Today was the day she intended to confront Lucky Welch.

Suddenly, Lucky was heading straight for her with a lanky walk that screamed pure cowboy. His belt buckle was even bigger than his confident stride. He wiped dust from his hat, smiled, and Natalie thought maybe he had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen. Another bull rider walked beside him.

Natalie stopped in her tracks. Lucky stopped, too, and caught her eye. “Do you want an autograph?”

Oh, no! He thought she was a buckle bunny. In a way, his assumption knocked down the defenses she’d so carefully erected while she was watching him.

“No,” she blurted, “I don’t want an autograph. I want help with Marcus’s son.”

PAMELA TRACY

lives in Arizona with a newly acquired husband ( Yes, Pamela is somewhat a newlywed. You can be a newlywed for seven years. We’re only on year five ) and a confused cat ( Hey, I had her all to myself for fifteen years. Where’d this guy come from? But, maybe it’s okay. He’s pretty good about feeding me and petting me ) and a toddler ( Newlymom is almost as fun as newlywed! ). She was raised in Omaha, Nebraska, and started writing at age twelve ( A very bad teen romance featuring David Cassidy from the Partridge Family ). Later, she honed her writing skills while earning a BA in Journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas ( And wrote a very bad science fiction novel that didn’t feature David Cassidy ).

Readers can write to her at www.pamelakayetracy.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Daddy for Keeps
Pamela Tracy

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

— James 1:17

To every mother who gave her heart at first sight,

first touch, first cry.

Plus, special thanks to Mark Henley, who shared bull riding expertise. The ride in the last chapter is really his. And to Wendy Lemme, who read the book in its final stage and helped with fine-tuning.

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

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

T he billboard on top of the grocery store featured a picture they’d taken straight from his mother’s photo album. Lucky Welch, headliner of this year’s Selena Rodeo, shook his head and hoped no one recognized the bull in the background. It had belonged to his grandfather and was a family pet named Whimper.

Pulling out his cell, Lucky punched in his mother’s number. She didn’t even bother with “hello.” Instead, in a no-nonsense voice, she said, “Lucky, I’m right here with Bernice. She says it’s silly to pay good money to stay at a campground when you’re surrounded by family.”

Surrounded by family was a bit of a stretch, but Lucky knew better than to mention that detail. “Mom—” He paused, knowing that no matter what he said, he’d be staying at Bernice’s. That Bernice Baker was his mother’s best friend from childhood and not really family had never been an argument that worked. Nope, his mother always had one better, like…

“Bernice has already changed the sheets in Mary’s room.”

The changing of the sheets for company, at least in his family and most West Texas families, for that matter, was a time-honored tradition and not one to mess with. Plus, Lucky had met bulls easier to win over than his mother. Well, okay, one bull, to be exact: Whimper.

An hour later he pulled his truck into Bernice’s yard and waited for the fireworks. They came in the shape of his mother and her best friend, who exploded out the front door and down to meet him.

Since his brother’s death six months ago, his mother had taken excitable to a new level. After assuring her he was doing just fine—well, fine for a bull rider who’d put 52,000 miles on his truck this year—he unpacked in Bernice’s oldest daughter’s bedroom. He stuffed his rigging bag into a closet already full of old clothes, old shoes and old suitcases. He piled his Blackwood spurs and hand-tooled leather chaps on top of a hope chest that Mary had often referred to as hope less. Slightly older and full of jokes and mischief, Mary had taught him that girls could be tough but that sometimes the toughness was an act.

His mother and Bernice waited for him on the porch, enjoying the sunset. Polar opposites, they’d been friends since their first day of high school. Lucky’s mother, Betsy Welch, had ridden the bus an hour each way from a neighboring town. She stood almost six feet tall and still favored the big hair of her generation. Bernice had always called Selena, Texas, home. She edged just over the five-foot mark and was nearly as round as she was tall. She still wore her hair tied back in a simple ponytail. She’d been the tomboy; Lucky’s mother had been the princess and Selena’s rodeo queen when she was just eighteen.

“We’re going to have fried chicken later on,” Bernice said.

“Sounds good, but I want to check out the town.”

“You mean the competition,” his mother guessed.

“Yup.”

Lucky headed for his truck. Bernice’s young son, Howard Junior, called Howie by everyone, followed Lucky down the path. “I’m gonna be a bull rider when I grow up,” he bragged.

Ten-year-old Howie looked like he should still be pushing cars on the ground, watching cartoons or carrying a snake and chasing girls—not planning to hop on the backs of bulls. “You practice every day?” Lucky asked.

“Nope.”

“Then you’re not gonna be a bull rider.”

“Yes, I am,” Howie insisted stubbornly.

“You gonna practice every day?”

“Don’t haf to.”

Lucky grinned and ruffled Howie’s hair. “Okay, if you say so.” Howie scowled in return, as Lucky put the truck in gear and headed to a town temporarily doubled in size because of the rodeo he headlined. The town was one long street of businesses flanked by modest homes. Tonight, the bowling alley had a full parking lot, the restaurants had long lines and music blared from a bar on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Main.

Man, he wanted to take the highway to the Lubbock rodeo. His buddies were all there, and the purse was way bigger. When they heard he was doing Selena, they’d either laughed or offered condolences. He couldn’t decide which was more fitting. Most claimed his absence from the Lubbock rodeo was the answer to their prayers.

They had less competition, and he had a very happy mother.

Her roots were in the Selena area and although now she was a big-city girl, he knew deep in her heart she’d rather be here. If this rodeo made her happy, fine, he’d do it.

He found a parking spot at the end of the street, walked to a hamburger joint and stood in a ridiculously long line. He watched teenagers talking on their cell phones instead of to each other. Husbands his age divided their time between watching their children climb on the indoor jungle gym and talking with their wives.

Life.

That’s what he was witnessing. Ordinary, daily life. People who were doing the most routine activities: talking, eating, playing, sharing. Not at all like his own solitary life. Lucky shook his head to clear his thoughts. Man, he needed to shake this melancholy mood. Since Marcus’s death, dark moods and the desire to be alone kept popping up at the most inopportune times. His gloom had already cost him too much money and too much time. Tonight, the need to get away and brood had cost him homemade fried chicken.

He finally snagged a meal and headed for a seat. Bowing his head, Lucky spoke to his Heavenly Father, asking for forgiveness, healing and help.

When he lifted his head, not only were the fries cold but also his appetite. Maybe it took a bit more than six months and a thousand prayers to get over the loss of a brother, a brother who’d loved Bernice’s fried chicken, a brother who had also loved the rodeo life.

Yup, this part of Texas brought back all kinds of emotions. When Marcus and Lucky were young, they’d left the overcrowded streets of Austin and spent memorable summers with their grandparents in a town even smaller than this one, just forty-five miles west of here. They’d even come here for the Selena Rodeo, not only because his mother loved her memory of being a rodeo queen but also because during his younger days Grandpa had been a bull rider. He’d ridden in the first Selena Rodeo. He’d started the passion. And he’d emphasized the danger.

Lucky paid attention; Marcus didn’t.

Now Lucky had spent the last six months trying to forgive his only brother for dying.

Dying before he found his way back home.

Six months ago and on his fifth ride of the day, Marcus made his eight seconds, jumped from the bull and was knocked unconscious by a quick turn of the bull’s head. Then, before the clowns could intervene, Marcus was stepped on, butted, trampled and broken in front of hundreds. And Lucky had seen it all, hopeless to stop the tragedy.

A friend had kept Lucky from climbing the fence and running to his brother while the bull still raged.

Marcus died.

In a matter of seconds.

He died .

Lucky unwrapped the hamburger he didn’t really want and took a bite that had no flavor. A toddler stumbled by with a French fry clutched in one hand and a tennis shoe in the other. He hit the ground, bounced back up, grabbed the French fry from the floor, shoved it in his mouth and moved on. One of the women laughed, and suddenly, Lucky noticed just how beautiful she really was. How alive. Even as she cleaned the face of a high-chair-bound baby, she touched her husband’s hand.

“…But the woman is the glory of man.” Lucky unwittingly recalled the familiar Bible verse. Lucky had not experienced the glory of a wife to call his own, but Marcus had married once.

It lasted five months, probably because Marcus was seldom around. After that, his brother had spent the next three years in and out of relationships. Most had lasted weeks, one quite a bit longer, but never with women who could be considered the “forever” type.

Lucky shook his head. His thoughts didn’t bode well for tomorrow’s rodeo. Thinking about his brother hadn’t made the last six months easier, hadn’t helped his standings on the circuit, hadn’t put money in his pocket. Good thing the previous three years had. He had almost quit after Marcus died. Truthfully, Lucky stayed in only because of the memories. That and the Sunday morning worship that gave Lucky hope that maybe he’d help some other Marcus find his way home.

Lucky threw the remains of his meal in the trash can and headed outside. The dark Texas sky greeted him. He didn’t want to go back to Bernice’s or head for the bar to see who he knew, who he could drive home. He leaned against the restaurant wall and looked down Main Street. There were at least four bars, two restaurants, a bank and a church.

Lucky wished there were four churches, two restaurants, a bank and an empty bar with a For Sale sign in its window. Some of the circuit riders called Lucky a preacher because he carried a Bible, could quote scriptures without hesitation, and, yes, frequented the bars when the rodeo came to town.

Not to drink. Nope, he’d put down the bottle the first time a drunk Marcus was hauled to jail after wrapping his truck around a tree. Lucky had come to despise the bottle after watching Marcus pour his money, talent and friends down the drain while under its influence. Now Lucky frequented bars in order to drive his friends to their motels, their trailers and, yes, even to the homes of the girls who followed the rodeo, “buckle bunnies,” who were so lost Lucky didn’t know what scripture to begin with. Lucky crossed the parking lot, climbed into his truck and pointed it down the familiar street.

Tears—hot, instant and completely unwelcome—blurred yet another oversize image of Lucky Welch. Natalie Crosby almost turned on the windshield wipers, but windshield wipers only worked when it was raining outside the vehicle, not when the wetness came from her own eyes.

Gripping the steering wheel of her aged Chevrolet, she managed to avoid running into the rodeo fans clustered at the gate. The poster beckoned rodeo fans to come to the fairgrounds, have fun and cheer on their favorite riders. What Natalie needed—wanted—was a giant dart and an even bigger target. Since that wasn’t an option, it looked like a little emotional overload would have to do. Sensibly, she pulled into a parking spot a little farther from the entrance than she liked. It was either that or plow into a horse trailer.

“Mommy?” Robby wiggled in the backseat. He could see the activity outside and didn’t want to be confined. Add to that Natalie’s strange behavior, and no wonder she had a fidgety, confused little boy.

“I’m okay, Robby. Sit back.” Natalie wiped at the tears and succeeded only in spreading the evidence of her despair instead of removing it.

After taking several deep breaths, she looked at the poster again and reminded herself there was no need for virtual darts. The man wasn’t Marcus. Couldn’t be. No way would Marcus be headlining Selena’s premiere event of the year. He’d drawn the death bull six months ago, and his rodeo career ended with a ride in a hearse instead of a ride in a parade.

This rodeo rider was Marcus’s little brother, Lucky. Some called him the Preacher. She’d never met him, but if she’d heard correctly, he was the antithesis of Marcus. He preached instead of partied and carried a Bible instead of a little black book.

Her cousin Tisha, who shared Natalie’s last name, had little to say about Lucky, except that he didn’t seem to like her much.

Right now, the image of Lucky faced the crowd with an oversize, mirthful grin and impossible dark brown eyes that demanded notice.

Natalie checked the tiny rearview mirror she’d attached to her windshield. It allowed her to check on Robby while driving. She intended to make sure he had everything he needed, especially a good and stable home. Robby was responsible for her attendance today—Robby and this overgrown bull rider. Natalie hadn’t graced the Selena rodeo in a decade and definitely didn’t want to be here today.

“Mommy, why we sit still?” Robby battled with the buckle on his car seat. He was growing up way too fast, wanting to do things for himself. Still, she’d rather he battle the seat belt than notice the battle taking place in front of him.

Natalie gritted her teeth. No way could she explain her fears, her conflicts, to a three-year-old.

Someone thumped on the back fender of her car. Walter Hughes, her dad’s best friend, waved as he hurried by. “We need to talk later,” he mouthed. She was grateful he didn’t stop. Questions would only make her rethink what she had to do, and Walter had known her since she was born. No way would he accept that she had stopped by the rodeo “just for the view.”

For the last two weeks, since her father’s death, Walter had called every evening to ask if she was all right.

Am I all right? Are we all right?

He probably knew that although she kept saying yes, the true answer was no. There was a huge hole in her world, one that tapped her on the shoulder every few minutes and whispered, Wrong, everything feels wrong, something’s missing. She’d buried her father—made the phone calls, called in the obituary, filled out the forms, arranged the funeral, said all the right things—and today, she still felt wrong.

Walter was just as sad as she was. He’d gone to school with her father, been the best man at his wedding and, since retirement, they met almost every morning for breakfast at the café in town.

The hole that Natalie felt was no stranger to Walt. Plus, Walt felt a sense of responsibility for her. His family owned Selena’s only bank. Although Walt no longer put in an eight-hour day, really not even an eight-minute day, he knew her situation—about the low checking account balance, about the surprise loan her dad had taken out just five months ago, using his business as collateral. Today, the business belonged to her dad’s partner, who was as mystified by the sudden turn of events as she was. Natalie was left with nothing. It was Walt, one hundred percent, who did not believe her dad had left her in financial trouble.

Natalie wondered at the conviction of the banker. Surely as a banker, he knew that most Americans were one paycheck away from being homeless. Walt simply said that Leonard Crosby was not “most” Americans. He’d take care of his own. Walt wanted to look at the will, wanted to help, wanted to believe in something that just wasn’t there.

Natalie could only think about what was there. She had a son and a home to take care of. Her part-time job as a Web designer allowed her to support herself and be a stay-at-home mom while her father was alive. But it wasn’t a career that could support the large home that had been in her family for more than a hundred years. It was not a career that could pay for a college education for Robby. At least not on the hours she worked. She could do—would do—more. But to keep her family home she needed money now.

Worry, combined with overwhelming loss, was keeping her awake at night, staring out windows and trying to figure out a way to make a go of her—their—life.

And the billboard and posters all over town announcing the headliner of the Selena rodeo offered a dangerous solution that just contributed to her sorrow and angst.

It made her reconsider options she shouldn’t be thinking about. It got her out of bed this morning as the clock radio glowed a bright orange six o’clock. It had her standing in front of her closet remembering what it felt like to dress as a participant. She’d almost cried at the combination of longing and fear that enveloped her.

Natalie pushed open the car door and stuck one leg out.

And froze.

Why’d they have to put the poster at the only entrance?

Lucky was well-known for his participation in Cowboy Church, right? Surely that should count for something—some sort of commitment to responsibility. Natalie hadn’t been to church since childhood, but she remembered some of the lessons. Jesus told His flock to take care of the widows and orphans, right?

Natalie wiped the last tears form her cheeks as Robby’s “Mom! Mom! Mom!” caught her attention. She finally stepped out of the car carefully and went around to get her rodeo-clad son. Yup, Pop Pop, Robby’s grandfather, had spent plenty of money creating a miniature cowboy, and this morning Natalie allowed Robby to dress the part. He wore a belt with his name, tiny boots, and even a pair of chaps. The only request that went unfulfilled from her son’s Christmas wish list was a horse.

Pop Pop was willing; Natalie was not.

“Can I ride on a horse today?” Robby skidded down Natalie’s leg and hit the ground. Natalie bit back both a yelp of pain and a too-abrupt comment. Robby wasn’t old enough to understand her limp or her fears, and she didn’t want to transfer her negative feelings about horses to him. Truth was, going to the rodeo had her in a sweat, and she didn’t know what to blame for her troubles more: the rodeo or the rodeo cowboy.

“You can’t ride a horse today, but there will be plenty of other things to do.”

He glared at her, an accusing look on his face. Fun, she was denying him fun. Well, today wasn’t about fun. It was about survival because today was the day she intended to confront Lucky Welch.

Salvation or ruination.

And what should she tell Robby? One thing for sure, she couldn’t just lie down and die, or give up. She took Robby by the hand and led him to the poster. It was past time to take action, and Robby was three and could understand more than she gave him credit for. “This man…”

His face brightened, and he tried to help. “A cowboy?”

For a brief moment, Natalie considered pointing out the thick brown hair, dark brown eyes and strong chin so unlike her own blond, blue-eyed, elfin look.

And so like Robby’s own thick dark hair, brown eyes and still-forming strong chin.

“Yes. I think I might know him.”

“Really?” For the first time in days, Robby’s eyes brightened. “A cowboy! You know a real cowboy? Can I meet him, Mommy?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t do this. Not right now. Not when her father had just died. Not when she was in danger of losing her home. But the loss of her father, the danger of losing her home, were exactly why she was standing here today, contemplating making the worst mistake of her life.

Because it might not be a mistake, it might be salvation.

The high school band warmed up in the distance. Two children eating cotton candy walked by. Natalie took a breath and managed a smile as nostalgia took her back to the days when the rodeo was a good place to be. She and her dad, on rodeo day. Cotton candy sticking to her fingers. And the rodeo still smelled the same, a mixture of popcorn, sweat—both human and animal—and excitement. Yes, excitement had a scent. Natalie first noted the aroma at the age of eight. She’d been leading her pony, Patches, in the children’s parade. To think she’d worried the rodeo might have changed.

Well, everything else had.

Excitement attached itself to this rodeo, always had, and it buzzed with an energy that even Robby picked up on. If she hadn’t put her hand on his shoulder, he’d have been all the way to the ticket gate before she got her bearings. “There’s no rush. The day is just beginning.”

He bobbed his head, clearly wishing he had free rein. No way, not here, not today .

She turned, taking a step toward the entrance.

“Natalie, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you at one of our rodeos. You need any help?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” Natalie nodded and forced herself not to rub her thigh. “Good to see you, Allison.” They’d been fast friends during school, practiced together and competed against each other in local barrel races events. Allison Needham, like Natalie’s cousin Tisha, had gone on to be a rodeo queen; Natalie reigned as a couch potato. Allison came back from the road about three years ago, a quieter girl with a baby on the way, and she didn’t talk much about the past. She didn’t talk much to Natalie, either.

Natalie figured she had her cousin Tisha to thank for that.

“Good to see you, too. Travis is competing for the first time. He’ll be tickled to know you got to see it.”

She and Allison had pushed her baby brother, Travis, in his stroller, and now he was all grown up.

“I’ll watch,” Natalie promised.

Robby waited at the ticket booth. Natalie plunked down her money and pushed through the gate. T-shirts were to her right, Native American art to her left. Robby headed straight to the food and smiled. “Hot dog?”

“We just ate breakfast.”

“But I still hungry, Mommy.”

“Nothing tastes better than a rodeo hot dog, Natalie.” The comment came from one of her dad’s friends, manning the concession booth. “My treat.”

Natalie swallowed. This was harder than she’d thought possible. Why had she imagined that she could attend this rodeo and just melt into the crowd? She’d lived in Selena all her life, and she knew this was a time-honored event. Everyone would be here—from her old kindergarten teacher to the bank teller who handled the Crosby transactions.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pay.” She added a soda for herself and held Robby’s hand as they followed the crowd. He stopped to gape at the cowboys sitting on the fence.

Lucky Welch wasn’t one of them.

The bleachers were already pretty full, and Robby frowned at the people who’d beaten him to the most coveted seats. “Mommy, we sit there.” He pointed to a spot near the top. People were pressed together, and the walkway was crowded with spectators.

“Over here!” Patty Dunbar, her best friend, waved from the crowded bottom row. Robby headed right over and plopped down in Patty’s lap.

“Oomph, I think you’ve gained a ton since the last time I saw you.” Patty settled Robby next to her own son, Daniel, and scooted to make room for Natalie. “I cannot believe you’re here.”

“Me, neither. Where’s the baby?”

“With my mother, and don’t change the subject. Why are you here?” Patty whispered the question so only Natalie could hear. Ten years ago, Natalie broke her hip at this very rodeo. That had been enough reason to keep Natalie away. But, of course, that wasn’t why Patty was asking.

Natalie knew exactly what Patty was really asking because Patty was the only one in Selena, besides Natalie, who knew who Robby’s father was.

Before Natalie could respond, the “Star-Spangled Banner” boomed from the sound system and the grand entry began. Everyone stood, and the cowboys took off their hats. Natalie saw him then, in the arena, standing amidst a straight line of competitors with his hand over his heart. He was more compact than she’d imagined and looked more serious than some of his peers. He actually looked like he believed in, enjoyed, the national anthem.

Natalie spent the next few hours watching the steer wrestling and the team roping. She took Robby to the bathroom twice and then for a walk during the barrel racing, denying it was planned timing, not that Patty believed her, and the whole while Natalie pretended not to look for Lucky. Bareback bronc and saddle bronc riding were next; Robby was mesmerized. After that, she watched her son attempt to catch a greased pig and pretended not to look for Lucky again. This, of course, was followed by another trip to the bathroom.

Finally, it was time for the evening’s final event—bull riding.

The term “crowd favorite” took on new meaning when Lucky Welch’s turn came. He rode often, and he rode hard, scoring in the eighties on a bull named Corkscrew. To Natalie’s eye, Lucky looked like a rag doll with one hand tied to a moving locomotive. She felt faint. What if he was killed? It only took one fall, one wrong move! She knew that from experience. So did Lucky. Just down the bleacher, a woman yelled, “You can do it, son!”

Leaning forward, all Natalie could see was big hair. Lucky’s mother had been introduced to the crowd a few hours ago. Standing alongside Allison and other past queens, those who’d bothered to show up, Betsy Welch smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Yes, the Welches would still be grieving Marcus the way Natalie and Robby were grieving her dad. Difference was, as Walt kept pointing out, Pop Pop took care of his own. Or at least tried to.

Marcus had only taken care of Marcus.

Next to Lucky’s mother sat Bernice Baker. For the last year, really since Robby stopped looking like a baby and started looking like a Welch, every time Natalie saw the woman, she headed the opposite way.

Bernice Baker was probably the only person in town who might notice how much Robby looked like a Welch.

Long shot, but a shot nevertheless.

Natalie almost chuckled. Since Robby was a baby, she’d been worrying about Bernice, about Marcus showing up. Now she was willingly looking for Lucky Welch and thinking about confronting him. She was even worrying about the match between him and the bull.

The woman yelling “son” was only a basketball toss away, and Robby had no idea she was his paternal grandmother. Oh, no, no. This was not something Natalie could do after all. She changed her mind, started to stand, but she chose the wrong moment. She was stuck. She couldn’t pull Robby left or right. Not while the crowd was this worked up, not at the climax of the rodeo. She stretched her leg, trying to ease the stiffness, and watched as Lucky Welch made the eight seconds and jumped from the bull to land on both feet. The bull made a move, Lucky ducked behind a clown, and it was over. The crowd roared. The scores to be announced, but finally the day’s events ended. A human surge began exiting the rodeo. Robby, who’d never been to a rodeo, finally felt overwhelmed by the crowd and clutched at Natalie’s hand. Daniel, a rodeo veteran at just five, headed for the edge of the arena. Patty was right behind.

Natalie panicked. If she saw Lucky, and he was alone, she’d approach him, she really would, but if she—

Suddenly, Lucky was heading straight for her with a swagger that screamed pure cowboy. His belt buckle was even bigger than his confident strides. He wiped dust from his hat, smiled, and Natalie thought maybe he had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen. Another bull rider walked beside him.

Natalie stopped in her tracks. Lucky stopped, too, and caught her eye. “Do you want an autograph?”

Oh, no! He thought she was a buckle bunny.

In a way, his assumption knocked down the defenses she’d so carefully erected while she was watching him. Unfortunately, she forgot to consider that the other side might not have a safety net. “No,” she blurted, “I don’t want an autograph. I want help with Marcus’s son.”

Chapter Two

L ucky had spent a lifetime learning how to harness control, and he wouldn’t lose it now. Even if a buckle bunny was trying to tarnish his brother’s memory.

The cowboy next to him looked at Lucky with a relieved expression, said, “I think this one’s for you,” and took off for the cowboy ready room.

The threat of paternity suits was a real issue to the boys on the circuit. Most played hard and all too often got mixed up with women who wanted bragging rights and/or a piece of the purse. Well, this gal had really missed the boat. What kind of woman showed up six months after a bull rider’s death and…?

Lucky backed up. The noise of the crowd had boomed only a moment before, but now he didn’t hear a thing. He could only look at the woman and the little boy by her side. She looked right back at him, young, curvy, blond, her eyes wide with fear. To his dismay, something registered, a glimpse of a memory.

No, it couldn’t be.

“Tisha?” It had been over three years since he’d last seen her. She looked different, but then hard living had a way of changing people.

It had certainly changed Marcus.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Tears disappeared, replaced by anger.

Marcus had dated Tisha Crosby for just over a year. She’d wiped out his bank account and his heart. Marcus hadn’t been the same afterward. Maybe this was why. Lucky didn’t know that much about kids, but the boy could be the right age. Plus, he had the look—the Welch look. Thick, dark brown hair, piercing brown eyes and the square chin that made shaving a time-consuming venture. Something akin to fear settled in Lucky’s stomach.

Looked like the family roller coaster was about to switch into high gear again—thanks to Marcus.

The woman—it must be Tisha—clutched at the boy and pulled him close. Regret washed over her face, replacing the anger. Well, at least she cared for the boy. From what Lucky remembered, she’d been a cold, calculating woman. Not everyone saw past the beautiful facade she presented. Marcus hadn’t.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “We were wrong, so wrong, to come here. Come on, Robby, let’s get out of here.” She stumbled between two people. Robby—eyes wide—tried to hurry and keep up with her.

“Wait!” Lucky was at her side in two seconds.

“Leave us alone. It was my mistake.” She held up a hand, stopping him, and somewhat regaining her composure. “We want nothing to do with you.”

He started to follow her, and he would have, if he hadn’t seen the tears streaming from the boy’s eyes.

Lucky didn’t want the boy—his nephew maybe?—to be afraid of him.

“Everything all right?” Three men, strong farmer types, materialized in front of him, blocking him. Their words were directed at the woman; their granite gazes were aimed at him. Lucky stopped. As for Tisha, she wasn’t taking the time to answer. Just like that, he lost track of Marcus’s son. The woman had him by the hand and was hurrying him through the crowd.

“I just need to talk to her,” Lucky said. He took one step then halted as the men angled for a block. They looked meaner than the bull he’d just ridden.

“It looks like she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the biggest one said.

“Tisha!” he hollered. He took a step and then noted that, if anything, the three men had moved closer. He considered his options. Three against one was more than he bargained for, especially when some blond-haired woman, her purse all primed to bash him upside the head, joined the fray.

“Tisha,” the blonde spat. “You think she’s Tisha?”

“Isn’t she?” Lucky croaked.

“No, that’s Natalie. She happens to be Tisha’s cousin, but that’s all the resemblance there is.”

He saw the woman then, leaving the front gate, with the little boy. He could see now that her uneven gait wasn’t fatigue, the earlier stumble was not clumsiness. She stopped by a small car parked in a handicapped spot. Yup, the limp was real.

He’d have to rethink this encounter, which might have been his all-time low.

The next time he said a prayer, he’d have so much to say it might take him a year to get to “Amen.” Especially since he had no intention of sharing this information with his family until he was sure. It wasn’t the first time Marcus had been accused of fatherhood. But this time, the child looked like a Welch, and somehow Tisha was involved.

He nodded at the three men before they could move any closer, skipped the ready room and, still in his gear, headed for his truck. Intuition told him Robby was indeed Marcus’s son. More than intuition told him his mother would never understand Lucky not sharing the discovery with her immediately. In essence, he was robbing her of precious days of grandmotherhood.

But gut feelings were not always reliable. Otherwise, Lucky would hold a few more titles and have a lot more money and a whole lot fewer broken bones. He’d look into this Natalie woman and wait before telling his mother, even though keeping the secret might be a crime he’d pay for later.

Once Lucky had opened the truck’s door and climbed behind the wheel, he dialed his lawyer—not that he expected the man could be reached on a Saturday night. After letting the phone ring until it went to voice mail, Lucky left a quick message for him to call, hung up and stared out the truck’s windows. Without exception, the festive mood of the rodeo carried over to the dirt parking lot. Exhausted-looking children clutched treats, toys and their parents’ hands. Adults laughed, took sips of soda and reached for the ones they loved.

Normal, so normal.

Once again, Lucky’s emotional roller coaster crested a steep incline.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

The Bible verse came suddenly and comforted his spirit. He pocketed his phone, shed his gear and headed into town. There was a dance, there were bars, there were plenty of places to go to find out what he most wanted to know. Based on how quickly the farmer types had circled, Lucky figured Natalie was well-known and well-liked in Selena. Before he met up with her again, he wanted a little history, some semblance of equal footing.

On her and her cousin Tisha .

He drove down the middle of town, intent on stopping somewhere but seeing no place where he’d feel comfortable. The tent on the fairgrounds holding tonight’s dance was too crowded and upbeat, the bars in town too crowded and dark. He turned around and cruised again. Finally, he settled on a 1950s-style diner on the edge of town with plenty of horse trailers in the parking lot. Surely he’d run into not only peers but also locals inside. As long as the three farmer types were content to stab chicken-fried steaks instead of him, he’d be good.

He didn’t even make it inside the door.

“Lucky Welch. Wow, I enjoyed watching you! Where you going next?”

The man was a young local and today had been his first competition. Travis Needham, Lucky remembered. He had spunk but was as clumsy as a puppy. He hadn’t known how to handle his draw, scored dead last and had enjoyed every minute of the rodeo. Lucky envied him. The first few years he and Marcus rodeoed had been magic.

“Not sure,” Lucky said as he looked around. There were plenty of familiar faces, but most were seated at tables with no empty spaces.

“Join us,” Travis invited. Us looked to be a young woman and older man, both looking a lot like Travis.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth . His grandfather had actually been talking about horses when he shared the proverb, but today Lucky knew it had more than one meaning. “Thanks.” He sat next to Travis and directly across from the older man. Putting out his hand, he said, “I’m Luc—”

“I know who you are, son.” The man put down his fork and returned the handshake. “Travis has been talking about you for months, ever since you accepted the invitation to headline the rodeo. I’m Fred Needham. Guess you can tell by looking, these two belong to me. Sure enjoyed seeing a pro today.”

“Selena holds a nice rodeo.”

“I’ve seen you compete quite a few times.” Travis’s sister didn’t hold out her hand although she’d set her fork aside the moment he sat down. If anything, she looked a bit reticent.

“Allison, don’t bring it up,” Travis urged.

“Bring what up?” Lucky asked.

“I was at the rodeo, the Denton rodeo,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Denton…six months ago, where everything went wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” He looked at Allison. She looked right back at him, and he got the feeling that if it had been up to her, he would not have been invited to join them. He didn’t know why. He’d never seen her before. “Did you know Marcus?”

“I knew him because of Tisha.”

Fred frowned. Lucky waited a moment, trying to figure out if the frown came because of Marcus or Tisha. If he were a father, he’d keep his daughters away from men like Marcus and his sons away from women like Tisha.

Finally, Travis filled in the silence. “Allison and Tisha were roommates for a while. Allison used to rodeo. She was in Denton cheering on a friend.”

Allison nodded. “I used to rodeo. When I practice, I can do the cloverleaf in eighteen seconds without touching a single barrel. When it’s the real thing, the barrels move in front of me.”

Travis nodded. “I’ve seen them sprout legs. Ain’t pretty. Now, the way you ride that bull is magic, Lucky. I didn’t realize your mama had been a one-time rodeo queen here in Selena.”

“I told him,” Fred said. “He just didn’t listen.”

A harried waitress found their table, refilled the Needhams’ iced teas, cleared plates and took Lucky’s order.

Travis took a long drink and then said, “Man, it was a treat to have you competing. This turned out to be the biggest rodeo Selena ever hosted. We had cowboys show up today who always bypass us in favor of Lubbock.”

Lucky smiled. “I had fun.”

“Where’d you learn to sit the bull? My dad’s always helped me, plus all the guys around here do bull outs on Saturday night.”

“You know where Delaney is?”

Fred nodded. “It’s about forty-five miles west of here. Not much there.”

“My grandparents lived there. Grandpa actually competed against the legend Jim Shoulders. I don’t think Grandpa ever won a thing, but man, he loved the bulls. He taught my brother and me what equipment to buy, which hand to favor, how to get off and how to get away.”

“How old were you?” Allison asked.

“He started us when we were ten, but it was mostly play. Then, when we hit thirteen, he took us as far as we’d let him.”

“Only forty-five miles from here.” Travis shook his head. “I had no idea you were so close.”

“It’s a small world,” Lucky agreed. “My mom even went to high school here in Selena.”

There wouldn’t be a better opportunity, so he looked at Allison and said, “So, you traveled with Tisha. Did you know my brother?”

Allison paled. “Tisha was just beginning to date him when I was bunking with her. Pretty soon I didn’t bunk with her anymore. I went on my own—”

“Came back home,” Fred interrupted.

“—soon after they started getting serious.”

“I tried to warn you about that girl,” Fred said.

Allison’s lips pressed together in a look of agitation Lucky knew all too well. “Dad,” she said. “Leave it be.”

“Is that how Marcus met Natalie Crosby, through Tisha?”

“Natalie knew Marcus?” Allison looked surprised. “Really? I didn’t know.”

This was not the response Lucky was hoping for. He’d been thinking he’d hit pay dirt. Really, who would know better than an ex-roommate of Tisha’s?

“Yeah, I think Natalie knew Marcus. We, the family, are still trying to put together the last few months of his life. He wasn’t at home. We’re not sure where he was staying. Guess it wasn’t here.”

“No,” Travis said. “I’d have known if he was here.”

Lucky’s food arrived. He really wasn’t hungry, but Texas hospitality would keep the Needhams with him as long as he was eating, and he had a lot more questions. He took a bite and said, “They look alike, Tisha and Natalie.”

“That’s ’bout all,” Travis said. “Natalie’s lived here all her life. Tisha just came for summers. All the guys liked Tisha.”

“They like Natalie, too?”

“It was a different kind of like,” Allison said, looking at Lucky with suspicion. It was definitely time to change the subject.

“What happened to Natalie’s leg?” Lucky asked.

Fred answered this one. “The rodeo. All the girls, Allison, Natalie, even Tisha, were into barrel racing.”

“Natalie was great,” Allison said. “When we were fifteen, she could do the clover in twenty seconds. No one else could. Sure made Tisha mad.”

“She fell during the rodeo you just competed in,” Fred said. “Her horse went right and she went left. She landed on one of the barrels. We didn’t know how bad it was until later.”

“She finished the school semester in a wheelchair,” Allison added.

“A few months later,” Fred continued, “her dad sold all the horses. Natalie hasn’t ridden since.”

Lucky pushed his plate away. All that was left was a few crumbs. “She have a boyfriend?”

“Why, you interested?” Allison asked.

The table grew silent, and Lucky shook his head. “Just curious.”

Fred pulled out his wallet and placed some money on the table. “Right now, Natalie doesn’t need any more complications. Not with her dad so recently deceased.” He looked at Lucky. “You do what? Way more than a hundred rodeos a year? Do you even remember the name of the last girl you paid attention to?”

This conversation had definitely taken a turn Lucky wasn’t prepared for. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Fred took that as an answer. Then, he stood and looked at Allison. “It’s about time to set the babysitter free. What say we head home?”

Allison stood, looking relieved, shot Lucky a look he couldn’t read and followed her dad out the door.

“I take it Natalie’s a touchy subject?”

Travis just shook his head. “Not usually, but her father died just a few weeks ago, and some are saying he was having money troubles. Dad thinks she’s in danger of losing her home.”

“What about Robby’s father? Is he helping?”

“No one knows who Robby’s father is.”

Later, Lucky stared out the window of Mary’s room at a full moon. He didn’t get along well with his father, never had, but Lucky couldn’t imagine his dad suddenly being gone. Lucky should have asked more questions about Natalie’s family. He weighed his options. Child support, money for Marcus’s son was no problem, but it would certainly come with strings. His parents, especially his mother, would want to be involved in the child’s life. There were also aunts, uncles, cousins, friends…

Lucky’s last thought, before drifting off to sleep, was just how Marcus had kept this a secret and why?

Natalie stretched. All morning she’d battled fatigue and stress, and wouldn’t you know it, she’d done some of her best work. Glancing at the printout, she then looked at the screen, checked all the spelling and once again made sure the video trailer she’d created took only seconds to load.

She usually didn’t get to work this late in the morning. Usually, by now, she was watching The Wiggles with Robby. She’d been lucky seven years ago, when she’d created a Web site in a high school computer class. The teacher liked her design and introduced her to his wife, who’d started designing Web pages as a stay-at-home job. Natalie and she became business partners. When Natalie got older and her partner had two more children, Natalie took over the business and it grew.

It had paid for college so that her father didn’t have to. It had helped support her and Robby. But it hadn’t covered everything. Natalie needed to gain more clients now.

“Mommy, milk.”

“Sure, Robby. When did you wake up?”

“When my eyes opened.”

She pushed the laptop toward the middle of the table and stood. Julia Child had nothing to worry about. Natalie’s idea of a good breakfast was a pancake she could pop in the microwave and a cold glass of milk.

Robby, a boy of few words in the morning, got himself a plate and paper towel, and then climbed up on Pop Pop’s chair and waited.

A minute later, the newspaper hit the front door and the pancakes were ready.

Robby got the paper; Natalie set the food out.

The front page of the Selena Gazette featured the rodeo, make that the rodeo star.

A bit of pancake lodged in Natalie’s throat. She tried to swallow, but coughed. Half of her glass of milk soaked the front of her shirt; the other half splashed onto the floor. She quickly grabbed a rag. Usually, it was Robby’s spilled milk. Unlike her, he didn’t cry over the mess. But then, she really wasn’t crying about the milk.

After a moment, she sat back at the table and stared at Monday’s newspaper. There he was. A winner. The picture had been taken yesterday, as Lucky conducted something called Cowboy Church. Standing next to him, with admiration written on her face, was a local girl, a Realtor’s daughter.

She’d expected Lucky to show up yesterday. It had taken every ounce of courage not to turn off the lights, shut the curtains and move heavy furniture in front of the door. But instead of showing up at her door, the Big Bad Wolf had been at church.

She glanced at the newspaper article. Cowboy Church? Okay, maybe Big Bad Wolf was an unfair moniker. And, in truth, she’d started this fiasco—she and her big mouth.

Lucky had looked shocked by her announcement—and her demand.

Even from the grainy black-and-white picture, Natalie could see what made him more than a typical cowboy. He had a magnetism that upset her stomach. She wanted to blame the pancake, but in all honesty, it was Lucky who sent the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Natalie had wondered all along if Marcus hadn’t told his family. That would explain why they’d left her alone. Until her dad’s death, she hadn’t cared, really, hadn’t needed help or money.

She should have waited, thought this through, not acted on impulse. Of course, impulse was what brought Robby into her life.

Robby slurped the last of his milk. “I’m finished,” he announced, pushing away the plate. In a moment, he was out of the chair, into the living room and back in the kitchen wearing Pop Pop’s cowboy hat. Too big, it had the habit of falling in Robby’s eyes, and he whipped it off and let out a whoop. Since yesterday, he’d continually ridden a broom around the house. Even worse, he’d gotten really good at pretending to fall off.

He hit the ground, pure rodeo landing, and she flinched.

Pop Pop would have had the video camera out.

What had Natalie been thinking?

She hadn’t!

The loss of her father and the muddle of his finances must have rendered her temporarily insane. It was the only explanation for her behavior.

Robby galloped back into the room. “Mommy, go park?”

Natalie nodded. “We’ll go to the bank, and then to the park.”

That was good enough for Robby. He dismounted, carefully guided his broom horse to lean against the oven and ran to get his favorite train. After she’d cleared up the dishes and zipped Robby into his jacket, they were out the door and heading toward town.

Selena had one bank. Its claim to fame wasn’t beauty. It was as rectangular as a cracker box and too small for the town. But change came slowly to Selena and not even the town’s most forward-thinking seemed inclined to fix what wasn’t really broken.

Mondays were busy, which explained why Natalie managed to get past the tellers without chitchat.

Unfortunately, Robby wasn’t about to miss an opportunity.

“Hi, Allie,” Robby chirped.

Allison Needham grinned at him, still counting money without missing a beat.

“Morning, Allison,” Natalie said. On top of everything else, Natalie always worried that maybe Allison knew a bit too much. After all, she’d been Tisha’s friend back when Tisha came to Selena to spend summers. Then, later, when Allison decided to give rodeoing a shot, she’d followed after Tisha, who was giving rodeoing a different kind of shot.

Just as Natalie walked toward the bank president’s office, Walter Hughes came out of it. Seven years ago, it had been his office. Now, it was his son’s. He stopped when he saw Natalie, handed Robby a peppermint from his pocket and said, “You need anything, little girl?”

“I’m hoping your son has a few minutes to give me.”

Timothy Hughes, who’d sat across from Natalie in almost every class in grade school, and who’d been her first high school crush, came to the door. “Natalie? Come on in.”

Walter looked at his son and Timothy nodded. “You mind if I sit in?” Walter asked.

Her eyes started pooling. Walt had thinning gray hair, like Dad. He wore the same kind of casual clothes. He still opened doors for women, and he made her miss her father all over again.

“No, not a bit.”

“Let me pull Allison away from the front,” Timothy said. “She can watch Robby for a few minutes.”

Robby willingly took Allison’s hand, and Allison headed out the front door and down the sidewalk. Robby loved to walk. He could walk up and down the street for hours, seeing the same sights, saying “hi” to the same people, and never get bored.

It took a few minutes for Timothy to gather the files and punch up her information on the computer. Walter chewed his bottom lip and perused a copy of her father’s will. Yesterday, while Robby napped, she’d spent two hours itemizing what she had, what she didn’t have and what she was unsure about. She’d gone over the will in detail and listed her tangible property. Now, she had very specific questions. Timothy couldn’t answer her concern about the life insurance, but he could show how a good deal of money had gone into a new roof, new air-conditioning and taxes. After playing with the numbers, what she had and what she could earn, he agreed with her assessment. She could make it about three months.

Walter was the one with questions. “I think I know all of your dad’s tangible personal property, and I’m as surprised as you are that he used the business as collateral for a loan, but, Natalie, were there deeds to any other properties?”

“None, and I would have known.”

“And insurance?”

“The only one I found paid for his funeral.”

Timothy’s face finally changed expression. “Are you sure there’s not something in your dad’s safe-deposit box? Could you have missed seeing the policy?”

Natalie gripped the arms of the chair. She’d been so careful with the paperwork, with what was in the house. “I didn’t even know he had a safe-deposit box. I certainly don’t have the key.”

Hope, Natalie started feeling a dim hope. It made her sit taller, but only for a moment, because the feeling of hope was just as quickly followed by fear. Why hadn’t she known about the box? What if it was empty? Or what if it just held some of her mother’s jewelry—worth a little but not a lot.

Still, hope flared a bit. What if the missing funds were somehow accounted for inside the safe-deposit box?

Then she’d have involved the Welch family for nothing.

“Think you can find the key?” Timothy interrupted her scrambled thoughts.

“I—”

“We’re not messing with that,” Walter said. “I’ll make a call. We’ll drill it open in no time.”

“Dad, that costs almost a hundred—”

“Exactly what we should pay for not notifying Natalie about the safe-deposit box sooner.”

An hour later, Natalie knew that approaching Lucky Welch for money was, indeed, the last thing she should have done. Her dad had kept his promise in the form of bank bonds, lots of bank bonds. Barring a catastrophe, they had enough to stay afloat for two to three years, not even counting Natalie’s income.

It did raise a few questions while still leaving others unanswered. Natalie still didn’t know why her father had cleaned out the checking account or borrowed against his half of the business.

“Mommy, we go park now?” Robby was at the office door, Allison behind him.

“It’s like having Jasmin come visit me at work,” Allison said. Her daughter was only a little older than Robby. “She loves to walk, too.”

“Thanks, Allison,” Walter said. “Natalie, I’m thinking you need some cash now. Would you like to turn in a few bonds and then maybe meet with your dad’s financial advisor about what to do with the rest?”

Natalie could only nod.

Her money troubles were over for now, but she had new troubles and they were by no means over and may never be.

“Mommy, we go now?”

Natalie was more than ready to go now. And the park was the best destination. Home was too empty.

Twenty minutes later, feelings raw, she watched Robby at play. He had changed her whole life.

Amazingly so.

And all because she’d been home alone on a Friday night, studying for a math test.

She hadn’t even known Tisha was pregnant, let alone that she’d given birth. That Friday night, after her initial shock, she’d thought she was saying yes to helping out, watching a tiny, two-week-old Robby for a night. Truthfully, she’d loved sitting in her little apartment a mile away from New Mexico State University and watching the little guy sleep. She’d unfortunately figured out by the next evening that the phone number Tisha left was wrong, that formula and diapers were expensive and that nobody—including Tisha’s parents—knew where Tisha was.

She skipped the next two days of school and her dad had driven to Las Cruces. He’d stayed a week. With his help, she’d found a sitter for the remaining month of school, and by the time the semester ended, she’d realized what it felt like to be separated from Robby, like she could still feel the warmth of his little body in the crook of her left arm. It had taken her from the hallways of higher academia and back home to walking the hallways with a little personality who liked to touch her cheek and who smiled—yes, smiled—at the whole world.

Soon, her dad felt the same way, and they’d stopped looking for Tisha.

When the whole town assumed Natalie was Robby’s mama, Natalie and her dad had gone along. At the time, it was easier than explaining, and Natalie didn’t want Robby to ever see the kind of look that passed between judgmental adults whenever Tisha’s name was mentioned.

Natalie had been an only child and had always wanted brothers and sisters. Her cousin Tisha had been the closest thing to a sibling, and Natalie loved her—flaws and all—even if she didn’t always like Tisha or the choices she made.

Tisha at first claimed she didn’t know who Robby’s father was. A year later, when Tisha borrowed some money from Natalie, she’d mentioned Marcus.

She’d also mentioned Marcus’s dad and how strict he was, how he always got what he wanted.

Natalie swallowed. Here she sat on her nice, safe bench while Robby played. Maybe the park was the only safe place. At home, there was the newspaper article featuring Lucky. She’d have to deal with her mistake. Figure out the right thing to do. What was right for Robby.

Maybe Lucky would saddle up and ride away. Yeah, right. Truth was, if what Natalie knew about Lucky was true, soon he’d probably be out on the playground, climbing the jungle gym, and teaching Robby how to do something dangerous like jump.

That’s what her dad would have had done. It’s what he’d done for Natalie. After her mother died, he’d swallowed his sorrow and stepped right into the role of both parents. He cooked dinner, went on field trips and even sat through ballet lessons. Of course, she only took the lessons after he convinced her that the grace of a ballet dancer would benefit a barrel racer.

Her dad had always taken care of her.

He’d taught her to jump, and he’d made sure she always had a soft place to fall.

Natalie swallowed. Robby, brown hair tussled by the wind and an unguarded grin on his face—was jumping just fine. He climbed the slide, slid down, got to the bottom, stood up and jumped. Then, he tried to climb up the slide instead of the steps. He fell, skidded and hit the ground. Natalie started to get up, wanting to cushion his fall, but Robby didn’t need help. He managed on his own. Standing, climbing, falling and laughing the whole time. He was all boy.

Thanks to her father, she could take care of herself and Robby.

It was her own fault she had to deal with the Welches.

Chapter Three

S unday had been pretty much a blur for Lucky. Otherwise, he’d never have allowed a photographer to take pictures after the morning service. What he did on the circuit could be sensationalized. What he did on Sunday morning in front of believers should not.

The girl in the photo was wearing next to nothing. And the adoring look she aimed his way was rehearsed. Luckily, the reporter knew how to gather facts: Lucky’s rodeo win, his mother’s rodeo-queen status, his brother’s rodeo belts and recent death, and even Lucky’s penchant for sermonizing, all made it into the story. Too bad God was at the bottom of the pyramid. The reporter definitely put the facts in the wrong order of importance.

God should have been first.

Lucky got out his Bible and turned to James. “ Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

He put his hand flat on the page. Sometimes, in the quiet of the early morning and in the twilight of the night, when Lucky was alone, the touch of the Bible felt like a pathway straight to God.

He reread the passage. To Lucky’s way of thinking, no matter what Marcus had done or been, Robby Crosby was a good and perfect gift. One Lucky’s mother would welcome and his father would shun.

Lucky closed the Bible, held it in his hands and stared out his window. It was just after five. Howard, Bernice’s husband, was already taking care of the animals. Howie Junior should be with him. Those summers when Lucky and Marcus visited Grandpa and Grandma Moody, they’d been up at five.

Finally setting his Bible aside, Lucky started dialing the numbers in his cell phone. He’d devoted yesterday to God, prayer and meditation. Today he was devoting to Robby Crosby, who maybe needed to be known as Robby Welch. Surely, out of all the friends he and Marcus shared, somebody would know something. Two hours later, he lost the charge on his cell phone, switched to the landline in Mary’s room, and he discovered what he’d suspected all along. Natalie obviously kept a low profile. No one seemed to know her or remember Marcus talking about her. Everyone remembered Tisha. And, like Lucky, most agreed that she had stopped following the rodeo after she stopped seeing Marcus.

No one had seen her in the last few years.

No one cared.

During the time she’d spent with Marcus, Lucky had felt displaced and his youthful prayers about her all had to do with her disappearing. He’d hated when Tisha accompanied them from one show to another. She’d been a wedge between him and his brother. He was older now, and maybe his prayers should take a different slant.

Marcus had probably been a father, and it looked like he had a son to be proud of. A tiny seed of suspicion settled in Lucky’s gut. Could Marcus have cheated on Tisha with this Natalie woman? Or could Natalie have been a rebound because she looked so much like Tisha?

Either scenario might give some insight as to why Marcus had kept his son a secret.

Lucky headed for the kitchen and the beckoning aroma of pancakes. “Bernice!”

“I’m right here. You don’t need to yell. What?” Bernice wore an apron over her jeans as she expertly flipped the pancakes while holding a gallon of milk in her other hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not staying for breakfast.”

“I’m staying and I’m starved. Do you know Natalie Crosby?”

“Sure I know Natalie, ever since she was a little girl.” Bernice looked at Lucky’s mother. “You’d know Natalie’s mama. Tina Burke. She was a freshman when we were seniors.”

Betsy Welch shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

Bernice shook her head. “About the time your daddy died and the boys stopped coming here for the summer, that would be about the time Natalie started performing in the rodeo. About a summer or two later, Tisha started coming for the summers and got involved. It’s a wonder that Tisha and Marcus met elsewhere—both of them have roots here.” She patted Betsy on the shoulder before turning to Lucky. “I heard you burning up the phone line asking questions about that girl. I could have saved Marcus a passel of trouble if he’d listened when I told him she was nothing but trouble.”

Lucky looked at his mother. She’d poured herself a cup of coffee and was taking a seat at the table. She didn’t even glance at the plate of pancakes in front of her. The look on her face clearly indicated she knew something bad was about to happen. The name Tisha always had that effect on his mother.

“Did Marcus know Natalie?” Lucky asked.

“Not that I know of.” Bernice set the milk on the counter. “You want to tell me why you’re asking?”

“I met Natalie yesterday at the rodeo and, for a moment, I thought she was Tisha. Some of her friends quickly set me straight.”

“Natalie was at the rodeo?” Bernice sounded surprised.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s interesting. After her leg got mangled so bad, Natalie stopped going anywhere near horses. Her father sold off his entire stock. About broke his heart. When Robby started wearing a cowboy hat, you could just see Leo wishing he had a horse to put that boy on.”

“You’re not looking for Tisha, are you?” his mother asked slowly.

“It really shocked me, Mom, how much this Natalie looked like Tisha.” Lucky sat down at the table and tried not to notice his mother’s trembling hands. Tisha brought up bad memories. Marcus’s drinking had gotten out of control during the Tisha era. His mom blamed Tisha, slightly unfair, but not completely unwarranted.

Bernice piled pancakes on a plate and set them in front of him. His mother stared at the syrup bottle in front of her but didn’t move. Finally, Bernice reached over and pushed it toward Lucky. “Don’t worry, Betsy. Natalie’s nothing like Tisha.”

Betsy wiped away a tear, and Bernice started talking, even as she dug into her own plate of pancakes. “Everyone loves Natalie. She’s a hometown girl. Family’s been here since the area was first settled.”

Bernice looked at Lucky. “At one time, that girl loved the rodeo as much as you do. Of course, Tisha did, too. My, my, those two girls could ride, but Natalie was a natural. She and little Allison Needham used to practice every weekend. I heard you asking questions about her, too, didn’t I? My Mary said she wouldn’t be surprised if Natalie made a name for herself. She wasn’t too sure about Allison. I think Tisha only rode because she couldn’t bear Natalie getting the attention. When Natalie was still a teenager, she got tossed during the rodeo. She was still using a cane when she graduated high school. If you look real close, you’ll see she still has a limp to this day.”

“I think I saw her,” Betsy said thoughtfully, looking at Lucky and finally relaxing. “She came over to talk to you after the rodeo.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I only saw her from the back. I didn’t notice she looked like Tisha.”

“Her boy must have convinced her to bring him. Can’t think of anything else that would get her there. She’s a good mother. Too bad there’s not a dad in the picture. She went off to college and came back two years later with a little baby. Leo didn’t even blink, and no one dared say a word or ask questions about Natalie’s situation. She and her dad dote, make that he doted, on Robby.” Bernice looked over at Betsy. “Natalie’s father died just two weeks ago. Heart attack. Real surprise to everyone.”

Bernice turned to Lucky. “Natalie’s dad owned part of the stockyard Howard works at. We all expected to hear that Natalie would take over the reins, but it seems just a few months ago, Leo took out a loan. He used the stockyard as collateral. It’s gone now, Natalie’s livelihood. Word is, she’s hurting for money and might lose her home.”

Lucky nodded. So desperation drove her to him. That she’d risk talking to him, asking him for child support, for help, meant she was pretty much at wit’s end financially. No doubt she wanted money with no strings. He finished his plate and wasn’t surprised when Bernice piled more on.

With each bite, he thought of his brother. Marcus had been a pro at keeping secrets from his family. He’d spent time in jail without placing his one phone call to them. He’d nursed an alcohol addiction that not even Alcoholics Anonymous had been able to counter. But of all his secrets, this one took the prize.

Then, a more subtle thought surfaced, adding one more turn on this roller-coaster ride out of control. Maybe Marcus hadn’t known he was a father?

Suddenly Lucky’s appetite was gone. “Where does Natalie live?”

“Three blocks past the church, turn right and go down Judge Taylor Road all the way to the end.”

He stood. “I need to get going.”

They didn’t ask; he didn’t tell.

He rehearsed his speech on the drive over, in between praying. There were two possible scenarios. One, Natalie was a decent woman who truly needed help. Lucky had watched decent women fall victim to Marcus. Two, Natalie was the same as Tisha. Then, possibly, Marcus had been the victim.

No matter which one she was, approaching her looked to be the hardest thing Lucky had ever done. The words he practiced seemed weak, hollow, accusing. As he pulled in front of the house, he was no closer to knowing what to say to the mother of Marcus’s child.

Sitting in his truck in the driveway, Lucky bowed his head and one last time petitioned his Father. Never had he dealt with such a situation. He couldn’t even come up with a Bible reference.

Natalie came to the door, stared at Lucky, disappeared inside for a moment, then stepped onto the porch. He admired that. She wasn’t going to hide. She’d meet him head-on. He also had to admire the way she looked. White jeans, red button-down shirt. Perky and mad. On her, the combination looked good.

The boy wriggled up next to her. Grinning like it was Christmas and obviously hoping for escape. The tears Lucky evoked yesterday obviously forgotten.

Thank you, God .

Lucky stepped out of his truck. “Ma’am, can we talk?”

“Robby, go up to your room.” She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and frowned.

“Why, Mommy?”

“Just for a little while. I’ll talk to you later.”

The boy peeked out. “Are you the cowboy?”

“I’m a bull rider,” Lucky corrected, throwing an apologetic look to Natalie. “A cowboy and a bull rider, much better.”

“Better?” The boy looked interested.

“Robby.” The one word did it. Robby bobbed his head, grinned and ducked behind her.

“I wanted to talk to you—” Lucky began.

“I owe you an apology,” Natalie said. “I’m not sure what came over me yesterday. It was a mistake to come see you. We don’t need money. Really.”

Lucky shook his head. “Ma’am, we can worry about money later. Right now, I just want to know how it can be that my brother had a son the family doesn’t know about.”

She stumbled, then stopped to lean against one of the porch’s white pillars. Suddenly, he wanted to go to her. Hold her up. Tell her he didn’t mean to hurt her. Where were these feelings coming from? This morning, with the sun hitting the blond, almost white, highlights in her hair, she looked nothing like Tisha.

“So, you didn’t know,” she whispered before regaining her footing.

She drew herself up, standing proud, yet still whispering. “I always wondered.”

“Ma’am, we had no idea. When I tell my mother about Robby, she’s going to be so happy. I cannot even tell you how much that little boy will heal our family. I know we can work something—”

“No!” She took two slow steps down the front steps. The limp was more pronounced, as if the emotional pain robbed her physically as well as mentally. Still, she managed to keep steady. “I was so wrong to approach you. Robby and I are doing just fine.”

“I believe you, ma’am. I can see how fine you’re doing. Little Robby looks happy and healthy, and this is a great spread you got here, but I’m not doing fine. For six months, I’ve done nothing but miss my brother, wish I could bring him back, and now I find out he has a son—a son who knows nothing about his father or his father’s family? Tell me, ma’am, did Marcus know about Robby? Did you tell him?”

“Tell him? Why would I tell him?” The look in her eyes said it all. Marcus was pond scum. “We, my father and I, wanted nothing to do with Marcus, ever. We were glad he never came around. Robby’s ours. We kept him, we love him, and he’s ours. And keep your voice down. He doesn’t know he’s related to you.”

“That’s going to change. Robby has family, on both sides, who want to get to know him and love him.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed.

“By not telling my brother about Robby, you deprived him of any opportunity to know his son.” Lucky felt the words pool in his throat. Maybe knowing he had a son would have calmed Marcus down, grounded him, made him rethink what he did with his time and his money. “I know my brother. He would have taken care of Robby.”

“No,” Natalie said.

“Look, how and when did you meet him? What made you decide to raise his child alone? Why…”

She covered her ears. The pain on her face so evident that Lucky stopped.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” she said.

He started to argue, but tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to overflow.

“It’s too much. I’ve dealt with losing my dad, losing my home, and now you’re making me deal with losing Robby.”

“No, not losing Robby, but introducing—”

She held up her hand. “No, not today, I cannot deal with this today.” She took one step in his direction, and he backed up. He recognized anguish. He’d felt it every day since his brother died. Their eyes locked, hers blue and beautiful, then she pivoted and hurried quickly back to her front door.

A moment later, sitting in his truck in the driveway again, Lucky bowed his head once more and petitioned his Father, even as his heart pounded and his own anguish threatened to take over. He’d finally thought of a Bible reference. The story of King Solomon offering to cut a child in half when two women were arguing over who was the infant’s rightful family.

When he looked up from his prayer, his eyes went right back to Natalie Crosby.

She stood at the front door, looking at him like he was either the Grim Reaper or an IRS agent.

Finally, he rolled down the window and leaned out. The smell of West Texas sage grass reminded him of being at his grandparents’ house. Lord, he could use Grandpa’s advice now. “Look, Natalie, you know you’re going to wind up talking to me. I’ve got plenty of questions and seems you’re the only one who can answer them.” He shook his head. “Saturday you told me that I’m an uncle. Surely after that bombshell, you know I’m not going away.”

Her expression didn’t change. He’d dealt with friendlier bulls.

“Okay,” he finally said. “The next time we talk, it probably won’t be you and me. It will be you and me and my lawyer.” The next words out of his mouth shamed him, but she’d left him no choice. “And I don’t think you can afford that.”

He fired the engine and backed out. Just when he hit the street, he paused, stuck his head out the window again, because he couldn’t stand feeling this low, and shouted, “I’m staying at Bernice Baker’s place. You can call me anytime. I know you can find her number.”

With that, he pointed his truck toward Bernice’s, but his white knuckles and clenched teeth convinced him that no way, no how, could he sit in Bernice’s living room and not look like something was wrong. Holing up in Mary’s bedroom wouldn’t work, either. He was driving away from one headache and heading toward another. He needed to tell his family, and soon. Because if they found out about Robby from someone else, he’d never hear the end of it.

Selena in November was a riot of colors. The trees were shades of orange, red and yellow. The grass was turning brown but still had hints of green. None of the scenery matched Lucky’s mood. He needed some black or at least a lot more brown. He drove out of town and headed toward Delaney. Maybe there he could recover some feeling of peace.

Delaney was even smaller than Selena and just as colorful. A small sign announced the town and its population. An even smaller sign pointed to a café and general store. Both were new. School was in session. The building, the same size as the combined café and general store, had four trucks and one Ford Taurus parked in front. Lucky turned at the corner and saw a playground much improved since the days he had climbed the metal slide or fallen onto dirt and grass from the monkey bars. He still wasn’t seeing the colors that fit his mood. While the playground of old had been brown, green and silver, the playground of new was sunny yellow and fire-engine red.

Down from the school was the church his grandparents attended. It still looked good; getting declared a historical marker had that effect on property. Lucky pulled into the parking lot and almost couldn’t get out of the truck. The church looked good but lonely. The minister who’d been there during his grandparents’ time had passed away five years ago.

The sight of his childhood church looking pristine but unused did not help Lucky’s mood.

He left Delaney’s few businesses and traveled five miles of dirt roads, finally reaching his grandfather’s house. He stopped just in front and let his foot hover over the gas as he reflected back on the best memories of his life. A discarded bike, a tiny pretend lawn mower and a wagon gave evidence that life indeed went on. Lucky didn’t know the family who’d purchased Grandpa’s land, but he liked them already. The place looked pretty much as it always had, even the horses running in the distance. The only thing missing was the carpet-covered barrels over by the barn and Grandma standing on the porch yelling at Grandpa to turn down the music so she could think.

Believe it or not, Grandpa said there was nothing like Jimi Hendrix to get the adrenaline pumping. He said it was necessary for bull riding.

Lucky relaxed enough so his knuckles returned to their normal color.

The cemetery was a good twenty miles away and one of the oldest and biggest in the area. He’d been to Grandpa’s grave often, every time the rodeo brought him near, but today the pull was more than paying respect. It was a place to reflect.

He certainly could have handled his encounter with Natalie better this morning.

And it looked like he’d need to work hard to handle his mother now. In the distance he could see her standing in front of her parents’ graves. On a patch of land that usually inspired the wearing of black, his mother wore a pink button-down dress and white high heels. Yup, she was an avid member of the June Cleaver fan club. At least that’s what his friends all claimed. No one ever surprised Betsy Welch in an awkward moment. She always looked like she’d just left the hairdresser.