“What are you doing?”
Miranda asked as she faced him

“Just walking a lady home.”

“I am home. This whole spread is my home.”

“You never know what might come out in the dark.” He covered the distance to the back porch, opened the door to the house and ushered her in.

“Thanks for letting me watch the foal be born tonight,” he said.

She turned to face him again. “You’re welcome. At least you weren’t totally useless. You made the phone calls, and you brought my coat.”

Jud laughed. “So happy to be of service, Ms. Mayor.

Aren’t you glad you changed your mind and let me stay in the foreman’s cabin here?”

“I guess so. But keep out of my way,” she said, retreating to the shadows within, “unless you want me to change it back again.” The thud of the house door punctuated her order.

“Not a chance,” Jud said softly, walking across the open ground toward the foreman’s cabin. “I’m not leaving until my business here in Homestead is done.”

He glanced over his shoulder just as a light upstairs winked out. “And that business, Miranda Wright, definitely includes you.”

Dear Reader,

My first job out of college involved physiology laboratory research, which was every bit as dull as it sounds. To perk up the day, we listened to the radio while we worked; since this was Nashville, Tennessee, the station of choice often played country music. One day a colleague of mine—obviously not a fan—complained that “every country music song talks about Tennessee or Texas!”

And why not? Texas, especially, has earned a preeminent place in the American legend, with the Alamo and the Rio Grande, with ranchers, Rangers and rustlers, with cattle drives and, yes, country-and-western music. I’ve enjoyed writing a story set against this unique and romantic background, particularly in a series with four equally unique and romantic Harlequin Superromance authors.

As The Prodigal Texan, Jud Ritter returns to Homestead, Texas, only to discover how much about his hometown remains the same. Most folks—including his own brother—still believe the lies that circulated about him all those years ago. If Jud is to redeem his reputation, he’ll have to prove to the people of Homestead just how much he has changed.

Mayor Miranda Wright has worked long and hard to transform her beloved town for the better. Now she must count on Jud Ritter to save Homestead from oblivion. Can she trust this onetime bad boy with the town’s safety? Should she trust him with her heart?

I hope you have a good time with Miranda and Jud and the folks in Homestead, Texas. Please feel free to write me at PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314, or visit my Web site at www.lynnette-kent.com.

Happy reading!

Lynnette Kent

The Prodigal Texan
Lynnette Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kathleen

An editor in a million

With many thanks

I’m grateful, as well, for the chance to work

with Roxanne Rustand, K.N. Casper, Linda Warren

and Roz Denny Fox in developing the

HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY series.

From brainstorming to nailing down the

smallest details, you folks were creative,

cooperative and downright fun!

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 ONE

May

THE DAY STARTED WITH A FUNERAL.

By five o’clock, Miranda Wright had endured as much neighborly nosiness, listened to as many insinuations and waded through all the close-minded arguments she could stomach. With a slam of the door and a twist of the key, she abandoned her Wright for Mayor campaign office, skipped town without speaking to a single prospective voter and took the long way home. With luck, a breezy ride through the wide-open Texas countryside would restore her peace of mind.

Since the meandering back road she traveled led pretty much nowhere except to her farm, she was surprised to come over a rise and find a black truck parked on the shoulder at the bottom of the slope. Engine trouble, maybe. And no cell phone would work in the deep trough between the two hills.

Despite her mood, Miranda did the neighborly thing and stopped a few yards behind the tailgate of the black Ford 250. No flat tires evident, no smoking engine. Just the driver, sitting motionless at the wheel. Sick? Disabled? Dangerous?

Wishing she could replace her navy funeral suit and high-heeled shoes with jeans, boots and a rifle, she stepped up to the driver’s window. “Everything okay?”

Then she saw who she was dealing with.

“If it isn’t Ms. Mayor-to-be,” Jud Ritter said, giving her his one-sided smile. “How’s it going?” He took a swig from a half-empty whiskey bottle. An identical bottle lay on the passenger seat. Empty.

“Hey, Jud.” The man had attended his mother’s funeral this morning. He had a right to drown his sorrows, but not behind the wheel. “What are you doing out here in the wilderness? You should be at home with your dad and Ethan.”

He barked a laugh. “Not likely, Ms. Mayor-to-be. ‘Don’t bother coming back,’ was the phrase, as I remember it. ‘You don’t belong here.’” He helped himself to another drink, then held out the bottle. “Want some?”

“Sure.” Miranda took it, stepped back and poured out a golden stream of whiskey. The sharp tang of liquor rose from the pavement. As she handed him the empty bottle, Jud stared at her, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a straight line.

Finally, he shrugged. “That’ll teach me to be polite.” Groaning, he stretched an arm down into the foot well on the passenger side. “Good thing I know my limits.” He sat up again with a third bottle in his hand and proceeded to break the seal.

That was so like him—Homestead’s most infamous bad boy, a law unto himself, always finding a new way to flout the rules and make somebody mad. The citizens had heaved a collective sigh of relief when he’d left town after high school.

Miranda opened the truck door. “Come on, Jud. Get out. You can’t drive under the influence of two quarts of whiskey.”

“I know that,” he said, stepping down to the road. He staggered a little, then caught his balance. “I’m an officer of the Austin police department. I wouldn’t drive drunk, even in this redneck refuge.”

She gritted her teeth against the insult. “You can’t just park here until you’re sober, either. Who knows what could happen?” Why she even cared was a question Miranda couldn’t answer. She and Jud had squabbled and snapped and sniped at each other the entire twelve years they’d been in school together. The most humiliating moments of her adolescence had Jud Ritter’s name attached.

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” He looked at her, his brown gaze as guileless as a little boy’s. “I’m not bothering anybody as long as I’m parked on public property. I’ll spend the night under the stars, like a good cowboy should. Come morning, I’ll take my hangover and head back to Austin.”

Leaving the driver’s door open, he sauntered to the back of his truck, let down the tailgate and hitched himself up to sit on the edge. Miranda reached into the cab and took the keys out of the ignition, guaranteeing he wouldn’t be going anywhere till she decided he could. She’d give them back in the morning when he’d be suffering, but sober.

“Have a seat,” Jud said. “It’ll be a nice sunset in just a little while.”

Maybe if she humored him, he’d agree to let her drive him to Homestead’s only motel to sleep off the booze. Or she could take him home, dump him on the bed in the guest room. Her mom wouldn’t mind—she’d always had a soft spot in her heart for handsome, arrogant, uncontrollable Jud Ritter.

Still regretting the absence of comfortable clothes, Miranda shrugged out of her suit jacket and stowed it—along with Jud’s keys—in her truck.

“Aw, don’t go away,” Jud called. “We could have our own class reunion.”

“We didn’t graduate together,” she said, walking toward him. “I got held back twice, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, we’re both graduates.” He toasted her with the bottle. “To dear old Homestead High.” Another swig. “So I hear you’re going to save the town single-handed. Like the Lone Ranger.”

She hitched herself onto the tailgate beside him, then took a second to pull her skirt down as far as it would go. “Not single-handed, but I’ve got a plan that could bring people and opportunities back to Homestead.”

“Some kind of land swap?” He was drinking steadily, and she almost wished she could join him, relax a little. Jud had always made her nervous. He’d been everything she wasn’t—handsome as sin, with the physical grace of an athlete and the charisma of a politician. An encounter with Jud in the school hallway had usually left her feeling as stupid and confused as most people thought she was.

She took a deep breath. “A giveaway, actually. People must agree to build on the property, or renovate an existing building, live there for a year, and then they can sell it or continue in residence as the owner.”

“Where do you get the giveaway land?”

That was the touchy part. Miranda swallowed hard. “When the K Bar C Ranch went bust, the county seized the property for back taxes.”

Jud chuckled. “So that’s why my dad is so pissed about you running for mayor. He merged his ranch into that K Bar C investment deal. Now he’s lost the family plot, so to speak.”

“I know.”

“Considering the Ritters have held that land for over a hundred years…” He shook his head. “I think that’s one vote you won’t be getting.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah. I gave up any right to the Ritter legacy when I left home. They’re right—I don’t belong here. Thank God.”

He didn’t say anything else for quite a while. The sun dropped behind the hills around them, bringing a quick, cool twilight. Stars popped out one by one, white sparks in a purple Texas sky.

“See, I told you it would be a nice night.” Jud chugged from his whiskey bottle, then let himself fall back in the truck bed. “Great for stargazing. You ever go stargazing, Ms. Mayor?”

“I live on a ranch,” she said without thinking. “I see the stars all the time.”

“No, I mean real stargazing.” His grin was white in the near darkness. “With a guy.”

She felt her cheeks flush with heat. “Not recently.”

“Ever?”

“None of your business.” She scooted forward on the tailgate. “I’m going home.”

Strong fingers closed around her wrist. “Aw, come on.” He pulled backward, but she resisted. “I’m not talking about anything besides watching the sky.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Most of ’em,” he said, and took another swig.

But never to her. Miranda figured she was the only female in Homestead anywhere near his age that Jud Ritter hadn’t gone out with. He’d asked once, or so she’d thought at the time. What a travesty that had turned out to be.

“Relax,” Jud said, his voice now definitely slurred. “Lie back and look at the sky.” He tugged on her wrist again.

Miranda flattened out on the truck bed, feeling every ridge in the liner on her back. “This isn’t a very comfortable place to watch the sky.”

“You get used to it. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I have to drive home.”

Jud shrugged. “Up to you.” He took a noisy gulp of whiskey, then handed the half-empty bottle to her. “Do whatever you want to with that. I’m done.”

She held the bottle for a while, fighting the urge to take just one swig. Her experience with liquor consisted of eggnog punch at Christmas and champagne for New Year’s Eve. Plus the occasional long neck beer at a party. But she caught the rich oak aroma from Jud’s breath on the air, and her mouth watered for a taste. Just one.

Finally, though, she put the bottle at her side.

“Not tempting enough?” Jud rolled to face her, elbow bent and head propped on his hand. Full darkness had fallen, but they were close enough that she could see all the details of his face—the straight slant of his nose and the angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, the spark of laughter in his eyes. “What does tempt you, Ms. Mayor?”

“Pecan pie. Fast food cheeseburgers.”

“Guess you don’t get too much fast food out here in the sticks.”

“Just Bertha’s kolaches.”

“She’s still cooking?”

“Breakfast every day but Sunday.”

“Nothing ever changes.” After a silence, he said, “Do you have weaknesses for something besides food?”

She was beginning to feel drunk herself, listening to his voice, whiskey warm. “Horses. Never met one I didn’t love.”

He rubbed his knuckles up and down her lower arm. “Men, Miranda. Don’t you have a weakness concerning men?”

“Nary a one,” she lied, as goose bumps broke out all over her body. “Haven’t found a man yet I couldn’t live without.”

His fingers touched her cheek. “You just haven’t met the right guy.”

“I’ve met all the men I’m likely to here in Homestead.”

She should sit up, get down, go home. Jud Ritter was bad news, as at least one girl in Homestead had learned the hard way. He was drunk enough to seduce Miranda, for lack of anyone better, but she wasn’t drunk enough to succumb. She didn’t think she could get that drunk without passing out first.

Then he kissed her.

She gasped, tasting the liquor on his breath. And there was more…the firmness of his lips moving gently and deliberately over hers, the faint lime scent of his aftershave. She put up a hand—to stop him?— which came to rest on his shoulder, square and solid under his shirt. Without thought, she lifted her other hand to his hair, running her fingers through the short, sleek strands, pausing to cup the nape of his neck, the curve of his head.

And now they were both involved in the kiss, as he coaxed her response with patience and persistence and—dammit—expertise. She wouldn’t have him thinking she was a total novice, though that might not be far from the truth. By the time she was finished with him, he’d know he’d been kissed….

Somewhere along the way, though, her intentions grew wispy, then evaporated altogether. Mouths fusing, releasing, the clash of teeth. Hands exploring with long, savoring strokes or desperate clutches at sweat-slicked skin. Night air cool on heated bodies pressed ruthlessly together. Tension building, desire pounding in her veins. This, this was the reason she’d waited. He was the reason….

“Jud.” She whispered his name, and he stopped his exquisite torture of her breasts to look into her face. She saw his eyes focus.

In the next instant, he took his hands off her body and jerked away. Choking, growling like a rabid wolf, he partly fell, partly jumped out of the truck bed, hit the ground on his hands and knees and stayed there, swearing.

Miranda lay on her back where he’d left her, staring up at cold stars in a black sky, her mind an absolute blank.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jud dragged himself to his feet using the edge of the tailgate. “You let just any sonofabitch maul you?”

He grabbed her hands and drew her to sit up, like a rag doll who’d lost half her stuffing. “Any woman with half a brain would know better.”

She put a hand to her head, where her brain used to be. “I didn’t—” Past and present swirled together…she might have been sixteen again, standing at the door to the high school gym where she was supposed to meet Jud for the homecoming dance. He’d said to wait for him there, in the note she’d found in her locker.

“Are you crazy?” he’d demanded, when she stepped out to claim him. She showed him the note, and he laughed. The crowd of kids watching them laughed, too.

“If you had half a brain,” he’d said, “you’d know better.” Then, with his arm around his date, he’d walked past Miranda into the dance.

“Pull yourself together,” he ordered, with a wave at her wrecked blouse and wrinkled skirt. “Go home, before you get tarred with the same brush they used on me. That’d ruin your election chances, for sure.”

When he reached for the whiskey, Miranda focused enough to grab it. “No. I’m not leaving you a single, solitary drop.” Scrambling on her knees to the other side of the truck, she launched the bottle into the darkness beyond her vehicle. The satisfying crash of glass shattering on asphalt announced her success.

Jud swore again, even more fluently.

Still kneeling, Miranda fixed her bra and drew the edges of her blouse together. One of the buttons had popped—or been torn off. She’d have to wear her jacket into the house and hope her mother didn’t notice.

When she scooted to the end of the tailgate, Jud held out a hand. Miranda told him what he could do with his hands, his truck, and the rest of his life before she hopped down without help.

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. “Look, I—”

As she pivoted, Miranda slapped him with the full force of her turn. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t care what you think. I was stupid—gee, that’s a surprise. But I’ll get over it, all the easier if I never see your face again.”

She’d reached for the door handle of her truck before she remembered that she had his keys. “I’ll send the sheriff out in the morning,” she yelled. “He’ll have your keys.”

“Hey,” Jud shouted, and started running. “You can’t—”

But Miranda was behind the wheel with the motor roaring before he’d covered half the distance. She backed into a plume of dust, skidded onto the pavement and gave Jud a wave as she passed him, already doing forty-five.

She didn’t slow down until she reached the driveway at the farm. And only then did she acknowledge the tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.

CHAPTER TWO

December

Four years later

TRADITION IN HOMESTEAD, Texas, demanded that every bridal couple drive away from the ceremony in a suitably decorated vehicle. Noah and Greer Kelley would be no exception. While their reception—a hoedown and barbecue—continued in the town park, friends of the happy couple went to work on Project Newlywed. The groom had parked his truck in plain sight as a decoy while trying to hide his bride’s red Blazer, a futile effort that gave the decorating committee the opportunity to embellish two vehicles, instead of one.

“I brought tin cans,” Miranda told the crew surrounding Greer’s car. “Plus string and crepe paper.”

“We’d better hurry and get this done, then.” Wade Montgomery, the sheriff of Loveless County, surveyed the Blazer. He held a can of shaving cream in one hand and a white shoe polish applicator in the other. “I can’t imagine Noah’s going to wait much longer to have Greer to himself. I remember thinking I’d never get Callie away from our wedding reception.”

Kristin Gallagher wrapped a ribbon around the antenna and tied a bow at the top. “I imagine Greer has some ideas of her own,” she said, with a glance at her husband, Ryan, who was assisting Wade with the shoe polish.

Miranda caught the sexy grin Ryan sent his wife in return and felt her cheeks heat up. There had been a rash of weddings in Homestead recently—all her friends seemed to be pairing off, leaving her the odd woman out. An old maid was what she was, an old maid who still lived with her mother.

But this old maid was the town mayor. Miranda couldn’t help being proud of what she’d accomplished, for herself and for the hometown she loved.

“What can I do?” Ethan Ritter took the bag of tin cans Miranda still held and set it on the ground. “Kayla’s going to come looking for me any minute.” Ethan was another recently married citizen, a man who, more than most, deserved some lucky breaks in his life. And his wife, Kayla, definitely counted as good luck.

Once the group had done its best—or worst, depending on how you looked at it—the participants stood back for a moment to admire their handiwork. Miranda happened to be facing the Loveless County courthouse, so she was the first to notice a man approaching from the far side of the square. A long, lean drink of water he was, wearing boots and jeans and a chambray shirt under a leather jacket, but no hat on his head, cowboy or otherwise. The sun sat low in the sky behind him, leaving his face in shadow. He walked with a distinctive limp and she knew of no one in town who’d been injured lately. Obviously he wasn’t a local.

“Who’s that?” she asked, of no one in particular.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said, squinting into the sun. When she glanced at Ethan, she found his eyes hard, his mouth set in a straight line. “That’s my brother Jud.”

Miranda put a hand over her belly button, just at the spot where her stomach had suddenly shrunk into a tight, throbbing ball. Four years felt like no more than four hours, as humiliation flooded through her. How could she face Jud Ritter again in the light of day? In front of her friends? And his brother, for heaven’s sake! Could she retreat to the reception in the park before Jud arrived?

Other questions occurred to her as she watched him limp toward them. Why the hell had he come back? What right did he have to spoil an otherwise terrific afternoon? Did he seriously think anyone wanted him here?

His brother evidently didn’t. As Jud drew close, Ethan stepped out in front of the group, a barrier nearly as effective as a stone wall. He didn’t say a word in welcome, or even acknowledgment.

The move forced Jud to stop some distance up the sidewalk. “Hey, Ethan. How are you?”

Ethan hesitated before accepting the handshake his brother offered. “We’re fine.”

When Ethan didn’t say anything else, Jud looked past his shoulder to the party in the park. “That’s some shindig going on. What’s the occasion?”

“A wedding. You probably don’t remember Noah Kelley, and his wife, Greer Bell.”

“I do remember Noah, in fact. And Greer.” He turned to Wade. “Hey, Sheriff. I thought you were in charge of preventing vandalism.”

“I’ve learned when to turn a blind eye,” Wade said as they shook hands. “Some of us read the Austin newspaper, you know. We heard about your little ‘accident,’ even way out here. A citation for going above and beyond the call of duty, wasn’t it?”

“I was just doing my job.” An unspoken message passed between the two men, before they turned in different directions.

Jud nodded to Ryan, standing just behind Miranda. “Hey, Gallagher. How’s it going?”

“Great.” Ryan stepped forward to shake Jud’s hand. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Kristin.” He put an arm around the petite blonde and drew her forward. “Kristin, Jud and I used to run wild together, back in high school.”

Jud held her hand a moment. “I always knew Ryan would choose a beautiful wife. I’m glad to meet you.”

Kristin looked him over with an appraising eye. “I also manage the health clinic here in Homestead. If you need some help while you’re here, please come by.”

“I’m okay,” Jud said with a shrug. “Just an accident at work.”

His wary gaze traveled to Miranda’s face. “I understand you won your election and rescued the town from disaster. Very impressive.” His flat tone drained the compliment of any meaning. He didn’t offer a handshake.

She dropped her own half-raised hand to her side. “I—”

“Ethan!” Kayla Ritter stood on the edge of the party nearest the street. “Ethan, they’re getting ready to cut the cake. Are you finished?”

“You bet.” Ethan started toward the park without so much as a nod to his brother, followed by Wade and the Gallaghers. Miranda lingered to gather the remnants of Project Newlywed. When she straightened up, she found Jud had collected a couple of shoe polish bottles and a length of ribbon.

“These were in the street.” He eased the trash into the bag she held in her arms, which brought his hands close to her chest. “What’s the fine for littering?”

“Life behind bars with no possibility of parole,” she said without thinking, desperate to put some distance between them.

Jud snorted. “I believe that. This always was a straitlaced town.”

Was he talking about her? “Having standards doesn’t make us straitlaced.” With her heart pounding, Miranda turned on her heel and headed toward the park and the wedding party. After all, he was the one who’d stopped, that night. She would have let him go all the way….

To her dismay, Jud fell in beside her. “There’s a fine line between having standards and being narrow-minded.”

She stopped in her tracks to confront him. “Only to someone who’s determined to defy good sense and decency.”

He stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowed under lowered brows. “I wondered how long I’d be here before somebody threw my past in my face.”

“Did you think I—we’d all forgotten?”

“I guess I hoped that just maybe, after fifteen years, people could let go of the past.” Shaking his head, he gave a weary sigh. “Dumb, Ritter, real dumb.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Miranda turned toward the party again. After only a few steps, though, she realized Jud wasn’t coming along. Despite herself, she glanced over her shoulder to see if he’d gone back the way he came.

Instead, he was staring up at the oversized statue of Hilde Schnorrberger guarding the entrance to Homestead Town Park. Hilde had followed her land-hungry husband to Texas, but when she reached the bank of Pecan Creek, she’d tied her bonnet to a tree and refused to take another step.

“Things have come full circle, haven’t they?” Jud looked from Hilde’s face to Miranda’s and back again. “A woman founded the town and now a woman’s running it.”

Miranda set her jaw. “You object to the idea of a woman in authority?”

“Not at all.” He gave her a wink and a half smile. “I’m fine with having a woman on top.”

Heat flared over her throat and across her face, but Miranda refused to be baited. “Then you’ll feel right at home in Homestead, won’t you?”

“That,” Jud said quietly as she walked away, “is what I’m here to find out.”

NAN WRIGHT stationed herself at one end of the long table borrowed from the Methodist church to hold the potluck dishes folks had brought to Greer’s wedding reception. Her other option for passing the time was to go sit with the older ladies—mothers and grandmothers—as they gossiped about the latest love affairs, the newest pregnancies, the possible divorces. Nan kept telling herself she would never get that old.

Just as she wedged a spoon into the creamy goodness of macaroni and cheese, a jolt in the food line brought someone new to her end of the table.

“Delicious,” Cruz Martinez said. When she looked into his face, he winked at her. “The food, too.”

He reached for the spoon she’d just added to the dish and Nan watched in fascination as his fingers closed on the metal handle, still warm from her touch.

Cruz grinned as he moved to the next dish, green bean casserole. “Are you having fun over here?”

She glanced around to be sure nobody was listening. “Not exactly.”

“Me, neither.” He spooned a helping of creamed corn onto his plate. “Why don’t you come out from behind there and dance with me?”

“I—”

“Pardon me.” Clarice Enfield reached across the table to serve herself a helping of scalloped tomatoes. “What are you doing standing in line over here, Cruz? You should be out on the dance floor with one of these cute young girls. Nan, where’s Miranda? She’d be perfect for Cruz, don’t you think?” She elbowed him in the side. “You two love-birds could live in the cabin and Nan could live in the farmhouse like she does now. How perfect would that be?”

Once Clarice had moved on to the salads, Cruz leaned over the table. “How about you and me in the cabin and Miranda in the farmhouse?” he murmured.

Nan couldn’t help smiling. “Hush! Next thing I know, all these motormouths will be talking about me. Go sit down and eat.”

“Dance, later?”

“Shoo,” she said, without committing herself.

As she looked along the length of the table, she caught Rae Jean Barker’s eye. Rae Jean operated the beauty shop in downtown Homestead and considered herself the source for local news. As Nan watched, she turned and whispered something to Millicent Niebauer, who had stepped up to take her turn in the food line. Millie ran the local newspaper, the Homestead Herald, with her husband Hiram.

“I do like that young man you have working for you,” Millie commented as she moved in front of Nan. “He’s trustworthy and competent. And so attractive.” She sighed. “I bet girls all over the county are dreaming about him.”

“I expect so,” Nan said warily.

“I imagine he’ll set his sights on one of them soon, decide it’s time for him to get married, have some kids, find his own land to manage.”

“No doubt.”

“And all those females who thought he was so handsome will be left sad and lonely. Maybe feeling a little foolish, even.”

Nan met Millie’s gaze. “Maybe.”

The reporter shrugged. “That’s the way life works.” She moved on, no doubt fully aware of the knife she’d stuck between her victim’s ribs.

When Cruz came back, Nan was prepared. “No, I can’t dance.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got to get the table cleaned up.”

“Later?”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you dance with…” She saw the warning flares in his eyes. “Why don’t you go talk to Wade? Callie’s busy, and he’s all by himself.”

Cruz started to say something, then shut his mouth, turned on his heel and walked away.

Nan spent the rest of the reception hanging around the mothers and grandmothers. Maybe, without realizing it, she’d already gotten that old.

SINCE HE HADN’T BEEN invited to the reception, Jud decided to keep a low profile. He headed for the traditional party post for unattached males—the precinct around the keg.

With a tall plastic cup full of ice-cold beer in his hand, he leaned back against a tree, grateful for the chance to ease his barely healed leg and get his bearings before he actually tried to mingle.

Closest to him were the young studs, as he was sure they thought of themselves—he certainly had at nineteen and twenty. Like many of their kind, they spent the evening chugging their beer and making lewd comments about the girls preening for them on the other side of the dance floor. Jud didn’t know most of the boys’ names, but two of them he could identify by the fact that they were identical twins. Allen and Abel Enfield had the misfortune to take after their mother, with her frizzy red hair, freckled complexion and tendency to put on weight. The boys were big, beefy, and more than a little drunk.

“Mary Louise sure looks hot today.” Jud wasn’t sure which twin made the comment. “I bet I could get her to give me some, if I got her away from this stupid party.”

The other boys greeted the suggestion with hoots and laughter. “Yeah, right,” his brother said. “Just like last weekend. You were talking so big. And what’d you walk away with—a kiss on the cheek?”

That question started a scuffle, and Jud thought he was going to be called upon to prevent bloodshed. But when a silver-haired man with a drooping mustache and wire-rimmed glasses approached the keg, the knot of grappling boys instantly fell apart.

“This,” he said in an old-fashioned drawl, “is a wedding reception, not a tavern. If y’all can’t behave, leave immediately and I’ll deal with your bad manners myself later.” He stared down the Enfield boys, then looked around at their cohorts. Something about the way he held his silver-topped cane constituted a threat. “Any part of that order y’all don’t understand?”

A chorus of shamefaced “No, sirs” answered him.

The gentleman smiled. “Good. Now go ask those nice young ladies to dance. And keep your hands where everybody can see them.”

The motley crew dispersed, and the man turned to Jud. “Boys will be boys, as I’m sure you remember. How are you, Jud? Good to see you back home.”

“Thanks, Mr. Enfield.” He disengaged as quickly as possible from the former mayor’s handshake. “Looks like Homestead is getting to be a pretty lively place.”

“Yes.” Enfield’s smile held no warmth. “Yes, Mayor Miranda’s grand plan has certainly stirred things up, as I expect you’ll find out. Are you staying in town very long? You and Ethan must have a lot of catching up to do. Last time you were home was your daddy’s funeral…no, that’s not right, is it? You didn’t get here for that one. Your mother’s funeral, must’ve been. Quite a while ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Jud deliberately relaxed his hands. He couldn’t punch out a guest at a wedding reception, no matter how much he deserved it. “I was in the hospital when my dad…died.”

“Suicide is always such a tragic business.” Arlen clicked his tongue. “But I know you don’t want to talk of this right now. Give my best to your brother— I’m sure I’ll be seeing y’all around. That’s the thing about small towns, isn’t it? Everybody always knows what everybody else is doing.”

He turned to watch the crowd for a minute and Jud stood still, wishing the man would go away.

“I remember a time,” Enfield said with a sigh, “when farm laborers knew their place and stayed there.”

Jud followed his line of sight and saw the bride and groom laughing with a man who displayed his Hispanic heritage in his tanned skin and sleek black hair.

“Ah, well.” He turned back to Jud. “Enjoy the party.” When Enfield gripped his shoulder, Jud fought a strong urge to grab hold of the man’s wrist and twist. Hard. The former mayor’s sly digs had been one of the most unbearable aspects of living in Homestead. Something else that hadn’t changed.

Enfield ambled away. With his teeth still gritted, Jud freshened his beer and went back to surveying the crowd. His attention lighted immediately on Miranda Wright, maybe because she was taller than the rest of the women, maybe because he hadn’t expected her to look so beautiful.

That had been the problem four years ago, too. In the middle of his mother’s funeral, he’d looked up to see Miranda straight across from him…warm, lovely, concerned.

He’d remembered a scrawny girl, all arms and legs, with tightly braided pigtails, an overbite and a learning disability that caused the teachers to keep her back in several grades. Miserable Miranda had been her nickname, often called out in a singsong voice. As Jud recalled, the moniker fit more often than not. He recalled, too, how she challenged the boys to races, to arm wrestling, to any kind of physical contest that she thought she could win. More often than not, she was right.

Somewhere, sometime, the pigtails had given way to a thick chestnut mane flowing around her shoulders. The dentist who’d corrected that overbite should get a medal, because now what a man noticed about Miranda’s mouth was those full, kissable lips. Scrawny no longer applied, either—she had a figure perfectly proportioned for her height, with generous curves and long, shapely legs.

Jud had retained enough good sense to avoid her at the service, and afterward at his dad’s house. But when she’d shown up just outside his truck window while he tried to drown himself in whiskey, he’d lost the last of his pickled brains.

He didn’t recall every detail of their encounter, but he remembered enough. And so did Miranda— the fact that she still held it against him had been obvious in her face a few minutes ago.

So he would put her on his list of apologies to be made, along with most of Homestead’s population. Not in front of friends, though, and especially not in front of Brother Ethan, the man with a permanent stick up his butt.

Looking over the crowd, Jud found his brother slow-dancing with a cute redhead who must be his new wife, judging by the lack of space between their bodies. Good ol’ Ethan would never seduce a woman and then drop her like a hot brick. Faithful, loyal, honest…if Homestead had ever sponsored a scout troop, little Ethan would have been the poster boy.

Jud visualized a poster of himself with a big red X across the picture and the message Warning! Headed Straight for Hell! Do Not Follow! The glances he was getting from the guests at the party, the whispers he could see winnowing through the crowd, assured him his reputation remained intact.

On the dance floor, couples broke apart and then rejoined as the band commenced a two-step. Jud straightened up away from the tree as he saw Wade Montgomery coming toward him, accompanied by the man who didn’t “know his place,” according to Arlen Enfield.

“Join me,” he told the sheriff, holding up his beer. “I don’t like drinking alone.” Usually.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Wade drew a cup for himself and one for the other guy. “Jud Ritter, this is Cruz Martinez, the foreman on Nan Wright’s farm. Cruz, Jud is Ethan’s brother.”

Martinez offered a firm handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“I knew you’d need a place to stay,” Wade said, “and I didn’t think you’d…uh…want to crowd in at Ethan’s house, with the kids and all.”

Nice guy, Wade, and tactful. Jud had never known him to be anything but loyal and honorable in the twenty-five years they’d been friends.

“Cruz lives in a cabin out on Nan’s ranch,” Wade continued, “and he’s got plenty of room. He says he’ll be glad for some company.”

Jud recognized a bad idea when he heard one. “I thought I’d…uh…stay at the Rise and Shine, out on the highway. I don’t want to put anybody out, especially the bride and groom on their wedding night.”

“You don’t want to stay at the Rise and Shine,” the sheriff assured him. “The cockroaches rearrange the furniture every night when the lights go out.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Everybody in town will know your comings and goings if you stay at the motel. Tripp Dooley still owns the place and he still goes through the guests’ luggage while they’re out of the room. I’ve never caught him stealing, but not for lack of trying. Chances are good he’d compromise your investigation, especially if any of the locals are involved.” He blew out a deep, frustrated breath. “And they practically have to be.”

Jud held up a hand. “Okay, I give in.” He’d just avoid Mayor Wright on her own land as much as possible, and wrap up his business—personal and professional—fast. “Thanks,” he told his host.

“No problem.” Martinez shrugged. “Wade says you’re looking into some of the trouble we’ve been dealing with around here.”

“Anything I can do.”

“We had a break just this week,” Wade said. “The kid who played some tricks on Greer Bell’s guest ranch—”

“That’s Greer Kelley, now,” Martinez put in.

“Right. The Sunrise Guest Ranch. This kid’s kinda slow, and when a stranger offered him cash to play a couple of ‘harmless’ pranks, he agreed. He’s been too scared to identify who paid him until this week.”

“You picked up the guy?”

Wade nodded. “Yesterday. He’s sitting in my jail, not saying much of anything. I figured you could use your big-city interrogation techniques to make him talk. Or we could try straight torture. My dad has this bullwhip at his house…”

“You’re a violent SOB, Montgomery. I always knew that.”

The three of them laughed together, then Wade went off to find his wife. Martinez was giving Jud directions to the foreman’s house on Hayseed Farm when shouts broke out from the crowd.

“There they go!” The westward flow of bodies indicated that Noah and Greer were escaping toward the park entrance.

Bringing up the rear of the procession, Jud arrived on the street in time to see the bride double over with laughter at the appearance of her car. Amidst a deluge of tiny purple flowers, Noah Kelley ushered his wife into the vehicle, stared at his shaving-cream-coated hand for a disgusted moment, then ran to the driver’s side. Cheers, whistles and rattling tin cans followed the couple out of town as the Blazer disappeared into the sunset.

Once the bride and groom had left, their guests didn’t linger. Soon the park was empty except for the cleanup crew composed of the couple’s friends, including Cruz Martinez. Jud didn’t want to show up at his host’s house before the man got there himself, so he decided he would help out where he could. Thanks to a couple of bullet holes in his torso and one in his thigh, his shoulder and leg still weren’t up to heavy lifting. But he thought he could manage some of the lighter chores.

His brother and Ryan Gallagher were folding up chairs and tables.

“Looks like there are plenty of these to go around,” Jud said, closing the seat of one chair. “Mind if I help?”

“Have at it,” Ryan said.

“Don’t put yourself out,” Ethan said at exactly the same time.

Ryan shifted his gaze from Ethan to Jud and back again. “Uh…Kristin needs me for something,” he mumbled, and was gone in the next second.

“Real finesse,” Jud told his brother. “Could you have been ruder?”

Ethan didn’t glance in his direction. “If I set my mind to it, I probably could. You don’t have the least responsibility for clearing up after this party. Why bother?”

“My mother taught me to be polite.”

“I’d say you missed a few lessons. Like ‘honor your father…’” Ethan shook his head. “No. I’m not going to do this. You’re so hot to fold chairs, be my guest.” He let the chair he was holding fall to the ground and walked away to help his wife dismantle the food tables.

At the very thought of food, Jud’s stomach rumbled—he hadn’t eaten since leaving Austin at noon.

“I guess you didn’t get anything to eat.” Miranda picked up the chair Ethan had dropped, folded it and set it neatly in the rack.

“No big deal. I’ll get something later.”

“On your drive back to Austin.” She nodded, as if he’d told her his plans.

He took some satisfaction in correcting that obviously comforting assumption. “I’m staying in town for a few days.”

“What?” From her horrified stare, he might as well have announced his plans to commit serial murder. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“But…where will you stay? I mean, Ethan—”

“Wouldn’t have me within ten feet of his fence line,” he finished for her. “Right. That’s okay. Somebody else offered me a room, and I accepted.”

Turning to take down a table, she shrugged a careless shoulder. “Who would that be?”

“Cruz Martinez said I could bunk in with him.” “What?” Her screech drew the attention of people all over the park. She let the table fall and planted her hands on her curvy hips. “Cruz Martinez invited you to stay in his house?”

“And I’m grateful. I wasn’t looking forward to staying at the Rise and Shine. Especially since Tripp Dooley still runs the place.”

Her glare could have burned through steel. “Well, it’s just too bad for you that you’re going to be staying there after all.”

Jud gave her an innocent look. “I don’t understand.”

“You understand perfectly, Jud Ritter. My mother and I own the Hayseed Farm.” She marched up to him and stuck a finger in his chest. “And I’m telling you right now that there’s no way I’m having you staying anywhere on my property. Got that? No way in hell!”

CHAPTER THREE

MIRANDA KNEW Jud had deliberately driven her to lose her temper, just the way he’d done when they were in school. She couldn’t count the hours she’d spent in detention because of his teasing.

At least Homestead’s mayor would not have to suffer detention for fighting. On the other hand, yelling at Jud didn’t do much for her image as a mature, competent official.

She stepped back. “I really don’t think you’d be happy staying at our place,” she said more calmly. “Wade and Callie have lots of room, or there’s Greer’s guest ranch….”

“I’d rather not horn in on the newlyweds, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, there’s—”

“Look, I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “You don’t have to fear for your virtue or your livestock. I just need a place to crash.”

Miranda couldn’t let it alone. “You haven’t been home for more than a night in fifteen years. Why the urge to stay on now?”

Jud opened his mouth, and she thought she might get an answer. But then Wade stepped up beside them.

“I’m responsible for that, Ms. Mayor. Let’s meet in your office Monday morning about ten and I’ll explain what’s going on.” Wade drew Jud away to meet his wife, and Miranda had to be satisfied with what little she knew.

Twilight came early in December, and they finished cleaning up the park in near darkness. Finally, Miranda climbed into her truck and let her head fall back against the seat. “I’m exhausted. Baling a field of hay is an easier day’s work than throwing a party.”

In the passenger seat, her mom chuckled. “That’s why we’re farmers, not event planners, or whatever they’re called.”

“Now that’s a horrid thought—a continual round of parties to plan, set up and take down.” Miranda shuddered. “Just kill me.”

As they drove out of town, they passed Cruz’s bright blue truck still parked on the curb, with Jud standing at the driver’s open door.

“Was that Jud Ritter?” Nan turned her head to stare out the rear window.

“Didn’t you see him at the party? He showed up while we were decorating Greer’s Blazer.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her mother dropped back into her seat. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Did he come back for the wedding?”

“He didn’t even come back for his own brother’s ceremony. He wouldn’t say exactly why he’s here, but Wade has something to do with it. We’re going to meet Monday so he can explain.”

“I’m surprised he was talking to Cruz, though. I don’t think Jud’s been home since Cruz came to town.”

“Wade very kindly arranged for Jud to stay at Cruz’s place while he’s here.”

“What?” The sharpness of the word was completely unlike her mother’s usual drawl.

“I don’t like the idea, either. I mean, Cruz leases the house, but you still own it, and I’m not sure where he gets off having somebody else stay there.”

“Oh…well, of course, Cruz is free to have friends stay with him.” Nan raked her fingers through her cap of sleek silver hair. “We didn’t object when his brother came up from Mexico.”

“Yes, but—” What did she mean to say? “Jud just plain makes me uncomfortable.”

“I know. I remember the tears he cost you all those years ago. But you’ve both grown up. I doubt you’ll even notice he’s in town.”

Miranda glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two sets of headlights following her as she turned off the highway into their private drive.

“I’ll notice,” she growled. “Jud will make sure of that.”

JUD SLOWED DOWN as he approached the entrance to Hayseed Farm, allowing the two trucks in front of him to get well ahead. Thanks to his childhood feud with Miranda, he’d never set foot on Hayseed Farm during his years in Homestead. This was his first— and maybe his only—chance to satisfy his curiosity.

On both sides of the narrow gravel lane, winter hay had sprouted, narrow green shoots standing ankle high in row after row, acre upon acre. Miranda’s mother had managed the farm since her husband died, when Miranda was only three. For thirty years, Nan Wright had single-handedly planted, harvested and baled hay for local livestock farmers. Like any farm kid, Miranda probably helped out as soon as she was able.

Zeb Ritter had sure as hell put his sons to work in the fields and the barn, practically as soon as they could walk. Jud had hated every minute of every chore. He still remembered the burn of resentment in his belly, the desperate desire to get away.

The hay ended at a line of pine trees bordering the yard around the house—a white, two-story farmhouse, nearly a century old by the looks of it, with wide porches on all sides and a red tin roof shaded by pecan trees and live oaks. A branch of the driveway led directly to the house, where Miranda’s blue truck was parked, but Jud followed the curve around the tree line and headed toward the back of the farm.

Behind the house stood a good-sized barn, painted red to match the tin roof, with brown-fenced paddocks and pastures stretching into the distance. He vaguely remembered Miranda doing some barrel racing in the junior rodeos. Jud had hit the pro circuit as soon as they’d let him have his card, so he didn’t remember whether she’d actually won or not. His own winning streak had burned out so quickly, the memory was just a blur.

Beyond the pastures sat a log cabin with a stand of pines behind and a field in front planted with hundreds of silver-leafed shrubs. Cruz Martinez’s truck sat close to the side of the house. This must be the place.

Jud pulled in beside the Z71 and cut his engine. The country night surrounded him—a quiet, wintry darkness, unbroken by streetlights or the growl of machines, textured by the rustle of pine needles and grass blades as the wind passed by. He hadn’t experienced this kind of silence in…how many years?

His heart thudded against his ribs as he recognized the answer. Four. Most of four years had passed since he’d lain in the back of his truck looking up at the stars, listening to the spring sounds of frogs and crickets and whip-poor-wills.

Four years since he’d nearly ravished Miranda Wright in the back of that truck. The memory gripped him like a bad hangover, complete with regret for ever taking that first drink and, even worse, that first kiss. He usually played with women who knew the score, a category which definitely excluded Mayor Miranda.

But at least he’d stopped in time. She might have had her feelings hurt, but he hadn’t done anything unforgivable. He’d just been a stupid jerk.

“Damn.” Shaking his head, Jud got out of the truck and pulled his duffel from behind his seat.

As he reached the porch steps, Cruz Martinez opened the front door of the cabin. “Come in, make yourself at home.” He led the way into warmth and light and a room neater than any bachelor pad Jud had ever seen.

“Take the room at the end of the hall,” Martinez said, pointing down a dark passage. “There’s a bathroom right next door. More important—” he grinned as he heard Jud’s stomach rumble “—the kitchen is at the back of the house and there’s plenty of stuff for sandwiches in the fridge.”

“Sounds great.”

Grabbing a jacket, Martinez went back to the front door. “I’m going to check on the barn. Walk over after you eat and I’ll give you a tour. Or hit the sack, if you want. Just treat the place like your own.”

“Thanks. Hey,” Jud said. “What’s planted in the field out front? All those silver bushes?”

His host grinned. “That’s Miranda’s pet project. She’s been nursing those lavender plants for a couple of years now.”

“Lavender? For perfume?”

“She’s got all sorts of plans for marketing. I don’t understand most of them.” He winked at Jud. “I think it’s a female thing.”

“In other words, clear as mud.”

“Exactly.”

Left alone in the cabin, Jud set his bag down in the assigned bedroom, noting with approval the king-size bed. His four extra inches over six feet didn’t fit well in small spaces. He used the bathroom, washed his hands, then flipped back the shower curtain, wondering if he’d be taking showers on his knees.

What caught his eye, though, was a scrap of lavender lace draped over the towel bar at the opposite end of the tub from the water faucet. Jud reached out and caught the fabric between two fingers, pulling it off the bar. A bra, he realized, lace cups and satin straps with a small bow in the center.

“Well, well,” he said, his jaw tight. “No wonder Ms. Mayor was so upset to hear I was staying with Cruz Martinez.”

Resisting the urge to break something—Miranda Wright’s neck, for a start—Jud carefully put the garment back where he’d found it, flipped off the light and went to make himself something to eat.

AFTER AN AFTERNOON spent in skirts and dress shoes, the Wright women changed clothes as soon as they got home. Wearing jeans and a sweater, Nan came downstairs a few minutes later to find her daughter snuggled into the sofa in the living room, TV remote control in hand.

Miranda looked her over. “You’re planning to go out? Something wrong?” She wore her favorite sleepwear—a faded, stretched-out, long-sleeved T-shirt over flannel pajama pants decorated with penguins on skis. She’d scrunched her hair into a ponytail. Dusty, the golden Labrador retriever, lay in a contented butterscotch curl across Miranda’s feet.

Nan shook her head. “Nope. I thought I’d go and check on the horses, is all, look in on the moms-tobe.”

“I’ll come with you.” To Dusty’s distress, Miranda shifted her feet to the floor and started to get up.

“Don’t bother.” Nan pushed her back onto the couch. “I’ll just walk through. Be back in a few minutes.” She held her breath, expecting an argument.

For once, her daughter didn’t insist. “Call if you need me,” she said, burrowing back between dog and blanket.

“I will.” In case she changed her mind, Nan went straight through the kitchen to the mudroom, where she slipped on barn shoes and her favorite jacket. Outside, the night felt a lot colder than it had earlier, and she buttoned the jacket as she hurried to the barn. When she saw the doors had been rolled back, she slowed to an easy walk, so she wouldn’t be breathless when she arrived.

With her first step into the barn, Bailey, her buckskin stallion, turned in his stall to greet her.

“Hey, big man.” She slid open the top half of his door so she could rub his face and neck. “I came to see your new baby. He’s gonna be a big guy, just like you.” Bailey rubbed his muzzle over her hair. “Uh-huh. I love you, too.” She kissed his cheek before closing the door.

Starlet’s stall was across the aisle. Nan approached and looked through the grate. “Everything okay?”

As she’d expected, Cruz knelt in the straw, running his hands over the soft dun coat of the sleepy foal they’d named Cappucino. “Sure. I woke him up a little, but he’s being a good boy.” Nearby, Starlet, a sweet little bay mare, chewed a mouthful of alfalfa hay and kept close watch on the human touching her baby. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just checking.” She swallowed hard. “I hear you have a houseguest.”

Cruz stretched to his feet with an easy grace. He still wore the white shirt, new jeans and fancy ostrich-skin boots he’d looked so good in at the party, and he looked even better without so many people around.

“That’s right. Jud Ritter is doing some work for Wade, and I said it would be okay if he stayed with me.”

Beside Cruz, Cappucino folded his legs in awkward angles, trying to stand. Starlet nosed her baby to his feet and he immediately began nuzzling the mare’s side, looking for his next meal.

Nan backed away as Cruz left the stall. “So, I guess we won’t…I won’t be seeing much of you for a while.” Her clumsy choice of words only struck her after she said them. How often had she told him she loved just looking at him?

He leaned his shoulders back against the stall door and crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess not.”

She didn’t hear regret in his voice, and she couldn’t read his face in the shadows of the barn. “Did you do this on purpose?”

“You mean, did I plan it? How could I? I never met Jud Ritter until this afternoon at the party.”

“But…”

Cruz nodded. “But I was willing to accept Wade’s suggestion that he stay with me.”

“Why?”

“I think you and I need some space.”

The width of the aisle between them was too much space, as far as Nan was concerned. “For what?”

“To choose our priorities. To look ahead and figure out where we go from here.”

She’d sensed some unsettledness in him lately, but this seemed to come out of an empty sky. “Why do we have to go anywhere? What’s wrong with where we are?”

He stared at her for a long minute. “You enjoy hiding behind the widows and old ladies at parties, like you did this afternoon? You don’t want to dance with me, have some fun?”

As Nan struggled to frame an answer, he continued. “You think I want to spend my time leaning against the wall, watching everybody else have a good time?”

“Cruz—”

“When I’m with you, what we have together is enough.” His broad shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “But I’m tired of living two lives. Having Jud around will keep me thinking straight, maybe long enough to work this out.”

Her heart cramped. “I don’t mean to force you into living two lives.”

“But if you’re not comfortable with people knowing about us, I’m not going to broadcast the news. And that requires me to be one person with you and someone different with everybody else in town. I can’t even be honest with Miranda—and she’s one of my best friends.”

“Yes, and you’re closer to her in age than to me.” Nan bit her lip as soon as she said the words. She hated sounding like a bitter old woman, jealous of her daughter. But if the shoe fit…

In two strides, Cruz crossed the aisle to close his hands over her shoulders. “Which doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to the way I feel about either of you.”

They were the same height, and now she could see the anger, the pain blazing in his dark brown eyes. What kind of love was hers, that hurt him this much?

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m not being fair—”

“Fair, hell.” His arms came around her, hard. “I’m selfish enough to want to show you off, that’s all.”

He claimed her mouth with the directness that was so much a part of his nature, and her body ignited for him in an instant, as it had from the very first. She’d been married for five years, yet had not known passion could take her this way. When she lay alone in her bed now, she ached for Cruz beside her. When they were together, like this, she couldn’t get enough of him. There were hay bales in the stall behind them. Her knees weakened and she pulled him closer….

Down the aisle, Bailey whickered as he always did when someone approached the barn.

“Miranda,” Nan whispered, and turned her face away, pressing her forehead against Cruz’s shoulder. “I should go back to the house. I told her I wouldn’t be long.”

Smiling slightly, Cruz loosened his hold and stepped back. “See what I mean? I lose my head completely when I’m around you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Nan said, trying for lightness. She turned to walk farther into the barn, checking on the mares who had yet to drop their foals. Regaining control. “Flora was pacing this morning before we went to the wedding—I’m thinking tonight might be her—”

“There you are!”

Nan whipped her head around to see her daughter silhouetted at the barn door, wearing her barn coat and shoes and her pajamas. Dusty trotted down the aisle.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten the way to the barn and wandered out into the night,” she teased. “Or been eaten by wild animals.” Head tilted, she looked at Cruz, then at Nan again.

“So what’s going on?”

MIRANDA DIDN’T REALLY expect her mother or Cruz to answer the question. Any intelligent observer would understand what was going on—especially after two or three occasions like this one. She just couldn’t resist ribbing them a little about their “secret.”

“We got to talking about the mares and foals,” Cruz said, his voice deeper and a little huskier than usual. “And the party, of course.”

“I thought Greer and Noah looked so happy together.” After giving Dusty a head rub, Nan came slowly toward the front of the barn. Cruz backed out of her way, keeping the width of the aisle between them. “And we all had a great time.”

“Of course,” Miranda agreed. “Even Jud Ritter.” She looked at Cruz. “Where is your houseguest?”

“I gave him free run of the fridge and left him to it. He didn’t reach the food tables at the reception.”

“How long is he planning to stay?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Wade said he’d invited Jud here to do some work. Do you know anything about that?”

Footsteps sounded on the floor behind her. “Not much more than you do,” Jud said. “And he doesn’t ask nearly as many questions.”

Miranda stood for a moment with her eyes shut tight, thinking about her messy ponytail and lack of makeup, the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the old T-shirt and the way the seat of the baggy, penguin pajama pants hung down below her butt. Then she opened her eyes and turned around to face him like the adult she was supposed to be.

“Cruz says you finally got something to eat.”

“He keeps a well-stocked refrigerator. Not like mine—I don’t know if I’ve ever used more than one shelf at a time.”

“Cruz is a good cook,” Nan said from the doorway. “Get him to make you his chicken molé sometime. Delicious.” She looked at a point somewhere between Miranda and Cruz. “I’m going to take a nap, then come out about ten to keep an eye on Flora during the night. Call me if something happens before then.”

As soon as Nan left the barn, Cruz stirred. “I didn’t have much to eat this afternoon, myself. Think I’ll go get a bite, then come back to the delivery deck. Is that okay with you, Miranda?”

“That’s—” Cruz was gone before she could finish her answer. Disconcerted, she glanced toward Jud, standing his ground at the front of the barn.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said. “Cruz offered a tour if I walked over. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Miranda backed toward Flora’s stall. “No, it’s okay. I think I can tolerate five minutes in your company.

I’ll handle the tour…if you’re still interested.”

Jud hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.” He pursued her down the aisle. “How long has Martinez worked here?”

“A little over two years, since Joe Haynes died.”

“I remember old Joe. I got the rough side of his tongue more times than I could count.”

“He was a good man. And a good foreman for Hayseed Farm, since before I was born. Nan wouldn’t have survived those first years after my dad died without Joe.”

“Martinez measures up to the job?”

“He’s conscientious and works hard. What he doesn’t know, he learns fast.”

“He keeps pretty much to himself?”

She frowned at the question. “We’re friends, the three of us. We usually eat dinner together, catch up on the day. Why all the questions?”

“Nosy, I guess.” He looked down as Dusty sniffed at his boots, then pursued a thorough investigation up both pants legs. When she reached his knees, he held out his hand and let her sniff his palm. “Nice dog.”

Miranda nodded. “The best. She goes everywhere I do.”

“Except weddings?”

She turned away from him to avoid returning his smile. “Weddings and funerals.” And wasn’t that a stupid thing to say? “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head. “No problem.”

Embarrassed yet again, she peered through the grate in Flora’s stall door. “How ya’ doin’, mama? That baby comin’ tonight?”

Jud stepped up beside her, his presence like a wall of high-wattage lightbulbs on her right side. Her face heated up and her breath got short, but she was damned if she’d creep away from him just for a little oxygen.

“Cute mare,” he said quietly, propping his shoulder against the wall. “Is there a reason to be worried? As I recall, most horses drop their foals without help or complications.”

“She’s eighteen, which is old to be having babies. We lost her foal last time, and almost lost Flora. We don’t want that to happen again.” In the stall, the mare flattened her ears, shook her head violently and kicked a hind leg toward her swollen belly.

“So why’d you breed her?”

Worry had already shortened Miranda’s temper. “So much for letting go of the past. You still think I’m dumb as dirt, don’t you?”

He straightened up from the wall. “What the—”

Miranda jerked her attention back to the horse. She caught her breath as Flora dropped to her knees, then rolled to lie on her side. After a motionless minute, the mare struggled to her feet and started pacing again.

“Another process horses seem to handle without help is mating.” Miranda didn’t bother to look at Jud as she spoke. “We came home one afternoon last winter to find Bailey, our stallion, in the same field with Flora. Somebody had left a gate open, then Bailey tore down a couple of fences…and here we are.”

She turned away and reached for the stall door latch, but in the next instant Jud gripped her shoulder with a strong hand and pulled her back around. Standing at her side, Dusty growled low in her throat.

Jud ignored the dog. “Let’s get this out of the way right now. If I ever said you were dumb—and I might well have because I was full of myself back then—you have my sincere apology.”

He watched as surprise dawned on Miranda’s face. She gazed up at him, and he wondered if she was trying to read his mind. In the years since high school, he’d forgotten how intense she could be. But how could he have forgotten those mysterious topaz eyes?

Or had he just never noticed?

Inside the stall beside them, Flora gave a moaning neigh, lay down in the straw again and groaned.

He loosened his hands and Miranda turned to face the stall. “You can do it, mama. Just relax.” She wrapped her fingers in the grate, clinging with a force that turned her skin white. “Push, mama. Push!”

Jud had never been good at waiting. “I should go….”

She spared him a second of thought. “Before you do, find the phone in the feed room across the aisle, right by the door. Punch two for Mom, three for Cruz. Get them down here.”

In less than five minutes, Nan Wright came running, and Martinez showed up within ten. By then, Jud would have fought anyone who tried to kick him out. The four of them stood in silence outside the stall, watching the mare labor. Miranda’s dog paced in the barn aisle behind them.

Finally, the bluish white amniotic sac appeared beneath Flora’s tail. Martinez swore. “That’s a rear hoof. The foal’s coming out backward.”

“We have to turn the baby. Get Doc Shaw on his cell phone.” Miranda dropped her jacket where she stood and opened the stall door. First, she knelt at Flora’s head, stroking the heavy forelock back from the mare’s eyes, smoothing her hands over the sweat-lathered neck and murmuring encouragement.

Then, carefully, she moved to the horse’s rear end. Cruz went for the phone.

Nan stood in the open doorway. “Miranda was there when Flora was born,” she said when Jud looked at her. “The mare trusts her more than anyone else.”

Carrying the phone, Martinez came to stand beside Jud. “I’ve got Doc Shaw,” he said. “He’s on his way.”

“What do I do?” Miranda looked up, and her gaze caught Jud’s for a second before shifting to Cruz. “He has to coach me.” Face sheened with sweat, eyes wide, she looked desperate. Terrified.

Flora strained, then relaxed. Miranda took hold of the hooves just visible through the amnion and pushed them back into the mare. “It’s tight,” she said through gritted teeth. “Mom…”

Nan knelt beside her and the two of them worked through the next contraction. Then again, and again. Martinez conveyed instructions from the veterinarian in a low, tense tone. Despite the December chill outside, the humid air in the barn made breathing a chore.

Jud watched for what seemed like eternity as Nan and Miranda pressed and pushed against the mare’s belly, trying to manipulate the body within. Though he’d grown up with horses, spent years riding rodeo broncs, he’d never witnessed a breech birth, never seen anyone turn a baby in the womb. He had no idea whether to expect success—or tragedy.

Headlights flashed in the darkness outside the front of the barn. A car door slammed and then an older man with a surprisingly full head of dark brown hair came striding down the barn aisle. “How’s it going?”

Martinez said, “Not good,” just as Flora groaned with palpable force. Nan and Miranda shouted at the same time. When Jud looked into the stall, he saw the two women flattened against the wall…and two horses where before there’d only been one.

“Looks like I’m too late,” the vet said, grinning. “Miranda does seem to make things happen fast, don’t she?” He shot Jud a sideways glance as he brushed by. “Jud Ritter. Never thought I’d see you in this town again. Can’t find anywhere else to cause trouble? Now what’s going on with this baby?”

Miranda was gently rubbing the dark bay foal with towels provided by Martinez. “He’s sluggish,” she said, frowning. “You better come in, Doc.”

The vet moved into the stall as Nan stepped out, rubbing her face with a towel. “Damn, I don’t know why I go through this torture every year.”

“Because you love watching them grow,” Martinez said with a smile. “What would spring be like without a couple of weanlings driving us all crazy?”

“Peaceful? Worry-free? Profitable, without all the medicines to pay for?” She gave a tired grin.

A gasp from Miranda drew Jud back to the stall. Flora was on her feet again, nuzzling the foal as it clumsily, precariously levered itself to stand. With a few nudges from its mom and a guiding hand from Miranda, the baby latched on to a teat and began to suck.

Jud squeezed his eyes shut to clear his suddenly blurred vision.

Once the vet had checked over the colt, Miranda and Dr. Shaw came out of the stall. Miranda turned to slide the door shut and Nan stepped up and put her arms around her daughter’s waist from behind. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Bailey makes great babies. What are we going to name him?”

Nan glanced at Martinez again. “Espresso?”

He tilted his head. “Cocoa?”

Miranda looked at Jud. “Bailey is Baileys Irish Cream.”

“Ah. How about Kahlúa?”

They all looked at the dark brown foal, and back at Jud. “Perfect,” Nan said. “I love it. Don’t you, Miranda?”

Miranda had buried her face in a towel. She mumbled words that might have been anything and continued to hide behind the red terry cloth.

The veterinarian left with promises to return in the morning to check up on Kahlúa, and Martinez walked him to his truck before heading back to his place. After a short argument, Miranda agreed to let her mother take the first watch on the new arrival, with Dusty for company.

“I’ll be out at three,” she promised, walking toward the barn door, rubbing a hand over the nape of her neck. Jud studied the sway of her hips, the cling of her thin, damp T-shirt to the smooth curves of her back, and felt a hollow develop under his ribs. This reaction to Miranda Wright was something else he hadn’t remembered. Wasn’t prepared for.

He took a step forward, only to trip over her jacket, still lying on the floor. With his next stride he grabbed the coat and kept walking until he caught up with Miranda outside.

“You forgot this.”

She looked dazed as he handed over the garment. “Oh. Thanks. It’s cold out here.”

A full moon poured light over the winter grass, the white clapboard house and Miranda herself. As she shrugged into the jacket, Jud could see just how chilled she’d been in the pucker of her nipples against the inadequate T-shirt.

That hollow inside threatened to swallow him. He drove his fists deep into the pockets of his jeans.

When he continued to walk beside her toward the house, Miranda stopped and faced him. “What are you doing?”

“Just escorting the lady home.”

“I am home. This whole spread is my home.”

“You never know what might come out of the dark.”

She walked on. “So I’ve learned,” she said in a dry voice.

He deserved the comment, so he didn’t say anything. At the back porch, he opened the door to the house and ushered her in. “Thanks for letting me watch tonight.”

She climbed the steps, then faced him from just inside the threshold. “At least you weren’t totally useless. You made the phone calls, and you brought me my coat.”

Jud gave a short laugh. “So happy to be of service. You might yet be glad you changed your mind and let me stay.” The question remained as to whether he would come out of the experience intact. He doubted it.

“I doubt it,” she echoed, retreating into the kitchen shadows. “Just keep out of my way, unless you want me to change it back.” The thud of the house door punctuated her order.

“Good idea.” Jud walked across the open ground toward the foreman’s cabin, about a quarter mile down the gravel drive. “The last thing I need in my life is an argumentative, bossy, overbearing…”

He glanced over his shoulder just as a light in the corner upstairs room of the farmhouse winked out. He thought about that lavender lace bra.

“…warmhearted, sexy and absolutely untouchable woman.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JUD SLEPT LATE the next morning and had to break the speed limit driving into town in order to reach the church steps as the steeple bell rang the beginning of the Sunday service. Once inside, he leaned back against the door for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of dark wood and stained glass. He felt too dressed up when he saw the open-collared shirts and slacks worn by most of the men—an interesting change from the days when every little boy put a noose around his neck for church on Sunday.

His suit and tie were not, he was quite sure, the reason several people gawked at him over their shoulders, then leaned toward their neighbors to pass the news. Before the whispering could drown out the music of the organ, he planted himself in the first empty seat he saw, as near to the back of the church as possible.

When he looked to his right, he found Miss Frances Haase, the town librarian, on the other end of the pew, staring down her nose at him as if he were a fifth grader who’d forgotten to return his library book. Jud sent her a smile and got a sniff and a frown for his effort. Facing forward again, he immediately recognized the slope of the shoulders, the set of the ears and the wave in the hair of the man in front of him. Ethan and his family were sitting in the very next row.

Jud didn’t doubt Ethan knew he was there. The tension across the two feet between them felt like an electric field, sure to scorch skin if he tried to reach through. Ethan’s wife, Kayla, glanced over her shoulder several times, once with an almost-smile. Three kids on her other side stole peeks at him throughout the service. The one little girl looked enough like Kayla to be her daughter, but Ethan hadn’t been married even a year, so Jud didn’t know where the other girl and the boy had sprung from. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get a chance to ask Ethan about them…or anything else.

Yet here he sat—on a hard wooden pew that provoked his leg and chest to throb in protest— betting his brother wouldn’t blow him off with the congregation watching.

The service did bring back memories from child-hood—those endless hours spent squirming between his mom’s disappointed frown and the vise of his dad’s grip on his shoulder. Holden Kelley, Noah’s dad, had led the church back then, preaching hellfire and brimstone sermons which had fallen on hard ground as far as Jud was concerned. But then, Father Kelley had always predicted a bad end for that oldest Ritter boy.

Noah, on the other hand, delivered an accessible, generous message on forgiveness and old-fashioned charity. Though surprised to see the groom in the pulpit on the morning after his wedding, Jud found himself chuckling at the young minister’s words.

Ethan sat stiff as a board through the entire message.

Standing for the final hymn, Jud knew he would get only seconds, at most, to connect with Ethan. What could he say that might compel his brother to listen?

Noah pronounced the final grace in everyday language, and the organ came to life. Jud reached out to tap Ethan’s shoulder, but a crisp voice from his right deflected his attention.

“Well, Jud Ritter, I heard you’d returned.”

He stifled a groan and turned to meet his fate. “Yes, ma’am. How are you, Miss Haase?”

“As well as could be expected. What have you been up to all this time?”

“I’m with the police department. Down inAustin.”

Lips pursed together, she nodded. “Yes, I’d heard you crossed over to the side of the angels. I clipped the article about your citation a few months ago. You appear to be good at your job.”

“I do my best.” He gave his most charming smile, aware that Ethan and his family had slipped out of their pew and were headed toward the chapel doors.

Miss Haase proved immune to his charm. “Nowadays, perhaps. But for twenty years, I’ve been expecting you to return the copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover you borrowed in the seventh grade.”

Jud swallowed hard. “I—”

“If you don’t know where it is, I want a new copy on my desk by the end of the week. Now, excuse me.”

He stumbled out of the pew, but Miss Haase still stepped on his toes on her way out. Turning toward the back of the church, Jud saw that Ethan had reached the doorway where Noah and Greer stood to greet their flock. A double line of parishioners stood between Jud and his brother. By the time he got to the door, Ethan would be on his way home.

Fortunately, Jud had spent enough time playing hide-and-seek in the church hallways when he was supposed to be in Sunday school that he knew exactly the locations of the exits near the front of the building.

He rounded the outside corner of the church in time to see Ethan shaking hands with Noah at the door. Kayla gave Greer a hug, and kissed Noah on the cheek. Then, finally, they made their way down the steps to the sidewalk.

Jud came at them from the opposite direction. Unlike yesterday, Ethan didn’t see him in time to keep him at a distance.

“Good morning,” Jud said, with a smile at Kayla and the kids. “Amazing weather for December, isn’t it? I’m Jud—Ethan’s big brother.”

Kayla glanced at her husband’s stony expression. “More like May than December,” she agreed. “Um…I’m Kayla. This is Megan, my daughter.” She eased the little girl forward. “And Brad and Heather. Ethan and I…” She looked at her husband. “Ethan and I are adopting them.”

“I’m glad to meet you.” Jud nodded at the children. He was determined to keep his temper, but he could feel his face heating up as Ethan continued to stand there without saying a word. “I’m gonna guess y’all share Ethan’s love of horses.”

“I do,” Megan piped up. “I ride Birdsong all the time.”

A huge pit opened up in Jud’s belly. He looked at Ethan and found that his brother’s expression had changed from indifference to outright defiance.

Jud cleared his throat. “That’s…nice.” Inside him, the voice in the pit screamed, “You can’t have Angela’s horse!” But he didn’t let the noise escape. “Birdsong has always been a terrific pony.”

“We canter and trot over crossbars and everything.”

In the next instant, Brad and Heather chimed in to tell him about their horses. Jud tried to look interested, while Kayla wore a nervous frown and Ethan resumed the stone-faced stare.

“Let’s get into the truck,” Kayla said finally, putting her hands on the backs of the two girls. “Ethan will be along in just a minute. Good to meet you, Jud.” She nodded, cast a final glance at her husband and scurried off with the children.

Ethan watched them until they reached the vehicle, then turned back to Jud. “Okay, you engineered this encounter. Say what you came to say and then go back where you belong.”

“What I have to say will take a long time. I thought we could get together—”

“No. We don’t have anything to talk about that can’t be settled in a sentence or two.” Ethan turned away and took a step in the direction of his truck.

Jud clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder and pulled him back around. “You’re wrong. We’ve got years of talking to do. Not just the last four, but a decade before that. Why don’t—”

“Why don’t you get the message?” Ethan raised his fist and knocked Jud’s arm away. “You walked out on this family, and couldn’t be bothered to come back when things went bad. You weren’t here to help us get back on our feet after the land deal failed. You weren’t here to watch Angela die. You weren’t the one who walked in to discover that Dad had blown his brains out. You couldn’t even be bothered to come to my wedding.”

He set his hands on his hips. “You’ve made it pretty damn clear that you want no part of us or this town.”

“I’m trying to tell you—”

“Don’t bother. I’m not listening.”

Ethan spun on his heel and stalked off toward his truck.

Only when he swerved to avoid a woman in his path did Jud realize they’d drawn a ring of spectators to their argument. Some faces he recognized, some he didn’t, but all of them wore an expression of unabashed curiosity that assured him everyone in town would know about the Ritter brothers’ confrontation before nightfall.

“Showdown at the Homestead town square,” he muttered, heading for his own vehicle. Thank God, they hadn’t actually been armed.

Because at this point, he wouldn’t put it past Brother Ethan to shoot him down in cold blood.

AS SOON AS ETHAN STOPPED the truck and turned off the engine, Megan, Brad and Heather tumbled out of the backseat and raced for the house, desperate to change clothes and get back to play. Ethan, however, gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared straight ahead. His head still pounded with the fury that had overtaken him at church, and his stomach churned.

“Ethan?” Kayla put a soft hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

He dragged in a deep breath. “Not really. What right does he have to accost me like that? He doesn’t make a phone call in ten years, and all at once we have to talk?” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Jud always did have an ego, I’ll say that for him.”

The house door slammed. Heather and Megan ran down the steps and across the lawn to the rope swings Ethan had hung in a couple of ancient pecan trees. Brad came out a minute later, leaving the door wide-open, and headed for the tree house Ethan had built on the opposite side of the house from the swings.

“He could have had a change of heart,” Kayla suggested. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Too little, too late.” Ethan dropped his hands to his thighs and let his head fall back against the headrest. “I don’t see how anything useful can come of rehashing the past.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“To say he’s sorry?” He shook his head. “No. Jud wouldn’t feel responsible for anything that’s happened. He wasn’t here, he can’t be blamed— even though everything fell apart almost the minute he disappeared.”

“Why did he leave?”

“Because he finally went too far. He got a girl pregnant and then refused to marry her.”

“Somebody in town?”

“Della Bowie. She’s not here anymore. Once Jud left, Della and her family moved away. Nobody’s heard a word from or about them since.” Looking back, Ethan pulled in a deep breath. “Mom and Dad were completely torn up over the whole thing—they felt they’d lost a grandchild. Then Angela and I started getting sick, and everything went to hell.” He pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “Nothing I did made a difference. I tried—”

Kayla closed her fingers gently over his, stopping the motion. “You know you’re not to blame for what happened. Not for Angela’s illness, or your parents’ despair. We’ve worked on this, Ethan. You were only fourteen—you did the best you possibly could.”

“Right. My dad was losing his shirt over a ranch deal, Angela and I were getting lead poisoning from Mexican candy, and meanwhile Brother Jud’s out conquering the rodeo circuit. How’s that for fair?”

Kayla tightened her grip on his fist.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes until Ethan could finally let go of the anger. For the time being, anyway.

He lifted his hand to press a kiss on his wife’s knuckles. “I should’ve warned you about the emotional minefield you were walking into when you said you’d marry me. Second thoughts?”

“Nary a one.” She gave him her sweet smile. “I know a good thing when I see it. You’re stuck, Ethan Ritter. For better or worse.”

“Thank God,” he said, taking the kiss she offered, and a couple more, besides.

But he couldn’t help thinking, as he and Kayla walked arm in arm toward the house that, with Jud in town, worse might be a lot closer than they realized.

MIRANDA AND NAN SPENT most of Sunday in the barn, watching Flora and Kahlúa bond. Cruz walked over for a while when the vet came back to examine the foal, but Miranda deliberately avoided so much as a mention of Jud Ritter’s name. She’d be even happier to avoid thinking about him altogether. If wishes were horses…

Monday morning, she pulled her truck into the parking space marked Mayor of Homestead, Texas at 9:00 a.m., and climbed the courthouse steps with her usual enthusiasm. Dusty followed right on her heels.

“’Morning, Mayor.” Reba Howell, the town secretary and assistant to the mayor, set down her coffee mug as Miranda stepped into the Homestead Town Office. “I hear y’all have a new arrival at your place.”

“Yeah, we do.” Miranda grinned as she took the morning’s mail out of her box. “Kahlúa is just the most perfect little colt I’ve seen. I could hardly tear myself away from the barn to come to work.”

Reba followed her into the mayor’s private office. “Oh, you mean you have a new baby horse? That’s right, I noticed you and your mama weren’t in church yesterday.”

Miranda looked up from the mail. “What arrival are you talking about?”

“Jud Ritter, of course. I heard he’s staying out at your place. Too bad you missed it—he and Ethan got into a fight, right there on the church lawn after the service.”

With great effort, Miranda kept her tone casual. “A fistfight?”

“Well, no. But they were yelling at each other, and at one point it looked like Ethan shoved Jud, or vice versa—it was hard to tell.”

“Jud always was something of a troublemaker.” An understatement if she’d ever made one.

“I don’t know…I thought Ethan was the one who started the argument this time. I suppose he bears a grudge for Jud being gone all these years.” Reba sighed and shook her head. “But I tell you, I’ve never seen a handsomer pair of men. They looked real good, facing each other down outside the church yesterday morning.”

“And you’ll get to see at least one of them again today. Wade and Jud are supposed to show up at ten o’clock for a meeting.” Miranda sat down at her desk, pulled a folder full of papers out of the file stand in front of her and opened it. “Until then, I’ll be going over these Home Free applications.”

“Right.” Reba hesitated in the doorway. “Can you catch the phone for a couple of minutes? I need to…freshen up.” At one hundred pounds even and five feet two inches tall, with natural blond hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion, Reba spent a lot of her workday “freshening up.”

“Sure,” Miranda said, without looking. She pretended to focus until she heard the outer office door close. Then she put her elbows on the desk and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. In the corner, Dusty circled three times and then collapsed into her dog bed with a contented sigh.

Miranda was a long way from content. In the space of thirty-six hours, Jud Ritter had somehow managed to monopolize her life. He’d barged in on her friends’wedding reception and weaseled his way onto her property—well, her family’s property, anyway. He’d even become an important part of Kahlúa’s birth, which would link them forever in her thoughts.

As if she hadn’t spent the last four years trying to forget the man. She might have gotten over the seduction scene—he’d been so drunk that night, he probably would have kissed any old stray dog that jumped up in the truck bed with him.

But he’d made her feel dirty for surrendering. “I am not making the same mistake twice,” he’d said, comparing her to Della Bowie, the girl unofficially voted “Most Likely To” at Homestead High. Everybody knew Della was the easiest girl at school, and she’d reaped the rewards of her behavior—she’d left town pregnant, in disgrace. And though Della never said, everybody knew the father of her child was Jud Ritter. They’d dated all that spring, before graduation. Then Jud had gone….

“I’m back,” Reba called from the outer office. Just a minute later, she said, “Hey, Wade. How are you this morning? And who’s this with you? Jud Ritter, it’s about time you came back. We all wondered where you got to.”

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