His most important mission

US marine DJ Hawkins is on a mission to locate his son’s mother and discover why she abandoned the boy. To DJ’s surprise, Tammie Easton is easy to locate, and it soon becomes clear she has her reasons for staying away. But can he protect her from her past? Determined to ignore the surge of renewed attraction, he vows to help her.

Unraveling her life is intense and DJ respects the woman she’s become…even as he catches glimpses of the girl he fell in love with years ago. Now, DJ will do anything to keep Tammie safe for his son…and himself.

“You—” DJ strolled close “—are going to learn how to hunt.”

“Hunt? Hunt what?”

“The enemy.”

Dom’s face, and all the months of pain and anger, filled Tammie’s mind. It must have shown on her face. DJ nodded and sat at the table. “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna do just fine, mama bear.”

She fought the smile at his unintended compliment. She’d do anything for Tyler, and she liked knowing DJ knew it.

“What’s this? My last meal or fortification?”

“Definitely fortification.” He took a bite of the thick burger, and Tammie stared. “Oh, don’t worry. I remembered you don’t like onions—I left them off.”

A wisp of memory joined them. She didn’t dislike onions, but at the time she’d said that she’d been on the beach with the cutest boy she’d ever met and was hoping he’d kiss her… Her face warmed.

Dear Reader,

When dreaming up the Hawkins clan, youngest brother DJ stepped out of the mist first. A wild child, and an avowed bachelor, I wondered how this dedicated marine would handle suddenly becoming a father. Living in a military community, I witnessed men and women combine home and duty, so I knew he could do it. But the woman he was destined to love wasn’t someone I understood.

How does a mother abandon her child? I’d fallen in love with Tyler in A Family for Tyler (Mills & Boon Superromance, February 2014) and thought maybe he was better off without her. So I auditioned several women for DJ, but none fit like Tammie. The only way I could imagine leaving my kids would be to protect them. Once I understood that about myself, Tammie’s story unfolded.

The Marine Finds His Family is the second book in this series. I’m having such fun writing about the Hawkins siblings! Readers can contact me at angel@angelsmits.com, or visit me at angelsmits.com for links to Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Happy reading!

Angel Smits

The Marine Finds His Family

Angel Smits

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANGEL SMITS lives in Colorado with her husband, daughter and puppy. Winning the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award was the highlight of her writing career, until her first Mills & Boon book hit the shelves. Her social work background inspires her characters while improv writing allows her to torture them. It’s a rough job, but someone’s got to do it.

MILLS & BOON

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This is for my editor, Karen Reid, who somehow gets my vision and makes me strive for my very best. The creative process is not always easy, but she makes even the painful parts enjoyable.

Thank you to Paul and Caleb, who lent me Hamlet and Pork Chop.

And as always, Ron.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“AW, MAN. IS THAT what I think it is?”

Captain DJ Hawkins heard his buddy Colin’s words the same instant he spied the bright red-and-white postal box. He hoped—just as he knew Colin hoped—it was from his sister Addie. Getting a closer look, he saw that the return address confirmed it. Yes. Cookies.

The box rattled and Colin reached over and tried to swipe it. No way. DJ wasn’t sharing. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d stuffed himself to the gills, and then only maybe.

Stowing the last of his gear, DJ ripped open the box, yanked out the plastic bag Addie had wrapped the cookies in and stuffed one very broken, very delicious peanut butter chocolate chip beauty into his mouth. He sank to his bunk in pure bliss.

Just to torment Colin, he groaned aloud in near ecstasy. For a minute or two he was no longer in this godforsaken hole in the world, waiting for the next enemy attack. He was a five-year-old whose big sister made the world’s best cookies.

“You gonna share?”

“Not a chance.” DJ laughed. He could feel the disappointment rolling off Colin. “Don’t pout about it.” He tossed the plastic bag to Colin—it wasn’t as if the crumbs could get any more busted up.

“She should just pack a spoon.” Colin reached into the bag and scooped out a handful of the sweet, gooey mess.

Most days DJ really did love his life. He hadn’t joined the military with the notion that he’d stay safe all the time. He’d figured out a long time ago that he wasn’t a stay-at-home, family kind of guy. He’d watched his older siblings shoulder too much responsibility after Dad’s death. He’d seen the life go out of them when they were just kids. He would never let that happen to himself.

But that didn’t keep him from missing his family.

The care packages helped. And his three sisters were great about sending them—cookies, toothpaste and really bad books were the norm. His two older brothers managed to send emails every now and then. He laughed at the image of either Wyatt or Jason baking. Yeah, their expertise ran more in the area of picking out a bag of Oreo cookies.

Expecting the package to include a letter, DJ wasn’t disappointed, though the feminine handwriting didn’t look familiar. For an instant he wondered if he’d gotten the right package.

His taste buds confirmed these were Addie’s cookies, though. Plus, his name and his last stateside address, Mom’s house, were clear on the envelope. Then he noticed Addie had written on a little yellow sticky note and stuck it on the outside. “This came in the mail. Thought I’d send it along.” Yep, it was his.

He tore open the seal, surprised in this day and age of email and computer-printed letters to see the old-fashioned lined school paper. Several drugstore-printed photographs fell out.

Slowly, he unfolded the letter and stared at the date. Two months? This had been sent, or at least written, two months ago?

The words flowed in pretty curls of blue ink.

DJ,

You probably don’t remember me. I don’t know why you would. It was only one week. A single week in your life that completely altered mine. I can’t blame or regret it...though it saddens me to think of it that way.

It’s time you know. You have a son. I’ve stuck in pictures of him. He looks like you. So much like you. You’ll see. But that isn’t the purpose of this letter.

His name is Tyler. He’s in Texas. I can’t do this anymore.

The name Tammie was scrawled across the bottom of the page, the ink smudged.

He stared at the pictures. What the...? A boy and a familiar young woman smiled at him from the dozen images.

Distant, banished memories rushed in. Eighteen. He’d been a grand total of eighteen years old. Fresh out of high school, prepping to head to basic training in two months. He and three buddies had packed a car and headed to the Gulf Coast beaches of Florida. He couldn’t recall why they’d picked Florida. Someone’s harebrained idea.

Two weeks of no school, no parents and no commanding officers. Heaven. Pure heaven.

DJ’s memories, foggy and age-worn, flickered. He recalled the pretty blonde, too much beer and a long night on a sandy beach. He smiled. Those carefree days seemed so far away.

Picture after picture. His mind raced. How long had it been since he’d been with Tammie? Eight...nine years? The baby photos didn’t show him the resemblance, but the others... Three years old, four, six, eight...

DJ’s vision narrowed and nearly went black. The whole world moved in slow motion around him. The tent flapped in the wind and the scrape of blowing dirt against the canvas sounded like a lion fighting to get in.

Despite the desert heat in this outpost, a chill shot through him, icicles instead of sand particles cut across his heart. This wasn’t possible.

He had a kid?

A kid he hadn’t even known about?

He scooped up the pictures scattered across his bunk. As he stared at the boy with the wide grin, he couldn’t deny it. The boy looked exactly like him at that age.

My God. The words in the letter tumbled through his mind over and over again.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? His brain was mush half the time these days, what with the long hours, the heat and all the energy he gave his job. He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of this.

“Hey,” Colin said around a mouthful of cookie as he lounged on his bunk. “What gives?”

DJ paced, his eyes staring at the child—his child—in the pictures. His heart pounded and the desert heat washed over him. Words? He was supposed to be able to say words? Think words?

His stomach revolted and Addie’s sweet cookies threatened to return to the world. He couldn’t speak. He simply shoved half the photos into his buddy’s hands.

“What the...?” Colin looked first at DJ, then back at the picture and back at DJ again. “Whoa!”

DJ cursed again. What was he supposed to do now? He needed to get back to the base and see if he could get ahold of Wyatt, or Jason, or Addie. Someone. Tyler—was that his name?—was in Texas. They needed to find him—he needed to see his son.

His son.

He looked up just as his commanding officer, Major Dixon, walked into the tent, a cloud of dust on his heels.

The frown on the older man’s face didn’t bode well, and DJ knew he wouldn’t get the chance to call home anytime soon. He stuffed the pictures and letter back into the envelope and shoved it all into the cargo pocket of his uniform. He had to go to work now.

But later—

Meanwhile, halfway across the world...

TAMMIE EASTON DROPPED the tattered curtains back in place. The old, fragile lace didn’t so much waft as thunk against the frame. Vaguely, she wondered if Cora had ever had them cleaned. Looking around at the tiny, old house, Tammie shook her head. Of course she hadn’t had them cleaned. Cora could barely afford to feed herself.

Even though the curtains hung over the window, Tammie could still see what was happening across the street.

Tyler, her son, at all of eight years old, the only person who mattered to her in the world, was leaving. Never mind that she was the one who’d set all this in motion. Never mind that she was sending him to live with his dad’s family to keep him safe. Never mind any of that. Her heart hurt and she doubted it would ever stop. Even if...no...when she got him back, she’d never forgive herself for sending him away.

The images blurred, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes. She couldn’t bear to miss even an instant of his life. She might never... No, she reminded herself again, she would see him again. She was coming back. He’d be with her again. Soon. She’d promised him.

Footsteps came up beside her, and Tammie glanced down briefly to see the diminutive older woman come up beside her. Cora patted Tammie’s arm and gave her a warm hug. “You’re doin’ the right thing, hon. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. I’m the one who’s a wreck.” Tammie wiped her eyes and watched as the man she knew was Wyatt Hawkins helped Tyler into the passenger seat of a big black pickup truck. He was taking Tyler home with him since DJ was deployed overseas.

Maybe she should have waited. But she knew the answer to that, too—she couldn’t have waited. And she’d sent DJ a letter before learning he was overseas. Doing it all over again—writing a letter to his brother—had torn her apart. Tammie had thought she and Tyler had escaped when they came here to Texas. But the other night someone had broken into the apartment she’d just moved them into. Nothing was missing. The intruder just tore the place up, looking for something. Just as they had at the last two places.

That’s how she’d ended up here with Cora.

She looked down at the coworker who’d become her friend. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of all this.”

“Don’t you go apologizin’ again. I told you, that’s why we got Rufus.” The old coon dog lifted his head at the sound of his name. “And Bubba.” Bubba was the twelve-gauge shotgun Cora kept propped up beside the front door. She didn’t need one at the back kitchen door, as it was nailed shut with easily a hundred tenpenny nails.

Tyler loved Rufus, and the dog lavished love on the boy every chance he got.

Tammie hoped Wyatt had animals for Tyler to play with. He loved animals. Her mind filled with all the images of things her son loved. Dogs and cats. Horses. Stories about monsters. Video games. And snuggling while she read to him on cold rainy days.

Could she actually die from the pain of her broken heart?

The truck’s taillights glowed, and Tammie leaned closer to the window to watch until they vanished around the corner at the end of the block. Finally, Tyler was well and truly gone.

Tammie lost it. Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to the sobs. Cora rubbed Tammie’s shoulder, making all the soothing noises that people made when they didn’t know what else to do.

* * *

THEY WERE ON the hunt. This was the province where intel had placed the terrorist cell they’d been tracking for months. It was right in DJ’s backyard. The team had assembled quickly with Dixon’s orders—not surprising since they stood at alert around the clock. Now, slowly, methodically, the four-man team moved through the backstreets of the small town DJ knew intimately, having lived here for over a month.

Silence was thick. A strange silence, unlike the norm of a small town. In the middle of the night the few residents who remained were, hopefully, asleep and tucked away safe.

Safe? DJ would have laughed if it weren’t so important to maintain that silence.

He knew the other men were nearby, moving slowly, quietly like him. He sensed rather than heard or saw them. Even with the night-vision goggles they were mere shadows.

A trickle of sweat slid down the center of DJ’s back, like a finger of foreboding.

Something was off, but he couldn’t identify it. This operation felt different. With the next step, he acknowledged it. Life, work, the mission wasn’t different—he was different.

The sharp edges of the photos had dug into his thigh all the way here. Twice, a bump in the road had thrown him into the edge of the truck, and the packet. A sharp reminder of all he had to lose.

A son.

Where was Tyler? DJ glanced at his watch. Probably just sitting down to dinner? Where? With who? If Tammie couldn’t do this anymore, had she dumped him somewhere?

He had a son. Over and over again that thought bounced around in his brain. He wanted to see him. Hear what his voice sounded like. How tall was he? The pictures gave little in the way of reference points.

DJ had promised long ago that he wouldn’t let himself be bogged down by family. Not like the other guys who carried pictures of girlfriends, wives and kids. Distractions. Enemy leverage. Vulnerabilities to be exploited.

Focus! He mentally swore and blinked to shift the gears in his mind. He had a job to do. The others needed him to be 110 percent.

Footsteps broke the silence and, thankfully, jerked him back to sanity. He shut out everything except his awareness. The others did the same.

Silence returned. Too silent. DJ stood, his finger on the trigger, sensing the others on the team moving into position. No one else on this side. Nothing.

The sound of hasty footfalls broke the night, shattering the quiet. Shots rained down. The shadows disappeared, finding cover.

Images flashed in DJ’s mind of a little boy’s smiling face. His eyes burned. No. Not acceptable. He forced the faces of the men around him into his mind. Tyler was part of the why of their mission—the shadows with DJ were the how.

Silence returned. No sounds of pain or injury. Shadows moved. One, two, three. All here. All whole. DJ breathed an instant’s relief.

Seconds later, noise erupted everywhere around him. DJ dropped to the ground, knowing he’d crawl out if he had to. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Gunfire broke the night and tufts of dirt and pieces of rock shot up into the air. He felt the sting of a dozen cuts across his face.

No. Not now. He didn’t know if he said the words aloud or not. A soft click echoed through the streets. “Oh, shit!” DJ froze.

The air shifted and time slowed. The roar behind him shattered the quiet. A ball of fire shot up the street. Language, his and others’, blistered the night.

Searing pain tore a scream from his throat and ripped DJ from his feet. His back, his shoulder, his legs roared with agony.

Light surrounded him, and in the glow, he saw a pair of startled eyes. So far away. So damned far away. DJ tried to speak, but the heat stole his words and burned in his gut.

The night returned. Pure silence. Nothing but pain engulfed him.

“Tyler!” A name that sounded strange in this land, so far from home, echoed down the deserted streets. A name DJ whispered into the darkness that took him.

And then the nothing was simply blank.

CHAPTER TWO

Two months later

MORNINGS WERE THE WORST. DJ lay there, listening to the ranch come to life, not moving, because once he moved, reality and pain came back. For those first few minutes, he could pretend that he was still normal.

And then he’d do something stupid, like breathe, and the pain would shoot through him with a knife’s vengeance.

He cursed, long and loud, before forcing his body into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn’t know how long he sat there trying to convince himself that getting up was a good idea.

“Dad?” A small voice came through the door, reminding DJ that he didn’t really have a choice. DJ closed his eyes and let the sweet sound rattle around in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Tyler call him Dad.

It had taken months to build a relationship with his son. Tyler had called him DJ at first.

“Yeah?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Just a sec.” He grabbed the jeans he’d tossed over the back of the captain’s chair that now sat in his room, and yanked them on with the chair’s support.

The sturdy chair had been his father’s and the extra leverage the arms provided was a huge help when his scarred legs didn’t want to cooperate. Half-dressed, he called, “Come on in, buddy.”

Moving around, while it hurt like hell, loosened up the damaged muscles and skin of his back and legs.

Tyler came through the door slowly. A stab of concern overrode the pain in DJ’s legs when he saw Tyler’s furtive glance up, then back down. Uh-oh. What’s going on?

“What’s up?” DJ tried to be nonchalant, but curiosity was killing him. He focused on trying to get his boots on.

“I wanna ask somethin’.”

“Ask away.” DJ watched Tyler out of the corner of his eye. His son was holding a notebook from school, the wire binding bent sideways in places. Tyler climbed up on the foot of DJ’s bed. Sitting a minute, he began swinging his legs to kick the edge of the mattress.

“Well, ya know. My birthday’s coming up.”

DJ fought the grin. “Yeah. It is. In a couple weeks, right?”

The smile on Tyler’s face made DJ’s heart hitch a little.

“Yep. Less than a month. I’ll be nine. I was sorta thinking maybe I’m big enough for this.” Slowly, reverently, Tyler reached into the notebook and pulled out a pristine magazine picture.

A picture of a dirt bike. Bright green.

“Whoa!” The kid had taste. The bike was top-of-the-line. “It’s a beauty.”

“It’s a Razor Dirt Rocket, and Morgan in my class has one. It’s so cool.”

“I don’t know, buddy.” His brother Wyatt, who owned this ranch, would kill him. Kill them both.

“Aw, come on.” Tyler slid off the bed and came over to stand beside the chair. “All the guys were talkin’ about it at recess. And everyone’s gettin’ ’em.”

DJ doubted that, but didn’t say anything. “We’ll see. I don’t think Uncle Wyatt would be too thrilled with you riding it near the horses.”

“He doesn’t say nothin’ about you and your motorcycle.”

“That’s different.” DJ pulled on the first worn combat boot and took a deep breath. “And he says plenty, believe me.” Boot two coming up.

“How is it different?” Tyler’s voice rose in frustration.

“It just is.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Who told you life was fair, kid?” DJ mumbled, his back aching from bending over to struggle with his boots. The silence grew long, and DJ looked up when Tyler didn’t say anything more.

“Mama always said to play fair.” There was a sheen in Tyler’s eyes, but DJ didn’t dare point it out.

Nearly two months had passed and there was still no word from Tammie—no sign of her promise to Tyler to return. And while Tyler seldom spoke of her, when he did, the pain was sharp in his voice. That pain made DJ ache.

“Look.” DJ left his second boot untied and turned to face Tyler. “I won’t promise anything right now. Let me think about it, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“Keep that picture in a safe place, though. Just in case I need a reference.” DJ winked at Tyler and the smile that bloomed on the boy’s face warmed his heart.

“When Mama says she’ll think about something, that’s almost always a yes.” Tyler turned and ran from the room.

“Hey, now wait—”

Yep. Wyatt was gonna kill him. With a sigh, DJ followed Tyler downstairs. While the kid ran, DJ took his time. He could move much easier these days, especially after loosening up with the past few weeks of physical therapy, but it was still slow going.

Finally, he reached the ground floor and breathed a sigh of relief. Another day without a tumble down the stairs. It was looking good.

The old ranch house was big, with four bedrooms upstairs, a huge kitchen and several living areas on the main level. DJ’s grandfather had built the place, and they’d all come out here in the summers as kids to visit, and later in life to work and play—in his case mostly play. Of the six siblings, Wyatt was the only one who took to ranching. It seemed only natural that he take over after Grandpa passed.

Wyatt was just where DJ expected to find him. In the big country kitchen, at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee. Though it was early, DJ would bet this was not Wyatt’s first cup. “Mornin’,” they spoke in unison and both laughed.

DJ bypassed the coffee and grabbed a hunk of the ranch cook Juanita’s always-amazing coffee cake and stuffed it in his mouth. He poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the huge ranch table.

“You weren’t dumb enough to promise you’d get him the dirt bike, were you?” Wyatt wasn’t known for being subtle.

“No.” DJ’s hackles rose. The younger brother in him wanted to remind Wyatt that Tyler was his son, and he’d promise whatever he wanted. The adult in him knew that was childish. Besides, this was Wyatt’s home, Wyatt’s ranch, and they were living here at his discretion.

“But?”

Wyatt knew DJ. His brother patiently waited—they both knew there was a but.

“I have an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” Wyatt grabbed a chair, scraping it away from the table to sit across from DJ. “Spit it out.”

“He wants the bike, right?”

Wyatt nodded.

“I need him to tell me about Tammie.” He met Wyatt’s gaze.

“You think that’s a good idea? Bribing him?”

DJ shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything else at this point. Tyler refused to talk about his life with his mother. He wouldn’t share even the smallest details. The first bit of information they’d had was, of course, the house where Wyatt had picked up the boy—and they’d figured out that was a lie, too. Tammie and Tyler hadn’t lived there. No one had for years. Tammie had found an abandoned house and borrowed it.

“You don’t think that dredging all that up will hurt him?” Wyatt said, his voice thick with concern.

They’d had this discussion a dozen times already. Maybe Tyler had been so badly abused that the horrors returning would be too difficult. But DJ didn’t think that was the case. Tyler didn’t behave like an abused kid. Concerned, scared at times, but not abused.

“That’s the thing.” DJ decided to share his thoughts with Wyatt. “I think he’s not talking because he’s protecting his mom.” DJ would bet his Harley on it.

“From us?”

“No.” DJ took a deep swallow of the juice, buying time to organize his words. “Something or someone else.”

“That boyfriend?”

DJ shrugged, not really wanting to go there in his mind or this conversation. But he knew what Wyatt was talking about. Before DJ had returned home, Wyatt had taken Tyler to the emergency room when he’d cut his hand. That was the only time Tyler had let anything slip. Some guy named Dom had hurt Tyler. Hurt him bad enough to warrant an earlier ER visit that scared Tyler for life. But other than that, he hadn’t said anything about his mom.

And now they finally had a key to get Tyler to talk.

Wyatt’s simple nod was all the go-ahead DJ was going to get. He’d take what he could.

* * *

THIS TIME OF NIGHT was the worst time to work. Tammie liked it better when the dinner crowd was in full swing, or when the late-night-after-the-movies-and-the-bars-were-closed crowds came in. She didn’t have time to think...or feel.

This dead, middle-of-the-night calm between the two rushes was almost painful. She’d already rolled all the silverware, filled the saltshakers and stacked the dishes in the front stations.

“Take a load off.” Cora pointed at the diner’s ugly green counter. Her feet throbbing, Tammie didn’t question the older woman’s instruction. Who was she to argue with seniority?

Cora poured coffee into two plain earthenware mugs, leaving enough room for cream. Cora had been the one to teach Tammie the perfect way to pour a cup of coffee. “Just enough cream to watch it bloom to the top. Not a drop more.” It was how Tammie served it all the time now. And her increased tips from customers proved the value of the woman’s advice.

Now, though, Tammie was serving herself. She tipped the silver-topped sugar dispenser, counting to five before she stopped the white stream. She needed the energy to get through the rest of the night.

She tossed her order pad and pencil on the counter beside her coffee, waiting for Cora to join her. The steam of the second cup swirled upward, and Tammie watched it with tired, nearly unfocused eyes. The shape morphed and swayed in the air conditioner’s breath.

“What’s that?” Cora leaned over the counter, peering down at Tammie’s order pad. “It’s pretty.”

Tammie stared in horror. Her fingers had instinctively picked up the pencil and sketched the steam, creating flowing waves and pockets where her creativity planned to settle precious stones. It was a good design. She could take the gold and fold it just here—

No! Tammie ripped the page free and tore it into tiny pieces. If she had a match she’d have burned it. Instead, she scattered the pieces into the bus tray behind the counter, watching, painfully, as they sank into the dumped ice waters and coffee. The pencil lead disappeared into the damp.

“What’d you do that for?” Cora wasn’t accusing, just curious, as she climbed up on the old vinyl stool and settled.

Tammie shrugged, knowing that would be answer enough, at least for Cora. She couldn’t let Cora see her work, and she couldn’t let anyone ever know what she could do. Not until she figured out a solution—until she figured out a way to escape for good.

“It was just silliness.” She dismissed the design with a wave of her hand, but cringed when she saw the spark of curiosity linger in Cora’s faded blue eyes. Despite having destroyed the drawing, Tammie still saw it in her mind, felt her fingers itch to pick up the pencil and finish it, felt the longing to hold her tools and work with the materials she’d so loved.

They finished their coffee in silence, both women fighting exhaustion as their shift stretched out.

“I’m gonna get a quick breath of air,” she told Cora. “Be right back.” Tammie needed, just for a minute, to be alone. And while the alley out back was the last place in the world she wanted to be, with its hefty thick stink and dirt, it was dark and empty. At least for now.

The back door was heavy metal but it was never closed. A supposed fire door, it gave little protection. The screen door was all that separated the kitchen from the alley. She let it slam closed behind her, needing something to separate her from this life she’d been forced into.

She looked up at the sliver of sky she could barely see between this building and the filthy one across the alley. She could almost make out the sparkle of a single star beyond the city lights and clouds. Closing her eyes to seal in the damp that threatened to fall over the edge of her lashes, she let her mind have its silence.

She’d been little when her mother had taught her to make a wish on her first star. “Star light, star bright,” she whispered. The rest of the words rushed through her head, but not past her lips. Not here. Tyler’s little face flashed into her mind, but she refused to let it go any further. She’d taught him the silly rhyme. Did he remember it? Or would he soon forget it, and her?

She forced her thoughts elsewhere. He was not a part of this world, of the level she’d sunk to. No, he was safe and in a good place. She’d made sure of that.

Never here.

She needed to get back inside. Blinking rapidly, this time not because of tears, but the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen, she hurried inside. There were voices in the dining room. A couple, half-drunk, had settled in the front booth while two young men stood at the door waiting to be seated.

“And here we go.” Cora whipped by Tammie, a tray in one hand and the perpetual coffee carafe in the other.

Tammie grabbed her now-bare order pad from where she’d left it on the counter and shoved it back into her apron pocket. She seated the two men and headed back to the kitchen with their order, hearing the door open again. Yep, the rush was back. Thank goodness.

* * *

DJ STARED OUT the window at Brooke Army Medical Center. The whip-snap sound of the flags outside came through the glass and took him back. Too far back. He cursed and turned away from the sight of the fabric dancing at the end of the thick metal poles. That was not why he was here.

“Tell me straight, Doc.” He knew what the doctor was going to say, but he wanted to hear the words.

“I think you know what the answer is,” the doctor guessed.

“Yeah, but humor me. Say it.”

The silence in the exam room was heavy, and DJ wanted to fill it with cursing. Instead, he sat still, meeting the doctor’s hesitant gaze with a glare.

“You’ve reached a plateau. At this point I don’t foresee any measurable improvement.”

“So the discharge stands?” DJ said through clenched teeth.

The doc looked at him and simply nodded. He didn’t move. He seemed to barely breathe. He didn’t like being here any more than DJ did. DJ knew that, but dang it, it wasn’t his life that was going down the drain.

Without another word, DJ slowly, stiffly stood, then walked to the door and threw it open. He stepped out into the hall, his gait uneven as he moved down the narrow hallway. He knew it was hotter than hell outside, but he walked out into the late afternoon anyway. He wasn’t coming back here, and he couldn’t wait to escape.

The huge Harley he’d ridden in on sat just where he’d left it, the frame baking in the sun. The bright blue paint on the tank and fenders glistened in the leftover sunlight, the chrome winking at him. If he had “plateaued,” why the hell could he drive this monster? They’d told him he couldn’t do that. They’d told him he might not walk, yet here he was. How did they know he couldn’t still be a soldier? They wouldn’t even let him try.

He straddled the bike and kicked it to life, filling the air with the throaty roar of the engine and all the curse words he hadn’t let fly inside the hospital.

He wasn’t in the mood to go back home. Home. Was that what Wyatt’s ranch was? It wasn’t really. It never would be, even with all the family memories that lurked within its walls. The only thing even slightly homelike there was his son, Tyler. And Tyler seemed at home there as anyplace else he would be.

DJ was the one who didn’t know what home was.

He headed east, in the general direction of the ranch, but when he hit the freeway, he passed the regular turnoff and instead headed north...and kept going.

The hot wind slid over his skin. Heck, now he could let his hair grow out. He could dress more like himself, instead of in the endless parade of ugly camo. He could... His thoughts ended. All he saw ahead was emptiness.

The machine ate up the miles. He knew what he had to do. He knew where he should go. He knew... But before that he needed space, time to himself and a drink.

The Lucky Chance Bar was technically only fifteen miles away from Wyatt’s ranch—if you were a crow. It took DJ the same two hours to get there over the winding roads. He pulled the bike into the dirt parking lot and let the engine fall quiet for a while before he climbed off.

The rough country bar was where DJ had cut his drinking teeth as a young man. Since he’d been home, he’d avoided the place, too afraid that the lure of oblivion would be too strong to resist. Tonight, he knew he’d failed. There was no more resisting. All his nightmares were coming true.

By the time DJ was settled in the booth at the back of the bar, alone, where he’d sat countless times back in the day, his mind was full of memories of the recent past.

Decisions needed to be made and DJ was avoiding making them. He knew that. Medical discharge. He’d have a couple months of terminal leave before it was all final, but it might as well be today. He was done.

“You still like warm beer, I see.”

DJ looked up. Standing beside the table was a tall, lanky cowboy. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, what with the shadow of his hat brim and the dim lights, but there was something familiar about the guy... The comment was what seemed more familiar.

“Yeah, guess I do.” The beer and oblivion had seemed so appealing until the reality was right here in front of him.

“Your memory get killed over in that desert?”

The man’s thick Texas drawl rang a few warning bells in DJ’s brain. DJ frowned. He’d only known one guy— “Lane?”

The other half of that troublesome teenage summer when Granddad had nearly killed DJ stood there, proud as can be.

“About danged time you woke up.” Lane grinned and slid into the seat across from DJ without waiting for an invitation.

They shook hands over the scarred table as DJ’s brain filled with a wave of memory. This couldn’t be good. Not good at all. But he leaned back in the booth and looked at the man who’d been a boy the last time he’d seen him.

A very drunk boy if memory served. DJ smiled.

Lane took off the worn cowboy hat, setting it on the table. He looked rough around the edges. DJ hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, since the last time he’d come home before his last deployment.

“So, how’s your family doing?” Lane asked.

DJ smiled. “That’ll take a couple of hours. Next topic. How’s your dad?”

“Fair enough.” Years ago, probably at this same table, they’d sworn to keep their messed-up, convoluted families out of their intent to have fun. Seemed not everything had changed over time.

“So, whatcha doin’ here?” Lane looked up. “Haven’t seen you since you got back. Heard you were injured.”

“Yeah. Trying to heal.” DJ didn’t want to go into details and the waitress came over just then and saved him from doing so. He bought a round, but DJ realized he’d lost his appetite for bars and hangovers. Lane’s appearance reminded him of how miserable the aftermath always was. They’d nearly killed each other too damn many times.

They drank their beers slowly, in silence. “Damn, we’re old,” DJ finally said.

Lane laughed. “Speak for yourself, old man.” He became serious quickly. “I guess I’ve spent too much time sobering up my dad lately. Takes the fun out of it.” When the waitress returned, Lane ordered a round of coffee and they both laughed.

“Here’s a surprise for you.” DJ leaned forward on the table, hoping to take some of the pressure off his back. The bench was hard. “I got a kid. He’s eight.”

Lane stared. “No kidding.” Something other than surprise flashed in Lane’s eyes, but DJ couldn’t tell what it was. “How’d that happen?”

“The usual way.” DJ shrugged. “He’s staying with us at the ranch house. You should come meet him sometime.”

“I might do that. I’ve been meaning to get over to see Wyatt. So, when do you go back?”

Damned reality. “I’m not.” DJ hadn’t told anyone about the doctor’s final decision. He hadn’t called Wyatt or any of his siblings. He’d come straight here.

“What?”

“They just told me today. I’m being medically discharged.” There, he’d said it. It didn’t sound nearly as bad as it had echoing around in his head.

“That’s why you’re here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“That it?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just seems like a stupid reason to be drinking.” Lane stood, grabbing his hat from the table. As if uncomfortable with the conversation and needing distraction, he gathered up the empty bottles and placed them on the bar.

The door opened just then and a much older, worn version of Lane stumbled in.

“Ah, right on time.” Lane turned back to DJ. “Go home to your boy. Now you’ve got the time to be a dad.”

The one thing that had made them such good friends as boys was the fact that they’d each grown up with a single parent. Lane’s mother had died the same year as DJ’s dad. But where Mom had taken up the reins, Lane’s dad dived into a bottle. Apparently, nothing had changed.

DJ watched them leave, knowing any offers of help wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, he stood and headed out to his motorcycle. Lane was right.

He headed home, where he should have gone in the first place.

Twenty minutes later, headed toward the front steps of the ranch house, DJ heard a voice quietly echo in the darkness. He stopped and listened for a minute. Nothing. He needed to get to bed. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t sleep in. Life around here started just after dawn in a loud, raucous, let’s-get-to-work way.

Most days, DJ liked that. He’d learned, early on in the military, to find a way to fill the void, to keep his brain busy and away from the what-ifs.

And there were plenty of what-ifs these days. What if the military actually medically retired him? He laughed. That wasn’t really a what-if anymore. They were going to. It was only a matter of paperwork and time.

What if Tammie never returned? Was he ready to support a kid for ten or more years? How? His wounds were still healing. Would he ever be able to hold a job? What could he do to earn enough to support himself and Tyler?

His head spun, not from the two beers he’d nursed through the visit with Lane, but from pushing himself so hard. From exhaustion. He tried to focus on the steps in front of him.

DJ heard the voice again. He hadn’t had that much. Two beers did not constitute drunk. His muscles had stiffened up on the ride home so he moved carefully, walking over to the side of the house.

There wasn’t anyone there. A noise, something cracking, sounded overhead. He looked up and saw something—someone—in the old cottonwood tree.

Tyler.

“I can see you,” he said softly. No response. “I can still see you, son.” DJ leaned nonchalantly against the corner of the porch rail. He didn’t want to startle Tyler. Despite the fact that DJ had climbed that same tree often enough as a kid and knew it was fairly safe, Tyler was still perched a good fifteen feet up.

“Am I in trouble?” Tyler mumbled.

“Depends. Why are you in the tree in the middle of the night?”

The silence stretched out and DJ let it. He’d learned patience was important with Tyler, especially when he was thinking.

“I like the tree. I was lookin’ at the stars.” A long silence again. “Mama likes stars. Says they look like jewels.”

DJ took a deep breath. “Why don’t you come down and look at them from the porch with me?” Closer to the ground.

Tyler seemed to be thinking again, and then DJ heard movement. He went to stand beneath the tree just in case Tyler fell, then laughed at himself when Tyler hopped down and crawled back over the windowsill and into his room. A few minutes later, the screen door squeaked open softly.

If nothing else, Tyler was unpredictable. He climbed up onto the porch swing and set it slowly in motion. DJ took a seat across from him in one of the wooden rockers.

“Did you think about the dirt bike?” Tyler grinned.

“I’m still thinking about that.” He ignored the crestfallen look. Diplomacy had never been DJ’s forte, but he drew on every memory he had of Wyatt’s and his friend Colin’s skills. He’d worked too hard to gain Tyler’s trust. He didn’t want to screw it up now. “Besides, if I told you my decision, what kind of birthday surprise would that be?”

“I suppose.” Appeased, but not happy, Tyler swung his legs to get the swing moving again.

He didn’t say anything else, and DJ racked his brain to come up with a topic of conversation. “So, your mom likes stars and jewels, huh?” he ventured.

“Yep. She makes jewelry. Or she used to...” His voice faded off.

“Why do you think she stopped?”

“’Cause of Dom.”

He still didn’t think Tyler was abused, not over the long haul, but he knew the jerk had done something to him. Tyler’s fears were real. “Your mom’s boyfriend, right?”

Maybe DJ could learn more in the shadows tonight. He treaded lightly. “What’d he do? Make her stop?”

The swing creaked. “No,” Tyler whispered.

Great. Open-ended questions, he reminded himself. “What did he do?”

“I dunno, but she didn’t like it. She cried. A lot.”

DJ didn’t pursue what might have happened between the adults. He’d leave that for later. “Did she have a lot of stuff?”

“Yeah. It was cool. She used to let me watch her. She had real gold and silver. And a hot thing that melted metal and made it all stick together.”

“Sounds pretty complicated.”

The swing creaked again, and DJ watched Tyler nod.

“She used to let me play with some of the jewels,” Tyler said softly. “Not the ’spensive ones, though.”

“Expensive? Like what?”

“Diamonds. She had other real pretty ones she liked best, even more than diamonds. She called ’em moonstones.” Tyler paused. “I like them best, too.”

“Wow.” DJ was shocked and impressed. “Diamonds. And moonstones. Must be pretty good money in that kind of work,” he mused aloud.

Tyler was silent. “I don’t know.” His voice sounded distant, confused.

Maybe the boy’s mind was going the same place as DJ’s—if she had that kind of money, why hadn’t she kept Tyler? Or, hell, if she needed the money, why not sell a diamond?

DJ frowned into the darkness. So many things about Tammie didn’t add up. Wyatt had told him about the old, dilapidated house where he’d picked up Tyler—maybe that topic would get the boy talking.

“That house in Austin where Uncle Wyatt picked you up. That where you guys lived?” He thought he knew the answer but wanted to hear what Tyler had to say.

Silence came out of the darkness. No swing creaks. No soft words. Just pure nighttime.

DJ leaned toward his son, waiting.

“No.” Tyler paused. “We just borrowed it for a little while.”

“Where’d you really live?” DJ watched as Tyler looked around, glancing into the night with wide, nervous eyes.

“Different places.”

DJ tried to remain patient. He knew that his son had gone to several different schools, and he was only eight. “That’s not much help, buddy.”

Tyler turned wide eyes to DJ. Tyler jumped off the porch swing, sending it swaying wildly, nearly hitting the edge of the house. “Help with what? Not like you’re gonna find Mama or help her.”

DJ stuck his arm out to stop the boy and only managed to connect an elbow with the flying wood. He cursed.

“Tyler, stop.” The boy was already up the stairs before DJ could struggle to his feet. He stopped at the screen door and let him go. He wasn’t going to solve anything tonight. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Growing out already, it was driving him crazy. Slowly, he paced back and forth over the worn boards. Help her with what?

At the edge of the porch, he stopped and stared out at the land beyond the yard. The horizon to the east was just starting to glow a faint red. He sighed. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten...or rather, how early. He didn’t have anywhere to go today. His therapy had been cut down to twice a week. But Tyler had school in a few short hours.

Despite the fact that Tammie had dumped Tyler on Wyatt’s doorstep without a glance backward, the boy was eternally loyal to his mother.

DJ froze, staring at the red glow on the horizon. Loyalty wasn’t something a person could make you have. It was earned. It was given. Never taken.

He turned to look back at the screen door, seeing the shadow of the stairs beyond. Once inside, he took the steps slowly, carefully. He didn’t think he’d ever take the ability to climb stairs for granted again. It ticked him off, though, that it was such a struggle, especially when he was in a hurry, like now.

Finally, at the top, he paused and caught his breath. Then turned toward Tyler’s room, which was across the hall from his own. The door was closed. DJ slowly pushed the old wood panel door open, the original hinges squeaking softly in the near-dawn air.

Tyler was huddled on the bed, curled in a ball, his shoulders silently shaking. DJ didn’t hesitate. He walked across the room, his footsteps incredibly loud in the sleeping house. “Hey, buddy.” He settled in the chair beside the bed and felt the stab of regret when Tyler scooted away from him, closer to the wall.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or make you think I don’t care about your mom. I liked her once, remember?” No answer.

DJ racked his brain for the right thing to say. “I need to ask you something,” DJ finally said. Still no answer. “You see, I realized something—you wouldn’t be so worried about her if you really thought she’d abandoned you, would you?”

This time Tyler turned his head and looked over his thin shoulder at DJ. His expression was far from trusting, but he was interested. DJ ventured further.

“So, if she didn’t leave you...do you think she’s in trouble?” DJ moved, and though it hurt like hell, he knelt on the floor beside the bed.

The silence stretched out and he tried to guess what Tyler was thinking. Finally, DJ had to speak up. Damn, he hated feeling so inadequate.

“You know—” DJ leaned back to see Tyler more clearly and tried to shift the mood to relaxed and comfortable “—when I first met your mom, she was fun and pretty and smart.”

“In Florida, right?”

“Yep. On the beach.” DJ let his mind fill with the memories of that night. God, it felt like a million years and miles ago. “We had a good time together.” Obviously, as Tyler was the result, he added silently. “I get the feeling she’s not having fun anymore.”

Tyler shook his head slowly.

“If she’s scared enough to send you away, we need to find out why. Help her.”

“No.” Tyler vehemently shook his head, surprising DJ when he sat up and launched himself at DJ, wrapping his arms around DJ’s neck to hold on tight.

Disentangling the boy’s arms, DJ peered down at Tyler’s face, hardening his heart to the damp on the boy’s cheeks. “I can protect her from whatever or whomever she needs protection from. You know I’m a marine. We’re tough. You saw what Uncle Wyatt and I can do to protect the people we love.”

DJ still had nightmares of that night Wyatt’s girlfriend, Emily, and Tyler had been attacked. Her nutcase stepbrother had tried to use Tyler to get to Emily. She’d handled it all really well—the best she could—but if they hadn’t shown up, who knew what would have happened. Tyler had thought of him as a hero ever since, and DJ had to admit, he liked it.

“Yeah,” Tyler murmured. “But—”

“But what?” DJ carefully prompted.

“She made me promise.”

“Promise what?”

“Not to tell.” Tyler shook his head again. “Not to tell anyone. Ever.”

Something told DJ even the lure of the dirt bike wasn’t going to budge this kid. He had to admire him...and hurt for him.

Damn, Tammie. What the hell have you done?

CHAPTER THREE

WYATT WAS IN the barn, exactly where DJ expected to find him. With the weekend’s arrival, the big farmhouse was overrun with women, and DJ was as uncomfortable with it as the rest of the now-scarce men. Big family gatherings had always been the norm. Heck, with six kids, dinner was a big family gathering.

But today DJ wasn’t in the mood, and neither, apparently, was Wyatt.

The jangle of metal and leather told DJ that Wyatt was cleaning tack. DJ stopped in the doorway of the small room and watched Wyatt rub the glycerin soap onto the leather.

“What’s up?” Wyatt asked.

DJ took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He hadn’t planned what he was going to say, but he had to tell Wyatt the truth. Had to let him know about the decision he’d made.

“The other night I caught Tyler sitting up in the old cottonwood,” DJ began. “I don’t think it was the first time.”

That made Wyatt whip his head up and his hands stopped moving. “What was he doing?” Dread filled Wyatt’s voice.

“Just sittin’, staring at the stars.”

“You know why?” Wyatt relaxed a little, returning his focus to his work.

“I think so. He eventually came down and we talked.” DJ tried to wrap his brain around the information, or rather, lack of information, Tyler had shared with him.

Wyatt waited.

“I’m worried,” DJ finally admitted.

“About Tyler?”

DJ paused before shaking his head. “No. About Tammie.” Wyatt’s frown reflected his confusion. DJ moved to sit on the bench near Wyatt. “I know she’s in trouble. Big trouble. She made Tyler swear not to tell anyone anything, and he’s sticking to that promise.”

Wyatt paused, thinking for a long minute. “I’ve wondered why he doesn’t say much.” They had both tried to get info out of him, with no luck. “You think he’s afraid?”

DJ pondered the question. Sitting still was killing his back and legs. His muscles were tight from lack of sleep lately. He needed the rest, but the stress of his worry was eating him alive. He gave up and paced.

“I need to find her,” he finally said. He didn’t have to wait long for Wyatt’s response.

“And do what? Let her have Tyler back?” Wyatt’s anger was controlled, barely. “Emily said you’d mentioned doing that. What if there’s nothing to find? Sounds like she doesn’t want to be found.”

Wyatt watched him, waiting. The silence was deafening. DJ gritted his teeth. “No. Tyler’s my son. Her wishes aren’t what’s important. But Tyler is.”

Wyatt shook his head and resumed his work. “What makes you think you can find her? The private investigator didn’t discover much.”

“Tyler knows something. I just have to get him to talk.”

“How? I don’t think the bribery you had planned will work.”

“No.” DJ paced back and forth a few more times. “That’s what actually made me realize I have to do this. His loyalty is solid. Too solid for a kid not wanted by his mother.”

Wyatt didn’t respond. The sound of his work and a stray whinny from the direction of the stalls filled the heavy silence.

DJ couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, get it over with.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Yell at me. Do that whole older-brother thing. Tell me I’m making a mistake. Something!”

Wyatt remained silent, staring down at his own hands for a long minute. DJ tried to guess what he was going to say. Then Wyatt looked up.

DJ barely remembered their father, who’d died when DJ was six. But while he didn’t remember the man that much, he remembered that look. DJ swallowed. Why had he started this whole conversation?

“Deej, I can’t tell you what to do this time. I wish I could.”

DJ cursed. He’d been counting on Wyatt to guide him.

“I’ll admit I’m not happy about this.” Wyatt’s voice shook. “I’ve watched you work too hard to recover, and to build your relationship with Tyler, to just—”

“Just what?” DJ asked after several seconds of quiet passed.

“Risk losing it all for a woman you don’t even know.”

That’s where Wyatt was wrong, and where DJ had to admit he’d been wrong, too. “I knew her once,” he whispered. Contradictory memories filled his mind. “I can’t put that woman together with someone who’d abandon her son.”

Wyatt nodded, and DJ wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or submission.

“When will you tell Tyler?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure how.” This was a new role for him. Here at home, he’d always been the younger brother, taking orders from half a dozen wannabe parents. In the military, his commanding officer and the mission told him what to do. He looked over at Wyatt, hoping he’d give him some direction.

“When your commanding officer called, it nearly killed me to think of you hurt. But it was worse knowing I had to tell Tyler. Deej, that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Wyatt looked down and DJ turned away, looking out over the row of stalls instead of at his brother.

“Sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“That’s not what I meant.” DJ heard Wyatt’s footsteps behind him. “What I’m trying to say is, I understand. I—” Wyatt swallowed. “I hate to admit it, but I agree. He’s a tough kid, but he needs this done.”

“Yeah.” DJ knew both those things.

“And so do you.” Wyatt’s big hand clamped DJ’s shoulder reassuringly. “You need this, too.” DJ didn’t even want to think about that piece of the screwed-up puzzle.

“Dad! Uncle Wyatt!” Tyler’s voice broke the quiet of the barn. DJ looked back at Wyatt. He hoped that Tyler hadn’t overheard what they were talking about—he wanted a little more time to formulate the words.

“In here,” DJ called, watching as Tyler came running into the tack room, his too-big cowboy boots clumping against the packed dirt. Tyler was out of breath and tried to talk and breathe all at once. “Slow down, buddy.”

“I... A...hawk. It just—” Tyler flapped his hands in the air, imitating a bird. “Swooped down. Like this. It got one of the doves!” His voice cracked. “It was cool. But—” The boy struggled with the contradiction between the wonder of life and death.

Wyatt didn’t speak, staying quiet, letting DJ take the lead. While it thrilled DJ to be able to deal with his son...it also scared the hell out of him. What if he messed up? What if he said the wrong thing? He tried to remember being eight.

“It’s cool and creepy all at once, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded and settled on the bench next to Wyatt. “Whatcha doin’?”

Wyatt glanced up at DJ, then back down at the boy. “Cleaning tack. Want to help?”

“Sure.”

Carefully, Wyatt explained what to do. Tyler was awkward, but eager. And Wyatt simply waited and guided. DJ wondered if he’d ever have his brother’s patience and skill with the boy. He shook his head. “Ty?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“The other night, when we were talking on the porch, I know you were tired. But you remember what we talked about?”

Tyler didn’t speak or look up from the strip of leather—it looked huge in his small hands.

“Well, I was talking with Wyatt about it.”

That made Tyler look up. The panic in his eyes tore through DJ, but instead of making him rethink his decision, it only strengthened his resolve.

“Do you remember what I said?”

Tyler nodded and looked down. DJ heard him sniff and almost changed his mind. Wyatt held back, which he knew was killing his older brother, but DJ appreciated it. Slowly, painfully, DJ hunkered down beside his son. The dirt dug into his injured knees but he endured the discomfort. “I can’t ignore what you told me.” DJ settled his big hand on Tyler’s leg. “I just told Wyatt that I’m worried about your mom. I bet you are, too, right?”

Tyler simply nodded and shoved a fist across his eyes before looking up, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two men.

Wyatt remained quiet, his jaw clenched. DJ wished he could be the silent one. Dread washed over him.

“I was hoping you’d help me find her.”

Silence stretched out. “What if she doesn’t want to come back?” Tyler finally whispered. “She shoulda been back by now.”

“Maybe.” DJ thought the same thing, but heck, who knew why she’d left Tyler. Maybe she couldn’t come back. He didn’t want to think about that, and he certainly didn’t want to voice his concerns to his son. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?”

“’Kay. What are we gonna do?”

The silence was heavy, and DJ briefly worried that he might not be able to find her. That was a scary prospect and one he wasn’t willing to accept. He’d found devious militants hiding in remote caves in the mountains. He could find one woman.

“We aren’t.” DJ hated himself for the disappointment that took over Tyler’s young face. “I am.” He knew Tyler thought he and Wyatt were the cavalry, and that they could do just about anything. He hated shattering that hero worship.

“You can’t go without me!” Tyler cried and jumped off the bench. “I won’t tell you anything unless you let me go with you.” He stomped an oversize cowboy boot with little effect.

“Tyler.” Wyatt finally spoke up. “Listen to your dad for a minute.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Want doesn’t have anything to do with it.” Wyatt’s voice grew stern and Tyler quieted.

Slowly, Tyler trudged back to the bench. His bottom lip quivered, but he didn’t give in. “How will you know where to look?”

“I’m gonna start with everything you know. Then I’m going to call a couple of my marine buddies to help.”

Tyler’s eyes lit up. “You’re gonna call in the marines to find my mom?”

DJ met Wyatt’s gaze. It wasn’t quite what he’d meant, but if it worked to get Tyler’s cooperation, he’d let him believe anything.

“Cool!” Tyler said, then he surprised and pleased DJ with a hug before running out of the barn.

Wyatt waited until Tyler was out of earshot before he spoke again. “I’m okay with it, but you’d better tell everyone else. I’m not filling them in.”

“Afraid of Addie’s wrath, are you?” DJ only halfway teased—they were both aware of their oldest sister’s strong personality.

“Damn straight I am. You’d better be, too.” They both laughed and followed Tyler to the house. “He’s probably already told them all. Be prepared.”

Wyatt’s farmhouse was big enough for the whole Hawkins family. The oversize country kitchen was loud with all the voices. No one said anything to him as he entered, but DJ saw the sideways glances. He wasn’t even surprised when everyone settled expectantly in the living room after dinner.

As a kid, DJ had hated the big family meetings, so it was with a healthy dose of chagrin that he realized he was the cause of this one.

The last time they’d all been together had been at Mom’s funeral, though most of them had managed to show up at the meeting when he’d been discharged from the hospital.

Poor Emily. He glanced over at the pretty judge who was perched on the arm of the couch next to Wyatt. The whole bunch of them had probably scared her half to death at first. Though she seemed used to them all now and didn’t seem too spooked. Maybe it was because she only had eyes for Wyatt these days. And the sappy look on his brother’s face said he was pleased about the whole thing.

DJ dragged one of the dining chairs from the kitchen, knowing there weren’t enough seats, and he couldn’t sit on the soft couch and stand back up without the help of the solid chair. He settled just inside the doorway.

He took in everyone around him. They all looked good. The big homemade meal the girls had put together was delicious, with Addie’s famous cookies to cap it off. Tyler had gone to the barn with Chet, the ranch foreman, to help put the animals down for the night. DJ knew what was coming next, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“What’s Tyler talking about?” Addie started the conversation. Her gaze found DJ.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t even try to act innocent, David James. He said you were going to look for his mother?”

DJ looked around. Every eye in the place was on him. Despite the fact that he loved each one of them, his stomach flipped. He really didn’t want to get into this. He’d been on his own for years—hell, he’d been overseas fighting a war. Why did facing off with Addie scare him more than staring down a terrorist?

He sat up straighter and looked directly at his oldest sister. “He’s right. I’m going to find Tammie.”

“Why?” Addie’s voice was full of anger. “What for?”

“It’s not up for negotiation, Ad,” DJ said softly.

“Surely you’re not taking Tyler with you?” Mandy said, trying to sit up in the overstuffed chair. Maybe he should have given her the wooden chair. Seven months pregnant—and still keeping mum on who the father was—she was already struggling to move.

“No. He’s staying here with Wyatt.”

Wyatt nodded but didn’t speak up. DJ frowned at him in a silent thanks-for-nothing-buddy way.

“What will you accomplish, besides getting Tyler’s hopes up, and hurting him?”

“I think there’s more to this situation. Something’s not right.”

“So why do you have to go fix it?” Mandy asked. “She gave him up.” She rubbed her rounding belly as if caressing her unborn child. “She abandoned him. She doesn’t deserve to have him back.”

“I didn’t say I was giving him back to her.” DJ’s anger erupted. “He’s my son and he’s staying with this family, but Tyler needs this.”

“Why?” asked Tara, his youngest sister, sprawled on the couch on the other side of Wyatt, her sneaker-clad feet propped up on the scarred coffee table. Her head tilted just a bit to the side as she tried to understand him. She’d always been DJ’s biggest supporter; never angry, never judging, she’d quietly listened to dozens of his harebrained schemes growing up. Though he knew she’d shook her head at him many times.

“Tyler believes in her.” DJ lifted a hand to stall any more comments. “He wishes on stars to be with her.” DJ cleared his throat. “I owe it to him to at least try to figure out what’s going on.”

Jason sat forward, his forearms on his knees. “Help us out here, Emily. This could jeopardize custody. What if she does want him back? Have you considered that, DJ?” Always the lawyer, Jason thought too legally at times.

Emily frowned. “We’d need to talk to Warren.” Warren Litchfield was the judge who’d taken over DJ’s custody case once it became clear Emily had lost her objectivity as far as the boy and Wyatt—mostly Wyatt—were concerned.

“Right now, that’s not the issue. First we need to figure out what the situation is. And then decide what’s next,” DJ said.

Suddenly, half a dozen voices filled the room. Every single one of his siblings had an opinion. That was nothing new. And it also wasn’t new that he ignored them all. He’d stopped doing what they told him around the time he’d turned sixteen and realized he could drive away in a car.

“Stop it!” Tyler’s voice cut through the din. He stood in the open doorway—no one had heard or seen him come in. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess. But from the look on his face, he’d heard plenty.

“She’s my mom. Dad has to find her.” His voice cracked. “’Fore she gets in more trouble. That man might hurt her. Like he hurt me. I know it.”

DJ rose to his feet and walked over to his son. Tyler looked up at him, imploring, with tears in his eyes. “Please, Dad. Don’t change your mind. Go find her.” Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks. “I want my mom.” Tyler threw his arms around DJ’s waist, holding tight.

Slowly, DJ took a step back so he could awkwardly kneel down to peer into his son’s face. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll find her. Everyone’s just concerned.”

“They don’t like Mama.” Tyler glared at his aunts and uncles. “But she’s the best mom. She’s just scared. She took care of me the best she could.” He hiccuped. “I just wanna go home.”

“I know.” DJ didn’t think this was the time to remind Tyler that this was his home now. Instead, he wrapped his arm around the boy’s thin shoulders and turned to face the room of people. His gaze traveled to each one. So familiar to him, but virtual strangers to Tyler. He felt Tyler lean into his side.

“As I said, this isn’t up for negotiation. It’s a done deal. I’m just letting you all know what we’re planning. You can either help, or not. Your choice. But we’d appreciate at least your support.”

The room fell silent.

Wyatt spoke first. “You got it. Whatever you need,” he said softly, holding Emily’s hand. She nodded, too.

Wyatt nudged Tara in the ribs. “Hey, I’ve always supported him, even with the insane things.” Everyone, even Tyler, laughed.

“I’ll do whatever you need on the legal end. Just let me know.” Jason nodded.

“You got it.” Mandy smiled. “Though, in this condition, I’m not much help to anyone.” She ran a loving hand over her tummy again, smiling. “Hey, little one, soon you’ll get to meet all these aunts and uncles. And a cousin, too,” she whispered to the baby.

Addie was the only holdout. And she was the only one besides Wyatt who Tyler really knew. Don’t let him down, DJ silently pleaded. DJ hugged Tyler, then walked over to face his older sister.

“You...you just be careful, okay?” She stood and faced him. “I know you think you’re the mighty warrior, but we just got you back.” Her voice broke.

“I’ll be careful, Ad.” He looked down at his older sister and saw the sheen in her eyes. “I promise.” He glanced back at his son. “I have a whole lot more to lose now.”

* * *

THE EVEN MOTION of the late-night city bus nearly lulled Tammie to sleep. When something hard hit her shoulder, she jerked awake. Her arms tightened around her backpack the same instant a skinny arm snaked over her shoulder. Dirty, clawlike fingers grasped the strap and tugged hard.

Tammie was worn-out but not stupid.

The would-be thief got more than he bargained for when she yanked hard. “No!” she cried, ripping her backpack free.

“Bitch.” The boy spit out the word easily and lunged over the seat.

“Hey!” the bus driver yelled. “What’s going on back there?”

“Mind your business, old man.”

Tammie took the opportunity to stand and wobble through the aisle, the backpack clutched to her chest. She settled in the seat right behind the driver.

A bus stop loomed ahead and the driver pulled over to the curb. “Off!” the driver yelled. The boy stood, cursing as he exited through the rear doors. She heard his steps fade away in the darkness.

“You, too, lady.”

“But—”

“I’m done for the night. Don’t need no more trouble. Go on.”

The old man glared at her and inclined his head to the open door.

“But my stop’s the next one.”

“Then you won’t have far to walk. Move it.”

The dark night was thick outside the lights of the bus. She knew where she was, but that didn’t lessen her fear of walking through this neighborhood at night. Alone. Heck, she didn’t walk it in the daylight. She normally got off right across the street from work.

The doors squeaked shut and the strong smell of diesel filled the air as the bus moved away. No time for standing around. She had three blocks to go. Three long, dark blocks.

Her footsteps seemed loud in the darkness as she nearly ran, glancing over her shoulder several times, just in case the thief was still lurking in the shadows.

Tammie clung tight to the backpack she’d filled all those months ago in Florida, cataloging what was inside with each step. Her toiletries. Her underwear. Two pairs of jeans, one set of sweats and three T-shirts. Her wallet. A set of keys that now belonged to nothing since she’d sold her car and had abandoned her house. Two sample pieces of the jewelry she’d made that had been in the pack from that last, fateful show. They’d still been in the pack when she’d tossed in everything else.

And there was a book.

The hardcover copy of Wuthering Heights wasn’t just for reading, though it was good for that, too. Nestled in between the pages was all she had left of Tyler. His baby pictures. His first school photo. The awkward goodbye note he’d written when she’d told him to go with his uncle Wyatt. And all the money she had in the world stuck in different pages. Five hundred and forty-six dollars. The thirty-three cents at the bottom of the backpack jangled every once in a while when she moved.

Everything else was gone.

Stolen by Dom. Destroyed by his thugs. Or just plain used up.

She refused to cry. Absolutely refused to give in. Her father had always accused her of being stubborn. Maybe for once his being right was a good thing.

The fleeting thought of her parents was like a speed bump and she nearly stumbled. Righting herself, she leaned on the wall of a darkened building to catch her breath. She just wanted to find a hole and crawl into it.

Tammie had no idea what to do next. No clue how to get her life back. She’d tried confronting Dom. But that’s what had caused him to turn on her in the first place, made him destroy everything she’d worked so hard for. She’d tried going to the authorities to ask for help. What a joke. She had no real proof. No clout. Nothing. They’d told her there was nothing they could do.

Despite the frightening warning she’d been given by his buddies, she’d filed a report anyway. But it hadn’t done any good.

A copy of that police report was nestled between her book’s pages, as well.

She’d done everything she could think of, only to lose over and over again to him.

And so she’d finally run.

And he’d followed. Always finding her. Always destroying what little she’d managed to build.

Belatedly, she’d figured out that he found them whenever she registered Tyler for school. She couldn’t take him out of school—she wouldn’t do that to him—yet changing cities and schools every couple of months was damaging and a waste. His education had definitely suffered and that had been another reason to give him up until she could figure out how to fix her situation—and keep Tyler safe.

Her throat ached, clogged with tears of frustration and loss.

She just wanted to go home. All the places she’d lived over the past year flashed behind her closed eyelids. The tiny bungalow she’d bought in Florida hurt the most to think about. Her studio. Tyler’s bedroom full of his toys. Her room with the soft mattress and her favorite blue decorations. She even missed the leaky pipe in the bathroom.

All of it gone.

Anger replaced the threatening tears. She wanted it back. All of it.

She’d do whatever she could to get it back.

Slowly, wiping her eyes on her shoulder, Tammie stood away from the wall. She took a deep breath and started walking again. One way or another, she was going home.

When she rounded the corner where the diner sat, the bright lights of the block eased her fears. The diner. The liquor store. The pawnshop...

She’d met the owner of the pawnshop when he’d come into the diner a couple weeks ago. Nice, older guy. Tipped good.

Stepping inside the brightly lit store, Tammie noticed that the pawnshop was huge. Every last corner was filled with pieces of furniture, electronics galore, some odd stuffed animal heads on the wall and cases of jewelry. She’d never seen anything like it. Tammie ignored most of it, especially the jewelry cases—it would hurt too much. Instead, she walked purposefully to the cases at the back. Five hundred and forty-six dollars wouldn’t buy her a new gun. It wouldn’t buy her a big gun.

But it would buy her a working one.

Her hands shook as she held the cold metal...thing in the palm of her hand.

“You know how to shoot that, lady?” the kid behind the counter asked.

“Not yet,” was all she said.

She knew she was taking a risk, filling out all the paperwork, but if Dom were following her—maybe he’d think twice knowing she was armed.

Her resolve and anger slipped into place and she calmed. Carefully, she counted the precious bills out onto the counter, leaving herself with barely enough money to eat until she got paid on Friday.

She headed out into the artificially lit night toward the diner. She’d be early—again—but Cora didn’t mind her crashing in the tiny break room, as long as she was ready and on her feet in time for the rush.

She hefted her backpack, its newly added weight comforting. She was ready.

CHAPTER FOUR

DJ PULLED WYATT’S truck over to the curb and killed the engine. The worn streets and should-be-condemned houses reminded him too much of an Afghan village he’d been to once. A lifetime ago. Despite the Texas heat, he shivered and stared at the house beyond the wire fence.

A good hundred years old, it was probably an old farmhouse that the urban sprawl had engulfed. It didn’t look like the rest of the block. Older. Worn.

The porch ran downhill and a coonhound rested on the uneven boards. DJ climbed out and crossed the street. He opened the gate, and the hound lifted its head. DJ didn’t hear a growl or see much other movement. A good sign.

He’d worn his fatigues and driven the big black truck today on purpose. He wanted Cora—was that her name?—to be able to figure out who he was. Tyler seemed to like the old woman and her coonhound—Rufus? Yeah, that was his name. Rufus. Tyler had said they’d been really good people.

DJ knew the dog wasn’t a threat. Tyler had told him that and had given him info on the dog treats the hound liked best. His pocket was packed with a bagful. So far the dog hadn’t moved except to swish an ear at the fly that buzzed him.

“Hello?” DJ called, hoping someone would step out and greet him. Yeah, right. He’d more likely get his head blown off. Slowly, he took a couple of steps. Waited. Another two steps.

“That’s far enough,” an old woman’s voice called from an open window.

“Cora?” he called out.

“Yeah. Who’s askin’?”

“DJ. DJ Hawkins.” He had nothing to lose at this point. This woman was a good person according to Tyler. She’d helped Tammie hide from whatever or whomever she was running from. She’d been the one to find Wyatt and help Tyler get to him. She cared, and for that DJ respected her. “I’m looking for Tammie Easton.”

“Yeah? Well, she ain’t here.”

Despite the negative responses, DJ felt as if he was making progress. “Well, I know she was a friend of yours. Do you know where she might be?”

“Why should I tell you?”

He knew what he wanted to say. Should he? What the hell. “Tyler wants his mother back.” He took a step forward. “And I agree.” Well, mostly he did, but admitting that part wouldn’t get him any answers.

The elderly woman who stepped out onto the tilting porch wasn’t even five feet tall. The shotgun she held in her hands looked huge in comparison and was aimed straight at his chest. Not the first time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun. A trickle of sweat sneaked down his back.

Tyler had said Cora would know who he was. If Tammie was here, he hoped she’d recognize him and speak up. Preferably before the shotgun got seriously involved.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” He knew he’d have to draw on every ounce of his Southern charm and manners. Cora was old-school. Slowly, the tiny woman made her way down the steps, the gun barrel never wavering. He extended a hand, but she didn’t take it—she’d have had to take one off the gun to do so. He let his hand drop back to his side.

The silence stretched out. DJ could almost see the wheels turn in the old woman’s head.

“I know who you are, young man. If I did know where...” Her voice lowered, and she and the gun moved closer. “Why should I tell you?”

“’Cause Tyler’s birthday is coming up and he’s not too happy about his mom missing it.”

“That boy.” She fought a smile, and then, shaking her head, she sobered. “He doing okay?”

“Yeah. Real good.”

“Look here.” She shook the shotgun as if to emphasize her point. “You didn’t hear this from me, but you might want to have yourself a nice big piece of pie at the Half Cup Café, sometime after ten p.m.”

“She workin’ there?”

“I can’t say any more.” The woman glanced around and shook the gun again for good measure. The softened look on her face no longer held the same threat, though. “You give that boy a hug for me, you hear me?” She leaned in for added emphasis.

DJ lifted his hands in surrender, completing her show for whoever she believed was watching. “I’ve got a gift for the dog from Tyler—in my pocket.”

“Reach for it real careful.” She waved with the gun and DJ fought the urge to smile. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag. “Now drop it on the ground.” He got the distinct impression this woman had seen a few too many Westerns in her day. But he’d play along. She’d given him the info he needed.

“Thanks for your time, ma’am.”

She didn’t say any more, but he didn’t hear her move away, either. DJ went back to the truck and climbed in. It wasn’t until he stopped at the end of the street, and glanced in the rearview mirror, that he saw the gun lower. She bent and picked up the bag, stuffing it into her pocket before scurrying back to the front porch. He smiled when he saw the old dog rise up and follow her inside. Tyler would be happy.

But how would Tammie react when she saw him?

Eight hours later he was close to finding out. DJ leaned against the brick wall of a closed thrift store. It was late. Really late. Maybe too late.

Across the street, the Half Cup Café sat like a beacon at the end of the darkened street. None of the other businesses were open at this hour, and the flash of the open-twenty-four-hours neon sign bathed their darkness with flashes of red.

DJ had gone back out to the ranch after talking to Cora. He’d strategized with Wyatt and swapped the truck for his bike and a duffel bag. Parked at the broken curb, the bike took its turns bathing in the flashing lights.

The diner’s glass walls gave him a clear view of the staff and customers inside. The ratty old diner was the last place he wanted to find Tammie. Despite what Cora had told him, he’d hoped somehow that she wouldn’t be here, doing this. So far from her dreams—the dreams she’d told him about all those years ago.

He stood there, watching, waiting and wondering for a long time.

Tammie wasn’t the only waitress working tonight, but DJ focused solely on her. She moved around, swerving between tables, filling a coffee cup here, a water glass there. She’d been working in an ice cream parlor when they’d met—the years of experience since showed in her easy movements.

Otherwise, she looked like hell. The girl he’d spent a sweet week with nine years ago was long gone. A flash of memory brought her back. A bikini and tan lines.

So beautiful and vibrant—a dreamer of big dreams. That was partly what had drawn him to her, what kept her in his memories and what brought her back so vividly when he’d learned about Tyler.

DJ shook his head. Dozens of questions swirled around him in the night as he continued watching her.

Had he been the one who’d broken her dreams? If not, who had?

Lord, they’d been young. He shook his head. Too young to understand the consequences—and too damned stupid.

What had she thought when she’d found out she was pregnant? What would he have done if she had gotten in touch with him back then? He did a little calculating—he would’ve been smack in the middle of boot camp.

An alternate universe of marriage and diapers flashed in his mind. He shuddered. They’d have never made it. He’d have never made it, he amended. She had managed, he begrudgingly admitted, if Tyler was any indication.

He wondered yet again, why hadn’t she contacted him? He’d given her his mom’s address. He remembered the moment clearly, that last night...on the beach...just before they’d...

Frustrated, he shut out the past, reminding himself that she had managed to find the info when she’d wanted to dump Tyler.

His anger returned as he thought of his son. DJ forced himself to stay put, out here in the dark, until the urge to storm in and demand answers passed. He figured, from what Tyler had shared, that she’d probably be skittish. Scaring her half to death would not help matters.

Slowly, DJ headed across the street. His steps measured, his worn combat boots echoed loudly on the dirty pavement.

The glass door opened easily as he stepped inside the light. He timed his entrance for when Tammie went into the back. No one noticed him at first, then the other waitress sauntered over.

“Just one?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

He smirked. She was a flirt. He knew it came with the military haircut and the assumed job, but he couldn’t help wondering if she’d still be as interested once she saw the line of scars down his back. Pulling himself away from those thoughts, he nodded and followed her swaying gait to a booth toward the back.

Outside, he’d watched long enough to know they weren’t working a station system. They were taking turns. Tammie would be his server no matter where he sat. He thought for a minute that he wasn’t really being fair, surprising her at work like this. But then, dumping his kid on Wyatt’s doorstep wasn’t exactly fair, either. Hey, all’s fair in love and war. He just wasn’t sure which he was in right now.

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?” Lindsey, according to the little brass bar pinned to her orange uniform, leaned close as she spread the laminated menu out on the scarred tabletop. A picture of strawberry-lemon shortcake covered half the page she’d opened it up to. “Something sweet?”

He nearly groaned at the overly obvious come-on.

“Coffee. Lots of cream.” He picked up the menu and closed it. He doubted he’d be here long enough for anything else.

Frowning, Lindsey straightened and sauntered away, throwing one final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

DJ settled in the cracked vinyl seat. From here, he could see everything inside as well as keep an eye on the street beyond the windows.

Considering the hour, the restaurant was busy with half the tables full. An elderly couple sat silently eating, barely looking at each other, much less conversing. At the far end, despite the late hour, a family sat, each of them staring at a phone screen. If he and his siblings had done that as kids, they’d have been texting each other the obnoxious kind of comments that would have earned them a smack from Mom. He smiled at that thought—not that they would have been allowed phones at the table.

Just then, the kitchen doors swung open and Tammie emerged, one of those huge brown trays laden with the family’s meal on her shoulder. He held his breath, hoping she didn’t see him until after she’d delivered the food.

He kept his gaze glued to her as she moved, noticing the familiar details he hadn’t been able to see from outside. She’d gained a little weight. Just a little. Baby weight from becoming a mom? He swallowed that question.

The blond hair he’d fondly remembered flying loose and carefree had been yanked into a ponytail, hanging limply down her back. Did it still feel as soft...and smell like roses...and the ocean?

She wasn’t wearing any makeup and the sad, orange uniform she wore had seen better days, but her smile was warm as she served. The dimple he remembered so vividly flashed in her right cheek, giving him faint hope that maybe the girl he remembered was still in there somewhere.

He remembered her wearing orange once before—a bikini that hid all the right stuff, and not much else. Shaking his head to dispel the memory, he focused on the here and now.

Without mishap, she distributed the plates and carted off the tray. She snagged the coffee carafe from the burner before heading toward him. She didn’t look up, focusing on pulling an order pad from her pocket.

DJ held his breath. Waiting.

Two feet away, Tammie finally saw him—and froze. She stared, her eyes growing wide. Somewhere in the distance glass shattered and the coffee carafe lay in a zillion pieces on the tile floor.

* * *

TAMMIE’S HEART POUNDED in her chest as she met DJ Hawkins’s cold stare. She recognized him immediately. The long blond hair she remembered all too vividly was gone, as she’d expected. But the face was the same—the same one he shared with Tyler.

Breathe, she reminded herself. Think. She’d known this could happen—that she’d be found. She’d run through every scenario a dozen times in her mind, but none of those scenarios had starred DJ. Not like this, anyway.

“Hello, Tammie.” His voice came out deep and gruff, cutting through her daze. “We need to talk.”

The serious tone of his voice sent fear shooting through her. How had he found her, and why? He was angry. That was obvious. She’d expected that, too, considering she hadn’t told him about Tyler. But why was he here now?

“Is Tyler okay?” Her fear turned to panic.

DJ frowned. “If you consider how much he misses his mother, and the fact that his dad, who he just met, left him to go find her, yeah, he’s okay. Miserable, but okay.”

Her heart hurt. She couldn’t tell DJ, or anyone, why she’d left Tyler. She didn’t dare share the details of the danger she’d put Tyler, and herself, in. A dose of humiliation and a lot of fear kept her quiet.

Reality interrupted as Lindsey wheeled the mop bucket out of the kitchen. Tammie knew the other waitress wasn’t coming out to help her. She was being nosy.

Tammie straightened her shoulders, shoring up her determination now that she knew Tyler was okay. “I’m...I’m working. It’s not break time yet.” Looking around, she knew she could avoid whatever he had to say with all the customers and her coworkers listening.

“I’ll wait.”

Why did those words scare the hell out of her? She trembled, then grabbed the mop handle as much to give herself an excuse to not talk to him as to clean.

“I’ll take a cup of fresh coffee, when you get a minute,” he drawled.

Of course, it took her twice as long to clean up the mess with him watching. At least the other diners had gone back to their meals and ignored them. Lindsey, however, was leaning over the counter, watching the scene with interest.

“One coffee. Coming up,” Tammie said automatically, moving with stilted, hesitant steps, like a sleepwalker on the verge of waking up. In the back room, she put the bucket away and paced the kitchen. What was she supposed to do now? She glanced at the back door. Only the old, battered screen door stood between her and the alley behind the diner.

She called herself every kind of stupid. She shouldn’t have stayed here in Austin. She’d known that, but the idea of leaving, really leaving Tyler behind, was more than she could bear—he was her world. So she’d stayed. Lot of good that did.

Every instinct told her to run now. Run fast and hard while DJ was occupied and not expecting it. Run and hope he’d only found her because Tyler had said something.

Tyler. She missed him so much. Closing her eyes, she pictured him as she’d last seen him. How much had he changed in the few months she’d been away? Curiosity and determination to not give in to her fears had Tammie grabbing the fresh coffee and heading back to DJ’s table. “I... Is...Tyler...settling in okay with you?”

“He’s fine.”

Her hand shook as she poured the coffee.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice sounded almost reassuring. He didn’t say any more but instead looked pointedly around the room. “We’ll talk when we’re alone.”

Alone. She gulped. She didn’t dare let him get her alone. He’d ask questions she couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer. “Can I get you anything else?” She forced herself to shift gears. Distant-waitress mode was safest. It was where she’d lived for months.

“No, that’ll do.” He looked up, his gaze hard. “For now.”

She shut off her thoughts and made her decision. Move, feet, move. She prayed she could get out of here before he caught up to her. Probably a stupid notion, but she had to try.

Tammie walked slowly toward the kitchen, returning the coffee carafe to the burner, and as nonchalantly as possible, she bent down and scooped up her battered backpack. She kept walking, right through the kitchen to the back door. She ran out into the night, not bothering even to think about where she was going. Just out of here. Away.

The light from the diner’s kitchen was all that illuminated the alley. And it lit only the first few feet. The shadows swallowed the rest.

She knew there were creepy crawlies and evil trash in the world, and probably half of them lived in this neighborhood, but she told herself she could handle all of them. What she couldn’t handle was being found. Not by DJ—and certainly not by the man who would follow. If DJ had found her, Dom would, too.

Her heart pounded and her soul dropped to her knees as she hurried through the alley, toward the street. Please don’t let him notice I’ve left. Not yet.

She was nearly to the light at the mouth of the alley when a shadowed figure stepped into her path, blocking her escape. Silhouetted in the streetlight’s glow, DJ looked dark and ominous. Once, he’d been a friend. He’d been her first lover. He’d been kind. But time had a way of changing everyone. She shivered, not sure who she was really facing.

“I won’t hurt you, Tammie,” he called to her, sounding a lot as though he was trying to cajole, not harm her. But she couldn’t trust him. She didn’t dare trust any man. Not ever again.

“I know,” she lied. She’d learned a lot of tricks in the past nine years. She kept walking slowly, purposefully, hoping to convince him she was headed toward him. She could just as easily be the one doing the cajoling, then slip past and run. Run as she’d never run before.

Thankfully her ugly waitress uniform included tennis shoes. Lightweight, worn tennis shoes. Escape was doable.

“Good. So where are you going, Tammie?” He remained where he was, his arms crossed over his massive chest, trying to look casual. And failing.

His features were stiff, what she could see in the slashes of light. His eyes glowed and she wondered if he was angry. She edged along the wall, facing him and tracking her progress by running her fingers on the ridge between the bricks. She tried to ignore the filth she knew darkened the once light-colored stone. She was nearly there.

“Talk about what?” She hoped to distract him from her progress.

The silence grew heavy and he waited all too patiently. It made her shiver. What did he have in mind?

Finally, he spoke. “Our son. Tyler.”

Her heart broke. She missed Tyler so much and it was almost too painful to think about him.

“He wants to know when you’re coming to get him.”

The knife twisted in her chest. She didn’t dare think about how long she’d been away from him. Her eyes stung. She couldn’t give in now, though. Too risky. She hardened her heart and shut off all emotion.

Her fingers met the corner brick. She breathed in, and after only an instant’s pause, turned the corner and ran like hell.

The rubber soles of her worn shoes slapping against the pavement were loud, too loud. He’d follow the sound. It couldn’t be helped. She had to outrun him.

Two blocks, just two short blocks. That was all she had to make, then she could duck into another alley and hide. No footfalls sounded behind her, but maybe her harsh breaths were drowning them out. The alley she’d been aiming for loomed ahead. Nearly there.

A motorcycle’s roar shattered the night. Glancing over her shoulder, Tammie nearly screamed. The streetlights illuminated DJ. The bike was huge and he looked right at home on its back. Anger wasn’t even close to what she saw on his face now that he was out of the shadows—it was much scarier.

The machine responded to his every command. She’d never outrun him now.

Still, she kept going, half expecting him to mow her over and knock her to the ground.

She didn’t expect the sound of squealing tires or the smell of burning rubber. And most certainly not the grind of metal on cement as the bike tipped. She yelped and froze as she watched him fall.

And then there was silence. Not the kind of silence that indicated she’d successfully escaped. No. This was the silence of impending doom.

DJ wasn’t under the bike, for which she hated to admit she was thankful. Instead of being splattered on the pavement, he’d managed to roll away from the machine and land a few feet away from her.

She stood there, staring. DJ cursed, his words blistering the air and her ears. He glared at her and rose to his feet. He was limping. Oh, God, she hadn’t meant for him to be hurt. Really, she hadn’t. But she had to get away.

She turned to run again, but before she could get far, his strong hand grabbed her arm and nearly gave her whiplash as he yanked her around. The rough brick wall cut into her back as DJ pushed her up against it. He’d been much kinder the last time he’d grabbed and imprisoned her. She fought. She was not giving in easily. Not this time. And never again.

She shot her foot forward, her shoe connecting with the hard steel of a shin. He didn’t even flinch. She mentally cursed. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance,” he growled, his face close to hers. Too close. “I have questions and I want answers.”

“Let me go.”

Silence hung thick over the night. The only thing she could hear was her lungs struggling to breathe, and her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He’d grabbed her without any effort, which just plain ticked her off. She tried to kick him again. His grip tightened.

“Do that again, and I won’t ever tell you a thing about Tyler.”

Dead silence filled the air. She wilted. He knew her Achilles’ heel...her son...their son.

“You going to run, or can I trust you?”

She didn’t answer, but her silence must have suggested she’d consider staying. His grip loosened and he leaned even closer. His breath brushed her cheek. The brick wall felt cool against her back, a contrast to DJ’s warmth washing over her.

This close, she took in the differences and similarities in him. He was older, bigger—angrier. Nine years was a long time. When she’d seen him last, he’d still been a boy getting ready to head to boot camp.

He wasn’t a boy anymore. No, he was a man. A powerful, ticked-off man. She swallowed her apprehension and fought the overwhelming urge to struggle. And then a thought crossed her mind. What if he’d lied to her just to get her to listen? He’d said he wouldn’t tell her about Tyler if she didn’t cooperate. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that. “Is he really okay?” she whispered.

DJ reached down to the thigh pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a piece of paper that she immediately realized was a photo.

She impulsively reached for it. He shoved it back into his pocket, but not before she was able to identify Tyler as the person in the photo. How could she not recognize that sweet, beloved little face? “What’s he holding?”

“Baby pigs,” DJ said. “Wyatt took it yesterday.”

“P-pigs?” she whispered.

“Yeah. We thought they might give him something positive to focus on. But guess if you don’t care—”

He stepped away, the cool night air replacing the heat of his body. Too casually, he bent to check out the bike without giving her another glance.

He was trusting she wouldn’t run? Or was he leaving her with that taunt? “What do you mean, if I don’t care?” She shoved her pack impatiently onto her shoulder.

DJ slowly straightened from where he’d crouched. “You tell me. You left him.” His gaze bored into hers, hot and angry, and she heard the rest of his unspoken message. And you didn’t even tell me that he existed.

She leaned toward him, as he seemed to dismiss her again, refocusing on the fallen bike. “You don’t understand,” she said. Her words made him look up. The intensity of his gaze made her take a step back.

“Then start talking. Explain.”

She wanted to scream, not in fear but in frustration. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“There’s no difference.”

“Oh, yes, there is.” He bent again, using his weight and strength to lift the bike from the pavement. Even in the dim streetlight, she saw the play of thick muscles across his back and the flexing of his thighs. She swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat.

Once the bike was upright, he circled it like a predator, rubbing a scratch here, a scrape there. Ignoring her. Ultimately, he seemed satisfied with its condition, and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Tammie slumped back against the brick wall, trying to be as nonchalant as he was, and failing to ignore all the questions racing in her brain.

She was fairly certain he was debating something more than the bike, but she didn’t really know him, did she? Despite the fact that they’d been intimate, that her memories were filled with the boy she’d spent those nights with, the truth was that this man was a stranger to her. She shivered. A stranger who could, and most likely would, hurt her. Not physically. No, she knew that somehow. But he had the one thing that could hurt her most—Tyler.

She inched away as he paced. She hugged her backpack close, her security blanket.

“You promised him, damn it.” The words erupted from DJ’s throat, breaking the quiet night. His pacing brought him back to her, close enough to touch. She gripped the pack tighter. “You told him you were coming back.”

“I didn’t say when.”

“A week is an eternity to an eight-year-old. It’s been months.”

“I didn’t know it would take this long.”

“What would take this long?” he demanded, leaning in, blocking her path but not touching her. He waited silently and she knew he was debating what to do next.

“Okay, fine, Tammie.” He reached out and grabbed her arm again, gently but firmly. “Since you won’t tell me, you’re going to tell him the truth yourself.” He moved toward the big bike, not letting loose of her arm, essentially dragging her with him.

“I’ll scream if you don’t let go.”

He laughed. He actually laughed, glancing around the darkened street, looking mockingly at the alley she’d been trying to get to. “Don’t think anyone’s gonna hear you, darlin’,” he drawled.

They’d reached the bike when she wrenched her arm from his grasp so hard there’d probably be bruises later. She caught her balance before facing him.

“I’m sure they’ll hear me in the diner.” Derek would be in the back room washing dishes. It was only two blocks. He might hear her over the rattle of the plates and glasses in the racks as he sprayed them.

Yeah, who was she kidding?

“Maybe.” DJ crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. “But will they do anything?”

They both knew no one would come to her defense. Not in this neighborhood. Not this time of night. Her heart sank. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

DJ paced away. She didn’t bother running—he could catch her before she got far. But would he?

DJ cursed. “You have no idea what you did to him, do you?”

This was not going well. She’d done the right thing in sending Tyler to DJ. And in the same situation, she’d do it again. But without telling him everything, she couldn’t make him understand.

She closed her eyes, picturing her son’s sweet face, trying to pull the sound of his laughter from her memory. “I have my reasons. Good reasons. You have to believe me.” She turned and, instead of running, slowly backed away. “I can’t go with you. I won’t.”

The dim light blurred and she nearly stumbled on a broken concrete chunk she couldn’t see through her tears. She righted herself, and instead of crumbling, she lifted her chin and watched her step, hoping she looked more determined than scared.

The deep throaty roar of the motorcycle startled her, but she quickly recovered, keeping her stride steady and sure. He’d gotten the message. He wasn’t coming toward her. He was leaving. Going back to Tyler. She almost stumbled once more. In a couple of hours he’d be seeing her baby again while she’d still be here, waiting tables.

An ache settled tight in her chest.

Then the soft rumble came closer rather than fading. She looked over, expecting him to ride past. Instead, he left the engine running as he sat on the bike, using his booted feet to keep pace with her as she walked.

“You have your reasons?”

She nodded but didn’t explain or stop. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the picture, this time handing it to her.

He was going to kill her emotionally. She ignored him as she drank in the sweet image.

“Get on and you’ll see him once I’m satisfied with your answers.”

She had no intention of going anywhere near Tyler until she knew it was safe. “And if I don’t?”

He stopped, pinning her with that glare again. Except now the anger was replaced with a hard glint. “He’s my son. I have full legal custody. I’ll use every legal trick in the book, and then some, to make sure you never, ever see him again.”

He was serious.

She’d never planned on this. She’d sent Tyler to him to keep him safe, fully intending to go back and get Tyler once she’d solved the danger she’d put them in. She’d known DJ would protect him...but she hadn’t expected this. This possessiveness. This territorial protectiveness.

Panic froze her. Never see Tyler again? Never read him a bedtime story? Never hear him whisper, “I love you, Mama”? Never again smell that sweet little-boy scent mingled with dirt as he hugged her?

Her knees threatened to give way. She struggled to breathe. In slow motion, she slipped the precious picture into her backpack then settled the bag back on her shoulder. She stopped and turned toward the big man on the even bigger bike. Its rumble made her think of a tiger and its throaty roar vibrated through her bones.

She had no choice. She knew it. He knew it.

Slowly, Tammie shook her head. Tears blurred her vision and spilled over her cheeks at the movement. “I’m not getting on that gawd-awful motorcycle. Never.” She didn’t have to fake the shiver. “I can’t,” she whispered.

She’d rather lose Tyler this way, knowing he was safe, than lose him to the danger following her.

Slowly, Tammie backed away, one painful step at a time.

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