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Brodie stared down at the woman in his arms

Her head rested below his chin, her hand lay on his chest. She slept peacefully, making an occasional deep breathing sound.

It felt so right to have her in his arms. He’d never needed anyone in his life, but last night he’d needed her. It wasn’t sexual, either. Not that he didn’t want her. But last night was about something entirely different—comfort, caring and mental nourishment so he could face another day. Holding on to Alex gave him that strength.

She stirred and sat up, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “Good morning,” she whispered.

He felt a catch in his gut at her sleep-filled voice. Her soft brown eyes were languid, sensuous, and he had a feeling she’d look like this after making love.

Raising himself to a sitting position, he flexed his shoulders. “Morning.”

She sniffed the air. “I don’t smell coffee. After spending the night on the sofa, I expect coffee to be brought to me.” Her eyes twinkled.

“I’m not used to getting coffee for a woman.”

“Cowboy, that is so hard to believe.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’ll bring you coffee any day of the week.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for visiting TryHarlequin.com.

We hope you enjoy Once a Cowboy, written by popular Harlequin American Romance author Linda Warren.

Harlequin American Romance has been publishing contemporary stories for many years. Our books emphasize the importance of love, family and community in America today. We love to showcase the charm of small-town America and the ruggedness of western locales, but set our stories in big cities, too. After all, anywhere you live is home. And romance can happen anywhere.

If you’re looking for stories that will touch your heart and make you long for the comforts of home (and a hunky hero to call your own!) curl up and enjoy one of our books. This is romance the all-American way!

Happy reading,

The Harlequin American Romance Editors

Once a Cowboy
Linda Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning, bestselling author Linda Warren has written twenty-one books for Harlequin American Romance and Harlequin Superromance. She grew up in the farming and ranching community of Smetana, Texas, the only girl in a family of boys. She loves to write about Texas, and from time to time scenes and characters from her childhood show up in her books. Linda lives in College Station, Texas, not far from her birthplace, with her husband and a menagerie of wild animals, from Canada geese to bobcats. Visit her Web site at www.lindawarren.net.

This book is dedicated to my wonderful editor, Kathleen Scheibling. You’ve made the past three years a joy. Thank you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

The defunct air-conditioning spit out its last puffs of cool air about an hour ago. Since it was July in Dallas the office was hotter than the hinges of hell. An opened window only stoked the heat in the room. Alex Donovan, private investigator, squirmed in her chair and swallowed back a curse word. She never thought being hot could make her so damn irritable.

“I believe this is my son.”

The lady sitting across from her desk pushed a dog-eared newspaper clipping toward Alex.

Sweat trickled down Alex’s back and pooled at her waistline. One more minute and she would have been out the door. Now she was caught.

Pushing back her frustration with the heat, the office and life in general, she studied the picture of a cowboy astride a bucking bull. The massive black animal looked too menacing to tangle with—that is, to a city girl like Alex. The colored clipping was dated a month ago and was taken at a rodeo for charity in Fort Worth. The caption read: Brodie Hayes, bull rider and three-time world champion gives another stellar performance.

His record was impressive. As was the man himself.

The lady pulled a folder out of her purse—more photos—and carefully laid them in front of Alex. They were of the same man; on a horse, with two other cowboys and one head shot that gave a close-up of his features. Several were rodeo photos with PRCA stamped on them—Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association.

But Alex’s eyes were drawn to the clipping of the cowboy on the bull, which best showcased his broad shoulders and long, muscled body. One hand stuck high in the air as he strove to stay on the required eight seconds. His hat lay in the dirt and dark hair fell across his forehead. The sharp angles of his face were set in deep concentration, yet a glimmer of a smile shaped his lips. She had a feeling this man thrived on winning. Thrived on a challenge.

Handsome, tough and fearless were the three words that came to her mind. He was also likely a charmer who had a way with the ladies, but was hell in a fight with a man or a bull. Damn. He was good-looking. Heat centered in her lower abdomen and she began to wonder if the high temperature was getting to her brain.

Having lived in Texas all her life, she’d seen lots of cowboys, but none quite like this. What was it about him? He had the looks, definitely the sex appeal, yet there was something else about him that she couldn’t define.

Alex glanced at the lady, waiting for her story, because she knew there was one. The woman had sad green eyes—that was the first thing she’d noticed. A younger woman who looked to be somewhere in her thirties sat beside her. Probably a daughter or a relative because they had the same facial features, except for black hair untouched by gray, and blue eyes.

“My name is Helen Braxton and this is my daughter, Maggie Newton.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Braxton. Maggie. You said you thought this was your son?” Alex fingered the clipping and stared at the daughter. The striking color of her eyes held Alex’s attention. Baby-blue. The bluest blue—the same as the cowboy’s. Or very close.

Mrs. Braxton handed her another folder. “My son was stolen from the hospital when he was two days old. That was almost forty years ago.” She tapped the folder. “The information’s all in here.”

A feeling of déjà vu came over Alex. She’d dealt with cases like this when she was on the Dallas police force, where desperate parents saw the face of their missing child in every newspaper clipping, their fate in every headline.

One particular case still haunted her. The suffering of the parents had gotten to her and she’d put her heart and soul into finding their missing child. She’d given them hope, which was all they had left. But it hadn’t been enough.

Was Helen Braxton one of those parents? Even after forty years, was hope all she had?

Alex licked her dry lips. “Why do you think this is your son?”

Mrs. Braxton dug in her bag and Alex wondered what else she had in that suitcase of a purse. She laid three photos on the desk while juggling the purse on her lap. “After I saw the photo in the paper, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I checked out Mr. Hayes on the Internet. I bugged Maggie until she helped. That’s how I got all the photos.” She pointed to the pictures on the desk. “This is my husband and my other two sons. Look at them, then look at the cowboy.”

Alex did as instructed and saw they indeed shared a striking resemblance—the same structure of the face, the same black hair. But it was the eyes that affected her the most. They had a bluer than blue quality—as clear and as riveting as the beaches of Padre Island. From the close-up of the cowboy she could see that his eyes were the same. Just like Maggie’s.

“We named our first son Travis, after my husband. Maggie is our second child, then we had Wesley and Will. Will drowned when he was nineteen and we lost Wes a year ago. His truck was hit by a drunken driver and…” She pulled a tissue out of the bag and dabbed at her eyes. “Wes helped run the ranch, and now my husband has sunk so far into depression that neither my daughter nor I can reach him.” Her watery eyes looked directly at Alex. “Ms. Donovan, please, I need you to find my only remaining son.”

The plea in the woman’s voice worked to accomplish what her father always warned her about—it touched her heart.

Mrs. Braxton fished out a checkbook. “What do you charge? We don’t have much, but we’ll pay whatever you ask.”

Alex had to be completely honest. “Mrs. Braxton. The odds that this man is your son are very low.” She clasped her hands on the desk and felt the waistband of her jeans stick to her skin. Couldn’t they feel the heat? Neither seemed bothered by it.

“I’ve tried to tell her that, but she won’t listen to me.” These were the first words the daughter had spoken.

“I know I’m a foolish old woman,” Mrs. Braxton said. “I have to know, though, why he looks so much like my husband and my other sons. It’s been almost forty years and not a day goes by that I don’t think about Travis. When he was kidnapped, there was a huge investigation. My husband and I haunted the police station, but our baby had disappeared without a trace.”

She twisted the strap of her purse. “The detective said that most babies are found within twenty-four hours because the perpetrator is usually a woman who’s desperate for a child and she’s eager to show off the baby. Friends and neighbors usually recognize the person wasn’t pregnant and contact the authorities. We waited and waited but no such person was ever found. Every lead was a dead end. For years we hounded the detective and he finally told us that we needed to go on with our lives. I laughed at him. How do you go on without your child?”

Helen blinked back a tear. “But life did go on. I had other children and tried to have a normal life for them. Every so often something happens, though, like seeing this photo in the paper, that gives me hope that some day I will see my son.”

“Mrs. Braxton…”

“He lives somewhere around Mesquite. That shouldn’t be too hard to check out.”

The sad eyes now turned desperate and Alex felt herself being pulled in against her will. So much heartache for one family.

“They do a lot of things with DNA these days. A simple test is all I’m asking.”

Say no. Just say no. But somehow Alex found she couldn’t. She scooted closer to the edge of her chair. Something about Helen’s sad eyes was about to make her break one of Buck’s cardinal rules. Do not get emotionally involved.

She’d been told her head was as hard as a crowbar, but this wasn’t about being stubborn or strong-willed. This was about proving she could take the difficult cases and stay emotionally detached. This was her own personal test.

“You do realize we’d be invading this man’s privacy, turning his world upside down.”

“But you’re a detective. Can’t you do it discreetly?”

“Yes, but…”

“Just name your price. I’ll write you a check.”

“Mom, please.” Maggie touched her mother’s arm.

Mrs. Braxton covered her daughter’s hand for a moment, then glanced at Alex. “Ms. Donovan, this is my last chance to save my husband, my family and my sanity.” She pointed to the clipping. “That is my son. I just know it. I’ve been looking for years and I’ve never had this feeling before. Please.”

Buck had warned her about taking these types of cases, but she never paid too much attention to her father—her partner in the agency. He’d say they were too emotional and too time-consuming. Tell her that she shouldn’t put herself through that again. To go with the cases that bring in the big bucks and leave the gut-wrenching cases to detectives with more grit in their gizzards.

In his own way, she knew her father was trying to keep her from getting hurt again. While working on the Dallas police force she’d found a missing child murdered. She realized then she didn’t have steel-coated nerves. It had been a tough decision to quit the force and join her father in the detective agency. If she wanted to be tough as nails, she had the perfect teacher—Buck Donovan. But she hadn’t worked a missing person’s case since. It was time to get back into the swing of things.

She stared at the photo of Brodie Hayes. There had to be a way to do this discreetly and put Mrs. Braxton’s mind at rest once and for all. And she could make sure that no one got hurt, especially one very good-looking cowboy.

“I’ll do some checking, but I’m not promising anything.” Alex told her the retainer fee and Mrs. Braxton wrote out a check.

“Oh, thank you, Ms. Donovan.” Relief filled Mrs. Braxton’s face and Alex wished with all her heart this case would turn out the way the woman wanted. The odds were against her. Still, she’d do her best.

“Please call me Alex.” She rose and was grateful for the flurry of air the movement circulated.

“And please call me Helen.” Helen slipped the strap of her purse over her arm. “My phone number and everything is in the folder.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” Helen walked out, but Maggie lingered.

“Ms.—Alex, my parents don’t have a lot of money. My father used to raise cutting horses, but after Wes’s death he sold most of them. They live off their social security now. I’m powerless to stop my mother in this search. Since we lost Wes, it consumes her whole life. And when she saw the photo, well, our lives haven’t been the same.”

“I can imagine that losing a child is something a woman never gets over.”

Maggie brushed back her dark hair. “Yes. I have two children, a son, Cody, and a daughter, Amber. If someone took them from me, I’m not sure how I would handle it.”

“Your mother seems very strong.”

“Yes, but please don’t indulge this fantasy of hers. Travis is gone and I…we have to accept that. After all these years my mother has to find a way to let him go.” Her blue eyes pleaded for Alex to understand.

“I’ll do my research and be very honest about my findings.”

“Thank you.” She turned to leave, then reached into the pocket of her two-piece suit. “I live here in Dallas and my parents live in Weatherford. Here are my numbers.” Maggie laid a card on the desk. “If you find anything, please call me first so I can be with my mother when you tell her.”

“I will,” Alex promised, and Maggie walked out.

She studied the card—an accountant. What a load Maggie carried being the only remaining child. That had to be hard for her, but she also seemed like a strong woman.

Alex gathered everything and put it in her briefcase. Her goal now was to breathe fresh air—cool fresh air.

The offices consisted of four rooms—a reception area, her father’s office and hers, then a storage room. With her briefcase in hand, she headed for the front door. It opened before she reached it and her father, Dirk Donovan, walked in.

“What the hell? It’s like an oven in here. Why in the hell don’t you have on the air-conditioning?”

Buck, as he was called, was an ex-police officer who stood over six feet and had a hefty frame and a sour disposition. To say they never saw eye-to-eye on anything was an understatement. Sometimes Alex questioned her sanity in going into partnership with him, but after her last assignment with the Dallas police department she needed someone who would not treat her with kid gloves. Buck certainly had never done that.

And a part of her was searching for a closer relationship with her father. She felt she barely knew this man who most people seemed to fear, including her at times. Her mother died when Alex was two so she never knew her. She yearned for a family connection, a normal life and a deeper father-daughter relationship.

They’d been partners for two years and Buck criticized, ridiculed and browbeat her at every turn. She gave as good as she got, but what did that say about her—that she was a glutton for punishment? Or maybe, like Mrs. Braxton, she still believed in fantasy, fairy tales and a happy ending.

She placed one hand on her hip. “You’re a detective. Can’t you figure out why it’s so hot in here?”

“Damn. It’s out again.”

“You got it.”

Buck swiped an arm across his forehead. “Did you call that damn repair man?”

She took a long breath. “Yes. Bert said he’d be here in the morning.”

“In the morning!” The earsplitting exclamation almost shifted the pictures on the walls. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”

“It’s July in Texas. He’s busy.”

“You have to learn to push, girl. You’re too damn soft. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

She kept her temper in check. “Feel free to push all you want. I’m going home where it’s cool.”

“Bert’ll have his ass over here by this afternoon.” Buck headed for his office, then stopped. “Who were those women I saw leaving?”

“Mrs. Helen Braxton and her daughter. She hired me to find her son.”

“What?” One eyebrow jerked upward in surprise.

“Her son was stolen from a hospital almost forty years ago when he was two days old.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Why would you take such a case? Call her and tell her you’ve changed your mind. We’re working on those cases for the district attorney and that’s where our attention should be—where the money is. Get your head out of the clouds.”

She stiffened her backbone, which was an effort in the heat. “I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

“Don’t talk back to me, girl. Just do what I tell you. You put yourself through hell when you found that murdered girl. A cop learns never to put his heart into those kinds of cases, but you had to learn the hard way.”

She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Yes. I did, but I don’t regret my involvement in the Woodly case. The perpetrator is behind bars for the rest of his insane life and the parents have finally moved on. They had another child last year. I get a card every Christmas from them. You’re right, though. I do get emotionally involved, but I’m older now and much stronger, especially after working with you.”

He nodded, taking the words as a compliment. “I told you I’d put some grit in your gizzard.”

Alex grimaced. “That sounds very painful. I’d rather have chocolate in my gizzard; it’s a whole lot sweeter.”

“Heaven forbid.” Buck rolled his eyes. “Women!”

“And just so you understand me—I’ll work on any case I want. If I get emotionally involved, well, that’s my choice.”

Her response was met with a scowl, but no scathing remarks were forthcoming.

“Mrs. Braxton thinks she’s already found her son. I just have to prove that this man is or isn’t the right man. Very easy case.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with our work.”

“I’ll do it in my spare time. It’s not like I have a social life or a family.”

“If you moved out on your own, maybe you would.”

“And who would keep you and Naddy from killing each other?”

“Your grandmother can hold her own, she doesn’t need you to protect her.”

Nadene and Buck did not have a typical mother-son relationship. Buck was the result of a teenage pregnancy and Naddy had been married so many times that it was hard to keep track.

Her grandmother drank, smoked and loved to have a good time. Though Buck was a lot like her, he did not appreciate those qualities in his mother. As a bail bondsman, Naddy had led a colorful life. At seventy-eight, she was now retired. Her days were spent surfing the Internet for criminals. She did a lot of research on missing children and had even helped to find a couple.

When Alex was younger she used to wish her grandmother was more conventional, yet she had always been comforted by the thought that whatever she had to go through in this world, Naddy would be behind her all the way.

“Thought the old battle-ax would have moved out by now.” Buck’s voice brought her back to the conversation. “Hell, she’s gone ten years without getting married. That has to be a record.”

“She’s getting older. I think Naddy is with us to stay.”

“Ain’t that a helluva thing. She was never there for me as a kid and now I’m supposed to take care of her.”

Alex watched the man who was her father. With his crew cut hairstyle, shaggy gray eyebrows, slant for a mouth and sagging features, Buck Donovan was as hard as they come. Naddy had a part in making him that way but Alex wondered what kind of feelings he had for her, his own daughter. Buck probably couldn’t define them himself. And asking him would be a mortal sin, she was sure.

She caught his eyes. “She was there for me when my mother died. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe. Might be the only reason she’s still in my house.”

That comment was like a crumb to a starving person and she savored it as such. Those crumbs were few and far between.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Was she pathetic or what? Thirty-four years old and still living at home with her father and her grandmother. She needed a life. Bad.

SHE NEGOTIATED the Dallas traffic the same way she’d handled her father—with a large dose of patience and gritted teeth. She turned off US-75 and headed for the Lake Highlands suburb where they lived, her body greedily soaking up the coolness of the car’s air-conditioning.

She had a love-hate relationship with the Texas summers. She loved them when she was relaxing on the beach in Galveston or Padre Island, but she hated them in the trenches of Dallas. There weren’t many opportunities to get away for a weekend—Buck believed in her keeping her nose to the grindstone—but if she could find one, she’d take it. All her girlfriends were married, though, and had families. Her relationship with her cop boyfriend, Clay, had ended about a year ago.

Single, unattached and feeling my age. Maybe she should have that made into a bumper sticker. Or, better, single and available. That would certainly draw attention.

She turned into the driveway with a smile. Getting out, she glanced at the rows of brick houses built in the sixties. Buck and her mother Joan had bought their house right after they’d married. They had a large corner lot and Buck had a shop in back where he kept his boat and fishing paraphernalia.

White Rock Lake wasn’t far away and when she was younger she’d spent a lot of time hanging out at the lake with her friends. This had been Alex’s home all her life, but she knew it was time for her to move on—perhaps to find that elusive happiness she’d always been searching for.

Placing her purse and briefcase on the hood of her Jeep Wrangler, she turned on the sprinkler for the wilted Saint Augustine grass, making sure the water reached the blooming crepe myrtles. Alex took care of the yard. Any calls for help from Buck or Naddy she found to be a waste of her time. The sun beat down on her bare head and after the heat of the morning she did something she wouldn’t normally do. She ran through the sprinkler, laughing not caring if the neighbors were watching.

By the time she entered the house, her skin was almost dry. Her clothes were damp from sweat so the extra water didn’t make a difference. The air-conditioning felt wonderful on her wet skin. Pure bliss.

Laying her things on the kitchen table, she saw Naddy sitting at her computer through the open door of her bedroom. Buck’s bedroom was on the right side of the house and Naddy’s on the left, a house clearly divided. Alex occupied the bedroom upstairs and had her private space.

“Hey, Naddy, I’m home,” she called, grabbing a Popsicle out of the freezer.

“Come here, honeychild. I want to show you something.”

Alex walked to Naddy’s bedroom, licking on the icy treat. It was her favorite snack in the summertime, cool, refreshing and… She stopped in Naddy’s doorway. Her bedroom was a disaster. She really shouldn’t be surprised because Naddy tended not to pick up anything.

Buck, on the other hand, was neat and organized. A gene he obviously got from his “low-life loser father” as Naddy often said.

Alex stepped over a pile of dirty clothes. Trying to change her grandmother would be like trying to change the course of the wind or the Texas heat.

“What?” Alex asked, trying to ignore the dirty clothes hanging off of chairs and lying all over the floor. The tumbled sheets partially hid an empty Doritos bag. A couple of empty beer cans stood on the nightstand beside a jar of nuts.

“Look.” Naddy pointed to the screen, squinting at it through the glasses perched on her nose. A tall, big-boned woman, Naddy once had sandy red hair. Now it was completely white, short and stuck out in all directions, mainly because Naddy always forgot to comb it. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, the skin of a smoker. An unlit cigarette dangled from her lip.

“Why is there a cigarette in your mouth?” Buck had strict rules about smoking in the house. Joan had made them when Alex was born and Buck kept to them, even though he smoked. He always smoked outdoors and Alex had a feeling he adhered to the rule to annoy Naddy.

“Keep your britches on, honeychild. I was going outside to light up when I found this. Tell me what you think. The baby on the left disappeared fourteen years ago in Houston. The girl on the right was found dead in an alley in Vegas last week. Look at the faces. I think it’s the same girl.” Her voice was excited.

Alex studied the faces. “Very similar.”

“I want to contact the authorities in Vegas, but I need a drag first.” Naddy stood and brushed crumbs off of her flowered housedress. “What are you doing home this time of the day and why are you all wet?”

Alex took a bite of the Popsicle. “The air’s out again.”

Naddy smiled. “Biting that Popsicle reminds me of when you were six years old. I’d tell you not to eat them so fast that they’d give you a headache, but you never listened.”

“I think I’m always going to be six years old,” she replied in a melancholy voice. Living at home and yearning for love.

“Bite your tongue.” Naddy rummaged through a stack of papers on her desk. “Ethel’s grandson is in town and I told her you’d go out with him.”

Alex shook her head. “No. You are not setting me up for another date. Never again will I do that. I can get my own dates, thank you.”

Naddy looked indignant. “What was wrong with the last date I got you?”

“He brought his mother with him.”

Naddy grimaced. “Oh, yeah. That was out of the ordinary.”

“And stupid, insane, weird, creepy and…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay out of your affairs. I don’t have good taste in men anyway.”

“Amen.”

They eyed each other and laughed, then Alex hugged her grandmother. That was one of the things she loved about Naddy. She brought laughter to Alex’s life.

Naddy drew back. “Your skin is hot.”

“I’ve been sitting in a oven, which is what the office is at the moment.”

“That cheapskate son of mine needs to put in a new unit.”

Alex shrugged. “You know Buck.”

Naddy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Hmmph.”

“Good luck identifying the girl.” Alex glanced around the room. “Tonight we’re doing laundry and maybe we’ll fumigate this room.”

“Yeah. Whatever. But first I have to keep digging on the Vegas case until I annoy the hell out of somebody, then they’ll pay attention to me.” Naddy hurried out of the room to smoke her cigarette.

Naddy had bulldog instincts, just like her son, and most of the time she got results. Alex had a feeling she got her caring gene from Naddy. Her grandmother was always trying to help people.

Alex retrieved her briefcase and purse and headed upstairs to take a shower and to work. By late afternoon she had a lot of information on Brodie Hayes. He’d earned lots of accolades. His bull-riding career started in high school. Even while attending Texas A&M University he kept riding and winning. At nineteen he went professional. All sorts of endorsements came his way including Wrangler, Budweiser and Ford trucks. Brodie Hayes seemed to have it all. He retired years ago and now owned a ranch, like Helen had said. He was single and had never been married.

Staring at his picture, she found that fact more than interesting. Why was a handsome hunk like that still unattached? One answer came to mind, but she pushed it away. He was too masculine and… That meant absolutely nothing. She kept searching.

His father was a general in the U.S. Army and his mother was an army wife who followed her husband all over the world. Nothing about his life looked out of the ordinary, but one thing caught Alex’s attention. Travis Braxton was born five days after Brodie Hayes in the same hospital in Dallas. How weird was that? Could that just be a coincidence?

She mulled this over for about thirty minutes, then she knew what she had to do. She had Brodie Hayes’s address and somehow, someway she would get a DNA sample from him.

Chapter Two

Alex had told Mrs. Braxton that she could handle the investigation discreetly and that’s what she planned to do. First, she would meet Brodie Hayes and take it from there.

Finding his ranch wasn’t a problem—she’d gotten the exact directions from the Internet. She took I-635 then US-80 and traveled down a blacktop road until she reached the entrance to the Cowboy Up Ranch. Driving over a cattle guard, she noticed red-and-white-faced cattle lying beneath oak trees. Others were grazing in the heat or drinking from a water trough.

A ranch-style frame house loomed in front of her, a pipe fence separating it from the pasture. There were corrals and barns to the right. Everything was quiet, no activity anywhere. She parked on the side of the house and got out. Two gray-and-white dogs loped toward her.

Her breath wedged in her throat as they sniffed at her feet. “Hi there,” she said. The dogs barked and she forced herself not to show fear or jump back. “Hello to you, too,” she responded as brightly as she could. When the dogs trotted back to the barn, she let out a tight breath. Evidently they didn’t consider her a threat. Thank God.

She walked up the stone walk to the door. There was no doorbell, so she knocked.

The wooden veranda-type porch stretched along the front of the white house. Horseshoes welded together made sturdy columns. Two wrought-iron chairs with denim seats graced both sides of the door. An inviting swing hung from the rafters. Although shrubbery grew against the house, the neatly mowed yard showed no signs of flowers or flowerbeds. All telltale signs this was the home of a bachelor.

No one came to the door. The thought of breaking in crossed her mind. She could be in and out in less than two minutes with something with his DNA on it, but she wasn’t quite ready to go to those lengths. When she was about to give up she saw a white pickup barreling her way.

She just got lucky.

BRODIE HAYES had had one of those days and he was relieved to get back to his place, his own home. Spending time with his mother left him feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a two-thousand-pound bull. He was raw, sore and a little dazed.

His parents had never understood him and the years hadn’t made a difference. He was always acutely aware that he was a big disappointment to both of them.

At five, Brodie was riding his mother’s broom as a horse. His father took it away from him and made him use it as a gun. As a kid he didn’t understand that—he didn’t want a gun. He wanted to ride a horse. When he was six, he asked Santa for cowboy boots. He didn’t get them and he stopped believing in Santa Claus.

The years his father was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, were the happiest time of Brodie’s life. He’d made a friend, Colter Kincaid, whose family lived on a ranch and Brodie loved to visit. He learned to ride a horse and he went to rodeos with them. Following that first rodeo, he was hooked. The massive bulls held his attention. He and Colter started riding in the junior rodeos. To enter, Brodie forged his father’s signature because he knew his parents wouldn’t approve.

That first ride he was bucked into the dirt so hard that the wind left his body. But that only spurred his interest, making him determined to complete the eight-second ride. He would secretly enter the local rodeos, never telling his parents how he was spending his spare time. When Brodie started to win, he didn’t count on the news being in the papers.

His father was furious and grounded him. Tom Hayes believed in strict discipline and lying was definitely against the family rules. Brodie caved into the pressure and agreed to apply to Texas A&M. He majored in agriculture economics, much to his father’s disapproval.

In college he rodeoed on the weekends and he told his parents. They didn’t like it, but as long as he was in college they didn’t complain. And Brodie had turned eighteen so his decisions were his own. As he kept winning he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Tom’s wishes were for Brodie to go into the army, but Brodie knew that life wasn’t for him.

His parents pressured Brodie every way they could, but at nineteen he quit college and followed the rodeo circuit. He made friends who became his family. Colter Kincaid had also decided the rodeo was the life for him. To Brodie, Colter and another cowboy named Tripp Daniels were like his brothers. They always would be.

His parents finally accepted his rodeo ways, as they called his life, but they had very little contact during those years. His father relented enough to fly to Vegas when Brodie won the national finals. They had a congratulatory beer together before his father left for Washington. He died two months later.

Claudia, his mother, moved to Dallas to be near her sister, Cleo. They were an unlikely pair. His mother was a social butterfly, enjoying teas, luncheons and charity functions. Cleo, who had married beneath her, as his mother had so often said, had been a cook in a large restaurant until she retired. Claudia had never approved of Cleo’s lifestyle—Cleo had been married three times and she loved to dance and go out and have fun. That was what had caused the problem today.

Brodie had lunch with them once a week. Cleo was a great cook and he always enjoyed the meal, but his mother was in one of her moods. Cleo had a new boyfriend and they went square-dancing several nights a week. Claudia was upset because that left her alone at night. She wanted Brodie to tell Cleo how bad this man was for her. He didn’t even know the man and he had no intention of doing any such thing.

When he refused, his mother had become suddenly short of breath. Claudia had had rheumatic fever as a child that left her with a heart murmur. After Brodie’s birth, she began to have more and more problems with her heart. Two years ago, she’d had a mild heart attack, and today he’d feared the same thing was happening.

He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room and the doctor said Claudia didn’t have a heart attack, just an anxiety attack. In the end, his mother had gotten what she’d wanted—Cleo would stay home to take care of Claudia.

His mother had always been clingy and needy and it seemed to have gotten worse with age. Soon he’d have to talk to her about her fear of being alone. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The bruises were still too raw from today’s confrontation.

He’d rather face a bull from the bowels of hell than have a conversation with his mother. He knew he had a chance of surviving with the bull. Claudia had a way of ripping him to shreds with just a few well-chosen words.

He frowned as he saw a Jeep parked in his driveway. He didn’t recognize it, then he saw a woman walking toward the vehicle. A blonde in white shorts that showed off long, slim legs and a tank top that bared tanned arms. Her hair was clipped behind her head and those feminine curves were in all the right places. Touchable places.

His day just got better.

THE WHITE FOUR-DOOR TRUCK rattled loudly so Alex knew it was a diesel. The large grill guard and all-terrain tires indicated the truck was for heavy-duty jobs. A man and his truck. In Texas, it defined who he was. This truck said Brodie Hayes was one tough hombre. A woman raised in Texas knew to never mess with a man’s truck or his life. Alex was about to break one of those rules.

The dogs trotted from the barn and scurried to her, sniffing at her feet again. She hardly noticed them as she watched one booted foot slide to the ground. She held her breath as she waited for the rest of the cowboy to emerge from the truck. Tight-fitting Wranglers molded his long legs, a gold belt buckle glistened on a tooled leather belt, a starched white shirt framed his broad shoulders and a Stetson rested perfectly on his dark head. She found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The bluest eyes in Texas, she thought, her pulse hammering wildly in her ears.

He removed his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. May I help you?”

Ohmygod. He had a dimple in the carved structure of his left cheek—an incredibly sexy dimple. His black hair curled into his collar in an unruly, wanton way. The heat of the sun was hot, but this sensual type of heat was much hotter. It burned through her body all the way to her toes and she curled them into her sandals.

Looking at his picture was one thing, but seeing him in the flesh was quite another. A neon sign seemed to blink in her mind. Cowboy. Dangerous. Stay away.

For the first time she was physically attracted to a man just by looking at him. She always thought that type of reaction was crazy when her girlfriends had giggled about it. Of course she’d found men handsome, but she’d never sleep with them just because of that. Brodie Hayes was different. With the crook of his finger…she drew in a deep breath. Weak and pliable she wasn’t.

“Ma’am?”

His voice was deep with a true Texas drawl that tightened her toes even more and sent her pulse into orbit. But somehow she managed to find her vocal cords.

“I was looking for the Circle C Ranch.” As a private investigator, she was used to thinking fast.

He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“I must have gotten the directions wrong.” She hated to play stupid, but sometimes it worked. “I’ll call my friend to see where I turned wrong.”

He just dipped his head in acknowledgement.

She’d hoped for some sort of conversation or introduction, but none came so she walked toward her car. She had no intention of leaving though. Getting in, she waited until he disappeared inside. Large oak trees shaded the house and the dogs trotted to one and lay down. A light breeze stirred the stifling heat.

A plan formed in her mind. If she could get something with his DNA on it, then Brodie wouldn’t have to know about Helen Braxton. It would save him some heartache. Counting to ten, she got out, marched to the front door and knocked.

He opened it immediately and her heart did a nervous flip-flop. If they could package masculinity, Brodie Hayes’s picture would be on the bottle. She was getting tired of that female reaction. He probably encountered it every day. He was just a man. Get over it, she told herself. She had a job to do.

“I’m sorry to bother you again, but my cell’s not working. May I please use your phone?”

“Sure.” He opened the door wider and she stepped into his home. She followed him through a foyer into a large den with a stone fireplace, hardwood floors and overstuffed leather furniture. A large plasma TV almost covered one wall and plaques, trophies, belt buckles and numerous items from his rodeo days were displayed in a large glass case that covered another wall.

She was taking in her surroundings, but trying to be discreet when he handed her a cordless phone.

“Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with my cell. I can’t get a signal.”

“That happens sometimes.”

She was getting the impression he was a man of few words. Engaging in a friendly chat wasn’t going to happen. Why wasn’t he curious or intrigued by a strange woman on his doorstep?

She had no choice but to place a call. She poked out her home number, hoping Naddy would be outside smoking another cigarette. Her luck didn’t hold. Naddy answered on the second ring.

“Nad, this is Alex. I’m afraid I’m lost. Could you please give me the directions again?”

“Who is this?” She heard the confusion in Naddy’s voice.

“Yes, I know. I’m always getting lost. But I’m a city girl and these country roads are so confusing.”

“I’m hanging up because you’re not making any sense. I get confused enough on my own.”

“You know me, and please don’t use a dumb blonde joke.”

“Oh. You’re stalling for time or staking out a place somewhere.” Bless her, Naddy finally got it.

“Yes. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Whatever, child. I got work to do.”

Naddy hung up and Alex did the same, handing the phone to Brodie, who had clicked on the six o’clock news. She hadn’t even made a blip on his male radar. Her fragile ego took a nosedive and she brought her thoughts back to the job she was here to do. Get DNA evidence.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes trailing toward the rodeo memorabilia. “Are those yours?”

He glanced at her. “Yes.”

She walked closer, staring at several silver and gold buckles. “So you’re a rodeo rider?”

“Used to be. Just a cowboy now. “

She held out her hand. “I’m Alex Donovan.”

Brodie took her hand, it was soft yet strong. Just like the lady, he thought. The moment he looked into her brown eyes he knew she wasn’t a casual type gal. “Nice girl” was written all over her pretty face—this was the type of woman he normally steered clear of. Women who wanted commitment, forever and a part of his soul in the bargain.

He chose women who didn’t get their hearts broken when he walked away, because that’s who he was—a walk-away type guy. His friends, Colter and Tripp, had found true love but he knew that wasn’t in the cards for him. Nesting wasn’t in his nature. Risking his life and staying on the move was. His father had said those were the qualities of a soldier, but he was a cowboy to the core.

Although it was true that these days he’d settled in one place. Risking his life was a day on the freeway pulling a horse trailer. Since his retirement from the rodeo, his life had changed, he had to admit that. But the woman hadn’t been made who could make him think about marriage.

Pity, he thought for a nostalgic moment, the blonde was very attractive. And something about the touch of her smooth skin against his sent his thoughts in an entirely different direction.

He released her hand. “I’m Brodie Hayes.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her smile lit up her face. Damn. She wasn’t just attractive. She was beautiful.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening.” She glanced at the TV.

The rise and fall of her breasts against the tank top caught his eye. He pulled himself up sharp. What was wrong with him? This woman wasn’t his type.

“No problem, ma’am.” He turned his attention back to the TV.

“May I please use your bathroom?”

“Down the hall to the right.” He breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared.

ALEX HURRIED to the bathroom, locked the door and went to work. She was looking for some of his hair. Bingo. A comb lay on the vanity with black strands in it. Not many, but it might be enough.

Pulling a plastic bag out of her pocket, she slipped the comb into it, then tucked it into her shorts. She flushed the commode and quickly made her way to the den.

Brodie had his eyes on the TV and didn’t even look up.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, sparing her a brief glance.

She had no choice but to leave. He could have been friendlier. She fumed about that all the way to her car. He was probably used to having his pick of women and today he just wasn’t interested. Or he wasn’t interested in her. Why did that hurt?

She’d just invaded his privacy and had stolen something from his house, so if she never saw him again that would probably be for the best—for both of them.

All the way into the city, she knew she had the evidence to prove if Brodie Hayes was Helen Braxton’s son. She’d told Helen the odds were slim and she still believed that.

But those blue eyes were hard to ignore.

The same eyes she’d seen in the photos of the Braxton men. And in Maggie.

FROM HIS KITCHEN WINDOW, Brodie watched her drive away. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he had a feeling the lady wasn’t lost. What was she after? Didn’t matter. He’d never see her again.

A smile tugged at his mouth. Tripp would laugh at him. Brodie was known as a charmer, a ladies’ man around the rodeo circuit. He never met a woman he didn’t like. Or who didn’t like him. So what had held him back with…what did she say her name was? Alex Donovan. That was it. What held him back from getting to know Alex better?

He walked into the den and sank into his chair. Maybe he was getting older. Maybe a nice girl wasn’t on his to-do list. Or maybe his instincts told him Alex deserved better than a walk-away cowboy.

ALEX CAME THROUGH the back door and did a double take. Naddy, with her hair in rollers, was in the utility room, stuffing clothes into the washing machine.

“Get your investigating done?” Naddy asked, pouring soap onto the clothes.

“Yes. Thanks for catching on.”

“Might take me a minute, but I always catch on.” Naddy closed the lid.

“Naddy, what are you doing?”

Naddy lifted a sharp eyebrow.

“Okay. Dumb question. I’ll try again. Why are you washing clothes? I usually have to threaten you to get you to do that.”

“I’m going to Vegas and I need clean clothes.” Naddy turned the dial and water spewed into the machine. Alex couldn’t hear over the loud noise so she pulled her grandmother into the kitchen.

“Why are you going to Vegas?”

“Can’t get those idiots in control of the case to listen to me. I’m going in person. Ethel and me are driving.”

“What!” Alex followed her into her bedroom. “You are not driving to Vegas. Absolutely not.”

“I drive just as good as when I was twenty, only better. I don’t drive as fast.”

Alex took a calming breath. “You’re not driving to Vegas in your old Buick.”

Naddy placed her hands on her hips. “Are you saying that I’m old?”

“You’re seventy-eight. What do you think?”

“I think I can do what I want.”

“Naddy…”

“Ethel’s seventy-six and she doesn’t drive too bad, except she has trouble staying awake.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex threw up her hands, knowing her grandmother was working her. “I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

“What about Ethel? I don’t want to go alone.”

Alex gritted her teeth. “Okay. I’ll pay for Ethel, too.”

“You’re such a sucker.” Naddy laughed.

“I knew you were playing me from the start. You wouldn’t do laundry unless you were after something. And you’d better not crow too much or I’ll rescind the offer.” She paused. “Does Buck know you’re going?”

“No. You can tell him after I’m gone.”

Alex shook her head. “Oh, no. You tell him before you leave.”

“Honeychild.” Naddy put an arm around her shoulder and Alex caught a whiff of Ben-Gay. “Why do you always want that family connection to be there? It isn’t. I was a bad mother, a terrible mother. I admit that. Bucky has a right to hate me. I was young, stupid and had no idea how to raise a kid. He grew up the hard way, by himself with a string of step-daddies.”

Alex had heard this a million times and Naddy wasn’t getting around her by using that bad-mother routine. “All the same, you’ll tell him.”

“Did I say you were a sucker? Crafty is more like it.”

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said, walking away.

“Want to help with my laundry?”

“No, thanks,” Alex called, running up the stairs.

She laid the plastic bag with the comb on her dresser. In the morning she’d call a lab they used to run the test. She’d also call Helen so she could give a sample to see if Brodie was her son. One little test, but it could change a lot of lives.

That night she went to sleep seeing the bluest eyes in Texas.

THE NEXT MORNING she awoke to loud voices, which was reminiscent of her childhood. Evidently Naddy had told Buck she was going to Vegas. She didn’t bother going down. They’d yell and scream until one of them was out of breath.

She changed into jeans and a knit top. She brushed her hair and clipped it behind her head. After applying the barest of makeup, she headed downstairs.

“Don’t think I’m paying for this crazy trip!”

“I never asked you for a dime.”

“Yeah, right.”

Alex walked between Buck and Naddy. “Good morning, all. Think I’ll get my coffee on the way to work.” With her hand on the doorknob, she looked at her father. “Is the air fixed?”

“I had to work on the damn thing myself and I got it going for now. Bert’ll fix it this morning.”

“Really? The old push method didn’t work?”

Buck glared at her. “Don’t start with me. I’ve already had it with Naddy. Going to Vegas. That’s insane.” He pointed a finger at his mother. “Don’t come back to this house with a man in tow. That’s all I got to say.”

“Bucky, you take all the fun out of life.”

“Don’t call me Bucky.”

“I had those teeth fixed, didn’t I?”

Buck slammed out the door and Alex stared at her grandmother. “This certainly isn’t the Cleaver household.”

Naddy chuckled. Alex used to sit for hours watching reruns of Leave It To Beaver, wishing she had a mother like June and a father like Ward. How unrealistic was that? Not to mention outdated.

“More like a soap opera,” Naddy muttered.

Alex only grinned. “When are you leaving?”

“Ethel’s daughter is dropping her off and we’re taking a cab to the airport.”

“Be careful.” Alex hugged her.

“If I was careful, I wouldn’t have any fun.”

Alex smiled on her way out the door.

Buck wasn’t in the office so she didn’t know where he was, but at least the air was working. She called the lab to set up the DNA test. She dropped the comb off and called Helen, who was eager to help by giving her DNA. Now they waited.

As Alex worked on other cases, she kept thinking about Brodie. Maybe someday she’d have the opportunity to apologize for stealing his comb.

BRODIE WOKE UP to quiet, like always. That’s the way he wanted it. His friends called him a people person because he acted outgoing on the rodeo circuit, but he was really a loner. He enjoyed the peace and the quiet. Maybe that had something to do with age, too.

When he was younger, partying was in his blood. The more people around him, the better he liked it. Today life was more sedate and that suited him. He was comfortable with his life choices, but he’d probably always regret the rift with his parents. At least they’d tried to work through it as a family. That was important to him.

He showered and slipped into jeans. After shaving, he reached for his comb, but it wasn’t there. He looked in the drawer, then the cabinet. The comb had disappeared. He’d had it yesterday when he’d combed his hair to go see his mother. That was the last time he’d seen it.

No one had been here, not even the cleaning lady. So what could have happened to it? Wait a minute. The lady in the Jeep had used his bathroom. Could she have taken his comb? What the hell would she want it for? It didn’t make any sense, but he was becoming increasingly intrigued. Why would Alex Donovan steal his comb?

Next time he would be more careful who he let use his bathroom. It was a comb, less than five bucks so what did it matter? Sometimes girls who followed the rodeo circuit would steal an item that belonged to a cowboy they had a crush on just to have something to connect them. But Alex didn’t seem like a groupie and she hadn’t come on to him. She was friendly, that’s all.

So what was going on?

Finding another comb, he finished dressing and headed for the barn. He saddled his horse, Jax, a thoroughbred quarter horse he’d gotten from Colter, who raised them. With the dogs trotting behind him, he checked the herd and all the water troughs to make sure the cattle had water in the searing heat.

Riding gave him peace and he enjoyed the movement, the rhythm, even the sun on his face and the calluses on his hands. He knew who he was—a cowboy in control. As his boots touched soil again the comb business nagged at him.

Suddenly he wanted to find the lady in the Jeep—Alex.

Chapter Three

Brodie arrived at his mother’s around ten. Propped up in bed, his petite, fragile mother looked pale yet she seemed much better than yesterday. Cleo fussed about, fluffing pillows and straightening the bed linens.

“Brodie, my son,” Claudia said. “I’m sorry I scared you yesterday.”

He sat in a Queen Anne chair, his hat in his hand, feeling out of place. “How are you today?”

“Much better.”

“She should,” Cleo said. “I’ve been waiting on her hand and foot. You know you’re not helpless, Claudie.”

Cleo was the antithesis of his mother—she was strong, resilient and resourceful. But Claudia, her older sister, was her Achilles’ heel.

“Cleo, please. I don’t want to argue today.”

“Me, neither. And I don’t plan on staying in every night, Claudie, so get used to it.” Cleo winked at Brodie. “How about a cup of coffee, cowboy?”

“I’ll settle for iced tea.”

“You got it.”

After Cleo left, Brodie searched for the right words and knew there weren’t any. He carefully placed his hat on his knee. “Mother, you can’t expect Cleo to stay home all the time. She’s sixty-four and enjoys her friends.”

“Men friends, you mean.”

“Whatever.”

“She’s been married three times and has absolutely nothing to show for it. You’d think she’d appreciate a roof over her head.”

He grabbed his hat and stood in a quick movement because he was about to lose every ounce of patience he’d been blessed with. “Cleo is not your personal slave and she has a right to her own life, whatever that might be.”

“You always take her side.” Claudia sank farther into the pillows with a hurt expression.

“It’s not about sides, Mother.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Tell you what. I’ll check in to getting someone to stay here when Cleo is out. That way it will be easier for both of you.”

“You know you remind me of your father when you do that?”

“What?” He was disconcerted for a moment.

“Your father. Tom always ran a hand through his hair when he was agitated. His hair was dark and thick like yours.”

She talked as if he didn’t remember his father, but he remembered him very well. When his father crammed a hand through his hair, Brodie quickly disappeared. That meant a stern lecture was about to ensue.

He shook the thought from his mind. “Mother, did you hear what I said?”

“I don’t want a stranger in the house. Why can’t you stay with me?”

That took the air right out of his chest. He and his mother weren’t close. They’d been estranged for a lot of years. When he’d left college, his father had told him to never come back home, that neither he nor Brodie’s mother supported his decision to ride professionally. And Brodie was no son of theirs if he chose that life. His mother was always the buffer between Tom and Brodie, but this time she stood stoutly behind her husband’s decision.

He knew they thought he would change his mind and they had to be united and strong in their stance. Somewhere inside him he found the courage to walk out the door, realizing he was leaving his childhood behind but hoping to find the man he was supposed to be.

The first two years he had no contact with them at all, then he called home one Christmas. That started periodic phone calls, which usually ended with his mother begging him to stop the silly foolishness of the rodeo. His father’s words were always terse. When his father had attended the national finals, they’d finally made their peace. He accepted that Brodie was different than him.

After his father had died and Claudia had moved to Dallas, he and his mother started building a new relationship. Talking to his mother for any length of time had always been a chore for him. The conversation always came around to his choices in life and how bad they were.

Hours with her could make him old before his time. But she was his mother and he loved her. A few hours weren’t going to kill him. Guilt was a powerful thing. It turned cowboys into sissies.

“It’s not like you have a wife or anything,” Claudia said at his hesitation.

“I have a ranch to run. It’s very time-consuming.”

“I never understood your interest in cows and horses. I thought you would outgrow it.”

He clamped his jaw tight. “No, Mother. That’s not going to happen.”

“I see that now.”

An awkward pause followed.

Claudia tied the bow on her bed jacket. “I am proud of your success, though. Your father was, too.”

“Really?” He didn’t quite believe that.

“Of course we were. It was just hard for us to accept your lifestyle.”

“You make it sound like I was into some sort of deviant behavior.” He clenched a fist to keep his cool.

She looked directly at him. “Why do you get so angry when we talk?”

“Maybe because you criticize.”

“Do I?” Her green eyes feigned innocence. “I don’t mean to.”

Brodie had had enough conversation. “It’s after ten. Aren’t you getting up today?”

“In a little while. Those spells take so much out of me and some days it’s just taxing to get out of bed.”

“Getting upset doesn’t help.”

“I know. I’m just a lonely old woman.”

The guilt bored into his chest like the horn of a bull. He bit the bullet and said, “I’ll stay with you when Cleo goes out.”

Claudia smiled. “Thank you, darling.”

He drew a deep breath. “But, Mother, we have to talk about your fear of being alone.”

She shifted uneasily in the bed. “You know I’ve never liked to stay by myself and ever since your father died it’s gotten worse. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.”

“Maybe you need to get out more.” Recently she hadn’t been involved with her social functions.

“Maybe.”

“Call your friend Ruth and get back into the bridge group. You always enjoyed playing. And what about the Heart Association fund-raiser and luncheon? That’s your pet project and they need your help.”

“I’m tired, darling. I think I’ll just rest.”

For the first time he realized his mother might be going through depression and he planned to mention that to the doctor. He didn’t like seeing her this despondent.

BRODIE DECIDED to let Alex keep his comb—for now. He had more pressing matters to deal with. Later, though, he would find out why she saw a need to steal something from his home.

He spent two nights at his mother’s watching chick-flick movies. His mother talked about his childhood, his father and her life as an army wife. She talked and he listened. As a single male, he realized this was probably the lowest point in his life—spending evenings with his mother. What had happened to the charmer who had a different woman every night? He’d just hit rock bottom. He had to get his mother back into the swing of living.

THE HOUSE WAS VERY QUIET without Naddy. She’d called and said they’d arrived safely so Alex didn’t worry. But with Naddy there was always cause to worry. She tended to do the unexpected.

Alex and Buck finished the cases for the DA and Buck was pleased because in both cases the attorneys were able to secure a guilty verdict.

The DA had its own investigators, but when they needed someone to go the extra mile they knew who to call. Buck was known for getting information out of the person without them knowing it. Everything Alex had learned about investigating, she’d learned from her father.

That morning Buck said, “I’m off to the coast for a few days of fishing.”

“Oh?” She looked up from reading the paper.

“Yeah. Bert’s putting a new heating-and-cooling unit in so it’s no use hanging around here.”

“What? You never mentioned that.”

“Thought I did.”

“No. I would have remembered it.”

“Well, you might think about taking some time off, too. We have the Cryder and Wilcox cases next week and we might as well start fresh.” He poured another cup of coffee. “I’m going to hook up my boat.”

Time off. That sounded wonderful to Alex. She had a friend, Patsy, in Florida she could visit and lie on the beach with drinking piña coladas. As she jumped up to call Patsy, the phone rang.

“Alex, it’s Lou at the lab.”

This was it. He had the results of the Braxton DNA test. She braced herself.

“I’m sorry. We can’t get a clear DNA from Mr. Hayes’s hair. We’ll need blood or saliva to complete the test.”

“Thanks, Lou. I’ll get back to you.”

She hung up cursing. Damn. This could have been so easy. How was she going to get his blood or saliva? By asking, like she should have done in the first place.

Being discreet had its advantages, but the ethics of this whole situation bothered her. She’d wanted to make things easy for Helen and Brodie—that’s the only reason she’d stolen the comb. Ever since she’d done that, though, it had been niggling at her.

She’d have to do this by the book, as Buck had taught her. She’d have to tell Brodie Hayes the truth. He deserved that and it would keep her principles about her job intact. She grabbed her purse, heading for Brodie’s ranch once again.

Parking at the house, she spotted him at the corrals on a horse, herding cattle into a pen. Plumes of dust spiraled around him. His truck and trailer were backed up to a loading chute.

Without a second thought she walked to the pipe corral. He dismounted and closed the gate, his gaze swinging to her. His loose-limbed strides brought him closer and she thought again how incredibly sexy he was. Today there were no starched clothes. His chambray shirt and jeans were worn, his boots dusty and his Stetson stained with sweat.

The hat pulled low hid his eyes, but from the firm set of his jaw she knew he wasn’t happy to see her.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice unfriendly.

“May I speak with you please?”

“Lady, I’m rather busy at the moment.” Those blue eyes blazed. “And people who steal are not people I want to talk to.”

“If you’ll give me a few minutes, I can explain.”

He seemed to think about it. “You’ve got five minutes.” He meandered around cows to a gate, his dogs behind him. Within seconds, he was standing next to her and his nearness seemed to cut off her breathing.

The heat was suffocating her even more. “Could we sit somewhere?” She blinked against the sun.

He turned toward the barn and she saw a bench beneath an oak tree. She sat down, glad of the shade. He remained standing, staring at her with narrowed eyes. The bluest blue was frosty and she felt a moment of trepidation.

The dogs sniffed at her feet and she patted them. “What’s their names?”

“Buck and Butch.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

“You find that funny?” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

“No. Yes…you see, we call my dad Buck.”

The little bit of conversation seemed to relieve the tension and he sank down by her. “Who are you?”

She took a moment, then said, “I’m a private investigator.”

He looked at her with a startled expression. “Are you investigating me?”

“Yes.”

Brodie was taken aback. He’d never met a detective who looked quite like her before, with soft brown eyes, high cheekbones and a bow of a mouth. A kissable, tantalizing mouth. Her blond hair was pulled back like the other day, but today she wore snug-fitting jeans and a knit top. She appeared more like a model than a detective.

He swallowed. “Why?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain.”

He thought for a minute. She took his comb, which probably had strands of his hair on it. Oh no. He jumped to his feet. “Were you trying to get my DNA?”

Her eyes grew big, as if she didn’t quite expect him to grasp that so quickly. “Yes.”

“Who is it?”

She frowned. “What?”

“I assume some woman I’ve slept with is trying to find out if I’m the father of her child. Who is it?” Just saying the words caused a painful knot to form in his stomach. He was always careful, always used protection, but there was always that slim chance.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing like that.”

He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Then what is it?” Relief oozed out of him. He could actually feel it.

“Do you know a Helen Braxton?”

“No. Never heard the name. Who is she?”

There was silence for a moment.

Alex took her time, not knowing quite how to do this. The paternity thing threw her and she wondered just how many women there’d been in his life. Probably more than he could remember. His relief was very evident. She was getting sidetracked and she brought her thoughts back to his question.

There wasn’t an easy way to do this so she just came out with it. “Someone stole her baby from the hospital nursery almost forty years ago.”

The dark eyebrow rose again. “So? What does that have to do with me?”

She stared at him. “She thinks you might be her son.”

He drew back. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.” She held his gaze.

An eerie quiet wrapped around them. A cow mooed, the dogs barked in response and trotted to the corral to investigate. The hot sun fueled an unbearable heat. A typical summer day, but there was nothing typical about the innuendoes and unspoken truths.

He studied his hat in his hand. “Why does she think I’m her son?”

“She saw your picture in the paper and you resemble her other sons.”

“That’s it?” His face creased into a frown. “You invade my privacy because this woman thinks I might be her long lost son. You have no proof. Nothing.”

“No. That’s why I wanted to do this discreetly, to keep you from ever knowing—if it wasn’t true.”

“How noble of you.”

“I realize the lady has been grieving for a long time and that she’s grasping at straws, but there is something very similar about all the photos she showed me.”

“Get off my ranch, Ms. Donovan. I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.”

She stood, knowing this conversation was over. He was getting angry.

“And I want my damn comb back.”

She reached into her back pocket and pulled it out. “The lab couldn’t get a clear DNA. They would need your blood or saliva.” She held up a hand as he made to speak. “If you’re curious, here’s my card.” She fished it out of her front pocket. “Just call me.”

“I’m not remotely curious. I know exactly who my parents are. My father was in Germany when I was born, but my aunt was with my mother and took care of us until we flew to Germany to be with my dad. No mystery at all. You have the wrong man.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “The resemblance between you and the Braxtons is too big a coincidence to ignore.” She paused. “The Braxtons have black hair and blue eyes—just like you.”

“You have the wrong man, Ms. Donovan,” he repeated, not even blinking.

She held his gaze. “Prove it.”

He sucked in a breath at her audacity. “I know who my parents are. Believe me, there were times when I wished they weren’t, as all kids do, but I’m stuck with them. My father had black hair and blue eyes. It’s not indigenous to one family.”

“A simple little test, Mr. Hayes, could ease Mrs. Braxton’s mind. After all these years she’s still desperate to find her son. I just want to help her, and hopefully, it won’t be at your expense.”

“I see no need for a test. I’m not her son.”

“If you change your mind, you have my card.” She headed for her car, then swung back. “I’m sorry about the comb.”

He didn’t answer and she made her way back to the city. She didn’t call Mrs. Braxton. She decided to give Brodie some time. It was a very complicated situation and Alex knew she was being pulled more and more into it.

She couldn’t shake that feeling growing inside her—that Brodie was wrong.

BRODIE TOSSED AND TURNED, unable to get Alex Donovan out of his mind. An investigator—that was the last thing he’d expected. But he knew from the start that she wasn’t a girl out for a good time. She was out to destroy his life.

Not her exactly, but her client. And just because he had black hair and blue eyes! He knew who he was. There were no doubts about that. He sat up in bed as something occurred to him. Alex had said the woman was desperate. What if Mrs. Braxton tried to contact his mother? She’d found him so there would be no problem in finding his mother. In Claudia’s fragile health that could be disastrous.

He had to make sure that never happened.

In the morning he drove into Dallas to find Alex Donovan. If a simple test would keep Mrs. Braxton away from his mother, then he’d do it. He didn’t want someone continually hounding his mother or him.

He found the office without a problem. It was a small building that housed several businesses. Donovan Investigations was on the bottom floor and the door was open. Workmen were going in and out. He was about to leave when he saw her talking to one of the guys.

He watched her for a moment. She talked with her hands and her face was animated. He felt a hitch in his throat. From the first moment he set eyes on her, he knew she was different. His instincts were right on target. He just wished his heart didn’t do a dog paddle when he looked at her.

Surprise filtered across her face when she noticed him.

“Mr. Hayes.” She walked to him, her hips moving with an easy tantalizing rhythm.

“I’ve decided to take the test.” He came right to the point, ignoring that sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh. Sure. I’ll set it up and I’ll get a card with the address.” She hurried into an office and came back with a business card in her hand.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, handing it to him. “Mrs. Braxton will be very grateful.”

“I’m not doing this for Mrs. Braxton.” He wanted to make that very clear. “I figured if she found me she could easily find my mother, who is not in the best of health. I will not have her harassed by an insane woman who thinks I’m her long lost son.”

“Mrs. Braxton might be desperate, but she wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah. Like you wouldn’t enter my home under false pretences and steal to get my DNA. I want to stop this now before my mother gets involved.”

“The reason I did that was so you wouldn’t have to know. I am sorry.”

Those brown eyes begged him to understand, but he turned away. “There’s no need to contact me after this. Just give Mrs. Braxton the results and we’re done.”

“Mr. Hayes…”

He swung back to her. “That’s it, Ms. Donovan. I don’t want to see you again.”

Chapter Four

Brodie had lunch with Cleo and his mother. Although he tried to push the DNA test from his mind, it kept nagging at him. He wondered why Mrs. Braxton thought he was her son. Maybe she wasn’t stable, and looked for her son in every black-haired, blue-eyed man she saw.

Claudia went to lie down for a nap. Brodie helped Cleo take the dishes to the kitchen.

“Great chicken-fried steak, Cleo.”

“You’re easy to please. Claudie’s so picky.”

Brodie leaned against the cabinet as Cleo methodically stacked the plates side by side in the dishwasher and slipped the silverware into the slots. “Mother and I have been talking about when I was kid,” he said matter-of-factly. “You were with my mother when I born, right?” He hadn’t anticipated asking his aunt this question. The words just slipped out of their own volition.

She glanced up for a brief second. “Sure was. I was separated from husband number two and Claudie called wanting to stay with me while she had her baby. Tom was on some sort of special assignment in Germany and couldn’t leave, but he wanted you born in the States.”

Brodie folded his arms across his chest as more questions filled his mind. “Were you in the room with her?”

Cleo put soap in the dispenser and closed the door. “Yes. You know how your mother’s afraid of being alone. I stood right by her side, holding her hand as you came into the world. Tom was on the phone and I was talking to him while trying to soothe Claudie. Tom was so happy when I told him it was a boy.”

The knot in his gut eased. “Mother didn’t stay in Dallas long after that, did she?”

“Good heavens, no. She couldn’t wait for Tom to see you. You had a thatch of black hair and beautiful blue eyes just like your father.” Cleo wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “You must have been a week old when Claudie flew to Germany. When I talked to her later, she said Tom was enthralled with you.”

Brodie made a face. “But not so much as I grew older.”

“Sweetie, he was disappointed you were so hell-bent on the rodeo, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t proud.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that.”

Cleo clicked her tongue. “Come with me. I want to show you something.” He followed her into the den. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a photo album. “Take a look at this.”

He sat on the sofa and flipped through the album in awe. There were newspaper clippings of his rodeo triumphs through the years. His parents had kept track of his life—his successes. For a moment he was speechless.

“Tom was never good at showing his feelings, but you were his son and he was proud of you.”

He touched a clipping from the national finals in Vegas. “He’d told me that in Vegas, but I thought they were just words he felt he had to say.”

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