still be trying to figure out who she was. But her fingerprints had told him what she couldn’t. Name. Previously arrested on charges of writing hot checks. A few years earlier, she’d done a short stint in the slammer for shoplifting.

Her current address had been a matter of public record. Once you had a name, you could find out a multitude of facts about anyone, if you knew where to look.

What the records didn’t tell him was where Kate Gilbraith had come up with the baby she claimed was a Randolph.

It wasn’t his. That was for sure. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had sex with a woman. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He did remember. He only wished he didn’t, considering how it had ended up. But it hadn’t been with Kate Gilbraith.

And his brothers had all sworn they’d never set eyes on her before the night of the birthday party. And, if a Randolph gave you their word on something, you could take it to the bank. That had been the legacy they’d inherited from their father and his father before him. The Randolph curse, they’d called it growing up on the ranch, but they’d all bought into it.

Nonetheless, his mom had talked Social Services into letting her take care of the newborn baby until Miss Gilbraith was well enough to do the job herself. He’d been against it. He’d been outvoted.

Branson locked his truck, a task he never bothered with in Kelman, and slammed the door behind him. Stepping over a smashed beer can, he headed across the patio and toward the back door. He noticed another beer can on the edge of one of the padded lounge chairs. Looked like the residents’ taste, or that of one of their friends, ran to Coors. And no one around here was a neatness freak.

The back door was closed. He knocked. No one answered, but the door squeaked open. Just a few inches, but enough that he could hear someone rummaging around inside. Maybe looters, since he knew the woman of the house was not home. Maybe the person who’d shot Miss Gilbraith. Maybe not. “Police. Come out and identify yourself.” No one responded.

Taking the safe approach, he eased his pistol from its holster. Soundlessly, he slipped through the open door and into a shiny kitchen, black chrome appliances, dirty dishes piled in the sink. The noises continued, coming from upstairs. He tiptoed up the stairs and across a carpeted runway that seemed more a loft than a hallway. He peered over the railing and into the lower-level living area.

There was a big-screen TV, a sectional sofa in dirt-brown leather and a bearskin rug thrown down in front of the fireplace. And more empty beer cans scattered about among stacks of magazines and newspapers.

He made his step light, making his way down the hall and past a series of closed doors. A crash of wood on wood, probably the forceful closing of a drawer, alerted him that he was getting warm.

Stopping, he peered through the open crack of a bedroom door. The woman making the noise was facing the other direction, but there was no mistaking the gender. She was in a wedding dress, with rows of minute pearl buttons that went far lower than the tiniest waist he’d ever seen on a full-grown woman. Or maybe it just looked that way above the yards and yards of billowing satin that cascaded over her hips and fell to shapely ankles.

She was bent over, ransacking her way through a dresser drawer. She pulled out a pair of short shorts and held them up for a second before stuffing them back in the drawer. If she was a looter, she had a strange way of dressing for the job, and she was apparently very picky.

The room had French doors that opened onto a balcony and a terrific view of hilly land that sloped to the banks of a sparkling pond. A nice setup. Evidently Kate Gilbraith had changed her ways, or else found that crime did pay.

He watched her for a few more seconds before deciding to let the woman in white know she had company. “Police. Keep your hands in plain view, and turn around nice and slow.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and then twirled around lightning fast, the one hand that was in view dangling a lacy scrap of underwear.

“You don’t follow orders too well,” he said.

“You scared me half to death.”

“Not following police orders can get you the other half of the way. Why didn’t you respond when I knocked and called?”

“I didn’t hear you.” She eyed his gun, her eyes flashing suspiciously. “Did Charles send you after me?”

“Afraid not.”

“Good.” She tossed the underwear she was holding to the bed. “Is this about Kate? Is she in trouble?”

“Right now, it’s about you. Do you live here?”

“No way.”

“Then why don’t we start with you telling me what you’re looking for in those drawers?”

“And if I don’t, you’ll shoot me? You San Antonio police are such a friendly sort. If you really are a cop. That doesn’t look like a police uniform you’re wearing to me. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to put that gun away and flash a little ID?”

She twitched her head and an avalanche of auburn curls broke loose to fall around her face. She was prettier than he’d first noticed, a cute nose, full sensuous lips and a long, regal neck. Some guy was missing out on a hell of a honeymoon.

Or maybe they’d already started, judging by a jagged rip in her skirt. So, there had to be a good reason for the bride to be ransacking someone else’s home.

He holstered the gun, took out his wallet and shook it open. She stepped closer and peered at the small print on his ID.

“I’d hate to have to shoot a bride,” he said when she averted her gaze from the wallet to his face. “Hate to even book one. You’d make too much of a scene at the jail. So why don’t you start talking?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, stalling, probably coming up with a story she thought he’d buy.

“I’m looking for my sister,” she said, turning back to the drawer and pulling out a pair of jeans.

“I doubt she’d be in one of those drawers.”

“A sheriff with a sense of humor. How novel.” She threw the jeans across the bed and kicked off a white shoe with a heel high enough to give her a nosebleed. Bending over, she rubbed the ball of her now-bare foot before kicking off the other pump.

“I’m still waiting on an explanation as to what you’re doing in Kate Gilbraith’s apartment.”

“Look!” She accented her call to attention by wildly gesturing with hands that showcased her long, painted nails. “I’ve already had a day you wouldn’t believe. Including a ride across town on the back of the police escort’s motorbike.”

Lifting the hem of her skirt, she revealed a pair of shapely legs, one with a fresh burn on the calf where an exhaust pipe had apparently caught her.

“What’s the matter? Was the traditional bridal ride in a limo too tame for you?”

“Right. But I’ve had my quota of excitement for the day, so why don’t you just be a nice cop and tell me what’s going on with my sister?”

Branson studied the woman in white. He didn’t notice a family resemblance. His instincts told him she was up to no good and that Kate Gilbraith probably wasn’t her sister. But his instincts had been known to be tainted.

“When was the last time you talked to your sister?”

“A week ago. We chatted on the phone. Actually, we argued on the phone. I thought that was why she quit taking my calls. Now I’m not so sure.”

If she’d said sometime within the past two days, he’d have known she was lying. Now he had to consider that she might be telling the truth. “What makes you think I’d know what happened to your sister?”

“I take it you’re not here doing routine security checks. And the gun you had out a few minutes ago didn’t indicate you’re here as a friend.” She threw her hands up, clearly exasperated. “Look, I know something’s up. You can tell me what it is. I just want to know that Kate’s all right.”

“My turn to see ID,” he said. “Do you have any on you?”

Her lips twisted into a defeated scowl. “Afraid not. The only thing I have with me is my beeper.” She ran her hands along her hips, smoothing the shiny fabric so that it hugged her curves. “No pockets on these dresses. Of course, you could call Mr. Charles Castile and ask him to identify his missing bride. I’m sure he’d accommodate you.”

“I don’t believe I know the man, so I don’t know why I’d believe him any quicker than I do you.” Actually, he had heard of Castile. Nothing good. He was a rich attorney tied to the coattails of Joshua Kincaid. Sleep with a snake, and you probably were a snake. At least that’s how Branson saw it. “So, about that ID…”

The woman propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a very unfriendly cop?”

“All the time. But I thank you for the compliment just the same. Now, let’s start again. Where would you have to go to get some identification that shows you’re Kate Gilbraith’s sister?”

“Look, mister. Being Kate’s sister is not something you’d want to lie about. At least not unless you were denying it. But it’s easy enough to prove I’m who I say I am.” She walked to a bookshelf on the far side of the room and stretched to her tiptoes. She was a couple of inches short of reaching the top shelf.

“Let me help you.” He stepped behind her and retrieved the photo album she was reaching for. He blew a layer of dust off of it before handing it to her.

She tore into it, turning a few pages and then tapping her finger on a picture of two girls mounted on a painted carousel pony. The younger of the two was skinny with an abundance of reddish-brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. The image in the snapshot wasn’t nearly as fetching as the woman standing in front of him, but it was obvious they were one and the same.

The older girl in the picture was somewhere in her mid-teens. There was no mistaking her either. It was the same woman who had come calling at the Burning Pear a few nights ago.

She tapped her finger on the picture. “That’s us. Me and Kate. See. It says so right under the picture. Kate and Lacy at the county fair.”

She turned a couple more pages. “And this was us last year, taken at my apartment.” She ran her finger along the edges of the snapshot. “Me and Kate. See. We’re sisters. Satisfied?”

But the picture was of a threesome. “Who’s the guy?”

“Adam Pascal, my boyfriend at the time. I have extremely poor taste in men.” Lacy let the cover slip from her fingers, and the photo album slammed shut.

She looked up at him, concern etched into the fine lines around her eyes and pulled at the corners of her full lips. “I’m Lacy Gilbraith, just like I told you. Now, please, tell me what’s happened to Kate.”

Branson swallowed hard. He’d bet his best pair of boots the woman wasn’t telling the whole truth. But judging from the snapshots in the photo album, she was Kate’s sister. Now he wished he had better news to deliver.

“What makes you think anything happened to your sister?”

“She didn’t show for my wedding. She would have unless something was terribly wrong.”

“Why don’t you sit down,” he said, motioning to the only chair in the room not draped in articles of clothing.

“No. I’m fine. Just tell me about Kate.”

The tremor in her voice and her suddenly drooping shoulders assured him that his words and changed attitude had sucked the fight right out of her, that she sensed something was seriously wrong. In her new state, she looked incredibly fragile. For the first time in a long time, he felt the urge to open his arms to a woman.

Instead, he plunged ahead, explaining how Kate Gilbraith had crashed his mother’s birthday party at the Burning Pear with a most unexpected guest. Explaining that she’d been shot, and that she’d dropped to the floor and into a semicoma state that the doctors couldn’t penetrate even though her physical condition had improved significantly.

“I’d like to see my sister.”

“I can drive you to the hospital.”

She nodded, accepting his offer. “But not in this.” She held up the skirt of the bridal dress, looping one finger through the unsightly rip. “I can find something of Kate’s to wear, but you’ll have to help me get out of this dress. It is not a one-person operation.” She turned her back to him, her fingers already fiddling with the top button.

Branson’s throat grew scratchy dry. Undressing women was not in his job description. Not that he had anything against the task. He was a man, after all. But he doubted seriously his fingers would fit around anything as delicate and small as that row of pearl buttons that stared back at him.

Lacy’s fingers made quick work of the top few buttons. “I can’t reach much lower, so you’re going to have to help or we’ll be here all night.”

Branson nudged his Stetson back an inch or two to keep it from crashing into Lacy’s head. Bending, he forced his fingers to the task, fiddling endlessly with the first reluctant button. He leaned close, and the mind-numbing fragrance of Lacy’s perfume worked havoc on his senses, making the task at hand even more difficult.

Long minutes later, he was only three buttons down and dozens more to go. He struggled to steady his breath as his rough knuckles collided with the silky flesh of Lacy’s back. Damn. Here he was undressing another man’s bride, and his own libido was acting as though it had a honeymoon coming.

Button by button, inch by inch. The opening grew wider, revealing more flesh, finally dipping below her waist to the top lacy band of her panties. His fingers, and other parts of his body, grew stiff and his chest constricted painfully.

She wiggled and stretched her neck as far as she could, trying to see what was taking him so long. “I hope you’re better at apprehending criminals than you are at undoing buttons.”

“Just hold still. And suck in your breath so I have room to work.” His words came out a little gruffer than he’d intended, in an effort not to reveal the effect this undressing act was having on him.

“Yes sir, Sheriff.” She held her breath for a few seconds then let it out in a resounding whoosh. “So whose baby was this that Kate delivered to your house?”

“It wasn’t mine. I can guarantee you that.”

“Oooou. Touche´.” She wiggled a little more, tugging on the skirt and pulling it lower over her shapely hips. “But I wasn’t accusing. Actually, I meant, who was the mother of the baby?”

He stopped struggling with the contrary pearl dots. “Are you saying this baby wasn’t your sister’s?”

“Absolutely not. I see her at least once a month, whether she wants to see me or not. She’s as thin as a rail. I’d have noticed if she were pregnant.”

“Then where did she get the baby?”

“I’d think you’d know the answer to that if the baby’s a Randolph.”

“I said your sister claimed the baby was a Randolph. There’s a big difference.”

Lacy twisted from the waist, and the skirt slipped lower still. Branson’s breath grew so hot it burned his lungs. He’d seen nearly naked women before, but never one like this. Actually, he hadn’t seen all that many, when you got right down to it, and none in many a Texas moon. Still, he would have doubted this type of perfection existed in real life.

“Sorry, cowboy. The show’s over.” Lacy took him by the shoulders and spun him around to face the door. “You can wait in the hall while I change into something of Kate’s.”

Branson walked away, thinking Charles Castile had to be one of the luckiest men alive, but wondering why in the world the man wasn’t here to undress his own wife on her wedding day. He paced the hall while he waited, forcing his thoughts from Lacy to the newest fact in the case at hand.

If the baby wasn’t Kate Gilbraith’s, whose child was she? Had Kate kidnapped the infant, left some new mother fearing for her baby’s life? Only, if that were the case, why hadn’t Kate demanded money? Why had she just placed little Betsy in their hands and fallen at their feet, a bullet firmly embedded in her shoulder?

The best clues as to what happened probably resided with Kate or with the person who’d tried to kill her. And in spite of Lacy’s protestations of ignorance, Branson had an idea she knew a lot more about what had happened than she was admitting.

After all, she was here in Kate’s apartment when she should be cavorting in some luxurious honeymoon suite.

Branson jerked as the sound of breaking glass ordered him to full attention. He peered over the railing as a tightly wound contraption of glass and metal crashed through the living-room window. It careened across the carpeted floor and slid under the sofa.

Adrenaline rushed through him. “Under the bed,” he ordered, racing back into the bedroom. He grabbed Lacy and shoved her resistant body in that direction. A second later, the room rocked with the explosion of a homemade bomb.

Chapter Three

Lacy shifted beside Branson and then dissolved into a spasm of ragged coughing. He turned toward her, the muscles in his arms straining as he pushed against the mattress that had collapsed on top of them. “Are you all right?”

“Probably not.” She sucked in a gulp of air and raised her knee, giving herself a little leverage with the mattress. “But I’m alive.”

“Good. If you want to stay that way, we should get out of here. Fast.” He scooted toward the edge of the bed, holding up the mattress so that she could follow.

He watched while she stood. She was a little unsteady, but he didn’t see any blood or signs of bruising. And fortunately, she’d traded the yards of satin for jeans and a sweater, and the nosebleed heels for a pair of loafers.

Grabbing one of her hands, he pulled her through the door and into the open hallway. His eyes stung from the haze of black smoke that hit him in the face. He squinted, making a quick assessment of possible escape routes.

Flames licked and sputtered around the sofa and were racing in a jagged line toward the front door. That left the back door, a path through thick smoke, broken glass and who knew what else. A gas leak from any appliance could send the kitchen portion of the house, including the back door, orbiting into space at any second.

Lacy muttered a word she hadn’t learned in Sunday school. “I say we run for it.”

She tried to wrestle her hand from his grasp. He held on and turned back to the French doors that led off the bedroom. “How are you at leaping from second-storey balconies?”

“I’ll leave that to you and superheroes. I’ll take the patio door.”

“Too dangerous.”

She fell into another bout of coughing. He took that opportunity to drag her back into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. She stumbled after him, tripping once on the dress she’d shed just in the nick of time. He pushed the French doors open and gulped in a lungful of semiclean air. She grabbed the doorknob and held on, resisting his attempts to coax her onto the balcony.

“You’re not going to go coward on me now, are you?” Branson pried her hand loose. Manhandling women was not his style, and he got no enjoyment from it. But there was no time to argue when she had no choice.

She shook her head doubtfully. “If we jump from here, we’re going to break something, possibly my skull.”

“Break or burn. It’s your choice.” It was a rhetorical option, and he didn’t wait for her answer. He let go of her hand and leaned over the railing. It was a fairly long drop, but all they really had to do was crawl over the guardrail, hold on to one of the pickets and dangle until they could wrap their legs around the main support column. From there it was just a fireman’s slide to the ground.

He described the procedure to Lacy. She grasped the handrail with both hands.

“Ladies first,” he said, not trusting her to follow if he left her up here by herself.

“Always the gentleman.” Her voice was hoarse, the effects of the smoke and her recent bout of coughing.

But he could read the resolve in her eyes and the serious jut of her jaw. She’d do what she had to do. He climbed over the railing and then helped her do the same.

“Wrap your hands around my forearm,” he said, holding on to the railing with his left hand and extending his right arm.

A shock wave rumbled through the house. The flames had found something they liked. Probably aerosol cans or paint. The result wasn’t nearly as strong as the original explosion but enough of a shudder that Lacy dropped her hesitancy.

She grabbed his arm. Her grip was sure, stronger than he’d expected. A second later she was dangling, swinging her long legs until they hugged the post. She let go of him, and by the time she hit the ground he was riding the same stick horse to safety.

She looked around as his feet pounded the earth. “I suppose you have a car around here somewhere.”

“My truck is out back.” Not stopping for further explanations, he pulled her along, loping over the grass and rounding the back side of the house. The frightening crackle and pungent odor of burning wood dogged their movements.

Branson stood by the truck, checking out the situation. So far, the flames were contained in the one town house, but if the fire wasn’t extinguished quickly, the blaze could spread to neighboring residences.

“Who lives next door to your sister? Invalids? Kids? Anyone who would be home during the day?”

“It’s vacant. It’s been for sale ever since she moved in.”

He breathed a little easier. At least no one else was in danger. He ran to the front of his truck, jumped into his seat and reached for his cell phone. But someone had beat him to the 911 call. By the time an operator had answered, the scream of sirens was already closing in on them. He broke his connection just as Lacy slid into the passenger seat.

“Close the door and buckle up. I’d just as soon be gone when the local law officers get here.”

She reached for the seat belt. “A cop who doesn’t trust cops. I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“I thought maybe it was because I just saved your life.” He fit the key into the ignition and yanked the gear to reverse. “Besides, I didn’t say that I didn’t trust cops,” he clarified, backing out of the parking space. “I’m just not interested in explaining to them right now why I’m involved in an explosion on their turf.”

“That’s right. You’re not from around here. Not really a cop either. Cowboy Sheriff Branson Randolph. It has a nice ring to it.” She put three fingers to her temple and massaged. “Or maybe the ringing is just in my head.”

A fire truck came racing toward them. He stopped to let it pass and then took the first left. “So, are you still up for a trip to the hospital, or would you rather call your new husband and get him to take you?” He pointed to the cell phone that rested on the seat between them. “You’re welcome to use my phone.”

She offered a tentative smile. “You’re not backing out on me, are you, cowboy? How was it you put it, turning coward?”

“Why would I?”

“For starters, we almost got killed back there.”

“I doubt seriously the explosion was meant for you. Or do you live there, too?”

“No. Kate lives there with her boyfriend. It’s actually his place.”

Branson kept his eyes on the road, but his concentration was centered on Lacy. He knew that how a person reacted to questions was as important as the answer they gave. “Exactly how much do you know about Kate’s life?”

“Kate’s thirty-three, six years older than I am. I’m not her keeper.”

Avoidance. He wasn’t surprised. A bride still in her wedding dress who wasn’t interested in even calling her husband probably had a few secrets of her own.

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my answer,” she said when he didn’t question her further.

“You didn’t.”

“Something did. You’ve got that hard-as-nails look on your face again, the same one you had when you walked in on me in Kate’s bedroom.”

“I just don’t like playing games when I don’t know the rules or the desired outcome. Someone shot your sister and then blew up the house where she resides. You pretend to be all worried about her, but when I try to help, you evade me with ‘I’m not her keeper.”’

“See. I knew you were offended. But, you see, Sheriff, I don’t know if you’re just the good-old-boy lawman you’re pretending to be or one of the brutal boys I read about in the paper. I don’t know if you’re out to help Kate or arrest her.”

“And what might I be arresting her for?”

“I’m not sure. You’re in the business. You’d think of something.”

“I wouldn’t say her arrests in the past have been all that creative. Writing bad checks. Shoplifting.”

“I never said she was a saint.”

“No, you haven’t said much of anything. If you really want to help your sister, it’s time you did.” He measured his words, wondering what it would take to get through to Lacy. “The stints your sister has done behind bars before would be nothing compared to the sentence she’d get if she were to be convicted on kidnapping charges.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Kate is not a kidnapper.”

“That’s a start. Is your sister involved in something illegal or just something that could get her killed?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, rubbing a spot under her left ear. “I’m sure you aren’t going to believe me, but I really don’t know where that baby came from or who shot Kate. All I know for certain is what you’ve told me, substantiated by the fact that she didn’t show up for my wedding.”

“So your story is that Kate missed the wedding, you came looking for her, and that’s when I hit you with the bad news?”

“Something like that.” She clasped her hands in her lap, nervously entangling her fingers. “Believe me, if I’d known Kate was in the hospital, I’d have been right there beside her.” Lacy turned to face him. “I just wish I had known sooner that Kate had been shot.”

“Even if you’d been at her bedside the whole time, your sister wouldn’t have known it,” he assured her. “She hasn’t been fully conscious since she collapsed at our ranch.”

“But she would have known somehow that I was there. And even if she hadn’t, I would have known.” She reached to the ball of hair on top of her head and started pulling out pins. Shiny auburn curls shook loose, falling around her shoulders, wild and tempestuous. She raked through them with her fingers, but her attempts to tame the tangle were futile.

Branson watched the transformation and then forced himself to look away. No married woman should look that good, especially one sitting in his truck. One he had undressed.

He stuck a finger under the collar of his shirt and tugged it away from his neck. The truck was suddenly way too warm.

Lacy leaned back and closed her eyes. Her muscles were taut, her face strained. She had the look of someone fighting demons in her mind. But were they her demons or Kate’s? Either way, Branson had a strong suspicion that they’d become his demons before this was all over.

And the key to Baby Betsy’s true identity lay somewhere in the muddle of facts and danger surrounding these two women.

LACY CLOSED HER EYES and tried to deal with the problems at hand. Ricky and Kate’s town house going up in smoke. Kate shot and lying in a hospital all alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after she’d agreed to the bargain just to keep Kate safe. Only now she’d broken her bargain with Charles. But only temporarily. She’d have to go back to him. There was no way out.

“We’re about two blocks from the hospital,” Branson announced, breaking into her tormenting thoughts.

Lacy sat up straight and pulled down the visor. There was no mirror. Probably just as well since she didn’t have a comb or even a lipstick on her. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered right now except seeing Kate.

“Do you think they’ll let me see my sister if visiting hours are over?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. My badge will get us by the front desk, and the floor nurses will be thankful someone in the family is there to visit the patient. You can probably stay the night with her if you like.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Anything to put off the inevitable confrontation with Charles. He would be livid. But she pushed worries about Charles to the back of her mind the second Branson pulled into the well-lit parking lot.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER, Lacy and Branson were trotting along behind a tall nurse who had introduced herself as Carol Roust. The intimidating woman had jumped right in and taken control of the situation, insisting she talk to them before Lacy saw Kate.

Lacy was only a step behind her when Carol stopped at the door to the nurses’ lounge. “We can talk in here,” she said, standing back while they entered. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot on the counter. Help yourself if you’d like some.”

Lacy dropped into the nearest chair, nodding yes when Branson poured a cup for himself and offered to pour one for her. Carol declined his offer of the same and took the chair opposite Lacy, crossing her legs.

She waited until Branson joined them at the table before she started talking. “The doctor was here earlier. He said Miss Gilbraith was making a remarkable recovery in every way but one.”

“Which way is that?” Lacy asked.

“She is still not responding to questions or to any attempts to get her to talk. She appears not to be aware that we are in the room with her.”

Branson took a sip of his brew. “So, she’s still in some sort of coma?”

“Not exactly.” The nurse pursed her lips. “Ideally, the doctor should be talking to you about this, but he just left the hospital and I don’t think he’ll be returning tonight. He stressed before he left that any family member visiting Kate be advised of the situation. He wanted you to know about the problem as well, Sheriff.”

“What problem?” Lacy spoke the question quietly, though she wanted to scream it at the nurse. The woman’s passion for melodrama had Lacy’s stomach churning and her patience strained to breaking.

“We think your sister’s inability to respond to verbal stimuli may not be physically induced.” She lay her hands on the table. “To put it bluntly, we think she may be faking.”

Kate, performing? That certainly sounded like the sister Lacy knew and loved. For the first time since she’d heard of Kate’s injury, she felt a little relief.

“That would be a good sign, wouldn’t it, Miss Roust? I mean, if Kate is only faking a coma, then she is recovering in that area as well.”

“Playing games with a hospital’s medical staff is never a good thing, Miss Gilbraith.”

Lacy straightened her shoulders, more than ready to be finished with the conversation. “I agree that it’s probably not the best scenario, but someone did attempt to kill my sister. If what you suspect is true, maybe Kate has her reasons for not talking.”

Lacy looked over at Branson and then stood up. “Now, if there’s nothing else you feel you must tell me, I’d like to see my sister. And I’d like to talk to her doctor as soon as possible.”

The expression on Nurse Roust’s face left no doubt that Lacy had made a new enemy. But what was one more to a list that was growing steadily as the day wore on?

Speaking in clipped tones, the nurse gave them directions to Kate’s room and sent them on alone. The room was the third from the end of the hall. Lacy stopped for a second and read her sister’s name from the card at the door along with instructions that Kate was to have a soft diet with extra liquids.

Lacy knocked softly on the closed door. She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t wait for one. Taking a deep breath and trying to prepare herself for seeing Kate in this condition, she pushed through the door and walked to the side of the bed.

“Kate, it’s Lacy. I would have been here sooner. You know I would have been with you if I’d known you were injured.”

The bulge under the covers didn’t move. A motionless lump without even the top of Kate’s sun-bleached blond hair poking out.

Suspicion tugged at Lacy’s mind. She stepped closer and clasped the edge of the hospital blanket. She knew what she would find when she jerked the blanket down, but she held on to the hope that she was wrong.

She wasn’t. Kate Gilbraith was gone.

LACY STOOD at the top of the stairs in front of the hospital. A young couple hurried down the steps in front of her. An elderly gentleman, shoulders bent, stared at her as he shuffled past.

She envied them that they had somewhere to go, a purpose to their movements. She had none. Had no clue as to where to find Kate. All she knew was that her sister was in danger and that she had to find her.

“Do you have any idea where your sister might have gone?”

Lacy jumped at the sound of Branson’s voice. She’d been so lost in her misery, she’d forgotten he was still standing beside her.

“No. The only one she’s really close to besides me is her live-in boyfriend, Ricky. That was his town house that just got blown up, so there’s no telling where he is.”

“She must have friends.”

“Not really. She’s pretty much a loner, except that she’s always involved with a man. The only female I remember her being close to moved out of town about a year ago and never got back in touch with her. Kate took that as a betrayal. And most of her life has been a series of betrayals.”

“Maybe she needs to pick a different kind of friend.”

Lacy looked up at Branson. The artificial lights cast shadows on his face, highlighting his rugged features. For the first time she noticed how young he was. Probably in his early thirties at the most, but the aura of authority he wore made him seem much older.

He shifted his stance, and she realized he’d grown uncomfortable under her assessment.

He tugged his hat a little lower. “I put out an APB on her. I want her picked up as quickly as possible. Kate could be involved in a kidnapping. Even if she’s not, she’s likely still in real danger.”

She swallowed hard, but for once didn’t try to camouflage her true feelings. “I know she’s in trouble. I just don’t know how to help her.”

“I might, if you’d level with me.”

He glanced at the parking lot for a second and then stepped closer. “You think because I carry a badge that I’m the enemy, Lacy. You need to think again. I’m not the dirty coward who shot her in the shoulder. Not the one who airmailed a bomb through the window of her town house.”

Lacy took a step backward and leaned against a concrete pillar, suddenly so tired she could barely stand. Branson wasn’t totally right, but he wasn’t totally wrong either. She didn’t think he was the enemy. She knew who he was.

He was the law, and the law had never protected or looked out for her or for Kate. Besides, she knew the law from the other side, from the office of attorney Charles Castile. The law favored the people with money and clout.

No matter that she ached to trust someone, she couldn’t let it be Branson. She couldn’t be taken in by his seeming concern. Couldn’t respond to the strength of him or the rugged charms of the cowboy who’d saved her life.

Branson placed a hand on the pillar, a spot just above her left shoulder. “I think you’re making a big mistake, Lacy, but I can’t force you to talk.”

“I never thought you law types admitted that.”

“Is that what you want, Lacy? Do you want me to take you to some intimidating interrogation room and harass the truth out of you? Would that make you feel justified in choosing not to help your sister just because helping her means talking to a cop?”

“No.”

“Good, because that’s not my style. And, I don’t know why I’m worried about helping you or your sister when you’re so dead set against working with me.” His eyes softened. “Maybe I’m just not used to saving brides on their wedding day.”

He reached over and took her right hand in his. The unexpected intimacy of the touch surprised her. Even more, she was amazed that she wanted to tell him the truth, at least as much of it as she knew.

But she didn’t dare trust the law. Not in this. Ricky had warned her. The only one she could go to now was Charles and pray he would forgive her for running out on their bargain.

She shifted her gaze from Branson to her feet. “I can’t tell you anything.”

He let go of her hand. “Then I guess we may as well call it a night. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Her insides quaked sickeningly at the thought of returning to her future husband.

Branson’s gaze was fastened on the darkened parking lot. He was probably convinced she and Kate were both kooks. Frankly, she wasn’t sure at this point that he was far from wrong.

Branson took her by the elbow and led her down the steps and over to the parking space where they’d left his truck. “Don’t look now,” Branson said as he opened her door, “but we have a fan sitting a few cars to the right of us in a red Jaguar. He’s been watching us ever since we walked out of the hospital.”

Her heart plunged to her knees. “Early forties, sandy hair and wearing glasses?”

“Bull’s-eye.”

She twisted in her seat and located the last man she’d expected to see in the hospital parking lot. The reality of the fact twisted in her brain, sending stabbing pains to both temples, destroying her resolve. Did Charles know Kate was in this hospital? And if he did, how did he know it and why hadn’t he told her that Kate had been shot?

Branson brought the engine to life. “I take it the man is someone you know?”

“Apparently not well enough. That’s Charles Castile.”

“Your husband?”

“No. The groom I left at the altar.” She lay a hand on Branson’s arm. “I’ve changed my mind, Sheriff. Buy me a steak, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Well almost, anyway.

Chapter Four

Branson sat across from Lacy, sipping his iced tea and watching her chew appreciatively on a bite of her filet. She’d ordered it rare, with a baked potato and salad. A real meal and she was eating like a real person, not nibbling at it as if a normal-size bite would choke her delicate system.

He liked that about her.

He shifted in his chair and scanned the room. He didn’t need things to like about Lacy Gilbraith. He needed to do his job. In the few hours he’d known her, he’d already found out that she was not the kind of citizen who went out of her way to help a lawman.

But something had changed her mind in a hurry tonight. One minute she didn’t have a thing to tell him, the next she was promising “will talk for food.” The dramatic change had come as a result of finding her jilted groom in the parking lot of the hospital. The second he’d mentioned a red Jag, her eyes had grown wide, and the muscles in her face had clenched.

Fear, anger, irritation? Maybe a little of all three. Which made him think that whatever had precipitated her running from the wedding had to do with more than just the absence of her sister at the planned ceremony. Especially since she’d run before she had exchanged the vows.

Branson had expected Charles to follow them when they left the hospital, but apparently he’d seen enough. He hadn’t caught sight of the Jaguar again. Branson would make it a point to find out a lot more about Charles Castile tomorrow. As for tonight, he had yet to learn any more from the beautiful woman in front of him than what she’d told him initially.

“You do know how to feed a woman, Branson Randolph.”

He turned back to his dining companion as she put down her fork and took a sip from the tall glass of iced tea at her fingertips. “You’re not giving up now, are you? There’s still food on your plate.”

“If I eat another bite, I’ll never be able to button Kate’s jeans around my waist. They’re already seriously interfering with my breathing capabilities.”

“Then you better stop eating. It wouldn’t do to pass out from lack of oxygen. As you already found out, buttons are not my strong suit.”

Lacy smiled as she picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. The red lipstick she’d been wearing when he’d first encountered her had all worn off, leaving her mouth a dusty pink. Delicate. Paired with the wild mass of auburn curls that framed her face, she was a picture of innocence.

He stretched his legs under the table. Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t lie.

“Are you ready to answer a few questions now, or would you like dessert first?”

Her smile disappeared. “You know, for a few minutes there, Sheriff, you had me going. I thought there was a real man sitting across the table from me instead of a cop.”

“I’m real enough.” Too real, and too much a man, although he’d almost forgotten the fact himself until he’d started disrobing her this afternoon. He fingered the end of his fork. “But I don’t think you accepted this dinner invitation because of me at all, Miss Gilbraith. I think it was the steak you were courting.”

She nodded. “I admit it. I was famished. I hadn’t eaten all day and I’m not sure about last night.”

“Wedding-day jitters?”

“Or as it turned out, my unwedding-day jitters.” She wadded the napkin in her hand, squeezing the fabric between fisted fingers.

“I guess it’s rough on a woman when her dream day turns disastrous.”

“My dream day?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My dream day would involve walking on a secluded beach somewhere. I’d have cool waves splashing around my ankles and a blue sky overhead.”

She released the napkin, letting it slide from her fingers and drop to the white tablecloth. “Actually.” Her tone grew agitated. “You could throw in a couple of sharks, and it would still beat the ceremony I almost had.”

So his assumption had been accurate. “It sounds like this match was not made in heaven.”

“To say the least.” She pushed her plate back a few inches. “Castile came into this world with a silver spoon in his mouth. Me, I was gagging on trouble from the day I was born.”

“Does this story go back that far?” He patted the small notebook in his shirt pocket. “If it does, I’ll need a bigger pad of paper.”

“No.” The spark of life and humor he’d glimpsed earlier gave way to shadowy sadness. “Some pasts are better forgotten, or at least buried.”

He moved the flickering candle from the center of the table to one side so that he could study her reactions that much more closely. “Why don’t I order coffee and you tell me what you know. Your sister is obviously in danger, but it might not be quite as bad as it seems.”

“You’re sugarcoating, Sheriff. You’re not very good at it.”

“You’re right.” He finished the last of his iced tea. “And you didn’t let me buy you dinner just because you wanted to cooperate with the law. You’re scared for your sister.”

“Well, at least we understand each other.”

“The motivation, not the facts. What’s Kate involved in?”

“It’s not the what, but the who.” She lifted a tangle of hair from the back of her neck. “It’s stuffy in here. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“We could stroll along the Riverwalk if you like, talk out there. It’s a good night for it.”

“A stroll in the moonlight—while I squeal on my sister and her boyfriend.” She pushed back from the table and stood up. “Why not? I’ll go to the ladies’ room while you pay the bill. Next time, I’ll treat.”

“Don’t try to slip out on me.”

“I won’t. You already called it. Kate needs help, and right now you’re the only game in town.”

Branson watched her walk away, her back straight and her head high, though he knew fear and regrets were choking the life out of her.

And for the first time since he’d pinned the badge on his chest, he wished it wasn’t there. What Lacy Gilbraith needed was a friend, a man to stand by her the way that snake she’d almost married apparently hadn’t.

Damn, he was doing it again. His family was obviously wrong when they claimed he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. It was just that his romantic inclinations were few and far between. And not to be trusted.

Here he was, letting a woman mess with his mind. Again. Convincing him she was who and what he wanted to believe when the facts said differently. Only this time he would not be taken in.

Lacy Gilbraith was part of the job. She might need a man to stand by her. But he was not that man.

LACY STEPPED through the open door and into the night air. She and Branson had exited the restaurant on the lower level, putting them directly onto San Antonio’s famed Riverwalk.

It was a beautiful May night, and the paved walkway that bordered the narrow, shallow river bustled with the Friday-night crowd of work-worn revelers. A couple passed them, their arms entangled, their laughter adding to the chorus of chatter and music that spilled into the night. Lacy wondered if her heart had ever felt that light, if her laughter had ever bubbled that freely.

She shivered and hugged her arms around her chest.

“We can go back inside if you’re cold.”

“No, it’s not the temperature,” she said. “I like it out here, but I’m not sure it’s conducive to serious talking.”

“Not here in the midst of hotels and restaurants, but there’s a quieter area if we follow the river for a few blocks. Are you up to the walk?”

“I could use it after that meal,” she said.

Branson was right. A few blocks north, the crowd thinned considerably. He led her to an unoccupied bench a few feet from the water’s edge. “Is this quiet enough for you?” he asked.

“It will do.”

Branson sat down beside her. “I know you’re finding this extremely difficult, Lacy, but you don’t have much choice. Bullets and bombs can be deadly. Your sister is keeping vicious company.”

He was right, of course. Kate had a history of bad choices in friends and lifestyle, but a lot of those had been a matter of survival. The truth was, Kate had a heart of gold. But that kind of thing never showed up on a police rap sheet. That’s why people like Branson couldn’t begin to understand a woman like Kate.

But Lacy didn’t need him to understand her. She needed him to find her and protect her.

“I’m not sure where this story begins, Sheriff, so I’ll give you a little of the background.” She searched her mind for the right words, the right facts to share with the eager lawman. The right ones to keep secret.

“Kate moved back to Texas a year ago. She was broke. I asked Charles Castile if he could help her find a job.”

“Your fiance´?”

“Only he wasn’t my fiance´ then, just my boss. He pulled strings, got her a job in spite of her lack of skills and her police record.”

“What kind of job?”

“She went to work as a waitress out at Joshua Kincaid’s San Antonio nightclub. Charles does a lot of work for Kincaid, and he hired Kate on as a favor. I know a lot of people don’t like Mr. Kincaid, but he’s been nothing but nice to my sister and to me when I’ve been around him.”

“I don’t think anyone complains about Joshua Kincaid’s social skills. It’s his lack of scruples that brings the criticism.”

“Anyway, Kate went to work for Kincaid and through that job she met and got involved with Ricky Carpenter. Apparently he’s a friend of Joshua Kincaid’s. He played pro football until he suffered that career-ending injury a couple of years ago.”

“So how does Ricky enter into all of this?”

“He and Kate have been a thing ever since they met. She’s crazy about him. He acts like he’s just as crazy about her. She moved into his town house a few months ago.”

“The one that just got bombed?”

She nodded.

Branson crossed an ankle over his knee, man style. “So, tell me how Ricky enters into Kate’s taking a bullet in the shoulder.”

Jittery spasms attacked Lacy’s nerves. Charles and Ricky had both warned her that this should go no further, that if she talked to the police, she might well be signing Ricky’s and Kate’s death certificates. But now she couldn’t trust Charles, and even before she’d run out on her bargain with him, someone had tried to kill Kate.

“I can’t help you, Lacy, unless you talk to me.”

“I’m not sure you can anyway.”

“Someone is trying to kill your sister. How much worse do you think it can get?”

Branson was right. She’d tried to play by the bad guys’ rules. She couldn’t afford to do that any longer. She sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to talk. “Ricky came to see me one night about four weeks ago.”

“What about?”

“Trouble. He showed up at my apartment about midnight, ringing the doorbell and banging on the door. I probably wouldn’t have let him in at that time of the night had he not looked as if he might die on my doorstep if I didn’t.”

“Was he ill?”

“No. His face and arms were bruised and blood was caked on his forehead and matted in his hair.”

“Did you call for help? An ambulance? Police?”

“No, he begged me not to. And instead of being cocky and arrogant the way he usually is, he seemed fearful, desperate.”

“What explanation did he give you for the bruises?”

“He said he’d been jumped and attacked by two men who had beaten him within an inch of his life and promised more would return if he didn’t come up with the fifty thousand dollars they said he owed them. A gambling debt. Only next time they promised it wouldn’t stop with a beating. It would end in a death—Kate’s.”

She was shivering again, inside and out. Branson touched a hand to her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to lean into him, not to bury her head against his broad chest. She trembled but didn’t give in to the tears that pushed at the back of her eyelids.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Just get the story out. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

“I’m not usually like this.” Her voice broke.

“You don’t usually have to worry about the safety of your sister.”

“More often than you know. It’s just that this is the first time I haven’t been able to at least talk to her.”

“Still, it’s no crime to show emotion.”

She bit her bottom lip. It might not be a crime, but she’d learned long ago what showing weakness got you. And she doubted if the good sheriff sitting beside her ever indulged. He was too much in control, too unruffled by explosions to believe him capable of ever losing his cool or exposing his vulnerabilities.

“Did you give Ricky the money?” Branson asked, his gaze fastened on her face.

She lowered her own gaze to the concrete walk beneath her feet. “I would have in a second if I’d had it. I didn’t. But I didn’t have to think about it long. Ricky begged me to go to Charles and ask for the money.”

“Four weeks ago. By that time you and Charles must have been engaged?”

She nodded, knowing it was the same as lying. She drew into herself, alone with the rest of the secrets, the ones she didn’t dare reveal. Branson would find out soon enough, and when he did, he’d do what any good officer of the law would. He’d throw her into jail.

“And did Charles lend him the money?”

“Yes.”

“What did Ricky use for collateral?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get into the details with them. They worked it out between themselves.”

Branson fingered the brim of his hat. “So, let’s see if I have this straight. You asked your wealthy fiance´ for a loan of fifty thousand dollars because you thought it would save your sister’s life. He agreed and the two of you went back to the business of planning a wedding.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“So, if the men got their money, why would they still be trying to kill Kate?”

“That’s the same question I’ve been asking myself ever since you told me she’d been shot.”

“Where’s Ricky now?”

“I have no idea.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

She shook her head and then raked flyaway wisps of hair from her cheeks. “Ricky called me on the phone a few days after the beating and thanked me for getting Charles to lend him the money. That’s the last I’ve heard from him.”

Branson stared straight ahead. “This makes absolutely no sense.”

“I agree, but I’ve told you everything I know. So, if you’d lend me a few dollars, I’ll catch a cab and go see if Charles will at least let me back into the house to get my things. I’ll pay you back. Of course, you’ll have to take my word on that.”

“I’m not a trusting sort. Besides, I have a better idea. You can go home with me.”

“I don’t think so, Sheriff.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he added quickly. “It’s the family ranch down in Kelman. You’ll have a room of your own and the most diligent chaperon in the state of Texas—my mom. So you won’t have to worry about your virtue not being as intact when you leave as when you arrive.”

Suspicion edged along her nerve endings. “Why would you invite me to your home? You don’t know me or anything about me.”

“I can’t resist coming to the aid of a beautiful woman in danger.”

She didn’t buy that for a second. “I’m not in danger. I’m an innocent bystander.”

“Then come with me for the sake of the investigation. I’m looking for your sister. I’ll need to know everything you know about her life and her habits if I’m to find her before her would-be killer does.” He stood up, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet as well. “Besides, Charles isn’t your husband. There’s no honeymoon to hurry back to.”

“How long are we talking about?”

“How long can you spare?”

“Let’s see, at this point I’m sure I no longer have a position at Castile’s law firm, I gave up my apartment already, and I doubt Charles is going to welcome me back into his home in the hills with open arms.”

“Then I guess you can stay as long as I need you.”

As long as he needed her. That was as long as she’d ever stayed with any man before. Her visit to Kelman would surely be short.

“Of course, I can’t promise you a good night’s sleep,” he said, walking along beside her in the direction of where they’d left his truck. “There’s a baby in the house.”

“The mystery baby that Kate delivered to your door?”

“That’s the one.”

Lacy’s nerves tightened again. She hated to even think how her sister had come up with a baby. Especially one whose father was a Randolph. Maybe Branson’s, though he’d vehemently denied the possibility.

There were probably many a woman enamored of the handsome cowboy lawman. Especially if you went for the intelligent, pensive type. Or if you liked the feel of his strong hand when it closed over yours. Or the sensation that crept into your senses when his hip accidentally brushed against yours as you walked side by side.

Some women might like that. Probably only the ones who were breathing.

Kelman, Texas

BRANSON TURNED OFF the main highway and onto the road to Burning Pear. He probably should have called his mother and alerted her he was bringing a guest with him. She’d welcome Lacy with open arms, but she’d expect an explanation. She’d demand to know why he was providing bed and board to the sister of the woman who’d delivered Betsy to their door.

And that was probably the reason he hadn’t called. The only explanation he could offer was the one he’d given Lacy, and that one held about as much water as the feed pail he’d shot full of holes last weekend when he’d found a rattler inside it. He could easily question Lacy about her sister without having her sleep under the same roof as he did.

But he didn’t want her disappearing on him the way Kate had. Besides, he wasn’t convinced that she’d told him the whole truth. And he was even less certain that she wasn’t in danger herself.

“What will your mother say when you come waltzing in on a Friday night with a woman in tow?” Lacy asked, breaking the silence that had ridden between them for most of the ninety-minute trip.

“First of all, I don’t waltz. I have two left feet. Second, with any luck, she’ll be asleep. Langley will likely be asleep as well, and Ryder will probably be out at the Roadhouse courting one of the local ladies.”

“Langley and Ryder?”

“My brothers. Langley runs the ranch with some help from Ryder and me and a few hands. Ryder was on the rodeo circuit, but he’s been sidelined with an injury for almost a year. He’s healing nicely, but he still has a slight limp and the doctor hasn’t given him the okay to return to the suicide circuit. My older brother, Dillon, is in Austin.”

Lacy sank back against the seat. “A big, close-knit Texas family, and I’m just going to barge in on them. I don’t think this is such a good idea, Branson.”

“Too late to worry about that now.”

“It’s never too late to worry.”

He lowered his window a notch. “Just breathe that air.”

She did. “Smells like any other air to me, minus the city pollution, of course.”

“Dust, cattle, cactus, mesquite. Smells like home to me.”

“Not something I’d want to bottle.” Still, she lowered her window a couple of inches as well. “Haven’t you ever wanted to escape from your rural roots, move to the big city, be blinded by the bright lights?”

“Once. When I was about twelve years old, I had my heart set on becoming an astronaut.”

“What changed your mind?”

“The colt my dad gave me that year for my very own. I wrote to NASA. They said they didn’t have any plans for sending horses on space missions. How about you? What did you dream of when you were young?”

Branson was sorry he’d asked the question before it had cleared his tongue. It was as if he could see Lacy sink into a sheltering hole.

“I had no dreams.” Lacy turned to stare out the window and into the moonlit shadows that marched by them. “My mother died when I was ten.”

“That’s tough when you’re a kid. I was fourteen when my dad died. I thought my world had come to an end.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Sheriff. Mine had.”

Her tone left no doubt that the conversation was finished. It was just as well. Sharing dreams and disillusionments was something close friends did, people who had more vested in their relationship than finding a missing sister and her would-be killer.

Lacy Gilbraith was part of his job and nothing more. Strange, but he’d never had trouble separating the two before. He turned off the road and stopped at the gate to the Burning Pear.

“Let me get the gate,” Lacy said, opening the truck door and jumping out before he had a chance to protest.

She moved lightly over the ground in front of him, her agile frame caught in the beam of his headlights. Unexpectedly, his mind leaped back to the sight of her as the voluminous wedding gown had parted, revealing delicate curves and satiny skin.

He shuddered as his body responded in ways it shouldn’t, the feelings inside him so foreign to the way he normally reacted that they almost frightened him. He worked on regaining control of mind and body as he drove through the open gate.

A spray of lights from an oncoming car illuminated Lacy as she swung the gate closed and latched it. The vehicle slowed, and Branson’s muscles tensed instinctively. For a second, he thought the driver was going to stop, but he accelerated again and darted off before Branson had a chance to identify the car or the driver.

“I thought for a minute Charles had come to haul me back to his place,” Lacy said, climbing into the truck and buckling her seat belt.

“I couldn’t tell the make of the car, but it wasn’t his Jag.”

“So you had the same thought?”

“The possibility sprang to mind. It was probably a couple of young people looking for a spot to pull off and neck. I’ve found them in the driveway before on a Friday or Saturday night.”

“And like the good sheriff you are, I’m sure you sent them home.”

“I’ve even been known to take them myself if I catch a whiff of alcohol. The exciting life of a Texas county sheriff.”

“Then you should thank Kate and me for dropping into your world. We seem to be real short of dull moments lately.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Branson guided the truck around a rut in the road. He slowed as a young deer stepped out of a cluster of mesquite and into the peripheral glow of the headlights. The deer froze for a second, just long enough for Lacy to sit up and take notice, before the startled animal darted back into the brush.

She watched in the direction the fawn had disappeared and then turned to look at him. “What’s that?”

“The fawn?”

“No, those lights.”

She pointed past his head, out his side window.

Branson shifted his gaze and caught a glimpse of the sprawling two-storey ranch house where he’d lived all his life. “That’s home. I told you it was too late to turn back.”

“You mean you actually live there!”

“A man’s got to sleep somewhere.”

“But it’s so big!”

“Yeah. My dad leaned to the grandiose. We pretty much fill it up when we’re all home, though.” Branson rounded a curve in the road, and clusters of heavy brush and scrubby trees blocked the house from view for the next hundred yards or so. When it appeared again, Branson realized why the size looked so impressive from a distance.

The place was lit up as if there were a party going on. Only there wasn’t. The birthday party had been two days ago.

Past midnight and all the lights burning could only mean trouble. He speeded up as much as he dared with the prospect of a deer or a cow stepping into his path. Still, it seemed to take forever to cover the last of the distance down the dusty road.

Forgetting Lacy Gilbraith, Branson skidded to a stop and jumped out, hitting the ground at a run and not slowing until he was inside the house.

One look at Ryder’s face, and he knew his fears had been well founded.

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