“I reckon I’m still waiting for the right woman to come along.”

“Think you’ll ever find her?” April asked.

Reed leaned close. “Oh, I found the right woman a long time ago. But I’m still waiting for her to come around to my terms.”

April’s heart thumped hard against her ribs. Her hands trembled so much, she had to hold on to one of the mugs in front of her. “What… what are your terms, Reed?”

His voice whispered with a rawhide scrape against her ear. “I only have one stipulation actually. I want that woman to love me with all her heart. I want her to love me, only me, enough to stay by my side for a lifetime and beyond.”

April looked up at him then and saw the love there in his stalking cat eyes—the love and the challenge. “You don’t ask for much, do you, cowboy?”

LENORA WORTH

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first, she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream full-time. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.

“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

A Certain Hope
Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

—Hebrews 11:1

To the Ricks family—Barbara, Bob and especially

Jordan. You all hold a special place in my heart.

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

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

You’ve got mail.

Summer Maxwell motioned to her cousin Autumn as she opened the letter in her computer. “Hey, it’s from April.”

Autumn hurried over to the teakwood desk by the window. The Manhattan skyline was etched in sun-dappled shades of steel and gray in front of them as together they read the latest e-mail from their cousin and roommate, April Maxwell.

I’m at work, but I’ll be leaving for the airport in a few minutes. I’m so nervous. I’m worried about Daddy, of course. And I’m worried about seeing Reed again. What if he hates me? Never mind, we all know he does hate me. Please say prayers for my sweet daddy, and for safe travel. And that my BMW makes it there ahead of me in one piece.

“That’s our April,” Summer said, smiling, her blue eyes flashing. “Her prayer requests are always so practical.”

“Especially when they come to that car of hers,” Autumn said through the wisp of auburn bangs hanging in her eyes. “She’s not so worried about the car, though, I think. She’s got a lot more to deal with right now, and that’s her way of dealing with it. She’s not telling us the whole story.”

Summer tapped out a reply.

We’re here, sugar. And we will say lots of prayers for Uncle Stuart. Tell him we love him so much. Keep in touch. Oh, and let us know how things go with Reed, too. He doesn’t hate you. He’s just angry with you. Maybe it’s time for him to get over it already.

Summer signed off, then spun around in her chair to send her cousin a concerned look. “Of course, he’s been angry with her for about six years now.”

Reed Garrison brought his prancing gray-and-black-spotted Appaloosa to a skidding stop as a sleek black sports car zoomed up the long drive and shifted into Park.

“Steady, Jericho,” Reed said as he patted the gelding’s long neck. He held the reins tight as he walked the horse up to the sprawling stone-and-wood ranch house. “I’m just as anxious as you, boy,” he told the fidgeting animal. “Let’s go find out who’s visiting Mr. Maxwell on this fine spring day.”

Reed watched from his vantage point at the fence as a woman stepped out of the expensive two-seater convertible. But not just any woman, oh, no. This one was very different.

And suddenly very familiar.

Reed squinted in the late-afternoon sun, then sat back to take a huff of breath as he took in the sight of her.

April Maxwell.

It had been six long years since he’d seen her. Six years of torment and determination. Torment because he couldn’t forget her, determination because he had tried to do that very thing.

But April was, as ever, unforgettable.

And now she looked every bit the city girl she had become since she’d bolted and moved from the small town of Paris, Texas, to the big city of New York, New York, to take up residence with her two cousins, Summer and Autumn. Those three Maxwell cousins had a tight bond, each having been named for the seasons they were born in, each having been raised by close-knit relatives scattered all over east Texas, and each having enough ambition to want to get out of Texas right after finishing college to head east and seek their fortunes. Not that they needed any fortunes. They were all three blue-blooded Texas heiresses, born in the land of oil and cattle with silver spoons in their pretty little mouths. But that hadn’t been enough for those three belles, no sir. They’d wanted to take on the Big Apple. And they had, each finding satisfying work in their respective career choices. They now roomed together in Manhattan, or so he’d been told.

He hadn’t asked about April much, and Stuart Maxwell wasn’t the type of man to offer up much information. Stuart was a private man, and Reed was a silent man. It worked great for both of them while they each pined away for April.

Reed walked his horse closer, his nostrils flaring right along with Jericho’s, as he tested the wind for her perfume. He smelled it right away, and the memories assaulted him like soft magnolia petals on a warm summer night. April always smelled like a lily garden, all floral and sweet.

Only Reed knew she was anything but sweet.

Help me, Lord, he thought now as he watched her raise her head and glance around. She spotted him—he saw it in the way she held herself slightly at a distance—but she just stood there in her black short-sleeved dress and matching tall-heeled black sandals, as if she were posing for a magazine spread. She wore black sunglasses and a black-and-white floral scarf that wrapped like a slinky collar around her neck and head. It gave her the mysterious look of a foreign film star.

But then, she’d always been a bit foreign and mysterious to Reed. Even when they’d been so close, so in love, April had somehow managed to hold part of herself aloof. Away from him.

With one elegant tug, she removed the scarf and tossed it onto the red leather seat of the convertible, then ran a hand through her short, dark, tousled curls. With slow, deliberate steps he was sure she’d learned during her debutante years, she did a long-legged walk across the driveway, toward the horse and man.

“Hello, Reed.”

“April.” He tipped his hat, then set it back on his head, ignoring the way her silky, cultured voice moved like rich honey down his nerve endings. “I heard you might be coming home.”

Heard, and lost more sleep than he wanted to think about right now.

“Yes,” she said, her hand reaching out to pat Jericho’s muzzle. “I drove from the Dallas airport.”

“Nice rental car.”

“It’s not a rental. It’s mine. I had it shipped ahead so I’d have a way to get around while I’m here.”

Reed didn’t bother to remind her that they had several available modes of transportation on the Big M Ranch, from horses to trucks and four-wheelers to Stuart Maxwell’s well-tuned Cadillac. “Of course. You always did demand the best.” And I wasn’t good enough, he reminded himself.

“I like driving my own car,” she said, unapologetic and unrepentant as she flipped a wrist full of black-and-white shiny bangle bracelets. They matched to perfection the looped black-and-white earrings she wore. “I hope that won’t be a problem for you.”

“Not my problem at all,” Reed retorted, his gaze moving over her, a longing gnawing his heart in spite of the tight set of his jaw. “Looks like city life agrees with you.”

“I love New York and I enjoy my work at Satire,” she said with a wide smile that only illuminated her big, pouty red lips. Then she glanced around. “But I have to admit I’ve missed this ranch.”

“Your daddy’s missed you,” Reed said, his tone going low, all hostility leaving his mind now. “He’s real sick, April.”

She lifted her sunglasses. “I know. I’ve talked to the doctors on a daily basis for the last two weeks.”

In spite of her defensive tone, he saw the worry coloring her chocolate-brown eyes and instantly regretted the reason she’d had to come home. But then, he had a lot of regrets. “Seeing you will perk him up, I’m sure.”

She nodded, looked around at the house. “Nothing has changed, and yet, everything is changing.”

“You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I’ve been back for holidays and vacations. Never saw you around much.” The questioning look in her eyes was full of dare and accusation.

But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing he’d deliberately made himself scarce whenever he’d heard she was coming home to visit. Until now. Now he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t run. Her daddy needed him here.

He shrugged, looking out over the roping arena across the pasture. “I like to go skiing for the winter holidays, fishing and camping during the spring and summer.”

“Still the outdoorsman.” She shot him a long, cool look. “That explains your constant absences.”

“That and the fact that I bought up some of the land around here and I stay pretty busy with my own farming and ranching.”

“You bought up Maxwell land,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way he remembered so well.

“Your daddy was selling, and I was in the market to buy.”

She looked down at the ground, her fancy sandal toeing a clog of dirt just off the driveway. “He wouldn’t want anybody else on this land. I’m glad you bought it.”

For a minute, she looked like the young girl Reed had fallen in love with. From kindergarten on, he’d loved her—at first from a distance, and then, up close. For a minute, she looked as vulnerable and lonely as he felt right now.

But that passed. Like a light cloud full of hope and sunlight, the look was gone as fast as it had come. When she looked up at him, the coolness was back in her dark eyes. “I expect you to take care of this land, Reed. I know I can count on you to do that, at least.”

“Thanks,” he said, and meant it, in spite of the accusing tone in her last words. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt your daddy. He taught me a lot and he’s given me a lot—me and my entire family, for that matter.”

“Y’all have been a part of this land for as long as I can remember,” she responded, her eyes wide and dark as she stared up at him.

Reed wondered if she was remembering their times together. He wondered if she remembered the way he remembered, with regret and longing and a bitterness that never went away, no matter how sweet the memories.

“I’ll be right here, as long as Stu needs me,” he told her. He would honor that promise, in spite of having to be near her again. He owed her father that much.

“I guess I’d better go on inside then,” she said, her tone husky and quiet. “I dread this.”

“Want me to go in with you?” Reed asked, then silently reprimanded himself for offering. He wouldn’t fall back into his old ways. Not this time.

“No. I have to do this. I mean, he called me home for a reason, and I have to accept that reason.”

Reed heard the crush of emotion in her voice and, whether out of habit or sympathy, his heart lurched forward, toward her. “It’s tough, seeing him so frail. Just brace yourself.”

“Okay.” She nodded, turned and walked back by the stone steps to the long wraparound porch, headed for her car. Then she turned back, her shiny gamine curls lifting in the soft breeze. “Will we see you at supper?”

“Probably not.” He couldn’t find the strength to share a meal with her, not tonight.

“Guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah, later.”

Reed watched from across the fence as she lifted a black leather tote from the car, her every step as elegant and dainty as any fashion plate he’d seen on the evening news. But then, April Maxwell herself was often seen on the evening news. She worked at one of the major design houses in the country—in the world, probably. Reed didn’t know much about haute couture, but he did know a lot of things about April Maxwell.

His mother and sisters went on and on about how Satire was all the rage both on the runways and on the designer ready-to-wear racks, whatever that meant. April was largely responsible for that, they had explained. Apparently, she’d made a good career out of combining public relations and fashion.

She was just a bit shallow and misguided in the love and family department. She’d given up both to seek fame and fortune in the big city.

And he’d stayed here, broke and heartbroken, to mend the fences she’d left behind. Well, he wasn’t broke anymore. And he wasn’t so very heartbroken, either.

Why, then, did his heart hurt so much at the very sight of her?

She hurt all over.

April opened the massive wooden double doors to her childhood home, her heart beating with a fast rhythm from seeing Reed again. He looked better than ever, tall and muscular, his honey-brown hair long on his neck, his hazel-colored cat eyes still un-readable. Reed was a cowboy, born and bred. He was like this land, solid and wise, unyielding and rooted. After all this time, he still had the power to get to her. And she still had regrets she couldn’t even face.

Before she could delve into those regrets, she heard footsteps coming across the cool brick-tiled entryway, then a peal of laughter.

“Ah, niña, you are home, sí?”

April turned to find one of her favorite people in the world standing there with a grin splitting his aged face.

“Sí, Horaz, I’m home. ¿Como está?”

“I’m good, very good,” Horaz said, bobbing his head, his thick salt-and-pepper hair not moving an inch.

“And Flora? How is she?”

“Flora is fine, just fine. She is cooking up all of your favorites.”

“That sounds great,” April said, hugging the old man in a warm embrace, the scent of spicy food wafting around them. She wasn’t hungry, but she’d have to hide that from Horaz and Flora Costello. They had been with her family since her father and mother had been married more than thirty years ago. And after her mother’s death when April was in high school, they’d stayed on to take care of her and her father. She loved them both like family and often visited with their three grown children and their families whenever she came home, which was rare these days. The entire Costello clan lived on Maxwell land, in homes they’d built themselves, with help from her father.

“You look tired, niña,” Horaz said. “Do you want to rest before supper? Your room is ready.”

April thought of the light, airy room on the second floor, the room with the frilly curtains and wide, paned windows that allowed a dramatic view of the surrounding pasture land and the river beyond. “No, I don’t want to rest right now. I want…I want to see my father.”

Horaz looked down at the floor. “I will take you to him. Then I will instruct Tomás to bring in the rest of your bags.”

“Yes, I left them in the trunk of the car.” She handed him the keys. “And how is Tomás? Does he like high school?”

“He’s on the football team,” Horaz said, grinning again. “My grandson scored two touchdowns in the final big game last fall. We won the championship.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” April said, remembering her own days of cheerleading and watching Reed play. He’d been a star quarterback in high school and had gone on to play college ball. Then he’d gotten injured in his senior year at Southern Methodist University. After graduating, he had come home to Paris to make a living as a rancher. She had gone on to better things.

Not so much better, she reminded herself. You gave up Reed for your life in New York. Why now, of all times, did she have to feel such regrets for making that decision?

“Come,” Horaz said, taking her by the arm to guide her toward the back of the rambling, high-ceilinged house.

As they passed the stairs, April took in the vast paneled-and-stucco walls of the massive den to the right. The stone fireplace covered most of the far wall, a row of woven baskets adorning the ledge high over it. On the back wall, over a long brown leather couch grouped with two matching comfortable chairs and ottomans, hung a portrait of the Big M’s sweeping pastures with the glistening Red River beyond. Her mother had painted it. The paned doors on either side of the fireplace were thrown open to the porch, a cool afternoon breeze moving through them to bring in the scent of the just-blooming potted geraniums and the centuries-old climbing roses.

As they neared the rear of the house, April felt the cool breeze turn into a chill and the scent of spring flowers change to the scent of antiseptics and medicine. It was dark down this hall, dark and full of shadows. She shuddered as Horaz guided her to the big master bedroom where the wraparound porch continued on each side, where another huge fireplace dominated one wall, where her mother’s Southwestern-motif paintings hung on either side of the room, and where, in a big bed handmade of heart-of-pine posts and an intricate, lacy wrought-iron headboard that reached to the ceiling, her father lay dying.

Chapter Two

The big room was dark, the ceiling-to-floor windows shuttered and covered with the sheer golden drapery April remembered so well. When her mother was alive, those windows had always been open to the sun and the wind. But her mother was gone, as was the warmth of this room.

It was cold and dark now, a sickroom. The wheelchair in the corner spoke of that sickness, as did the many bottles of pills sitting on the cluttered bedside table. The bed had been rigged with a contraption that helped her weak, frail father get up and down.

April walked toward the bed, willing herself to be cheerful and upbeat, even though her heart was stabbing with clawlike tenacity against her chest. I won’t cry, she told herself, lifting her chin in stubborn defiance, her breeding and decorum that of generations of strong Maxwell women.

“Daddy?” she called as she neared the big bed in the corner. “It’s me, Daddy. April.”

A thin, withered hand reached out into the muted light. “Is that my girl?”

April felt the hot tears at the back of her eyes. Pushing and fighting at them, she took a deep breath and stepped to the bedside, Horaz hovering near in case she needed him. “Yes, I’m here. I made it home.”

“Celia.” The whispered name brought a smile to his face. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

April gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. He thought she was her mother! Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, “No, Daddy. It’s April. April…”

Horaz touched her arm. “He doesn’t always recognize people these days. He has grown worse over the last week.”

April couldn’t stop the tears then. “I…I’m here now, Daddy. It’s April. I’m April.”

Her thin father, once a big, strapping man, lifted his drooping eyes and looked straight into her face. For a minute, recognition seemed to clarify things for him. “April, sweetheart. When’d you get home?”

“I just now arrived,” she said, sniffing back tears as she briskly wiped her face. “I should have been here sooner, Daddy.”

He waved his hand in the air, then let it fall down on the blue blanket. “No matter. You’re here now. Got to make things right. You and Reed. Don’t leave too soon.”

“What?” April leaned forward, touching his warm brow. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m going to stay right here until you’re well again.”

He smiled, then closed his eyes. “I won’t be well again, honey.”

“Yes, you will,” she said, but in her heart she knew he was right. Her father was dying. She knew it now, even though she’d tried to deny it since the day the family doctor had called and told her Stuart Maxwell had taken a turn for the worse. The years of drinking and smoking had finally taken their toll on her tough-skinned father. His lungs and liver were completely destroyed by disease and abuse. And it was too late to fix them now.

Too late to fix so many things.

April sat with her father until the sun slipped behind the treeline to the west. She sat and held his hand, speaking to him softly at times about her life in New York, about how she enjoyed living with Summer and Autumn in their loft apartment in Tribeca. About how much she appreciated his allowing her to have wings, his understanding that she needed to be out on her own in order to see how precious it was to have a place to call home.

Stuart slept through most of her confessions and revelations. But every now and then, he would smile or frown; every now and then he would squeeze her fingers in his, some of the old strength seeming to pour through his tired old veins.

April sat and cried silently as she remembered how beautiful her mother had been. Her parents had been so in love, so perfectly matched. The rancher oilman and the beautiful, dark-haired free-spirited artist. Her father had come from generations of tough Texas oilmen, larger-than-life men who ruled their empires with steely determination and macho power. Her mother had come from a long line of Hispanic nobility, a line that traced its roots from Texas all the way back to Mexico City. They’d met when Stuart had gone to Santa Fe to buy horses. He’d come home with several beautiful Criollo working horses, and one very fiery beauty who was also a temperamental artist.

In spite of her mother’s temper and artistic eccentricities, it had been a match made in heaven—until the day her mother had boarded their private jet for a gallery opening in Santa Fe. The jet had crashed just after takeoff from the small regional airport a few miles up the road. There were no survivors.

No survivors. Her father had died that day, too, April decided. His vibrant, hard-living spirit had died. He’d always been a rounder, but her devout mother had kept his wild streak at bay for many years. That ended the day they buried Celia Maxwell.

And now, as April looked at the skeletal man lying in this bed, she knew her father had drunk himself to an early grave so he could be with her mother.

“Don’t leave me, Daddy,” April whispered, tears again brimming in her eyes.

Then she remembered the day six years ago that Stuart had told his daughter the same thing. “Don’t leave me, sugar. Stay here with your tired old daddy. I won’t have anyone left if you go.”

But then he’d laughed and told her to get going. “There’s a big ol’world out there and I reckon you need to see it. But just remember where home is.”

So she’d gone on to New York, too eager to start her new career and be with her cousins to see that her father was lonely. Too caught up in her own dreams to see that Reed and her daddy both wanted her to stay.

I lost them both, she thought now. I lost them both. And now, I’ll be the one left all alone.

As dusk turned into night, April sat and cried for all that she had given up, her prayers seeming hollow and unheeded as she listened to her father’s shallow breathing and confused whispers.

Reed found her there by the bed at around midnight. Horaz had called him, concerned for April’s well-being.

“Mr. Reed, I’m sorry to wake you so late, but you need to come to the hacienda right away. Miss April, she won’t come out of his room. She is very tired, but she stays. I tell her a nurse is here to sit, but she refuses to leave the room.”

She’s still stubborn, Reed thought as he walked into the dark room, his eyes adjusting to the dim glow from a night-light in the bathroom. Still stubborn, still proud, and hurting right now, he reminded himself. He’d have to use some gentle persuasion.

“April,” he said, his voice a low whisper.

At first he thought she might be asleep, the way she was sitting with her head back against the blue-and-gold-patterned brocade wing chair. But at the sound of his voice, she raised her head, her eyes widening at the sight of him standing there over her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, confusion warring with daring in her eyes.

“Horaz called me. He’s worried about you. He said you didn’t eat supper.”

“I’m not hungry,” she responded, her eyes going to her sleeping father.

“Okay.” He stood silent for a few minutes, then said, “The nurse is waiting. She has to check his pulse and administer his medication.”

“She can do that around me.”

“Yes, she can, but she also sits with him through the night. That’s her job. And she’s ready to relieve you.”

April whirled then, her eyes flaring hot and dark in the muted light from the other room. “No, that’s my job. That should have been my job all along, but I didn’t take it on, did I? I…I stayed away, when I should have been here—”

“That’s it,” Reed said, hauling her to her feet with two gentle hands on her arms. “You need a break.”

“No,” she replied, pulling away. “I’m fine.”

“You need something to eat and a good night’s sleep,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what I need,” she reminded him, her words clipped and breathless.

“No, I don’t. But we’ve got enough on our hands around here without you falling sick on us, too,” he reminded her. “Did you come home to help or to wallow in self-pity?”

She tried to slap him, but Reed could see she was so exhausted that it had mostly been for show. Without a word, he lifted her up into his arms and stomped out of the room, motioning with his head for the hovering nurse to go in and do her duty.

“Put me down,” April said, the words echoing out over the still, dark house as she struggled against Reed’s grip.

“I will, in the kitchen, where Flora left you some soup and bread. And you will eat it.”

“Still bossing me around,” she retorted, her eyes flashing. But as he moved through the big house with her, she stopped struggling. Her head fell against the cotton of his T-shirt, causing Reed to pull in a sharp breath. She felt so warm, so soft, so vulnerable there against him, that he wanted to sit down and hold her tight forever.

Instead, he dropped her in a comfortable, puffy-cushioned chair in the breakfast room, then told her, “Stay.”

She did, dropping her head on the glass-topped table, her hands in her hair.

“I’m going to heat your soup.”

“I can’t eat.”

“You need to try.”

She didn’t argue with that, thankfully.

Soon he had a nice bowl of tortilla soup in front of her, along with a tall glass of Flora’s famous spiced tea and some corn bread.

Reed sat down at the table, his own tea full of ice and lemon. “Eat.”

She glared over at him, but picked up the spoon and took a few sips of soup. Reed broke off some of the tender corn bread and handed it to her. “Chew this.”

April took the crusty bread and nibbled at it, then dropped it on her plate. “I’m done.”

“You eat like a bird.”

“I can’t eat,” she said, the words dropping between them. “I can’t—”

“You can’t bear to see him like that? Well, welcome to the club. I’ve watched him wasting away for the last year now. And I feel just as helpless as you do.”

She didn’t answer, but he saw the glistening of tears trailing down her face.

Letting out a breath of regret, Reed went on one knee beside her chair, his hand reaching up to her face to wipe at tears. “I’m sorry, April. Sorry you have to see him like this. But…he wants to die at home. And he wanted you to be here.”

She bobbed her head, leaning against his hand until Reed gave in and pulled her into his arms. Falling on both knees, he held her as she cried there at the table.

Held her, and condemned himself for doing so.

Because he’d missed holding her. Missed her so much.

And because he knew this was a mistake.

But right now, he also knew they both needed someone to hold.

“It’s hard to believe my mother’s been dead twelve years,” April said later. After she’d cried and cried, Reed had tried to lighten things by telling her he was getting a crick in his neck, holding her in such an awkward position, him on his knees with her leaning down from her chair.

They had moved to the den and were now sitting on the buttery-soft leather couch, staring into the light of a single candle burning in a huge crystal hurricane lamp on the coffee table.

Reed nodded. “It’s also hard to believe that each of those years brought your father down a little bit more. It was like watching granite start to break and fall away.”

“Granite isn’t supposed to break,” she said as she leaned her head back against the cushiony couch, her voice sounding raw and husky from crying.

“Exactly.” Reed propped his booted foot on the hammered metal of the massive table. “But he did break. He just never got over losing her.”

“And then I left him, too.”

As much as he wanted to condemn her for that, Reed didn’t think it would be kind or wise to knock her when she was already so down on herself. “Don’t go blaming yourself,” he said. “You did what you’d always dreamed of doing. Stuart was—is—so proud of you. You should be proud of your success.”

“I am proud,” she said, her laughter brittle. “So very proud. I knew he was lonely when I left, Reed. But I was too selfish to admit that.”

“He never expected you to sacrifice your life for his, April. Not the way I expected things from you.”

“But he needed me here. Even though she’d been dead for years, he was still grieving for my mother. He never stopped grieving. And now…it’s too late for me to help him.”

“You’re here now,” Reed said, his own bitterness causing the statement to sound harsh in the silent house.

April turned to stare over at him. “How do you feel about my being back?”

Her directness caught him off guard. Reed could be direct himself when things warranted the truth. But he wasn’t ready to tell her exactly how being with her made him feel. He wasn’t so sure about that himself.

“It’s good to have you here?” he said in the form of a question, a twisted smile making it sound lightweight.

“Don’t sound so convincing,” she said, grimacing. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else tonight than sitting here with me.”

“You’re wrong on that account,” he told her, being honest about that, at least. “You need someone here. This is going to be tough and I…I promised your daddy I’d see you through it.”

That brought her up off the couch. “So you’re only here as a favor to my father? Out of some sense of duty and sympathy?”

“Aren’t those good reasons—to be helping out a friend?”

“Friend?” She paced toward the empty fireplace, then stood staring out into the starlit night. “Am I still your friend, Reed?”

He got up to come and stand beside her. “Honestly, I don’t know what you are to me—I mean, we haven’t communicated in a very long time, on any level. I just know that Stuart Maxwell is like a second father to me and because of that, I will be here to help in whatever way I can. And yes, I’d like to think that we can at least be friends again.”

“But you’re only my friend because you promised my father?”

“Since when did this go from the real issue—a man dying—to being all about you and your feelings?”

“I know what the real issue is,” she said, her words stony and raw with emotion. “But since you practically admitted you’re doing this only out of the goodness of your heart,” she countered, turning to stalk toward the hallway, “I just want you to know I don’t expect anything from you. So don’t do me any favors, okay? You’re usually away when I come home. You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll get through this somehow.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, hurt down to his boots by her harsh words and completely unreasonable stance. But then he reminded himself she was going through a lot of guilt and stress right now. It figured she’d lash out at the first person to try to help her, especially if that person was an old flame. “Guess it’s time for me to get on home.”

“Yes, it’s late. I’m going to check on Daddy, then I’m going to bed.” She started for the stairs, but turned at the first step, her dark head down. “Reed?”

He had a hand on the ornate doorknob. “What?”

“I do appreciate your coming by. I feel better now, having eaten a bit.” She let out a sigh that sounded very close to a sob. “And…thanks for the shoulder. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried like that.”

He didn’t dare look at her. “I’m glad then that I came. Call if you need anything else.”

“I will, thanks.” Then she looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about what I said. About you not doing me any favors. It was mean, considering you came here in the middle of the night just to help out. That was exactly what I needed tonight.”

Reed felt his heart tug toward her again, as if it might burst out of his chest with longing and joy. He wanted to tell her that he needed her, too, not just as friend, but as a man who’d never stopped loving her.

Instead, he tipped his head and gave her a long look.

“I’ll be here, April. I’ll always be right here. Just remember that.”

Chapter Three

April pressed the send button on the computer in her father’s study, glad that she had someone to talk to about her worries and frustrations. Then she reread the message she’d just sent.

Hi, girls. Well, my first night home was a bad one. Daddy is very sick. I don’t think he will last much longer. I sat with him for a long time—well into the night. Then Reed came in and made me eat something. Okay, he actually carried me, caveman-style, into the kitchen. Still Mr. Know-It-All-Tough-Guy. Still good-looking. And still single, from everything I can tell, in spite of all those rumors we’ve heard about his social life. He was very kind to me. He held me while I cried. And I cried like a baby. It felt good to be in his arms again. But I have to put all that aside. I have to help Daddy, something I should have been doing all along. Today, Reed and I are taking a ride out over the ranch, to see what needs to be done. I hope I can remember how to sit a horse. Love y’all. Keep the prayers coming. April.

That didn’t sound too bad, she thought as she took another sip of the rich coffee Flora had brought to her earlier. She’d told Summer and Autumn the truth, without going into the details.

Oh, but such details.

After the devastation of seeing her father so sick, April hadn’t wanted to go on herself. But Reed had made her feel so safe, so comforted last night. That wasn’t good. She was very weak right now, both in body and spirit. Too weak to resist his beautiful smile and warm golden eyes. Too weak to keep her hands out of that thick golden-brown too-long hair. Too weak to resist her favorite cowboy. The only cowboy she’d ever loved.

You’re just too emotional right now, she reminded herself. You can’t mistake kindness and sympathy for something else—something that can never be.

Yet, she longed for that something else. It had hit her as hard as seeing her father again, this feeling of emptiness and need, this sense of not being complete.

Thinking back on all the men she’d met and dated in New York, April groaned. Her last relationship had been a disaster. All this time, she’d thought she just hadn’t found the right one. But now she could see she was always comparing them to Reed.

That had to stop. But how could she turn off these emotions when she’d probably see him every day? Did she even want to deny it—this feeling of being safe again, this feeling of being back home in his arms?

No, she wouldn’t deny her feelings for Reed, but right now, she couldn’t give in to them, either. They had parted all those years ago with a bitter edge between them. And he’d told her he wouldn’t wait for her.

But he was still here.

He’s not here because of you, she reminded herself. He’s here because he loves your daddy as much as you do.

She couldn’t depend on Reed too much. She had to get through this one day at a time, as her mother used to tell her whenever April was facing some sort of challenge.

“One day at a time,” April said aloud as she closed down the computer. But how many days would she have to watch her father suffering like this?

“Give me strength, Lord,” she said aloud, her eyes closed to the pain and the fear. “Give me strength to accept that with life comes death. Show me how to cope, show me how to carry on. Please, Lord, show me that certain hope my mother used to talk about. That hope for eternal life.”

Turning her thoughts to her father, April got up to take her empty coffee mug into the kitchen. She wanted to watch to see how the nurse fed him, so she could help. She wanted to spend the morning with him before she went for that ride with Reed. Actually, she didn’t want to leave her father’s side. Maybe she could stall Reed.

He’d called about an hour ago, asking if she wanted to check out the property. Caught off guard, and longing for a good long ride, April had said yes. Then she’d immediately gone to check on her father, only to find the nurse bathing him. April had offered to help, but the other woman had shooed her out of the room. At the time, a good long ride had sounded better than having to see her father suffer such indignities. But now she was having second thoughts.

“Finished?” Flora asked, her smile as bright as her vivid green eyes. Flora wore her dark red hair in a chignon caught up with an elaborate silver filigree clip.

April put her mug in the sink, then turned. “Yes, and thanks for the Danish and coffee. You still make the best breads and dainties in the world, Flora.”

“Gracias,” Flora said, wiping her slender hands on a sunflower-etched dish towel.

“And how you manage to stay so slim is beyond me,” April continued as she headed toward the archway leading back to the central hall.

“Me, I walk it all off, but you? You need to eat more pastry,” Flora said, a hint of impishness in her words.

April turned to grin at her, her eyes taking in the way the morning sunlight fell across the red-tiled counters and high archways of the huge kitchen. Even later in the year, in the heat of summer, this kitchen would always be cool and tranquil. She’d spent many hours here with her mother and Flora, baking cookies and making bread.

“I guess I walk mine off, too.” April shrugged, thinking how different life on the ranch was from the fast pace of New York. Here, she could walk for miles and miles and never see another living soul, whereas New York was always full of people in a hurry to get somewhere. Wanting to bring back some of the good memories she had of growing up here, she said, “Maybe I’ll make some of that jalapeño bread. Remember how Daddy used to love it?”

“Sí,” Flora said, nodding. “He can’t eat it now, though, querida.”

“Of course not,” April said, her mood shifting as reality hit her with the same force as the sunbeam streaming through the arched windows. “I’m going to talk to the nurse to see what he can eat.”

Flora nodded, her brown eyes turning misty with worry. “He is a very sick man. I keep him in my prayers.”

“I appreciate that,” April said. “I guess our only prayer now is that God brings him some sort of peace, even if that means we have to let him go.”

“You are a very wise young woman.”

“Mother taught me to trust in God in all things. I’m trying to remember that now more than ever.”

“Your madre, she loved the Lord.”

“Yes, she did,” April said. Then she turned back to the hallway, wishing that she had the same strong faith her mother had possessed. And wishing her father hadn’t ruined his health by drinking and smoking.

As she entered his room, she heard him fussing with the nurse. “I don’t…need that. What I need…is a drink.” Stuart’s eyes closed as he fell back down on the pillow and seemed to go to sleep again.

The nurse, a sturdy woman with clipped gray hair named Lynette Proctor, clicked her tongue and turned to stare at April. “Man can barely speak, and he still wants a drink.” She gave April a sympathetic look. “His liver is shot, honey. Whatever you do, don’t give him any alcohol.”

“I don’t plan on it,” April retorted, the woman’s blunt words causing a burning anger to move through April’s system. “And I’d like to remind you that this man is my father. You will show him respect, no matter how much you agree or disagree with his drinking problem.”

Lynette finished administering Stuart’s medication, checked his IV, then turned with her hands on her hips to face April. “I apologize, sugar. My husband was an alcoholic, too, so I’ve seen the worst of this disease. That’s one reason I became a nurse and a sitter. I feel for your daddy there, but I just wish…well, I wish there was something to be done, is all.”

“We can agree on that,” April said, her defensive stance softening. Then she came to stand over the bed. In the light of day, her father looked even more pale and sickly. “This isn’t the man I remember. My daddy was so big and strong. I thought he could protect me from anything.”

“Now it’s your turn to protect him, I reckon,” Lynette said. “Do you still want to go over his schedule?”

“Yes,” April said. “Show me everything. I’m going to be here for the duration.” She stopped, willing herself to keep it together. “However long that might be.”

Lynette touched a hand to her arm. “Not as long as you might think, honey. This man ain’t got much more time on this earth. And I’m sorry for your pain.”

“Thank you,” April said, wondering how many times she’d have to hear that from well-meaning people over the course of the next weeks. How much can I bear, Lord?

Then she remembered her mother’s words to her long ago. The Lord never gives us more than we can bear, April. Trust in Him and you will get through any situation, no matter the outcome.

No matter the outcome. The outcome here wasn’t going to be happy or pretty. Her father was dying. How could she bear to go through that kind of pain yet again?

She turned as footsteps echoed down the hallway, and saw the silhouette of a tall man coming toward her.

Reed.

He’d said he’d be around for the duration, too.

April let out a breath of relief, glad that he was here. She needed him. Her father needed him. Maybe Reed’s quiet, determined strength would help her to stay strong.

No matter the outcome.

Reed listened as the very capable Lynette told them both what to expect over the next few weeks. It would get worse, she assured them. He might go quietly in his sleep, or he might suffer a heart attack or stroke. All they could do was keep him comfortable and out of pain.

With each word, told in such clinical detail, Reed could see April’s face growing paler and more distressed. He had to get her away from this sickroom for a while, because he knew there could be many more days such as this, where she could only sit and watch her father slipping away.

When Lynette was finished, Reed motioned to April. “He’s resting now. Good time to take that ride.”

At the concern in her dark eyes, he whispered, “I won’t keep you out long. And Lynette can radio us—I have a set of walkie-talkies I bought for that very reason.”

“I’ll take my cell phone,” April replied, watching her father closely. Then she turned to Lynette and gave her the number. “Call me if there is any change, good or bad.”

“Okay,” Lynette said. “He’ll sleep most of the afternoon. He usually gets restless around sundown.”

“We’ll be back long before then,” Reed said, more to reassure April then to report to the nurse.

Seeming satisfied, April kissed her father on the forehead and turned to leave the room. Once they were outside in the hallway, she looked over at Reed. “I don’t think I should leave him.”

He understood her fears, but he also understood she needed some fresh air. “A short ride will do you good. It’ll settle your nerves.”

“Just along the river, then.”

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

April shot him a harsh look. “Don’t say that. I’m not ready to be the boss.”

“Well, that’s something we need to discuss,” Reed replied. “A lot of people depend on this land for their livelihoods.” He hesitated, looking down at the floor. “And…well, Stu let some things slip.”

“What do you mean, let some things slip?”

“Fences need mending. We’re got calves to work and brand. Half our hands have left because Stu would forget to pay ’em. Either that, or he’d lose his temper and fire ’em on the spot.”

April closed her eyes, as if she was trying to imagine her father roaring at the help. Stuart had a temper, but he’d always handled his employees with respect and decency. When he was sober, at least.

“You keep saying ‘our’as if you still work here.”

Reed placed his hands on his hips, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’ve been helping out some in my spare time.”

Groaning, she ran a hand through her bangs. “Reed, you have almost as much land now as we do. Are you telling me you’ve been working your ranch and this one, too? That’s close to fifteen hundred acres.”

“Yeah, pretty much. But hey, I don’t really have anything better to do. Daddy helps, too. And you know Stu’s got friends all over East Texas. Your uncles come around as often as they can, to check on things and help out. Well, Richard does—not so much James. But they have their own obligations. We’ve all tried to hold things together for him, April.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I’m just not ready for all of this.”

“All the more reason to take things one day at a time and get yourself readjusted.”

“There’s no way to adjust to losing both your parents,” she said. Then she hurried up the hallway ahead of him, the scent of her floral perfume lingering to remind him that she was back home, good or bad.

Reed watched as April handled the gentle roan mare with an expert hand. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”

April gave him a tight smile. “Well, since you told Tomás to bring me the most gentle horse in the stable, I’d say I’m doing okay.”

“Daisy needed to stretch her legs,” he replied.

“I still go horseback riding now and then.”

“In New York City?”

She laughed at his exaggerated way of saying that. “Yes, in New York City. You can take the girl out of the country—”

“But you can’t take the country out of the girl?”

“I guess not.” She urged Daisy through the gates leading out to the open pasture. “Who’s that other kid with Tomás?” she asked as the two teenagers waved to them from where they were exercising some of the other horses.

“That’s Adan Garcia. They’re best friends and they play football together. He helps Tomás with some of the work around here. Just a summer job.”

“Why is he staring at us?” she asked. “He looks so bitter and…full of teenage angst.”

Reed shrugged. “Guess he’s never seen a woman from New York City before. Maybe that ain’t angst, just curiosity about a ‘city girl.’”

“Will you please stop saying that as if it’s distasteful?”

“Not distasteful. Just hard to imagine.”

“You never thought I’d make it, did you?”

“Oh, I knew you’d give it your best.”

She kneed Daisy into action, tossing him a glare over her shoulder.

Reed followed on Jericho, anxious to know everything about her life since she’d been gone. “So what’s it like in the big city?”

She clicked her boots against Daisy’s ribs as they did a slow trot. “It’s exciting, of course. Fast-paced. Hectic.”

“Your eyes light up when you say that.”

“I love it. I enjoy my work at Satire and it’s fun living with Summer and Autumn.”

Reed turned his head to roll his eyes. What kind of name was Satire, anyway? But right now, he didn’t need to hear about her fancy threads workplace. So he asked the question that had been burning through his system since she’d come home. No, since she’d left. “And how about your social life? Dating any Wall Street hotshots or do you just hang with the Hollywood types?”

She slanted him a sideways look. “Honestly, I rarely have time to date.”

His gut hurt, thinking about all the eligible bachelors in New York. “I don’t believe that.”

“Okay, I’ve had a few relationships. But…I’ve found most of the men I date are a bit self-centered and shallow. They’re so involved in their careers, they kind of rush their way through any after-hours social life. I don’t like to be rushed.”

That made him grin. In his mind, she’d just described herself. Her new self. But then, maybe he’d misjudged her. “You never did like to be rushed. Maybe the city hasn’t changed you so much after all.”

“No, I haven’t changed that much. I know where I came from. And besides, most of my colleagues tease me about my Texas drawl.”

Reed could listen to that drawl all day long. “You have that edge in your voice now. That little bit of hurried city-speak.”

“City-speak?” She grinned. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know. Fast and sassy.”

As they walked the horses toward the meandering river, she gazed out over the flat grassland. Red clovers and lush bluebonnets were beginning to bloom here and there across some of the pastures. “Well, fast and sassy won’t cut it here, unless I’m roping cattle. But at least I can apply my business skills to detangling some of the mess this ranch is in.”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

Her eyes went dark at that question. “I…I told my supervisor I’d be here indefinitely. I have three weeks of vacation time and she agreed to let me use my two weeks of sick days. I’ve never abused my benefits at Satire, so she knew I was serious when I came to her asking for an extended leave of absence.”

“And when…things change here, you’ll go back?”

“That’s the plan.”

Reed didn’t respond to that. But his silence must have alerted April.

Pulling up, she turned to stare over at him from underneath her bangs. “You do understand I have to go back?”

He nodded, pushed his hat back on his head. “I understand plenty. But tell that to your daddy. He has other plans, I think.”

She shook her head. “I’m not even sure he realizes I’m here.”

“Oh, he knows. It’s all he’s talked about for the last week. Every time he’d wake up, he’d ask for you. I kept telling him you were on your way. I think he’s been waiting for you to get home just so—”

She looked cornered, uncertain. “Just so what? What do you mean? That he’s going to give up and die now? After seeing him, I’ve accepted that, Reed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s something we can’t help, but there’s more to it.”

Her eyes widened with fear and confusion. “Why don’t you just explain everything, then? Just give me the whole story.”

Reed didn’t want to have to be the one to tell her this, but somebody had to. Stu had revealed it in his ramblings and whispered words. And Reed had promised the dying man he’d see it happen. “April—your father—he thinks you’ve come home for good.”

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